#i think after this ash goes back home and finds herself thinking of snow more and more | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

aparticularbandit · 2 years

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Finding Family: Part Five: Chapter Seven

Summary: When America begins universe-hopping again to try and find her moms, she realizes that’s too much scope for her. She looks for smaller scope, and instead she finds Wanda.

AO3

Ash and the boys make it to the house before the snowstorm, but that doesn’t matter very much since they arrive in the middle of a full on snowball war. Snowballs shoot through the golden gateway Ash creates – and Lucky, Kate’s dog, chases after one like a tennis ball, tries to grab it in his teeth, and then whines when it collapses in his mouth.

It likely isn’t fair for Scarlet to hover up and around the orchard sprawling in front of them, since Wendy doesn’t have that capability yet, but the trees give Wendy perfect shields to run and hide behind from the rain of snowballs that Scarlet rains down on her. Up in the air, Scarlet only has her own ability to dodge to save her – or the impulse to throw up a minor shield whenever she sees anything whirling directly at her face. The shields are helpful then, but dodging snowballs is not the same as dodging the blasts the spellcasters at Kamar-Taj; it is so much easier to dodge large blasts and to perceive them coming than it is to dodge snowballs that…aren’t nearly as deadly. She also doesn’t have the same drive to succeed that she did at Kamar-Taj.

And all of this whirling snow storm white like a blizzard is interspersed with various blasts of scarlet – not intended to hit either participant, surely, but primarily to propel the snowballs forward or home them in on the other person, such that sometimes Scarlet is surrounded by snowballs that follow her and whirl around her wherever she goes – some hers, prepared to strike when Wendy is defenseless, and others Wendy’s, trying to find space between those of Scarlet’s to get to her, sometimes running into her spiraling snowballs and being consumed by them.

Ash looks in on all of this, places her hands on her boys’ shoulders, and murmurs, “Wait here,” before creating a shield around herself, similar to the one Scarlet occasionally uses in this fight but much less temporary, and blasting off into the sky. As she gets closer, she can hear Scarlet, “Be more precise with your—” only to be cut off by three snowballs making it through her defenses and hammering her just between her shoulder blades. She lurches forward and holds up a temporary scarlet shield, displacing the snow flying around her, as Wendy calls out, “Be more precise with my what?” and grinning the entire time.

As soon as their mom disappears into the whirling snowball storm (they can just make her out if they follow the hovering scarlet orb surrounding her), Tommy turns to Billy. “C’mon! It’s a snowball fight!”

“Mom said to wait here.” Billy looks out into the snowball storm and shudders. “And I don’t think it’s very safe—”

“Loser.” Tommy sticks his tongue out, speeds through the golden gateway, and kicks snow back at his brother. Only a second passes before more snowballs shoot through the portal, hitting Billy directly. Lucky chases after the single snowball that doesn’t hit him and starts to bark at it.

Billy stares out through the gateway. He grimaces. Another snowball darts towards him, and he creates a soft blue magic barrier to shield himself.

“C’mon,” Tommy yells at him, although he can’t be seen in all of the snow, not zooming as he is. “Don’t be a scaredy cat!”

“But Mom said—”

This time, a snowball hits him square in the mouth, cutting him off. Billy’s eyes narrow. “Hey!” He runs through the gateway just as it starts to shut, leaving their things behind. Immediately, he is thwacked by what feels like millions of snowballs, and he sets up a barrier around him just like his mother’s, only in a semi-transparent cerulean shade. It cracks as it gets pelted with snowballs, but it doesn’t shatter. He trudges through the snow, eyes narrowed, and just when he feels the wind rushing past him, he throws up another barrier, this one made of snow.

Tommy half slams into it, half speeds through it. He spits out bits of snow. “That’s not a snowball!”

But Billy just laughs.

In another attempt to dodge, Wendy rolls behind one of the trees. She can’t make shields yet, no matter what Pixie used her power to do in Neverland, but the trees provide acceptable cover. The house would be better, but she’s more familiar with trees, and sometimes it feels like even these bend to protect her. She hides behind the tree as much as she can, scanning around her. Snow. Snow. Lots of snow. More snowballs. Scarlet seems to have created a permanent magic barrier now, which—

“Not fair!” Wendy shouts up at her. “I have to be able to hit you!”

“See?” comes a familiar yet surprising voice from nearby. “It’s not fair if I can’t—”

“It’s not fair for you to zoom everywhere, either!”

Wendy turns just in time to see Billy use bright blue magic to shield himself from another snowball, surrounded by a shield similar to the scarlet orb she’d seen in the sky, although his is full of spider-webbing cracks. Her eyes widen, and a bright grin spreads across her face. “Billy, Tommy!” she calls – loud enough for them to hear her but hopefully soft enough that Scarlet won’t. “Come here! Join my side!”

Tommy comes to a flashing halt right next to her before she even finishes speaking. “Your side?” he asks. “Who’re we fighting?” His eyes glint with mischief. “How do we win?”

In that instant, Wendy is reminded so much of Pan that her heart aches. Her throat grows dry. “Scarlet,” she croaks out and then gives herself a little shake. That should be good enough. “You think you can, uh. Hm.” She folds her arms and rests her chin on the back of one hand. But remembering Pan has reminded her of something else he used to do, too. She grins again. “I have an idea.”

“Scarlet!” Ash calls out into the swirling snowball storm, but no matter what she does, her other self doesn’t seem to hear her. She grits her teeth and hovers closer. Snowballs thwack against her barrier with the same sound as a bird hitting a windshield, and she flinches. It’s just snow. It isn’t something worse. She hates that her mind immediately thinks it will be something worse.

But it doesn’t matter how much closer she hovers; Scarlet is completely focused on Wendy – on her prey. She glances over her shoulder just once and barely acknowledges Ash’s existence before shooting another barrage of snowballs in Wendy’s direction. Then she heaves a huge sigh, shoulders slumping ever so slightly, and calls over to her. “Sorry. Can’t talk. Training exercises.”

Ash’s eyes narrow as she waits for further acknowledgment, but Scarlet just whirls away from her again. She groans. “Scarlet! The boys are waiting to—”

Scarlet freezes and turns back to her. She softens. “The boys…?”

From the ground, Wendy clocks the freeze – the hesitation – and her grin spreads. “Now.”

It’s unsure whether Tommy starts first or Billy does. Like Wendy, Billy can’t use his magic to hover the way Ash or Scarlet does, but also unlike Wendy, he can use it to create a light sphere around himself. Tommy begins to run in a circle around Billy as fast as he can, throwing snow into the air, until slowly – slower than Pan, but not that slowly – he creates a snow tornado.

And within that tornado, Billy waits, the spherical ball of his magic protecting him as it gets projected up into the gusts Tommy has created, bouncing him back and forth within the tornado without being harmed. He can’t quite control where he gets bounced – his control over his magic isn’t that strong – but at least he isn’t getting hurt.

Mostly. Every now and again, the ball shifts just so, and he gets whipped from one end to the other, or pushed off of his feet, but it’s negligible damage in the light of just how cool this is. He doesn’t even feel it. At least, he doesn’t feel it right now. Once he gets the hang of everything, he starts to pull snow from that whipped up by the tornado, uses magic to ball it, and then forces it out in the way Wendy had quickly taught him to do.

Ash sees the tornado made of snow, and although she doesn’t see Billy within it, she knows enough to be aware that this is not good. It grows worse when the tornado starts firing snowballs out in every direction from within it. “White flag,” she mutters under her breath. Then she yells it out at Scarlet, “White flag! Now!”

Scarlet turns to her and raises an eyebrow. “Why?”

“Tommy is making a tornado out of snow and—”

A strange, dark grin crosses Scarlet’s face then, and she turns back to the orchards below. “Using my own children against me. That’s low.” She chuckles, pushes stray strands of hair out of her face, and then pauses. Her head tilts, and a familiar, haunting scarlet tiara appears atop her head, holding her hair back as a grin spreads across her face. “She didn’t count on the Scarlet Witch.”

Ash flinches at the sight of the tiara. “Scarlet—”

But the moment she says her other self’s new name, Scarlet is gone, teleporting away.

In all of the snow and storm and gusts and everything, it isn’t impossible to find where Scarlet has gone, but it’s near enough to it. Ash scans the world around her and can’t see her at all, only catches the barest glimpse of dark storm clouds gathering overhead tinged with the barest hint of scarlet. She has just enough time for her mouth to form into a silent o before the tornado meant for Scarlet finds her instead.

Winds whip Ash within her scarlet orb to and fro until she reaches out her hands, stabilizing herself in the very center of the tornado. It’s another instant before another orb – this one a translucent cerulean in color – knocks into her. She jolts but hold steady. Then it comes again, hitting her again, and Ash’s eyes narrow. She takes a deep breath. The third time the blue orb comes out straight at her, she reaches out just enough magic to stabilize it as well.

Billy manages to get a few more snowballs out – one of them thwacking directly into Ash’s orb – before he comes to an immediate halt. “Tommy,” he whines. “I didn’t tell you to—”

“You didn’t tell him to what?” Ash asks, raising an eyebrow and crossing her arms.

“Um.” Billy swallows and turns to face her. “Uh. Hi. Mom.” He raises a hand and waggles his fingers at her.

Ash’s gaze turns to steel. “I thought I told you two to wait.”

“Tommy started it—”

“Don’t be a snitch!” Tommy yells up from where he continues the tornado. It really is impossible to see him where he creates the tornado, given just how fast he is going and how much snow he’s kicking up. But his voice echoes up at them.

Ash sets her jaw. “I don’t care who started it. Put your brother down.”

“Aw, Mom—”

They’re still arguing when the blizzard hits.

Scarlet hums a short Sokovian ditty as she hides within the clouds.

Her hands gyrate, fingers twisting around each other, small spurts of chaotic energy like thin lightning strikes stirring within the clouds. As she continues, she begins to sing, mouthing words to a tune that can barely be heard at all within the music of the clouds, that certainly cannot be heard from outside of it – an old Sokovian song full of warnings and longing and the sea.

Nothing to do with what she’s doing at all, actually, with the exception of the mention of a devastating lightning strike at the exact moment she sets the blizzard loose.

Her hair should be slowly moving away from her with the static, strands pulling loose from her untidy braid, but it doesn’t, not even the slightest bit. Even the strands that have already broken loose are held in place by the tiara settled atop her head. The tiara seems to whistle as the wind whips through it and, eerily, it sings the same tune that Scarlet herself sings. Even more eerily, it harmonizes.

Scarlet closes her eyes and sighs.

Give it a few minutes.

The blizzard rips into the tornado.

It throws Tommy off balance with its strong gusts of wind, and as he startles and wavers, the tornado shifts. Tommy tries to right himself; the wind hits him again, just as hard – not rough, but hard – enough to cause him to waver again, this time in the opposite direction. The tornado shifts again, also in the opposite direction.

The winds rock Ash and Billy’s orbs just as hard as they hit Tommy, and Billy’s orb wobbles with the weight of its spider-webbing. Immediately, Ash reaches out and pulls him towards her. “Drop your shield!”

Billy doesn’t question her. As soon as his shield drops, Ash pulls him into her orb. The tornado shifts this way and that around them, but Ash holds him in her orb, safe. “This is why I told you two to stay put.”

“I’m sorry.”

Ash takes a deep breath and lowers her orb closer to the ground. As she does, she hears someone yell up towards her, “You got him?” She scans the world beneath her and catches sight of Wendy, holding tight to a thick tree branch, straddling it like a witch on a broomstick, somehow holding herself in place among the winds of the tornado, not spiraling this way and that. Wendy looks up at her, bright green eyes wide. “You’re not going to fall, right?”

“How are you doing that?” Ash asks instead. “Why aren’t you falling?”

Wendy shrugs. “Pan and I used to do this sometimes, before Neverland. It’s just like riding a bike.” She continues to stare up at the two of them. “You got Billy?”

“Yes.”

“Good.” Wendy grins up at her. “You get him inside, alright? I got Tommy.” Then, without waiting for Ash to answer, Wendy angles her tree branch down towards the other boy.

Ash stares at her. She hesitates. Then she takes a deep breath and turns back to Billy. “You remember that cool teleporting trick that Aunt Scarlet keeps using? The one I told you to never, ever try?”

Billy nods rapidly.

“Alright.” Ash grabs him and holds him close to her. “Never do this.” Then they disappear in a shimmering of scarlet mist.

Wendy angles her branch towards Tommy. The wind hits him again, pushing him off course, and when the tornado shifts, she feels the branch wobbling this way and that like an unsettled horse. She brushes one hand along the branch. “Hush. You’re almost done.” Then she pulls it down next to Tommy, who continues to run in a far too large circle, trying to maintain the tornado, unsure of himself. “Hey,” she says, hovering on the branch next to him. “It’s time to go.”

“Did we get her?” Tommy asks, coughing once. “Did we get the witch?”

Wendy doesn’t know, but she says, “Yes,” anyway. She smiles fondly at him. “We got her. We won. You did great.” She reaches over and rustles his hair. “I’m gonna need you to slow down so I can get us out, okay?”

“You got Billy?”

“Your mom did.”

“Oh. Right.” Tommy winces. “She’s gonna be real mad at us, isn’t she?” he asks, looking up at Wendy.

Wendy shakes her head. “I don’t think so. You were having a snowball fight. You were having fun. That’s the best part of visiting people, isn’t it? How much fun you can have together?” She grins at him. “And we had a lot of fun, didn’t we?”

Tommy beams up at her. “Yeah! The most fun I’ve had since—” He doesn’t finish the sentence, and the glow on his face fades. Then he takes a deep breath, steeling himself against whatever he was thinking. “You’re going to get me out?”

“Yep. Just—” Wendy hesitates. She and Pan had done this so often that it became muscle memory; she’d forgotten how long it had taken to perfect this part of it. “Slow down as soon as you feel the tug, okay?”

Tommy blinks. “What tug?”

Wendy grabs his collar and pulls upward.

Scarlet is aware of what is happening outside of the storm clouds. She’s stopped singing, stopped humming, and is content to just listen to everything – to the surface thoughts and feelings of those around her, what few of them there are. That helps her to know when to release the weather to its own devices.

Ash and Billy are safe inside; Ash is mad, but it’s curious as to whether that anger is directed more towards her or towards the boys. Scarlet hopes to direct it towards herself. She can take it, after all.

Wendy is grabbing Tommy and pulling him away, riding the wind being blown out from the collapsing tornado towards the porch. She’s focused, and Tommy’s worry fades into an adrenaline rush of excitement. Scarlet takes the moment to make sure the front door is open, and she directs her wind so that it angles them just inside. They’ll be a little banged up, but they’ll be okay. They’ll be safe. That’s the important thing.

Another mind hovers near but behind her. It flickers with a static of confusion, uncertainty, unsettled in any one direction.

Scarlet’s eyes narrow, and she pushes deeper into what shouldn’t be there.

The further she pushes, the more static Scarlet feels. Vision never felt like this – likely due to the Mind Stone’s effects – but Ultron often had, a layer of static and binary around his otherwise very readable thoughts. She lifts words and directives and orders, and she is not afraid.

Find me, Scarlet pushes into his mind, letting him feel her gentle touch, in the new year.

The mind on the other end both aches for and resents her in his mind, and the static begins to screech.

Not now, Scarlet insists, louder, more forceful this time. Do not me now or you will feel no mercy.

I need no mercy from you, the new Vision responds, clear and without static, but I will grant you reprieve from what is to come.

Then a final flicker of static, and Scarlet loses contact.

She takes a deep breath. Her heart beats hard in her chest. She is not afraid of him; she only does not want to deal with him now. Everyone is here. They’re meant to be having a celebration. If he must interfere, let him do it when they aren’t celebrating.

Scarlet pulls her magic back to herself and then phases out of the clouds, back into her new home.

Scarlet hears the tail end of Ash’s chiding – or perhaps it is the beginning of it, because “What were you thinking?” could easily be either – as she slowly appears in her living room. Both of her boys look crestfallen, and Billy seems like he’s almost on the edge of tears. He sniffles and rubs one hand across his eyes, head lowered, which is probably good, since Scarlet is still wearing her tiara. Tommy’s head is up, and although at first he’s focused on Ash, his gaze shifts to Scarlet as she appears, his eyes widening and then flicking up to the tiara, where they linger. To him, it must be as glaring an image as the scar set into his mother’s forehead, and he shivers once before Scarlet makes it fade away into nothing.

Before Scarlet can say anything, Wendy steps forward, almost protectively, in front of the boys. “It’s not their fault,” she says, and if she notices Scarlet standing there, she doesn’t react to her. “I started the snowball fight. I told Tommy to start the tornado. It’s something Pan and I used to do, and I thought it would be a good way to knock Scarlet down a peg or two.” It’s only then that her gaze flicks over to Scarlet, and she meets her eyes for the briefest of seconds before letting her gaze flick back to Ash.

Ash doesn’t seem to notice it. “You didn’t make them come through. I told them to wait.”

“They’re kids,” Wendy counters. “They’re not going to stay away when there’s the best snowball fight ever going on. You can’t be mad at them for that.”

“I can be mad at them for disobeying me.” Ash looks past Wendy to her boys. “You could have gotten hurt. And that blizzard. When Scarlet gets back, I’m going to give her a piece of my—”

Wendy’s gaze flicks back to Scarlet, and Ash finally notices that Tommy’s eyes aren’t even on her. She sighs. “She’s right behind me, isn’t she.” She groans and kneads her forehead instead of turning around.

“It’s a classic comedic blunder,” Scarlet says, and she steps forward just enough to place a hand on her older self’s shoulder. “It’s not your fault you fell into it. It’s destiny. In an infinite multiverse, one of us was going to eventually. And one of us probably already has.” She pats Ash’s shoulder. “It just happened to you this time.”

Ash shoots her a frustrated look. “What was with that blizzard? Someone could have gotten hurt.” Her eyes narrow. “And in an infinite multiverse, someone probably did.” She parrots Scarlet in a childish tone of voice, unable to get the frustration out of her tone even as she mimics her.

“No,” Scarlet says, and she’s lying to herself as she does, but this is the person she is choosing to be in this moment. “If something goes wrong – if something could have gone wrong – one of us will catch it first.” She glances to Wendy and meets her eyes. “Isn’t that right?”

Wendy swallows once and then nods. “Yeah. Yes. That’s right.”

“We can’t spend all our time worrying about what could go wrong and forget to live. Or to have fun.” Scarlet nudges Ash with her elbow. “It was just a snowball fight. A terrifying snowball fight. But a fun one.” She glances to her boys. “You two had fun, didn’t you?”

Billy hesitates. He opens his mouth and then looks up at her and then hesitates, and it cuts into the core of Scarlet as it always has and it always will. The pain feels like fear, worse than Lagos, worse than Ultron, worse than—

But Tommy doesn’t hesitate. His eyes are bright, and he beams up at them as he exclaims, “Yeah! That was the best snowball fight ever! Better even than the ones with Dad! He never let me make a snow tornado! That was amazing!” He looks over to Wendy. “We’ve gotta do that again!”

Wendy meets his eyes with an encouraging grin, but before she can say anything, Ash cuts them both off. “You are not doing that again.” She sighs and pinches the bridge of her nose. “Not in a blizzard, anyway.” Then she shakes her head. “I’m going back for our stuff. Stay here.” She slowly begins to make another gateway back to Clint’s, to where their luggage waits just where they left it.

Tommy nudges Wendy with his elbow and whispers something meant just for her.

Scarlet overhears him anyway and without hesitation creates two snowballs and shoots them through the portal. Lucky chases after one of them, catching it in one bite. The other one hits Ash’s butt right as she bends over.

Ash freezes. Then she sighs. “I’m going to pretend that didn’t happen.”

But Tommy looks at Scarlet with awe. It’s a brief, fleeting thing before he curls up, snickering, but it’s there. Even if it didn’t last very long, it’s a moment where one of the boys that she had so terrified looked past that terror and actually approved of something she did.

Scarlet considers this, and she holds it close to her chest. It is there. It is possible. Billy might take more time, but if Tommy can come around, then maybe….

Maybe they both will.

#bandit fic #finding family with wanda and america #wanda maximoff #scarlet witch #america chavez #billy kaplan #tommy shepherd #mcu #queue

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reylofanfictionanthology · 3 years

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TO FIND YOUR KISS IS NOW LIVE!

Authors will be revealed next week! For now all fics are anonymous. Treats can be posted through author reveals on 2/21. We will post an updated masterpost at that time.

To Find Your Kiss collection on AO3 | Treats Masterpost

GIFT FIC MASTERPOST

- Reap the Stars for abbytheatre08

The prompt: After Ben's death, Rey goes mad and turns to the dark side. Only Ben's not dead anymore. ----------------------- She is consuming fire, magnificent in her rage. She will burn the galaxy to its foundations, until the ashes rain down and pile high as mountains. She will gather them into bouquets and scatter them like petals upon his grave.

He will be remembered, and they will not.

Call him The Light Bearer and Joy Giver. Call him He Who Loved and Laid Down His Life. Call him Ben.

- we are question marks that hang above the endless unexplained for AlwaysEverlark

The first time she walked into his club, she was looking for a job. Kylo took one look at her—the stubborn pout of her lip, the determined glint in her eyes, the ruddy glow of her face where the sun had kissed it—and swallowed a lump in his throat that was shaped like the words you’re too good for this place.

They needed a singer. Kira Johnson could hold a tune, knew the old standards, and had a knockout pair of tits to boot. A few slinky ballgowns and a touch of lipstick, and she’d more than do the trick of distracting suckers long enough to part them from their money.

The club solely needed to break even; anything they made on top of the Syndicate’s cut was gravy, and Kylo Ren had been lining his pockets with his own take for long enough that he could see Kira for the lump of clay that she was: rough-hewn, misshapen, but soft and supple and sure to curve under his touch.

- Eighty Bucks Says Sweetheart for Amoreusou

Ben likes puzzles. Rey needs help with a bunch of them. Good thing it's a slow day at the office.

- Seldom Visions for Andrina_Nightshade

After visiting an old Sith temple, Supreme Leader Kylo Ren has fallen into a deep sleep when he pricks his finger on the point of a red crystal. Rey become is the first to find him, but his rescuer isn't just any general or pilot, it's the woman he shares a soul with, who haunts his waking hours, who still sees him even in his sleep.

- The Dyad for aneighthdomain

Based of the Prompt: Groundhog Day scenario. Ben and Rey keep getting sent back to the first time they met and no matter what they do, Ben always dies so they stop trying to change events and just live a life time in the year between and couple of weeks and run away together.

- Saudade: The Love That Remains for AnneAnna

- The Delegation for aNerdObsessed

A humanitarian delegation from Naboo arrives at Niima Outpost. Rey is skeptical, to say the least.

- i don't want you like a best friend for anopendoor

It’s not like she hadn’t seen this coming—Rose told her weeks ago that he was invited. It was an inevitability Rey was always going to have to face, she just didn’t think that Rose would be so merciful as to also give every guest a plus one.

But Rey can’t really be upset—and she is totally, unequivocally not upset—that Ben's bringing someone because, well.

She is, too.

- Love is Weakness for bittersnake

“He’s someone I found on my recent trip to Corellia,” Rey replies placidly, her face practiced in its boredom. “It doesn’t mean anything.”

“Love is weakness,” her grandfather reminds her, the way he has for years. It’s why he doesn’t love her. He will not be weak. It’s why she doesn’t love him, either.

- in sickness and in health (with health being less likely) for BlueButterflyKisses

Deciding to spend the rest of their lives together is the easy part for both Rey and Ben; the trouble is in how to propose.

- Snowed In for Blueyedgurl

Never in her wildest dreams did Rey Johnson think she would ever get to meet her favorite other Kylo Ren. She also would have never entertained the idea of the scenario she found herself in. How did a hike in the woods lead to a snowstorm and taking shelter in a remote cabin in the woods? The idea was so ridiculous but had become reality. Stuck inside with a handsome stranger surrounded by a winter storm, Rey wonders what will happen with no power and only one bed. Will they be polite co-habitants stuck in a strange set of circumstances or is there room for something more?

- Curses, Comforts and Capybaras for Bombastique

Arrogant CEO bites off more than he can chew when he angers a witch... And suddenly finds himself transformed into a capybara. Can kindhearted wildlife rehabber Rey Niima help him break the curse?

- To Heal a Broken Soul for Cat2000

Ben survives the fallout of Exegol, but his connection to the physical world is in danger. Rey tends to him as she searched for a way to heal him.

- holding me like water in your hands for Ceallaigh

After Hux finds out Ben killed Snoke, Hux encases Ben in Carbonite. Rey refuses to let Ben stay frozen forever so she mounts a rescue.

- Like a Thief in the Night for chagrins

Their bond won't let them be alone. At least this time it's the middle of the night and they can't get into a shouting match.

- The Chance for Crysania

When Rey and Ben, long time co-workers who have never been able to admit their feelings to each other, go on a weekend retreat to work on a movie adaptation script together, a Nor’easter leaves them snowed in. On Valentine’s Day.

- Awake for cuddlesome

Something inside him is awake, and something inside her is about to wake up.

An alternate interrogation scene.

- darkness rises, and light to meet it for czechia

After the throne room, Jedi Ben Solo and Kira Ren meet again a year later.

- Not Quite a Fairytale for DarkMage13

Rey lets a stranger use the phone of the café she works at late one night. It changes the whole course of her life.

- You Won't Escape Me ('Cause I Set You Free) for DoorKeeper9

- The Canvas of Your Skin for darlingreadsalot

She was incapable of touching him without drawing blood, it seemed. Lines like vermillion paint streaked where her fingers sketched down the contours of his face, his back, and now his chest.

In which a Force bond is splintered, a resurrection goes wrong, a kiss is forgotten, and two almost-lovers avoid speaking for the better half of a year.

- Fleeing the Storm for driverfever

As the granddaughter of an merciless aristocrat, Rey’s life hangs on a thread at the hands of the French Revolutionaries. When her childhood friend, Ben, offers to platonically marry her in order to take her to his home in England to safety, she has no choice but to accept.

But her suitor and revolutionary Hux won’t give her up so easily. Hounded by revolutionaries and falling in love, Rey and Ben must use all their wits to flee Paris and make it to England.

- Equal Measure for dustoftheancients

When Princess Rey of Coruscant calls upon the cursed Sir Kylo Ren to help her escape her grandfather the emperor’s political machinations, she discovers freedom in the ancient familial magic that binds them together.

- Benimina Solo's Late On-Set Force Ability for Evangel10n

Benimina Solo has never, not even once, had an ounce of Force Sensitivity. She's done a great deal to move on with her life after failing out of her uncle's Jedi training school. So when Rey Palpatine comes into her life and suddenly everything changes, she's not a happy camper.

- Splatter for expendable

“You’re Palpatine’s girl,” he says coldly.

“His chief of staff, yes.” Rey’s eyes narrow. “And you have your hand on my ass, Kylo. Kindly take it off.”

“Or what?”

AKA powerful corporate rivals Kylo and Rey put the hate in love/hate.

- The Haunted Mirror for FangirlintheForest

When Rey travels to UK to attend the reading of his grandfather will, a grandfather she didn't know existed until that very moment, she finds a house, and a old story that will haunt her...

- i'm your secretary for firelord65

Kaydel pressed her lips together in a thin line, passing a pile of datapads over the desk. “I don’t know what that pretentious nerf herder has put into your brain, but these are tales of the key roles women have played in past rebellions.” She stood, tapping the pile. “They’re great reads,” she added, with a pointed raise of her eyebrow.

- and they danced across the sky for flipflop_diva

When he was still a child, he constantly watched the blue butterflies as they danced in the sky.

They seemed to be calling him, aiding him each instance that icy-cold darkness flowed through his very veins. The magnificent creatures saved him from the voices. They drowned out the incessant chatter in his head. Temporarily cleared away all the anger. During those brief respites, watching those blue wings flutter in the sky, Ben felt free.

But that’s another life. Another world. Another time. Another, another, another.

And Kylo's no longer a child.

No. He welcomes the darkness now. Embraces it.

- Finding The Answer for FrenchMartiniPlease

Rey pines for Ben Solo…so why does her soulmate mark always drain of colour whenever she gets close to him?

- Almost Unforgettable for HopeRebel

The woman in the mirror has blood on her clothes, cash in her bag, and a letter from her husband telling her it's better to forget. Well, he got his wish. She forgot everything-- including her name. And she wasn't the only one afflicted.

It'll take the combined efforts of gumshoes, a flatfoot, a washed-up Hollywood starlet, and more to get to the bottom of this bad business. In the end, these things always come back to the beginning.

- The Curl of a Sigh for irridesca

During the last song in Maxine’s set, a song she announces is called “Soul Companion,” Ben heads back out to the lobby to look for Rey. He finds her not with his eyes but with one broad shoulder, when he bumps into her and knocks her gig bag out of her hands and onto the plush carpet.

- and they were roommates for Lady_of_Haven

When Ben loses a bet to his roommate, Rey, he has to eat her out for 30 days.

- torn away from you (my heart is broken) for lakerose

The Force binds more than minds.

- If You Take Me for literallynoonecares

She sighed wistfully as she watched her two friends lean in toward each other as they danced, their lips meeting and melding together as they seemed to become one person instead of two separate beings. She had seen them kiss so many times, but this kiss … it was special.“I just want someone to kiss me like that,” she mused softly to herself, her eyes not leaving her friends.“I could make that happen if you wanted.”

- 3 Days in Vienna for Like_A_Dove

Kylo Ren, trained mercenary Alpha assassin, is on a mission—assassinate Chancellor Palpatine and bring his underground authoritarian regime to an end. It’s what the First Order demands, for the better of society.

It should be an easy task. He’s been getting close to the Chancellor and his cronies for years. So how is it that the unexpected appearance of an Omega, with a seemingly similar mission—and a wholly inconveniencing scent—become a distraction he hadn’t accounted for?

- Confidence and Desire for LittleLostStar

“Stay afraid, but do it anyway. What’s important is the action. You don’t have to wait to be confident. Just do it and eventually, the confidence will follow.” - Carrie Fisher

- Love brightens even the most monstrous parts of ourselves for LRRH17

No one knows since when the giant, black bear has lived in the forest near Theed. Many stories about the origin of Kylo Ren circulate in the small village. After Rey has run away from Jakku, and arrived in Theed she has heard them all of, but has never actually meet the creature. This changes when her and her friends get attacked by bandits on their way back from Otoh Gunga.

- Your Sweetness Comes With Sugar on the Side for Lutrosis

Rey's daughter loses her mother as she wanders around the Supermarket. Ben finds her and the two connect over both being Type 1 diabetics. They find Rey, and Ben and Rey are instantly smitten. As they date and fall in love they discover that Jade and Ben are connected more than they thought and healing is brought to the Solo/Skywalker clan.

- Allegories, or Allusions to Real Life for maq_moon

“Boys, please stop arguing.” Rose rubbed her temples. “Poe, we get it, you’re childhood best buddies, you’ve got a better grasp on his character than some rando of a rando you met at a party. Finn, for fuck’s sake, we’ve been working with Ben for months. I’m pretty sure if he’s a serial killer or whatever, it would have come out by now.” Finn sat back in his seat, grumbling. “Not how serial killers work.” Rey was going to have a headache if this continued any longer, so she lied through her teeth at the reality of a new player joining their D&D party. "He seems nice." She didn’t trust a single inch of skin on that man. "I'm sure it'll be fine."

- A Mad Man, with a Box for MBlair

Rey and Ben meet, move in together, get engaged, and marry.

- Invite the Wild In for midwinterspring

Kylo Ren, the mysterious senator who appeared from out of the deserts of Jakku and somehow brought them back to life, has spent a long and unproductive session on Hosnian Prime. Now, it's time to go home. After all, there's someone waiting for him and so much for them to do together.

(The ancient Sith had some interesting rituals.)

- Purim Party for MissCoppelia

Rey goes back to visit her foster mother for a Purim celebration. She meets Ben Solo who's visiting his parents, who are friends with her foster mother. They have an attraction to each other right away, but try to play it cool.

- The Banished Heart for misszeldasayre

On Rey of Niima’s nineteenth name day, Jakku gains a new wizard.

Jakku is a withering outpost of the kingdom, and its people hope the new wizard - the mysterious Kylo Ren - will bring them the rains the land needs to heal. Rey is a lonely, clanless girl living in Niima, and she has a secret. One she hopes the wizard will be able to help her with too.

- The Smuggler's Bride for MyJediLife

Miss Rey Nemo is the new mistress of Manor Takodana, left to her by the late Lord Skywalker. When a strange man named Kylo Ren appears on her doorstep, she decides to hire him as her new groundskeeper. As Rey faces sinister threats and secrets are revealed, Kylo Ren may be the only person who can save her.

- Annabel Lee for myownlittleinfinity

Rey keeps finding these ... notes in her locker. She doesn't quite get them. They seem like love notes, but she doesn't know who they could be from. Meanwhile she's paired up with Ben Solo (who hates her despite her gigantic crush on him) for this English assignment. Who knows how THIS will go.

- with my body i thee worship for niennathegrey

- the losing game for no_big_deal

Sith Princess Rey Palpatine is given a peculiar gift for her Life Day: a Jedi. Not only that, one who is boorish, spirited, and stubborn. But, he presents an opportunity: one that could liberate her from a life under the thumb of her grandfather. She has seven weeks to change his heart before all her freedom is taken from her - forever.

- standing right in front of you for notkellymarie

When Senator Solo's engagement is pushed forward, he and his Jedi bodyguard, Rey, travel to Naboo alone for the announcement ball. The pair despise each other, constantly bickering and disagreeing with each other, which makes spending extensive amounts of time alone together all that more difficult. Until of course, one of them breaks...

- the good, the bad, and the smuggling for OccasionallyCreative

Ben Solo is a seasoned smuggler. And he’s not bad at it, either. But when bounty hunter Rey offers him a temporary partnership he can’t refuse, Ben will find himself pushed to the limits of his skill, patience, and resourcefulness on a job that’s dangerous enough to be his last.

It’s like his dad used to say: bounty hunters are nothing but trouble, kid.

- Whatever our souls are made of...his and mine are the same for Padawan_Writer

Ben and Rey meet only after Kylo has defected from the First Order and returned to the Resistance and his mother. Will the dyad still find a way to be?

- They say that only the dead have seen the end of war for politicalpadmé

“He traded his life for mine,” Rey choked, stomping back and forth in front of him so fast he could barely keep track of her. “He died. He died so I didn’t have to—and it’s not—it’s—after everything he’s gone through—it’s not fair.” Tears were running down her cheeks now, and Poe wanted to do nothing more than hug her, but there was nothing he could say—nothing she would want to hear. Poe remembered all the people he’d lost, all the times he had raged and screamed and cried about the unfairness of it all. “Leia sacrificed herself to bring him back,” Rey declared suddenly, ceasing her constant pacing around the fire as she looked straight at him. “And he sacrificed himself for me—and now no one’s going to know. All he’ll be remembered as is Kylo Ren, but he was—he was so much more.” She exhaled with a shudder and whispered, “He was a part of me, and I—I don’t feel whole without him.” ~

A Force Ghost Ben/Rey love story, with a side of rebuilding the galaxy.

- Cicatrix for Priestly

Getting cut up by Rey on Starkiller awakens something in Kylo.

- I Will Always Be With You for Prix

But she wouldn’t be able to hide her pregnancy for much longer. She was starting to show, and her friends would start asking questions. She would have to give them answers, some of them would not understand, and none of them would accept.

She carried his child. The tiny spark of light woven with darkness, just like her. Just like his father.

—————

The world has gone dark More times than you Or your mother Or your grandmother Can remember. And every hurricane That was meant to be The end of it all Had instead ended In sunshine again.

So believe me When I say; You will survive this And the next one too.

World’s End—Nikita Gill

- all my daydreams are disasters for QueenOfCarrotFlowers

During her search for the infamous Luke Skywalker — the man who predicted a devastating earthquake in New Madrid, Missouri — Rey finds herself entangled in Luke’s family history and with his brooding nephew, Ben Solo.

- on what ground I was founded (when I first saw you) for redbelles

Kylo dreams of Rey after the Battle of Crait. And the yearning is mutual...

Some Force Bond dream smut inspired by "Shrike" and "NFWMB" by Hozier.

- Last Summer for Reykenobi68

Rey had started to get used to Ben not living next door anymore by the time the holidays came around. Then he's back for the holidays. Rey is really expecting things to go wrong after the way he left at the end of the summer. ut is it really going to be that bad.

- The Long Way Home for reylotrash711

In the aftermath of Exegol, Ben and Rey are divided by misunderstandings. It will take time and danger for them to work things out.

- Under the moonlight for shariling

I don't know why I followed you here. She wanted to reply. Maybe because you're so tall I couldn't help but notice you. Maybe it's because of your hair or the way you move, or maybe it's because of that kind of melancholic look in your eyes. There is something about you that I find terribly attractive and I don’t know what it is: maybe the moon or the alcohol or the wolf I have met before infected me with some strange parasite and now I am hopelessly attracted to dogs, I do not know. She could have said one of these things, any of them, instead she said: “I've never bitten anyone before, and I want you to be my first.”

- Fallen for shipperofdarkness

Prompt: Devil!Ben and Angel!Rey or Angel!Ben and Devil!Rey. How do these two on completely opposite sides fall in love and defy worlds to be together?

- come away with me for silentfleur

Rey owns a tinker shop, but her life changes when she meets Ben Solo and is cursed by a witch. Not necessarily in that order.

- A Picture of Me Without You for SpaceWaffleHouseTM

"I suppose I'd somehow struggle through / But I'd hate to picture myself without you."

It's impossible not to have a soulmark. It's not a big deal, not in the lax and gin-soaked speakeasies of 1920s Manhattan, but it's still a heavy weight to bear, as Ben Solo and Rey find out side by side.

- Lips Raw With Love for stellardarlings

Their kiss on Exegol wasn't their first kiss...

Nor would it be their last.

- Everyone Makes Divine Mistakes for Takekurabehime

Jedi Knight Ben Solo is sent to Naboo on an errand of mercy (and to visit his grandparents). He arrives in springtime; but will he be able to complete his mission without finding himself distracted and bewildered when love and intrigue waft through the fragrant air?

- Glitter & Gold for TearoomSaloon

Rey is lead singer in an up-and-coming glam metal band. They've finally got steady performances, but that means playing at the same club as the Knights of Ren, whose lead singer definitely isn't interested in any competition.

- To kiss like lovers do for the-reylo-void (Anysia)

Ben and Rey spend their formative years growing up together in Medieval Scotland and it looks like they will end up together. Circumstances intervene and Rey loses her chance to be with him. Devastated, she carries on until the day clan Ren attacks Castle Jakku lead by the notorious killer Kylo Ren.

- Snow Turns To Rain for thehobbem

For a moment, he wanted to ask what she meant, but if he was being completely honest, he already knew. He asked himself that same question over the years, and none more often than tonight, since seeing her again. Was leaving worth it? Was going their separate ways worth leaving each other?

“I’m not sure,” he said finally, shaking his head. “I’m happy...” he said, and she tensed a little, so he continued, “with my work. I’m glad I’m doing what I love, but....”

“But?”

“But it wasn’t the only thing I loved.”

- Change the Dance for theresonatinglight

- Meet Me in the Woods for thewayofthetrashcompactor (BriarLily)

“What do you mean no one goes in there?” A chuckle. “It’s haunted. People see all sorts of weird things in there and some don’t ever come out. You’re better off living with your curiosity.” Rey wakes in a shadowy forest with no memory of where she came from, only her name. With the help of the resident guardian she takes a journey to figure out her past, and maybe even discover her future.

- permanent calligraphy (your name on me forever) for Thursdaygirl

As they continue to work together, two things become clear. One: Ben Solo is an enigma. He’s preppy yet humble, privileged yet introspective. He’s the opposite of lazy; she kicks herself every day for assuming otherwise. And two: Ben Solo will never love her.

- show me the stars. for tmwillson3

“I don’t hate Christmas, I just don’t love it the way you do.” Lifting his head, he pulls a face, loosening up a tangled ornament of a poodle with pink, curly fluff. Rey snatches it from him possessively, tossing it back to the cart. “No one loves it the way you do, to be fair.”

“Now that’s the truth,” says Poe, who Finn invited about half an hour ago to keep him company.

“People have bad taste, I don’t know what to say.” Huffing, Rey scrolls through her phone with more intent. “Neither of you are helping me, anyway.”

“What’s the problem?” says Poe.

“Rey thinks her hot neighbor hates her —”

“He does hate me.”

“ — When really he’s been flirting with her for the past, oh I don’t know, how long have you lived there?”

- I realized that I need you, I wondered if I could come home for VR_Trakowski

Rey is doing exploration work for the Resistance, searching for force sensitive planets so any force sensitives that they find have a place to train.

One day, midflight she finds a slip of paper with the elegant scrawling words of the ones that came before. The ones that she found when Ben still roamed the galaxy.

When she lands on a dark and barren planet she is forced to face the feelings she thought she buried.

- Shadows of the Moon for walkingsaladshooter

The hallways got darker, the corridors grew longer. Shadows stretched across the walls. The ghosts of Breha Manor grew each night.

Rey clutched her necklace. Ben met her gaze.

And every night, there was weeping.

- show the way (the world could be) for writergenie

In the aftermath of the Battle of Crait, Rey struggles to find her place among the Resistance. However, her lingering Force bond with Kylo— Ben— whatever name he calls himself— complicates things, blurring the line between friend and foe.

When the tension threatens to boil over and a desperate plan goes awry, Rey begins to wonder whether there really is a line between light and dark after all.

(Stars do burn brightest in the blackness of space.)

- why don't we go (somewhere only we know) for XarisEirene

The bond snaps back into place, even stronger than before. He is here. With Rey, yes, but with Luke - Luke, who is looking at them now with that same dangerous glint in his eye that haunts Ben’s dreams.

- renewed, transfigured, in another pattern for yodalorian

Rey mourns on Tatooine while Ben is stuck in the World Between Worlds. But neither of them are alone, and blue butterflies light a path back to each other.

#reylo #reylo fanfiction anthology #rffa writers #to find your kiss #master post #mod post #photo edit

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saint-eridell · 4 years

Text

A Silent Prayer (Midoriya Izuku/F!Reader)

I… honestly don't know how this happened. The words just kinda came out. I didn't start out intending to write a slow burn saga, but that's apparently what my brain decided to do with it. Might continue the series at some point, to be honest; this whole universe has its hooks into me.

Collab piece for @lemonlordleah-shinzawa-kitten's Citrus Dome server collaboration. 15k, completed, proofread, no beta. Pairings: Dryad!Midoriya Izuku/Human!Reader, Human!Toshinori Yagi/Dryad!Midoriya Inko Prompt: Gods Content warnings: Background character death, non-con (very brief, not explicit)

Read on AO3

Quick Guide (ctrl-F to jump)

Prologue

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

---

Prologue

Your village's clearing, while spacious enough to afford room for a small population, is essentially cut off from the outside world by the dense verdant wall that circles it on all sides. One of two paths out leads toward a well-maintained temple where the locals (and rare traveler) leave offerings to the Fae that populate the forest, and one leads out to the nearest trading post… which lies a week's away ride on a speedy horse. This clearing of hand-built homes and ancient looking shops is the only thing you've known. Your studies as a temple attendant began young, before you could even comprehend what you were training to do, and have kept you attached to the village with zero chance of travel.

That has suited you just fine so far. From what the hunters talk about seeing in the forest… you'd rather stay alive than "sightsee".

The first thing you're taught in your village is to respect the forest. Even the youngest of your people know not to step in Fae circles, or follow strange sets of eyes in the dark, or listen to any voices that come trickling out of the treeline on quiet nights. The Fae could be immensely giving, but they're fickle creatures on a good day and absolutely dangerous at their worst. Contact with any roaming Fae, regardless of the type or how friendly it seems, has long been banned among your people. Your job as an attendant, despite a common misconception that you have direct contact with beasts and monsters, is to maintain the temple, greet travelers, and meditate among the many gardens built within the temple walls.

Worship is a part of your daily routine. Each season you place the fruits of your labor at the altar. Every day you pray. It’s human nature, seeking answers from the Gods.

But you never expected one to answer… much less three times.

---

Part 1

The first time is after a terrible fire that razes half of the village during your first year of training. A roaming wyvern tears through the fields surrounding its back half in a fury, razing an entire cluster of homes and over half of the summer crops already suffering through a prolonged drought. The village finds itself in disarray amid the smoldering remains: one half wants to burn the temple in retaliation, seeing the wyvern as an omen that some Fae lord is on the warpath, while the other seeks to gather what remained of the crops as one final beseechment to whoever or whatever they'd angered.

Having just been initiated, your young mind goes directly to one of your first lessons: true offerings are of the heart. In your barely school age mind, that means offering something that means a lot to you. After some consideration you narrow it down - your favorite doll, a gift from a mother you never had the chance to know - and take it to the temple. You find a quiet altar to lay the doll down upon, and as soon as you find your knees to begin praying before it you catch sight of a boy hovering behind the marble pedestal.

His head is wrapped in emerald linen, but it rounds off enough to suggest there's densely packed hair underneath. A single curl peeks out at the center of his forehead, somehow even deeper than the rich dyed fabric over it, its point resting between huge green eyes that seem to peer right down to your very soul. It would be eerie if he wasn't smiling at you with a gap where one tooth should be, a bright beam of sunshine in an otherwise rather gloomy marble-lined room.

"Is that a doll?" he asks, and his voice chirps with the same excitement of the first few birds that poke out of the melting winter snow. You nod, frozen with trained hesitation that wars with your naive curiosity - he doesn't look familiar, nor does he look like the child of anyone who had recently come through the village. But he doesn't look dangerous to you. He's barely as tall as you, and he smiles too nice to be a threat… right?

You open your mouth to call for your matron but the boy holds both hands up suddenly, his eyes somehow widening even further with a bolt of fear. "Wait," he whispers. "I'm not supposed to be here. I heard people praying and snuck away from my mother." He tilts his head. "Did you sneak away from your mom, too?"

You shake your head in response. "I live here," you explain quietly, matching his hushed tone. "I'll work in the temple one day. I came here to offer my doll so our fields will come back."

The boy's face splits into a grin. "Does that mean I'll get to see you again?"

You aren't given time to answer: a sharp voice echoes into the room from somewhere beyond the open door, growing louder by the second as someone approaches. You turn your head to listen until a quiet shuffling brings your attention back to the boy, who's moved around the altar and taken the doll in one hand. He quickly tugs off the linen wrap covering his head and thrusts it toward you. You struggle to grasp it, shocked by a pair of tiny antler nubs that poke through the curls on the top of the boy’s head... or Fae’s rather. There’s no mistaking the point of his upper ears. "Here," he whispers urgently. "It's my favorite, so be careful with it. Wrap it around some ashes from your burned crops and bury it in the middle of the field." He waves as he steps back with another one of those beaming smiles, your doll clutched tight to his chest. "I promise I'll keep your doll safe. Maybe we can play next time!"

You blink, and as quick as he appeared he's gone. Matron Elspeth, a short and round woman with more than enough years in the temple to justify her limited patience (and the woman in charge of your temple training), appears behind you the second he’s gone. “We’ve been looking for you everywhere,” she snaps as she grabs you by the upper arm and hauls you toward the door. “We’re convening the-

You dig your heels into the floor. “Wait!” you exclaim with all the assertiveness your tiny voice can muster. “I have something!”

The matron stops to glare down at you. You hold up the linen like it’s a prized tapestry. “A boy appeared in here and gave this to me. I brought my doll as an offering and he gave this to me.”

The matron’s brows knit deep between her eyes. “And you took it?”

You nod eagerly, but you aren’t prepared to see such a terrifying old woman blanch like she just witnessed a murder. She stops you both in the hallway, all sense of urgency abandoned, a wrinkled hand held to the wall as she breathes out a long, ragged sigh. “Oh, child,” she murmurs. “I don’t think you realize what you’ve just done.” She gives you a smile that’s softer than anything you’ve ever seen from her, and it’s disarming enough to have you stunned silent. Isn’t she supposed to be rapping you across the knuckles with her willow switch? “He was Fae, wasn’t he?”

You nod slowly, your excitement slowly twisting into pangs of dread. “I didn’t give him my name,” you burst out after a sudden realization - of course she’s worried, she thinks you just signed yourself away to the forest. What was the first thing she’d taught you? You wave your hands in front of you defenselessly, the scarf flapping back and forth. “I only said the doll was my favorite, and that I’d brought it as an offering. He said this headscarf was his favorite and that I should bury it in the field wrapped around some ashes from the crops and -”

“Eeeeeeasy,” Elspeth chides gently. She lowers herself to a knee to put herself on eye level with you, both hands wrapped around your shoulders. “You did the right thing. I wouldn’t have expected someone so small to learn our ways as quickly as you have.” She holds her hand out for the scarf and you hand it over. She turns it over gently, running her fingers over the seams with a pensive hum. “And you say he told you to bury it?”

“In the field, wrapped around ashes from the burned crops."

“And you absolutely did not give him your name?”

You shake your head fervently. “He didn’t even ask for it.”

Elspeth’s frown deepens. “Curious.” She rises slowly to her feet with a wince as both knees audibly crack under her shifting weight. You grab her arm to help her stay upright as she rests a hand on the wall once again with a low groan. “I’m getting too old for this,” she grouses. “You need to hurry up and grow already so I can hand off the robes.” Her wrinkled hand takes one of yours as she leads the way toward the temple’s main hall. “Tell me more about the boy.”

You go through everything you can remember - same height, pale freckled skin, lots of green curls, big eyes… “Oh, and horns,” you add on.

Elspeth stops you both at the end of the last hall. Several groups of people in various temple garb hover in the large foyer beyond, but your matron turns your back to them with both hands on your shoulders. She bends low at the waist to stare you down from only a few inches away. “Horns?” she hisses.

You nod, confused by the sudden change in her demeanor. “Tiny ones,” you reply. “Like when the young bucks grow their first set at the beginning of summer. I didn’t see them or his ears until after he gave me his scarf.”

Elspeth goes quiet for several seconds, her gaze averted to the throng behind you, and just as you open your mouth to question if she’s okay she’s steering you around and through the crowd with a purpose. “We need to speak to the temple Ascendant,” she urges quietly. “This is beyond both of us now, little one.”

---

Part 2

You hadn’t been approached by just any run-of-the-mill forest creature. If you really had experienced the entire moment (which the linen basically proved without a shadow of a doubt despite your own dumbfounded disbelief), you’d come across a young dryad. Or rather, he’d found you, which is an incredible occurrence in itself: dryads are known for being among the most reclusive of Fae, preferring to live in their heavily altered pockets of the forest where only their kind can survive. According to the ancient lore they’re protectors of a vast plane beyond the one humans live in, a vanguard of Fae hidden among life-providing vegetation and deceptively thick forest floor in wait for someone or something to come along and threaten their territory. The tomes in the temple library are filled with tales from “survivors” of attacks by wandering dryads, all telling of razor sharp teeth and sickly green skin and a heathenly worship of the old gods that on its own warrants avoiding them at all costs.

But in the whirlwind following your encounter with the young Fae, something becomes glaringly obvious: no one wants to talk about who had provided the linen that saved them all, despite it successfully bringing back their fields during a single earth-shaking rainstorm and assuring a solid harvest that would more than provide through the winter. All the villagers flock to the temple with offerings by the basket, but no one wants to acknowledge who had actually saved them. That reality sticks with you like a sharp thorn, as does the dryad boy’s hauntingly sweet voice as you grow older within the temple walls, your studies growing more intense by the year. By the time you reach adulthood, you’re actively involved with just about every aspect of temple life. You’ve grown popular among your fellow attendants and the temple-goers alike, even the ones who seem reluctant to be there at all. Your easy-going demeanor and disarming smile is able to diffuse even the staunchest of cynicism. You have, for all intents, and purposes, become the shining example of everything Matron Elspeth raised you to be. Nothing in this world makes you prouder than knowing you're on the way to earning her robes… and maybe, at some time in the future, the temple Ascendant's.

You remain faithful to your doctrine, but in the dead of night every full moon you pray that he’ll come back. You’ve had years to think about it: if you give him a “given” name, he’ll have to use that. It’s not yours, so he won’t own you. Dryads are attracted to beehives, presumably for the same reason pixies are attracted to berry bushes (an almost impulsive sweet tooth) so you’re ready with a clump of the temple’s finest honeycomb every time the moon reaches its largest point.

But despite your increasingly saddened prayers and offers over the years, no sign of him or any other dryads appear. There are rumors of the occasional peculiar looking traveler with big green eyes, but your temple work prevents you from wandering into the village unless it’s on a designated supply pickup day. Elspeth tells you to forget him and focus on your studies every time she catches you quietly moping: “We can’t have our future Ascendant being wooed away by some doe-eyed boy, regardless of if he’s human or not.”

On the evening after your confirmation and the following party, once you’ve returned from the village and gathered up your usual prayer supplies, you make your way to your favorite altar in the temple as the moon finds its highest point in the sky above. The room’s roof has been removed to give a full view of the sky for astral worship, but you prefer it for the way it allows moonlight to fill the center with a skirt of fading dark that swallows the edges of the room. It’s easier to focus here, to lay yourself bare before whatever force that lays beyond the clearing’s edge and let it speak through the beams of light emanating from above.

Elspeth disapproves of your “fixation”, but doesn't argue back when you request privacy for the rest of the evening. Your birthday this present is in the form of your matron keeping all wandering staff away from your prayer room, and that seems perfectly fair to you. You’ve already made plans to repay her empathy with a few of her favorite lemon pastries.

You lay out the contents of the basket hanging from your arm across the marble altar’s polished surface: green and gold candles, several lengths of high quality gold pendant chain, a large bowl of fresh, sticky honeycomb and an ornate goblet full of a rare winterberry mead you were given by the lead hunter’s son (“For the day you get free of that prison and decide to marry”, he’d boasted... his mistake, you’re keeping the mead and he can choke on the cork).

In the center goes a hand-sized velvet pillow upon which you set an emerald big enough to fill your palm. It had taken three years to save up enough for it, but in your eyes it’s the best thing you’ve ever bought. The moonlight dancing off the lines of the gem’s depths flicker and dance exactly like the Fae’s eyes had so many years ago. You pause to take in the sight, transfixed by the shifting planes that white themselves out before immediately shifting to deep green and then to inky black when you tilt your head.

A slight breeze rattling through the room snaps you from your reverie. You glance upward where the moon hangs directly overhead, a wide white circle set deep into an array of scattered stars and inky skyspace beyond. A vivid memory of pale skin dotted with freckles flashes across your mind’s eye and you have to force yourself to redirect to the present, shaking your head hard as the breeze fades away. “Focus,” you murmur to yourself. You don’t have long before the moon will move away from the center of the open roof.

Once the candles are lit, several cones of musky incense set into miniature cauldrons come next, wisps of pungent smoke permeating every dark corner of the room within seconds. You kneel before the altar once everything is in place with your plain white robes folding neatly under you. As you take your first deep breath, the incense fills your nose and drowns out anything beyond it; a hazy blanket hovers thick and heavy in your sinuses, even after you exhale.

This is an easy process for you. You've long mastered how to find your own meditative headspace through years of disciplined practice. You let the chirping of bugs beyond the temple echo around your ears, your breathing slow and light. You tilt your closed eyes up toward where you can vaguely tell the glow of the moon is strongest. "I have no crisis," you say in your head. "I seek no power, no glory, no riches. I only wish to see my friend again." A deep sense of peace radiates down to your bones as you let out a slow breath. The entire room comes to a standstill, even the wind seemingly reverent of your descent toward the lowest floor of your headspace. If you go any further, you feel like you could slip right through the floor.

"We're friends, eh?"

Your eyes fly open as a shriek tears through you, every semblance of calm shattered. You kick yourself backward and the cushion you'd been kneeling on flying forward to bounce off the ornate carving set into the front of the pedestal. You skitter in the opposite direction, prepared to take off running down the hall and find the first guard you come across, when you stop dead with your hands planted to the cold marble floor.

It's him.

The dryad boy is standing in the same spot he'd appeared in last time, smiling at you with that same beaming grin. Or… it looks like him, at least. He's taller now, but he still looks to be around your height, maybe just an inch or so taller. It's obvious he's been up to something strenuous: his tunic sleeves cut off around defined upper arms, where you can spot an array of thin scars set into his pale, freckled skin. He's dressed in emerald traveler garb, a linen wrap identical to the one he'd given wrapped loosely around his neck, and as you look further up you choke on a gasp.

You hadn't been hallucinating all those years ago. The tiny antler nubs he'd been sporting before have grown fivefold and now branch over his head in tall, proud spikes that circle his hair like a jagged halo. He seems to catch what your eyes lock onto and he dips his head, a scarred hand reaching to clutch at the fabric draped around his neck like he wants to throw it up over his head. "I'm sorry," he says quietly, and you're immediately floored by how achingly familiar the lilt of his voice is. You've heard it in your dreams enough to know it's him. "I didn't mean to scare you that bad."

You push yourself up to your feet with an indignant huff. "Scare me that bad?" you grumble back as you dust yourself off and right your robes.

He laughs again, light as air. Your anger slips away at the sound despite your best attempt to hold onto it. You're not some shrinking violet, dammit. "I had to take the opportunity when it presented itself," he replies through a fond smile. "Couldn't help myself."

You huff your disapproval, which gets you another chuckle. "Okay, okay, I'm sorry," he says as he takes a step forward with his hands raised in a show of surrender. "No more scares, I promise." He fixes you with another beaming smile. "Happy birthday. I'm here now."

Your heart flips sideways into your ribs. He'd really heard you. But if he could hear you tonight…

"Why didn't you come any other time I prayed?" you ask before you can consider the implications of your query. You slap a hand over your mouth. "I'm sorry," you say quickly from behind your palm. "I don't mean to say I expected you to listen or appear, I just…"

The dryad fixes you with a concerned frown. "You just what?" he asks back without a trace of anger, which catches you off guard. "I'm not gonna cut your tongue out or anything. You didn't offend me."

You let out your held breath in one hard burst. Thank every god in existence. You pause, waiting to make sure he really isn't angry and just playing head games, then proceed with only a tiny tremble: "I just hoped you would."

Something akin to pain dances across his face and you immediately regret your admission for reasons you can't quite figure out. "I'm sorry," you exclaim again, but he holds up a finger before you can try to babble through a reason why.

"It's not easy for my kind to survive here," he says with a solemnity that draws the entire room to a standstill. "The air is too dry for ones who haven't acclimated to it. I'll admit, the first time I tried I got incredibly sick upon returning home." His gaze flicks to the span of marble between your feet. "But I've been practicing. I should be able to stay a few hours now." He finds your eye again and the sincerity behind them smashes into you like a cannonball. How could anyone ever say his kind are hideous? Is it the antlers?

"If you'll have me, that is."

Oh gods above, below, and in gran's cookbooks. "Of course," you breathe back without hesitation.

His smile returns, wide and genuine, bright enough to narrow the room to just him alone. "I was hoping you would say that." He bows politely, his traveler's cloak brushing the floor as it sweeps back. "I'm sorry, I didn't have a chance to introduce myself before. May I have your name?"

A caustic jolt rushes up the length of your spine. Every hair on your body raises at the root as you cut a glare in his direction. Oh no no no, you didn't go through an entire childhood of Matron Elspeth's lectures to fall for his ruses that easily, no matter how hard he makes your stomach flutter. "No you may not," you say back with practiced ease. He sits up abruptly to give you another wounded look, but you're too on guard for it to work. "I'm sorry." You really aren't.

He huffs a laugh. "Fair play. I should have known better. May I have a name to address you by?"

You've trained for this your entire life. In no way is he going to get you. "No you may not," you say again. "But I was born under a sparrow's first nest." A meaningless fact that would at least lead him toward something you'll answer to without naming you directly. Elspeth is going to be so proud.

He hums, seemingly picking up your subtle lead. "Sparrow, then," he confirms. "It suits you."

You clear your throat as the collar of your robe shifts against your reddening neck. You can't hold eye contact and keep your flush contained so you opt for the former while your hands clasp respectfully behind your back. You're an anointed temple servant. You won't be reduced to a pile of girlish mush in your own temple. "Thank you," you reply with a polite bow. "And is there a known name I may refer to you by?"

"Deku," he chirps back. "You could have just asked. I'm not as picky with my known name as you humans seem to be."

You straighten up with a placid smile. "Can you blame me?"

Deku shrugs. "I mean, a little," he replies with an honesty that almost knocks you backward again. "I've seen the records humans keep on us. The way your "beastmasters" talk makes us sound like feral crypt monsters."

You catch the bitterness in his tone and squirm on the spot. You hadn't meant any insult. "We've had a lot of people killed by dryads over the years," you reply as gently as you can. "And even more that have disappeared around the same time one was seen. The people here are just fearful."

"Fear doesn't excuse ignorance." His jaw flexes and your frame draws tight with tension. He takes a slow breath as he pauses, and his anger visibly recedes. "But you haven't taken off running yet, so I guess it's safe to assume you're not as ignorant as the others."

Your voice drops to a murmur when you respond. "I remember what you did for us. We would have starved the winter after that fire if you hadn't brought our crops back."

"Thank my dad for that. It was his idea. He couldn't make the trip himself, so he sent my mom and I with instructions."

The pieces click into place with a weight that knocks the wind from your lungs. Deku watches you ponder as he steps around the altar and perches on its edge. "You didn't just save us. You risked your life to do it. But… why?"

"Because you asked me to-" He plucks the goblet and gives it an appreciative sniff. "-And you brought a worthy offering to go with it." He sips the mulled wine with a deep groan of approval. At least the idiot who'd been hitting on you throughout the entire celebration has good taste in booze. "Winterberries?" You nod, and he takes a longer sip before offering you the goblet. You take it with pride as he traces his thumb over his lower lip to catch a stray drop (don't stare don't stare don't stare don't stare). "Gods, this is fantastic. I hope your meadery has put in offerings, because they deserve whatever they were asking for."

You go to take a sip as he continues his praise, but another bolt of anxiety keeps you from raising the cup all the way to your lips. This isn't a directly outlawed interaction (you can't recall a rule that says you're not allowed to share an offering, as far as you can remember); however, something still feels… ominous about accepting such an offer. Or maybe you're just being paranoid. The lore books also said dryads instinctively kill humans on sight.

His features darken at your hesitation. "I can guarantee that I've already got a tolerance if you just tried to slip me something," he spits out with a mix of anger and raw hurt. The venom in his tone paralyzes you with fear and for a long moment all you can do is stare at him with wide eyes. You swallow around your dry tongue as you struggle to formulate a disarming response.

"It's not like that," you finally say back with the goblet held in both shaky hands. You raise it for a prolonged sip and make a display of showing that you actually took a drink, which seems to assuage his anxiety as much as it does yours, the mead warming your throat and chest as it settles in a warm ball somewhere deep in your core. The Hammerbar meadery doesn't mess around with the efficiency of their products, apparently. "See? If there's something in it now you'll know."

Deku shakes his head. "Then let's hope it's just mead. I'm sorry. I don't think you'd do that." He turns away to pick at the honeycomb and pops a corner into his mouth, which is received with another appreciative noise from deep in his chest.

The conversation is light and easy from the very beginning. He's young for his kind with double your lifespan ahead of him, maybe longer if he "ascends" (a term that has you both laughing in solidarity as you commiserate on your respective mentors). After a good hour of chatting a silence finally lapses between you, the buzz of cicadas filling the space as Deku picks up the last chunk of honeycomb. You sit at the altar's base, just within touching range of the leg he has dangling over the edge of the pedestal, his eerie green eyes trained on you with the sharpness of a royal blade.

He's ethereal in close range. The air around him carries a drift of something wild and feral, like an inaudible drumbeat that thumps in time with your heart.

"Do I make you nervous?"

That feels like a loaded question if you've ever heard one. He seems to pick up on your hesitation once again and tilts his head, his lips parted slightly around a faint smile that makes your heart skip a beat. "No," you reply, but it's a hollow projection. Deku raises a brow, a clear sign he caught your lie.

"Uh… maybe a little. You said it yourself, human understanding of your kind is apparently woefully inaccurate." Which bothers you a lot. You're one of the people responsible for interpreting every tome in the archive. How much else do humans have wrong?

Deku nods. "I know it's not very helpful, but we don't hate humans. The elders pity your lack of connection to wild magic, but that's a sentiment that's fading with the younger generations."

"And what do you think of us?"

The Fae pauses, his head tilted askew as he ponders your question. You have the urge to take it back before he replies suddenly, his teeth flashing in a grin that makes your stomach flip and promptly fall into your feet:

"I don't care about other humans. I care about you."

You swallow hard. You're completely unprepared for the weight of his tone. It's all you can do to remember to breathe normally as panic and excitement go to all-out war. You're vaguely aware that you've been warned about this: Fae rely on glamour magic to conceal their true selves while among humans. The closer you are to one and the longer you spend there, the more likely you are to fall for it. This isn't him, you say to yourself in a firm tone. You're seeing a spell. And yet you remain rooted to the spot amid the molasses-thick silence, his emerald eyes transfixed on you like he's trying to bore himself right down to your soul. Logic is no longer enough to make yourself move, to speak, to do anything but watch him with deep fascination. Part of you doesn't want to move at all, and you're vaguely aware that your lack of fear should probably be some kind of warning sign.

He suddenly pushes himself off the altar and lands on his feet, cat-like and eerily graceful, his hand extended to help you up as well. You take it and are immediately shocked by how rough his palm is under your fingers. He doesn't look old enough to have gone through years of hard labor, but his hands tell a completely different story. You frown at your palms where they're flattened together, his weathered fingers draped gently around the side of your hand. He radiates heat like a stone dock in summer. Even with a foot or two between you, you have to wrestle down the urge to step closer and draw yourself into the warmth that surrounds him.

He leans far enough to get your attention and flashes you another dazzling smile (you're not insane, he can't feel even warmer now how is that even possible). "I have a present for you," he chirps. A hand disappears into his satchel and reappears a moment later with a long piece of rich emerald silk. You can't help but beam until your cheeks ache: the delicate gold embroidery along its edges is identical to what is on the linen scarf you've held onto for all these years. The delicate silk threads are woven into a river of shiny deep green that pools around your fingers in feather-light ripples. It's clearly worth more than anything you've ever owned and everything you currently own combined, adding an extra level of surreal that has your head slightly spinning.

"I embroidered it myself," he says, pride radiating through his words. He holds it up with an encouraging nod toward you. "May I?"

It takes your brain a few seconds to catch up with what's happening, but when it does you nod slowly. He closes the gap between you in one slow step and oh, you aren't ready for the scent of earth and pine that radiates from him and the crackle of something intangible that hits you like a mallet once you're nearly standing chest to chest.

The scarf is draped over your shoulders in a single flourish. He secures it in an ornate knot at your throat, his knuckles dragging little brushes of electricity across your skin as you do your best to stay still. Gods, whatever glamour he's using is powerful because he's absolutely breathtaking this close. The freckles you remember from so many years ago are still there, softened by the slight tan of his cheeks but still a pronounced constellation under his soft eyes as he smiles down at you with a mind-nymbing warmth.

"Green is your color," he murmurs close enough for you to feel his breath ghosting across your throat. Your heart flies upward and, on a whim you can't wrestle down, you reach for his hand once again to deftly slide your fingers between his. Deku jumps, clearly startled, but he makes no move to pull away or retreat. In fact, he gives your hand a squeeze in return that makes every hair on your body stand on its end. He draws even closer, pressing out every bit of air between you. Your interwoven hands are guided to between your chests, the breeze and ambient noise from outside coming to a dead standstill.

"I never forgot you," he rumbles, eyes half-lidded from the close proximity. "Not for a second."

"I dreamed about you," you whisper back, and the last few inches between you are gone in an instant. You draw in synchronized inhales as a surprisingly strong set of arms wraps around your back. Your own thread around his waist to clutch at the Fae and keep him pressed close with a sudden flash of desperation. He seems to be of the same mind: he kisses you with a ferocity you've never known, demanding and insistent enough that your lungs' cries for oxygen go willfully ignored. When you finally rip apart it's with another unified inhale and a wonble as the world spins on its ear. You can feel yourself grinning despite the shock still numbing out your brain.

A Fae kissed you… and you kissed him back without hesitation. There's something unsaid in the room now and it hangs heavy in his stare, which has once again fixated upon you with trickles of gold dancing along the edges of deep green. You quietly gasp. You've never seen feral magic this close. Shouldn't you be afraid by now?

"Come with me," he breathes out of nowhere. Your knees just about give out from shock. What?

"I'm serious." He holds both your hands under his chin. "I can give you things you don't even know exist. Anything you want, I'll make it happen."

You gape back. It's the sort of dramatic offer you read about in children's books, but never in a thousand years did you think you'd really be offered something like this. "Deku…"

"I know it's a lot," he blurts out. "You've spent your whole life here and I would never want to separate you from the world you know, but if I can find you in the same spot twice I'm sure we can find a way to go back and forth -"

Something in you decided the second he asked. There's no question what your heart wants. You press in again while he's rambling to cut him off with another firm kiss. Deku grunts into it as he's forcibly quieted before a hand gently cradles the back of your head.

You pull away with less ferocity this time and hover in his space, hazy with giddiness. "I didn't say no," you whisper, unable to bring yourself to speak any louder. "But there are things that need to be done in the meantime. I have duties here, Deku."

"We can figure out how to do both," he replies with rapidly growing excitement. The thin gold veins around his irises have begun to overtake the emerald. Your heart thunders as his excitement edges on feral. "Please just consider it. If you want, I can come back this same time next year and we can figure it out from there."

A year seems long enough to your addled brain. "Sure," you wheeze. "One year from tonight."

"One year." Deku nods furtively, but as he lets go of you it's obvious you're not the only one who hates having to do it. He looks to the floor, then to the darkest corner of the room where he'd appeared, then back to you with a smile too heavy for the ones you're used to. "I'll be watching over you. The embroidery of that scarf is kind of powerful, so I'd be careful wearing it around anyone or anything that might pull it."

You look to the fabric tied around your neck and your frown deepens. "What's that supposed to -"

Too late. By the time you look up again he's gone, and the altar in front of you is empty.

---

Part 3

You hold his promise close to your heart and don't breathe a single word of it to anyone, even your mentor. Elspeth would have an absolute fit if she figured out you're planning on not only leaving the temple, but running off with a dryad of all things. And besides that, she doesn't deserve the disrespect of knowing all her years of effort might go to waste. You can't bring yourself to face that very real chance just yet.

You stick to your studies and daily duties as your matron's hearth declines through the year, and nearly a year to the day since Deku's last visit the inevitable comes. Matron Elspeth passes in her sleep with you at her side, holding her hand while humming her favorite hymns until you see her chest rise and fall for the last time. She lived to a blessedly old age, but that doesn't help the fierce tear of grief that rips you open when she's finally gone. Elspeth was essentially your mother along with being your mentor.

And beyond that, if it hadn't been for her, you would have never met Deku.

You head up the organization of her final ceremonies, as is your place. Her pyre is constructed along the edge of the clearing's small lake, a neatly organized stack of wood and highly flammable fabric from the temple with a gap in the middle for her remains. You make sure to include clippings from her favorite lavender box as a final personal farewell.

The pyre is set ablaze with your own torch. This is how it has to be. It's how she sent her mentor off, and it will be how your mentor sends you off as well. You can only hope you've given her the honor she deserves, every decision you've made considered.

You make your way back to the temple alone at sunset while the other attendants remain behind. You need time to think. You've spent every quiet moment that day crying alone. If you don't get a second of true isolation you're going to break in front of half the temple. Elspeth wouldn't like that. You're stronger than your grief, at least for the moment, so you make a beeline for your preferred prayer room and let your feet move in that direction on autopilot, emerald scarf drawn up around your cheeks. You hold it close and will yourself to remain calm until there's a door between you and the rest of the world.

You're running by the time you throw yourself into the altar room and shove the door closed behind you. It lands in its frame with a thunderous BANG that muffles the broken sob that cracks from between the hands you have clutched over your face, along with the shuffling of a second person in the room that had gone unnoticed while you were trying to escape everyone else. A boot heel slides along the marble floor and you whirl around, eyes wide as you peer through the strands of summer dusk that pour through the room's open roof. Your heart flies into your throat with a burst of excitement. "Deku?" you call out, shaking with the urge to throw yourself toward the person as he emerges from the darkest shadowed corner.

But it's not Deku. Elation flips to horror as the lead hunter's son appears with a lecherous grin. He's still a good ten feet away, but you can smell strong booze radiating odd him in nauseating waves. "Why are you here?" you demand. "Only temple attendants are allowed in the prayer spaces alone. You need to leave."

"Do I?" he asks back derisively. Ice floods your veins with his first step. You instinctively shuffle back toward the door. "Because I'm pretty sure I can do what I want. Your temple wouldn't have food without me."

"Without your father," you clarify in a sharp tone. All manners have already been abandoned: this is not the day, and you are not the attendant to bother. You don't want to deal with calling guards or causing a cacophony. You just want to be left alone with your grief.

Your comment makes him clench his jaw. "Without." He takes another heavy step forward, and as he draws closer it becomes apparent how much of a size advantage he has. "Me." He takes another heavy step as your bones ice over. You want to take off, but you're terrified that any sudden movement will just propel him toward you faster, and you're not strong enough to shove the heavy stone door open without a few seconds of effort.

"You're drunk," you point out in hopes of derailing his train of thought. You can feel your pulse thumping hard and fast in your throat. "Go home and sleep it off. I won't tell anyone you were here."

"You think I give a shit f'anyone knows I was here?" he slurs back with increasing volume. "You fuckin' demon worshippers are all th'same, so far up your own ass you wouldn't know a good offer if it kissed you right on th'mouth."

A realization hits you like a brick. "Is this about what happened at my birthday last year?" you ask, using his off-kilter focus to your advantage as you slowly begin to step backward toward the door. "You pushed yourself onto me and wouldn't let me go until I kissed your cheek, then you threatened to drop me off the roof if I didn't accept your marriage proposal on the spot. Do you…" You cut yourself off. Of course he doesn't remember. He'd been just as off his head back then as he is now.

"I was only joking!" he retorts. "Why would I drop m'future wife off a roof? Thasstupid. Y're nuts for thinking I'd actually go through with it."

You successfully baby-step your way to within reach of the carved inlet that serves as the door handle. Just keep him rambling. You can hit him with the door before you take off. "And you're nuts for thinking anyone would immediately accept a marriage offer from someone who reeks like the bottom of an ale barrel."

You know the second you shoot off your mouth that it wasn't a good move. He tenses on the spot, both hands drawn into club-like fists at either side, his stony features pinched with disgust.

"You sayin' you're too good for me, bitch?"

He rushes forward, too fast for you to get the door more than a crack open before he throws a massive shoulder against it to slam it shut once more. You scream as he grabs the front of your robes, praying it echoes down the hall with your heels dug against the floor in a fruitless effort to prevent him from bodily dragging you toward the empty altar. He's far too strong to break away from. Your nails digging into his wrists seems to not even register, even when blood wells under them. "Let go," you plead, wide eyed fixed on the pedestal as he drags you toward it clawing and kicking the whole way.

Nothing seems to faze him. He forces your upper half over the marble pedestal with enough force to knock the wind out of your lungs. You wheeze under the weight of a forearm that presses hard into your upper back, reinforced by extra weight that's too heavy to roll out from under. You struggle the entire time, unwilling to stop, with everything in you that isn't trying to escape screaming toward the Aether for someone, something, anything to see what's going on and intervene. You've spent your whole life serving this temple… why would the Fae abandon you now?

As you flail, a small brown sparrow lands on the edge of the open roof and peers down directly at you two. It chirps once, clear as a bell, and the sound hits something deep and instinctive in your chest.

You aren't given enough time to ponder. He grabs your scarf from behind without warning and the knot instantly digs into your windpipe as he yanks the garment back in an attempt to rip it off of you. You sputter and flail your hands to signal for him to let go, to warn him of the danger that lingers in your head with Deku's last warning, but it's not enough.

You hear a piece of embroidery thread snap somewhere in his closed fist. A gust of humid air blasts across you and the weight above you disappears immediately, followed by a nauseating crunch of bones breaking amid the shatter of cracked marble. You wail in fear, clutching to the warmth that had drifted through you with both arms over your head as you sob into the marble. You can't bring yourself to move yet.

Where are you? You said you'd be watching out for me…

You finally force yourself upright once you begin to lose circulation in your arms. You wipe your face, sniffling quietly as you turn. You nearly collapse as a petrified shriek rips itself out of your chest: the hunter had been thrown back against the marble wall next to the door with enough force to crater it inward. His unmoving frame is slumped over in the center amid a splash of red that drips heavily off the jagged edges around him.

It isn't the wall that grabs your attention, though: his tunic has been ripped with several round puncture wounds arranged in a rough circle, the apparent source of the blood pooling at his sides. You tremble from head to toe despite the summer breeze coursing through the room. The longer you stare at the hunter's chest wounds and the way they're arranged, the more they begin to look like…

"Antler wounds."

You smack a hand over your mouth like you'd just hexed someone. He really had been watching out… somehow. What kind of magic had gone into your scarf's embroidered edge? You run your fingers over it, seeking out the thread that snapped. The wind dies out in time for you to hear another set of feet shuffling in the room. It's almost too much; you nearly faint with the panic that latches around your throat. You sway back toward the altar to use for leverage as your knees once again threaten to buckle and are bolstered by a rough set of hands that press against your shoulder blades to keep you upright.

You're too strung out to do anything but gape as Deku - the real one, the same one from the year before with his antlers and freckles and big, terrifying green eyes oh gods he's finally here - steps around and immediately yanks you against his chest. You cling back with both arms circled tight around his ribs and let out another ragged sob into the soft fabric of his cloak.

"Are you okay?" he rumbles. You can only nod back and clutch him like he's keeping you anchored to the ground. You feel his head turn above yours, toward the cracked wall and what remains of the hunter, and a low growl vibrates through him. "I'm sorry," he murmurs. "I tried to get here as fast as I could." You feel his arms tighten around your upper half, boxing you in and insulating you from the sight behind him.

"You saved me," you manage to choke back. "You don't have to apologize for anything." You step back far enough to wipe at your eyes and clear your sinuses, trembling like a leaf in the circle of his arms. "What was that? What attacked him?"

Deku's mouth draws into a tense line. "I can't tell you," he replies. "But I know someone who can." You blink, confused by his ambivalence. "Have you considered what we talked about last year?"

…What? "Of course I have," you retort. Your head hurts. Where's that spiced wine when you need it? "But I hardly think this is a time to talk about-"

"No no no, think about it," Deku cuts in hurriedly. "I don't mean this in a threatening way at all, but the people of your village are going to get suspicious when someone turns up dead with a set of puncture wounds to the chest."

Your entire body numbs out with panic. He's right. Your gaze snaps to the top of his head, where a set of now fully grown antlers jut out of his wild verdant curls. You begin to count how many points they have, but shove the impulse away with disgust. You don't want to know. Even if you did, it's probably for the best to remain ignorant for now.

Voices echo through the open roof from somewhere beyond, possibly the temple courtyard. "I have to go," he says with a hint of genuine hurt. "They can't find me."

This is too much. The decision to leave was always supposed to be planned out. You've had an entire year to get everything ready, only to have your plans shattered into jagged chunks of broken marble by a drunk hunter and some creature powerful enough to kill him with velocity alone. You clutch yourself to his chest again as panic grips your throat with white-hot claws. "We'll find a way to come back, right?" you whisper with a silent prayer of hope to the entire cosmos.

He nods. "I swear it on my name." He pushes you gingerly by the shoulders so he can look you in the face again, his own tense with mounting anxiety. "We have to go now, my sparrow. Please… I'm begging you, come with me. I don't want to go back without you again." His hands tighten over your shoulders as tears well up along the edges of his wide green eyes. "Please."

It feels like your heart has been ripped out of your chest and flung out through the open roof. You open your mouth to blurt out some pained apology for making him assume you'd say no, the voices outside growing louder and clearer in the pause, but can only choke around a whimper as everything you want to say jams in your throat. Instead you simply nod, a single weak incline of your head.

That's all it takes for him to scoop you around the waist again and drag you both sideways toward the corner where he appeared. "You might be kind of shocked when we get through," he warns as he hurls you both toward the marble seam you're convinced is going to split your head open on contact. "Hold your breath!"

The command is sharp enough to make your lungs draw in a deep inhale without conscious thought. Your eyes snap shut as your forehead approaches the shadowed corner; it meets only an icy wall of air as the lights beyond your closed eyelids pitches black. You can feel Deku holding you around the waist, an anchor that keeps you tethered to your own sanity as he rushes you through the dark at breakneck pace. The icy rush whipping against your face seems to deplete the lungful of air you're still stubbornly holding onto and within seconds they're screaming for relief. Deku smacks a hand over your mouth just when you think you're going to break and try to take a breath, and a second later you're both tumbling across the stone floor of an unfamiliar but warm kitchen.

---

Part 4

The second your head stops spinning long enough to see again, you realize there's a woman standing between you and Deku. You weakly recognize the faded emerald of the hair she has trimmed neatly at her shoulders. You glance her over and realize with a jump that the skin you can see around her modest summer dress is a pale shamrock green.

"By the gods, who's chasing you now?"

You blink from where you've landed in a sprawl sprawl against an ornately carved kitchen cabinet, too dizzy from the rush of air that fills your lungs when you take a greedy inhale to answer immediately (even though the question was clearly directed at Deku, who landed upside down with his long legs arched over his head against a stone hearth in a corner of the kitchen). You take another breath, but the bottoms of your lungs feel heavy like they've been filled with a thick gas. Deku slumps over to right himself and immediately looks to you. You're beginning to breathe faster as exhaustion gives way to panic.

The woman turns, fixing you with a look of shock that probably rivals your own. She's a spitting image of Deku, down to the ear points that poke out of her silver-streaked hair and the way her eyes go impossibly wide with genuine emotion. "You're human!" she exclaims.

You nod back, too panicked to form proper words. "Oh… oh, you're human!"

She jumps into motion like she'd just been zapped by a bolt of lightning. She procures a large wooden bowl from a cabinet and fills it with a few handfuls of herbs snatched from dried bundles hanging over the hearth, then steaming water from a kettle that she carefully pulls out from its resting place in the coals. She mutters something in a lilt you can't follow as the bowl is set on the floor in front of you, the woman following suit to kneel on the other side. "Lean down and breathe through the steam," she instructs gently, tilting down to encourage the motion. "The air here is different from the other side. You need to coat your lungs before they start rejecting the pollen floating around."

You tilt forward with a choked noise of panic and take as deep of a breath as you can with the steaming water wafting up across your face. Relief finds you immediately: you can draw a breath all the way to the bottom of your lungs, which takes the edge off your panic enough to finally slow down your respiration rate.

"There you go," the woman encourages gently. She rests a small, comforting hand between your shoulders that's shockingly cold for how warm the kitchen is. "You should be fine now." She turns to give her son an exasperated look. "You brought a human back without giving her anything to prepare?"

"I didn't have a choice!" Deku pleads back. "It was that or risk an entire war on their side-"

The woman holds up a hand to stop him and Deku immediately obeys. "Hold on," she says slowly, turning back to look at you with both brows raised. Her gaze drops to your neck and freezes. "You're the temple girl, the one he's been going to see."

The room goes silent, spare the crackling of the fireplace and your own rapid heartbeat. The older dryad watches, still as stone as she takes you in with one long look before staring at the fabric around your neck once more. All you can do is nod back. something akin to pain flashes across her face and she sits up with a fond smile that doesn't quite reach her eyes. "I'm sure you have a lot of questions, but I think it might be best if you let my son explain a majority of them over some tea. You look exhausted."

My son. "So you're Deku's mother?"

The dryad wrinkles her nose. "Yes," she replies stiffly. "Though I very much dislike his chosen name. It's undignified." She turns to Deku again. "You haven't given her your name yet?"

Deku waves his hands in front of him and goldfishes for a response before you cut in. "It's not his fault," you quickly counter. "I didn't want to offer mine. I was raised in a temple that had some pretty strict rules against that in particular."

"Understandable. Though I can't say I'm thrilled at the prospect of my own son having courted someone for nearly an entire year-" (Courted, what!?) "-Without even having offered his name."

"I did offer it!"

His mother chuckles. "I have to fetch someone who will be of much more significant counsel than I, but that will give you two some time to settle in."

You nod in acknowledgment, but her words don't really process in your brain. Now that you're breathing normally again, exhaustion has begun to creep into your bones. You'd been going on fumes before the hunter decided to ambush you, and now that you've quietly literally been flung through a Fae circle it's hard to do anything but lean against the cabinet. The dryad brushes her hand over your shoulder as she passes on her way out. "My name is Inko" echoes through your own head with the contact, jarring you into a sharp yelp, which only makes her chuckle in the same light-as-air way as Deku.

"Well… this is a hell of a way to meet someone's parents."

Said dryad has found his feet and is watching you with a sheepish smile, a hand absently scratching at the base of an antler. "At least it's over now?"

Your head thumps back against the cabinet. This is too much. You need to sleep. If you don't find somewhere to lay down soon, your body is going to give out. "Could we just…" You glance around the kitchen and into the room beyond, where another hearth flickers around a circle of ornately carved wooden den furniture. Perfect.

He follows your line of sight and seems to catch on without you having to finish your request. He moves toward you, arms extended to help you to your feet. When you wobble upon standing he immediately seams your sides up to take a gentle lead toward the sitting room. The furniture all looks hand-carved, the seats made up of soft animal hides that look older than both of you. He lays you down on the longest bench with a small blanket under your head for a pillow, the deerhide that's draped over the back of the sofa gently pulled across you for a proper blanket.

"We can talk later." He leans down to press a kiss to your temple. You groan as he turns to move away, an arm shooting out from under the hide to grab his tunic and hold him in place.

"Wait," you plead quietly, fatigue tugging heavily at your eyelids. "Please stay with me, at least until I fall asleep." You have no idea where you are or how long you'll be out. All you know is Deku being gone means you're here alone and you absolutely cannot bear that thought.

A soft smile breaks across his face. "Of course," he murmurs back. "Anything you need, just like I promised." You scoot to make room and he steps over to fit himself between you and the back of the sofa without prompting. This is what you really needed: a space heater behind you, a fire in front, and a strong arm draping itself over your midsection to hold the knotted ends of your scarf as you both drift off. If nothing else, Deku has more than proven he'll kill anything that comes near you… or at least has access to something that can.

He's still there when you come to. The lighting in the room hasn't changed when you open your eyes to peer around, and it isn't until now that you notice neither the kitchen nor den have any windows. The fire has burned down to a low pile of flickering embers, which means you were at least out long enough to burn through what had been there earlier. With no view of the sun, however, it's impossible to tell how long you were out.

Your stirring rouses Deku, who grunts in his sleep and pulls you back into his chest. The arm cradled under yours has turned an eerie cold. When it registers you sit up to face him, concerned until it snaps into another bolt of shock.

You yelp and fall off the edge of the sofa. Deku's skin has turned a shade of green identical to his mother's, his freckles standing out in sharp contrast. He bolts upright as well, looking around for the source of the panic before he spots you on the floor, half covered by the deer hide you'd accidentally tugged with you. "What's wrong?" he asks urgently, glancing around again.

"You're…"

He gives you a puzzled look, then glances down to where you're staring at his forearms. "Oh!" His hands rub absently at the opposite forearm as his cheeks flush ever so slightly. "Uh… yeah. I told you you might be a little shocked."

Shit. You did it again. You push yourself up to scoot onto the end of the sofa near his feet, and he respectfully folds his legs up to his chest to give you room without having to make contact. It's a gesture you appreciate, but not one you (or him) necessarily need. You sidle up to his shins, where you lean your side with your hands acting as a chin rest on his knees.

"Surprised is more the word," you clarify before poking your tongue out at him playfully. "A little advance notice would have been nice."

"Hey now," Deku chuckles. "I tried. We had a solid plan going there for a minute." He reaches a hand forward and, with a twitch of hesitation, shifts a lock of hair off your forehead and behind an ear. His fingertips are ice cold, a sharp juxtaposition to the warmth in his tone and the care with which he brushes across your skin. "I'm glad you're here, regardless of how it came to be. I've thought of you every single day since my last visit."

How had anyone mistaken dryads for monsters? If the others are a fraction as kind as Deku and his mother, then they've been handed a grave injustice when it comes to human comprehension of their kind. You lean your head toward his hand and he opens his fingers. Your cheek brushes against his weathered palm, eliciting a shiver that courses down your back as the temperature of his skin clashes against the warmth of the den. For a long moment you simply exist, anchored by the green stare fixed upon your own and the callused thumb that smooths over your cheek. Whatever it takes for you to keep this kind of tenderness around will be well worth the effort. You've already decided (long ago, you silently realize) that he is the only one you ever want to be this close to you.

"Do I make you nervous?"

You're taken back to the altar room for a moment as you recall the image of Deku sitting on the pedestal, bathed in pale light with the cicadas humming behind his ethereal laugh. "No," you reply truthfully, hushed and reverent in the slowly disappearing space between you as you both lean forward. Both your eyelids lower as you both lean closer. It's a chaste contact when Deku leans in to kiss you, as soft as his tone and the way he brushes the rest of your hair from the side of your face. Within a few seconds, the soft contact is enough to have you melting against his hand.

A deep male voice breaks the reverie from somewhere behind Deku: "Ah, excuse us…"

This time you both jump hard enough to nearly land on your asses. Deku pushes himself back until he thumps against the arm rest of the sofa as Inko enters the room, followed by what can only be described as a mountain of a man with wild goldenrod hair and deep-set sclera black eyes, their vivid contrasting pupils locked directly on you as he and the dryad approach.

"I hate to be a bother and intrude on such a formative moment, but Inko was insistent upon checking to make sure you're both still alive." He bows his head in deep apology. You're startled by how easily he seems to hold himself level with the massive antlers jutting out of his hair; they're taller than his head and several inches wider on either side. As you force yourself to not take count of the antler points, you vaguely wonder to yourself how he fits through doorways or in anything less than giant-sized.

Deku rises to his feet, and you quickly follow suit. "Ahh, this is my father," he says quickly. "I get the feeling you two are going to be fast friends."

"If you're willing to risk traversal sickness for her, she's got to be worth her weight in gold," the man booms back. He approaches with a hand the size of a serving platter toward you, the deep lines of his face bent around a beaming grin you recognize on the spot. "My name is Yagi Toshinori. Don't worry, it's safe to introduce yourself to me. I'm not Fae."

You twitch your head to the side but take his hand to shake it anyway, suddenly flummoxed. "But the antlers…"

"A by-product of the life I've found for myself." He lifts an arm as Inko steps up to his side and lays it over her back. It's kind of amusing to see such a small woman under the arm of a moving mountain, but the care with which he moves about her is heart-warmingly familiar. "All by choice, zero regrets."

The two of them take a seat on a smaller bench in the den, and you and Deku take your seats once they're both settled. "The drop in is rough, eh? That ice tunnel is awful."

You frown back. "How did you find this place?"

"I didn't find this place." He puts his arm behind Inko's neck, who leans into him with an appreciative hum. "I found my wife first. She's the one who brought me here."

You can't help but laugh, and mercifully the other three join in. "That sounds familiar," you reply through a chuckle.

"It happens less than it used to, but it's not unheard of," Inko adds. "I had a feeling my son would be following in my footsteps."

There's just enough flatness to her words that you squirm on the spot. "I hope that's not a bad thing," Deku says as he draws himself closer to your side. "Unless my logic is severely flawed, there wouldn't be a son to follow in your footsteps if you hadn't done it first."

Yagi lets out an undignified snort. Inko tries to frown, but it breaks around a smile as she nods in defeat. "All the same, I wish this hadn't been so sudden," she adds. "Not that I'm upset you're here now-" She holds a hand up quickly toward you. "-It was just rather abrupt. I wish we could have had time to prepare a proper welcome."

You glance down to your lap. "Deku saved me from something terrible," you respond quietly. "We didn't really have a choice in the matter." You look up again to offer the older dryad an encouraging smile. "Though rest assured he's been nothing but respectful the entire time I've known him." You bow your head politely. "Your hospitality is much appreciated. Thank you for giving me shelter."

Something behind Inko's eyes softens enough to make your heart twist. She watches you for a long moment, studying you as you do your best to not squirm. "The door has been opened for this place to potentially become your home," she replies to break the silence. "No need to speak of it as a foreign place. You already belong."

You feel Deku draw in a sharp breath. When you glance up to him he's hastily wiping his eyes on the back of his free hand. "Don't mind me," he chirps with a slight tremble. "This is normal. Been a crybaby since I was a sapling."

"You are not a crybaby," Yagi jabs back as he casually swipes a thumb under one of his eyes. "You have a heart."

And I wonder where he gets it, you think to yourself as you lean into Deku's side to comfort him.

The situation that brought Deku's parents together is so similar to your own it's almost eerie: Toshinori had been a well-known hunter from another village who found himself "lost" during an extended journey into the forest; in reality, he'd been lured away from the village so a team of rogues could take him out and claim his hunting grounds. He reached out for Inko, who'd already been coming around in a similar fashion to Deku responding to your meditation, and she answered by snaring the entire group in a wave of venom-thorned vines before sweeping him through a circle and away from the chaos. They were married within a year, and Deku came along a few years after that.

"It's oddly romantic, when you take out the death-by-murder-vine part," you offer to keep the mood light. All three of them laugh, especially Inko, who chortles behind her hand until her cheeks turn pink.

Something is digging at you, though. You can't let the entire moment go without at least trying to ask. "You said you're human," you repeat to Yagi. "But you also say the antlers come from magic. I thought we couldn't access magic."

"We can't," he replies casually. Thank goodness, you'd been incredibly nervous about broaching such a personal subject. "Not by default, at least. Humans haven't earned the right as a whole. However, sometimes things happen and the magic itself chooses someone who might be worth it." He nods toward the scarf tied around your neck. "Not just anyone can affect a connection through something like that. It takes something predetermined by forces beyond our control for that connection to be forged at all."

The air in your lungs evaporates. "So this was fate."

Yagi nods sagely. "Yes, as was me coming here. We aren't the first, and we won't be the last." He jabs a finger at Deku, who's taken to clinging to your side like a newborn bear cub. "His antlers, however, come from a direct blood connection to feral magic. He's full dryad, and it'll be even more apparent once he's eventually the most powerful one."

The world screeches to a halt amid Yagi's beaming pride. You feel Deku go very, very still next to you. "Um… I beg your pardon?"

"The Ascendant," Inko answers. "There is a thread of feral magic more concentrated than anything else recorded in our history. It chooses who it resides within, and whoever that force chooses is essentially the most powerful being in our charted world." She inclines her head toward her son. "And one day that will be him."

You look between the two of them, then back to Yagi. "So that means you're the Ascendant."

"For the moment. My time is coming to an end soon. I've served my purpose, so it's time for the next cycle to begin."

"You don't mean…"

Yagi's eyes go wide. "Oh no no no, I'm not going to die, dear," he booms. "It's time for me to pass along my power. I'm fortunate to have a successor in time, and it would seem like this little excursion is a good indicator he might be prepared for it."

"We don't know that," Deku cuts in, and it isn't until now that you notice how flushed his cheeks are. "It'll happen if it's meant to happen, right?" You lay a hand on his knee that's immediately covered by one of his own. He sags into your side in quiet gratitude.

Inko nods. "And it hasn't happened yet, so we won't fret about it for now." Her tone is soft, but there's a comforting finality ronit that effectively ends the subject for discussion.

You're given a tour of their house, which Deku fervently clarifies is not the place where he's lived for several years (Inko replies with a smug "And yet there's almost always a third plate at the table", which seems to be more than enough for him to take a back seat with his dad and let Inko lead them around). She walks you through the lower floor, where several cozy bedrooms are situated around a circular pit set into the floor. The center is full of a myriad of cushions and pillows in an eye-catching pile of patterns and colors all jumbled together in a space wide enough to fit at least three Yagis with extra foot room. "You can pick any of the empty rooms for yourself," Inko says to you sweetly before shooting a pointed look toward her son, who drops his head and shuffles anxiously on the spot. "But I ask that you remain in yours. I know you're grown, but this is my-"

Deku squirms harder. "Yep, got it," he confirms hastily. It's clear there's literally anything else he'd rather be talking about. "Can we start dinner? I'm starving."

Your stomach audibly rumbles at the mention of food. Yes, that's an excellent idea for more than one reason. When is the last time you ate? If you can't remember, it's probably been way too long. Yagi sweeps everyone toward the stairs with both arms stretched to herd them forward. You silently thank him with a smile as he squeezes your shoulder on the way past.

Four people working at once means dinner is made with a quickness, something you're intensely grateful for when you finally sit down to ea. Your stomach hurts from lack of food so much it almost hurts more to eat until you've got enough sustenance in you to level out. You see to the tableware afterward as Deku cleans what remains of the kitchen mess. The other two take their leave for the night with one last round of greeting, Inko's eyes trained on her son as she warns him about "straying past boundaries" on the way toward the stairs, her husband chortling the whole time.

You and Deku wait in silence until a door audibly opens and closes again. "Well," Deku chirps as he turns to face you with an equally cheeky grin. "I guess I'll bid you goodnight here as well. I'll show you where I live tomorrow, once we've both had a chance to sleep." He takes your hand and kisses the back of it with a dramatic bow. "Sweet dreams, my sparrow."

You snort and take your hand back, but not before giving his fingers a gentle squeeze. "Good night, Deku." His grin turns sly as he moves off to his own room, leaving you to find the smallest unoccupied bedroom for yourself.

---

Part 5

The next morning both Inko and Yagi see you both out, the former not allowing her son to leave the house before he's verbally promised to come by soon (and in a hushed whisper to keep you safe). It isn't until you're outside that the lack of windows is explained: the front of Inko's home is set underneath the roots of a gargantuan tree that juts straight up toward the sky in a massive straight line. You peer upward toward the canopy, but it's so far above the other trees the bare trunk is swallowed by the forest crown on all sides with no way to see beyond. The house sits at the head of a narrow trail with more angled trees visible down the road. "The sooner we get there, the sooner we can get settled," he reminds, offering you a bent elbow.

You smile and slip a hand onto his forearm. You take the short walk to his home in lockstep, Deku's skin cooler in the open breeze where it brushes under your fingers. The air is heavy with humidity and the chill of a light fog that hovers over the trail as you walk down it, bugs chirping and creaking from the grass on either side of the path. It's… idyllic.

Deku's house is almost identical to Inko's, but it's only a single floor and houses, much to your delight, a natural spring under the kitchen. He waves you toward it with a grin and something about a fresh tunic, but that devious little glint in his eye is back when he meanders off to change his clothes as you see yourself downstairs.

The hot spring is a deep pool in its own room with a shallow end that slopes up to the water's edge. The torch-illuminated rock wall behind it shimmers with a stream of water that runs down from somewhere above and down into the pool in a soft, trickling wall, next to a sitting area has been carved out of the rock to the right side of the pool. You dig out a couple of towels and a robe made of butter-soft material from a cabinet before ridding yourself of your dirty temple garb and every garment underneath it, your prized scarf folded lovingly on top of the pile before everything gets placed in a basket next to the edge of the pool. You can't bring yourself to leave the scarf somewhere out of arm's reach, and your robes are the last real thing you own.

The water is hot when you step onto the shallowest shelf, not enough to burn but definitely enough to pull a groan of satisfaction from you as you eagerly step in until you're submerged to your bare chest. Every muscle in your back begins to unclench themselves within seconds. You sink lower into the water, past your chin with a slow inhale and all the way down until your knees touch the stone floor of the pool. Everything goes quiet in a rush of water: it fills your ears and drowns out everything else but the odd bubble of warmth you've found below the water's surface. Your nerves balm themselves over for the first time since flying through the ring amid the trickling quiet. I's just you here, with no one else to drop another surprise on you. You stay submerged as long as you can before pushing back up to breach the surface with a satisfied gasp, your head clearer than it's been for days.

You wipe at your face to clear your eyes of excess water and the first thing you see is Deku hovering at the edge of the shallow bank, a towel slung low over his hips. You yelp and jump back amid a slosh of water, partially out of shock and partially to keep yourself from immediately staring at his bare torso. It isn't enough to stave off the newfound knowledge that he's built like a sprint courier and that he's very, very much naked under the towel. "Gods, you've got to quit startling me," you whimper as you swipe a wet hand over your face.

Deku laughs. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to. To be fair, you were underwater when I opened the door."

You grouse back, but it has no heat. He's right.

"Can I join you?"

Your playful frown turns genuine. "I thought that was understood."

"You didn't say I could come close. You're vulnerable right now. If you tell me to stay out, I will."

"You're very polite for someone who's already stripped down."

His cheeks flush bright pink. "I was hopeful," he replies in an obvious attempt to be aloof, but it doesn't quite mesh with the way he keeps jerking his gaze away from the surface of the water (and, you realize with a bolt of mortification, a clear enough view of your naked form for him to definitely see). "But I meant what I said."

The urge to test him and see what happens flashes through you, but it doesn't seem worth the effort. At the end of it all, you do want him to come closer. You step toward him, willing yourself to keep moving as the water lowers enough to expose your chest. Deku seems equally dead-set on keeping his eyes raised, your flushes a matching shade of garish pink now and getting deeper as you come within arm's reach of him and offer a hand.

"Please?"

His hesitation snaps in an instant. Deku throws the towel aside and hurtles toward the pool, only giving you barely enough time to step aside and avoid the splash of water that cascades over you. He resurfaces and shakes his hair out before turning to face you, grinning from ear to ear. "Am I dreaming? Is this really happening?"

Given your own doubts, there's only one real way to tell. You take the initiative and glide toward him in two long steps and snake your arms around his neck. As soon as you're in reach he pulls you in by the waist and kisses the air right out of your lungs. You break away for a breath, but as soon as you've gotten it he tugs you again and the kiss quickly grows sharper with edges of teeth that clack together every time one of you readjusts your head. A hand pushes into your hair to cradle the back of your head; when you tilt into the angle of his hand he presses his tongue past your lips and all bets are off.

The delicacy with which he's touched you so far is gone. Deku kisses like he's been starved of contact for years on end. You give back everything you're given with enthusiasm until you're both struggling to inhale. A dam has been broken: every bit of excitement, fear, doubt, and loneliness that's eaten at you over the years rushes forth in a tidal wave and it's all you can do to cling to him and hope you're not going to wake up in your own bed at any second.

You finally separate with a wet pop. The both of you hover close enough to brush together as you struggle to regain some composure. Deku sighs quietly, his chest still rising and falling hard enough to disturb the water around him. "So I'm not dreaming," he says quietly. "Good. I dunno if I could have handled waking up without you again."

His admission wobbles around a thread of genuine hurt that has you pulling him into a tight hug, your arms wrapped around him tight. You circle your fingernails over the backs of his shoulders in lazy circles. "You don't have to," you murmur into his ear. "We're both here now." Which, wow that's a wild truth, but it's a truth nonetheless.

Deku clings back with his face buried in the crook of your neck. A silence lapses with only trickling water to fill the gap. There's no need for either of you need to say anything: there's a wealth of communication in the reciprocal drags of his nails, the tiny ghosting pecks he leaves under your ear, the little sighs when you drag your nails up toward his neck. You're more than aware of the fact that there's something hard pressing into your lower stomach that definitely isn't his abs, but your curiosity can wait.

He doesn't seem to agree. The pecks along your throat lengthen into full kisses as he settles above the thump of your pulse. A faint drag of teeth makes you jump and he muffles a laugh into your neck. "So jumpy," he purrs.

You give him a nip to an earlobe in retaliation. He jumps on the spot as you chuckle into his ear: "Who's jumpy?"

That seems to hit a switch. You're pulled up and out of the water in one unceremonious grab as Deku hauls you over a shoulder. Your yelp echoes off the walls but he pays them no mind, spare a wet smack to your bare ass. He doesn't leave you with any other real option besides being hauled out of the spring and up the stairs once again.

His room is somewhere deep in the house. It's impossible to ascertain exactly what anything looks like while you're slung over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes, so when he shuts the door of a bedroom warmed by a crackling floor pit it's a bit of a shock.

You fully expect to be thrown down, but instead he braces you under the knees and neck to set you on an impossibly soft blanket stretched across his bed. He steps back, a look of apprehension on his features when they come back into view. "As much as I want this," he says as your sense of gravity corrects itself. "I won't touch you unless you want me to. That was rather… abrupt, and I apologize for it."

It takes a second for you to realize why he's even apologizing. The guilt twisting across his face is what makes it click: you hadn't told him to pick you up. It's your turn to frown as you lean toward him. "I'm not mad," you offer gently. "But I appreciate your apology. It's okay. I want to be here."

Deku's apprehension ebbs, but doesn't completely disappear. "You give me your word?"

You nod without hesitation. His smile returns immediately, radiant amid the firelight, and your stomach flips with elation as he eagerly closes the distance between you.

He settles low between your spread knees, a solid weight that keeps you in place without much room to breathe, let alone think. You're dizzy with the intensity, but you kiss him back with every bit of fervor you're given. Deku groans against your flattened tongues. "Can I taste you?"

You nod without opening your eyes and the weight above you slides downward. It's definitely for the best that you hadn't watched him move: a long, hot tongue drags up your slit and draws your back up off the bed in a graceful arc. He seizes you around the waist with a muffled groan.

He takes you apart with a ferocity that's almost scary. Sharp dives of his tongue punctuate the moments he's not wrapped around your core, alternating every time your wails start to get louder or shake apart. You grip at the blanket above your head for an anchor, but abandon it in favor of the verdant curls on top of his head when a cruel twist of his tongue has you pushing nearly all the way off the bed.

His name flying past your lips mixes with a weak moan from the juncture where his face is buried. "Watch the horns," he whimpers (gods, it shouldn't be so hot to hear someone's voice crack). "But do that again."

You tighten your grip obligingly. His head pulls ever so slightly against your grip when he returns to devouring you with a newfound focus. Something thick prods past your folds and you jerk your head up in surprise, but it's a critical mistake. You're afforded a full view of him with his tongue pressed flat to your core and two thick fingers burying themselves to the thickest knuckle and it rips you right over the edge before you can even draw a breath.

He coaxes you through it, drinking you down with your thighs wedged directly over his ears. When you can finally move them away, you're almost concerned you might have hurt him. But then he sits up, his chin shining in the dim light with a wet grin planted just above it, and there's absolutely no doubt he was just as into it as you were. Your own grin edges on feral. "You gonna stop there, or are you gonna take care of yourself as well?"

Deku snorts with an edge of derision that has you shivering. "You think I'm done with you?"

Oh.

He's back in position with one sharp swoop. This time he throws either leg over his own, splaying your knees wide around his ribs. A wave of self-awareness punches you square in the gut as he drags his eyes down the length of your exposed frame. "Incredible," he breathes. "I've never seen anything as beautiful as you."

You squirm, but will yourself to remain still. It's almost too much. There's so much tenderness behind the wild thrum shaking through him you're not sure how you even deserve it. Thankfully, his patience seems to run out just as your resolve to remain still snaps. He kisses you again as something thicker presses into you, drawing out a prolonged moan from both of you that breaks off when your laps settle together. "Hang on," Deku grunts hard against your lips. "N-need a second."

He's shaking under your arms where they're circled around his neck, but that could very easily also be you. "Yeah. Gods, Deku, you're-"

"Izuku."

The entire room goes still. He locks eyes with you, his own blown wide with only a ring of gold-flecked emerald left. Fear jumps across them while his throat bibs around a hard swallow. "That's my name. I just want you to have it. You don't have to give me yours."

Fear twists your heart for just a beat before it's replaced by a heavy warmth. You reach a hand up toward his face where it hovers just above yours, tentative and soft, the finger that curls his hair behind an ear ever so gentle. "Soon," you whisper back.

Izuku beams. "I'll wait as long as it takes."

Your lips crash together again, both of them curved upward around matching smiles. Izuku sets up a pace that keeps you close while still allowing him to take the lead and kiss the air out of your lungs, skin softly popping together with shallow thrusts without stopping. He has each hip in hand again with a grip that slowly increases with his breathing. Before long you're both panting into each other's ear, your head thrown back while he worries your throat with his teeth and grunts with barely restrained need.

"Won't last long," he rumbles.

You nod your acknowledgment. You've been a puddle since the second he laid you on the bed and took you apart like a prized garment. It's only fair he ends up just as boneless as you. You set your knees around his ribs to lift yourself into him, but both knees are pushed to the bed just as quickly. Izuku is watching where your bodies meet with a feverish focus. He doesn't seem entirely aware that he's got you completely splayed open but he thrusts hard and deep anyway, guttural noises punching out of him in time with the snapping of wet skin.

He finds an angle that seems to hit right up into your midsection and it's all over. He rips a wail out of you before your mouths are sealed together again, his pace unrelenting. You fall apart hard enough to make your entire frame quake under his grip, which has tightened enough to leave deep bruises where his fingers dig into your thighs. Just when it feels like you might actually have to tap out or risk going unconscious he thrusts in one more time with a sharp growl, then another, then a final one deep in his chest as he rolls himself into your hips and finally paints your insides white hot.

You're both trembling like leaves when he finally collapses on top of you again. You run your nails through the damp curls over his temples as he returns the favor along your hips, idle and tender despite the harsh bruises you can feel blooming along your inner thighs. Your breathing comes back slowly as you lazily kiss through the aftershocks, hands never ceasing in their wandering. It's a perfect feedback loop of calm and relief with only the fire to witness in the otherwise empty house.

As your breathing returns to normal you nudge Izuku up enough to meet his eyes. They've gone back to their normal emerald, the flicker of the fire catching hair-thin veins of gold. With the curved points of his horns looming overhead and flush-kissed shamrock skin, he should be some kind of intimidating. Instead, you can't stop staring at him. He's ethereal, more so than anything you've ever seen in any tome or heard in any story. He's real. He's flesh and bone and big, soft eyes and a heart entirely too warm for a creature who could take down minotaurs bare-handed.

And yet he looks at you like you're made of Faerie porcelain.

The corners of your mouth curl upward. You beckon for him to lean forward again and he does so, seemingly as transfixed as you. You pull him down so your lips can brush the shell of his ear and, after a ghosting kiss to his cheek, you whisper your name.

#midoriya izuku x reader #midoriya izuku imagines #bnha imagines #bnha smut #bnha server collab #citrus dome collabs #my fics

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nooneeverlookedforagirl · 3 years

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AU where Drogo does not kill Viserys.

Jhiqui runs to him when Viserys drags Doreah to their tent by her hair. She says the foreigner is mad with anger and she fears for the khaleesi. He walks in just in time to see him slap Daenerys so hard she falls to the floor. Daenerys, the girl Viserys gifted him. Daenerys, his wife. Daenerys, the moon of his life. Daenerys with their son in her belly.

Whatever Viserys might have done or said after hitting her was nothing. His fierce little wife strikes him so hard across the face with a golden chain that it leaves a mark. He falls to the side just as Drogo reaches them, and he picks Viserys up by the throat with one hand.

Drogo might have killed him then and there, but his wife begs for his life. He is her brother, her only family, she says, in broken Dothraki. Perhaps he does not understand all the words, but he understands enough. Send him away, Daenerys pleads, but do not kill him.

It might have been better if he had. Viserys follows them on foot for many days. On their first encounter with another khalasar, just outside Vaes Dothrak, Drogo gifts him to the other khal. The Andal tells his wife, he knows, but she says nothing to him and if she is angry it does not show.

Then Drogo falls from his horse on the Dothraki Sea, and Daenerys is reborn in fire and blood. One of their children she names Viserion, for her brother.

When Daenerys burns the khals one of their riders brings her a gift. It's Viserys, filthy and despondent, but alive. Neither knows what quite to do with the other, the beggar king and the dragon queen. Still, for the blood they share, Daenerys gives him a simple tent and male servants and a single horse, and he rides with her when they leave.

He rides with her all the way to Meereen, for when she finds Drogon on the Great Grass Sea she tames him with nothing except a whip, her khalasar in awe as she lands him in their midst. She looks at Viserys, and he at her, and then she pulls him onto Drogon's scales and together the last dragons fly toward the besieged city.

Daenerys keeps looking at him like she expects a fit, like she expects him to demand what is rightfully his, from a crown or a Targaryen bride to rooms suitable for the queen's brother. He does none of that. When the city has calmed and the slavers have died, he goes to her in her counsel room and kneels before her, taking her hands in his.

"I'm sorry." Viserys says, looking up into her eyes. "I was a poor brother and a worse king. I hurt you, I thought only of myself, I sold you into slavery. I was young and afraid and desperate, but I should have protected you. All we had was each other."

This Mother of Dragons, this Breaker of Chains, she is above all a rescuer. Daenerys drowned the slaver cities in blood rather than leave strangers to their chains, she can scarcely abandon her own brother. Instead she drops to her knees beside him on the floor and tells him of all that has happened since they parted.

When she is done, Viserys says, "I cannot be the king. You must go on in my stead."

"The throne is yours by right." Dany replies.

Viserys pauses, then admits, "I can father no children, Dany. You are the last of our house. You hatched dragons and conquered cities. You must be the queen."

"The maegi said-"

"That you would go to the Dosh Khaleen and become one of them. Or that you would die on Drogo's funeral pyre." Her brother touches her face with a gentleness she has never felt from him before. "A witch who murdered your son and husband is not a reliable source of information, Dany."

"If one of us has a child, then they must take the throne," she insists, "I am the blood of the dragon and for that I ruled, but Viserys I only want peace. The little house with the lemon trees and the red door. Peace."

"Let us rule together, then. As brother and sister," Viserys tells her, "We are the last of our blood and we only have each other."

Then they return to Westeros, where Cersei and the White Walkers await them. The dragons do not allow Viserys to ride, but they seem to like him. Brother and sister, Viserys rides behind Dany on Drogon's back, the last dragons the five of them.

"You are not here to be queen of the ashes," Tyrion tells her.

"Nonsense," Viserys scoffs, "You've lived through a starving Kings Landing, Lord Tyrion. It's said they ripped people apart and ate them still living in front of your eyes."

Drogon burns the Red Keep to the ground with its inhabitants inside but saves thousands from starvation and wildfire. The siblings find Cersei dead on the throne, having poisoned herself, and Tyrion weeps over her. Daenerys returns her body to the Rock, for his sake, and names Olenna Tyrell their Hand.

"With the queen's permission I'll go north and take one," Jorah Mormont offers.

"None of our men are going beyond the Wall. This is all ridiculous. You, the "King in the North" are going to personally go to the most dangerous place in the world for the sake of Jaime Lannister and his men?" Viserys touches his sister's shoulder gently. "You can never trust a Lannister," he tells her, Tyrion looking more uncomfortable by the second, "when Tywin Lannister swore to our father that he would fight for him, he sacked the city and murdered Rhaegar's family. Rhaenys, all of three. Aegon, the rightful king. Elia of Dorne. Jaime Lannister himself broke his sworn oath to our father. Do not trust them. Do not."

Jon Snow goes without Jorah Mormont, and of all the men that step beyond the Wall only he makes it back, bloody and battered, barely alive. Those that had gone with him had traded their lives for his, and had died for nothing. Jon has his wight. Jaime Lannister does not stir from the Rock. Perhaps he swears not to attack them, but he did not have the strength to fight in the field anyway.

"You will rule wisely and well, while she-" Varys begins, but Jon cuts him off.

"If you want another ruler, go and speak to Viserys."

And Varys has, but whatever happened to him in Essos has made it so that he will hear not a word of it. What Varys did say he expects made it back to Daenerys. "Viserys is his father's son, just so, and Rhaegar's son comes before his brother."

Varys will burn that night, when Viserys and Jon both swear that he is a traitor. Viserys would burn Jon too, but Dany refuses him. Burning the North's chosen ruler will do little to make them love her, she says. I love him, she does not, but he hears anyway.

Viserys has seen Jon's eyes. He is a Targaryen, that one, not a Stark, not like his beloved Ned. He takes to wearing full armor, even on Dragonstone, and warns Grey Worm as well. They come to an understanding, if an uncertain one, for Grey Worm has lost Missandei and he will not lose her as well.

As the Red Keep is rebuilt, Dany goes to walk among the ruins. Sometimes she goes up to the Iron Throne, although that room has not been started yet, just to be alone and think. She takes no guards but her children. In the throne room, she welcomes Jon to her, angry or not. They argue.

Casterly Rock has burned, and Viserys is looking for his sister. He finds her usual guard in the hall, and asks where she is. "The throne room," they say, "Jon Snow is with her."

He starts to run. Alarmed, the Unsullied follow him. She had commanded to be left alone, but Jon Snow is one of her generals, one of her trusted allies. The queen has been alone with him before, in more intimate places, and

"You are my queen." Jon says, and she lets him embrace her. There is a blade in his belt, one that almost killed his brother. He reaches for it.

Yet Viserys is not fast enough. He is only a man, but Drogon is not. While he is not Viserys' in the way he is Daenerys', he still feels his fear, still knows it's for his mother. With a flap of his great wings he shakes the snow away and soars up to the ruined keep.

Viserys bursts into the throne room steps ahead of the guards to find Daenerys naked and on her knees, weeping over the corpse of her lover, half-burned away along with her clothes. He still holds the blade he would have killed her with.

Removing his cloak, he drapes it over her instead, hiding both her nakedness and the swell of her stomach as she cries. Viserys pulls her away from the body, turning her face into his shoulder. His mother was careful, so careful, to shelter him from the worst of his father's atrocities, but this is not the first time he has smelled burning flesh. It's all he can do to mummer in High Valyrian to his sister, trying to calm her.

"You were right." Are her first words. "I should never have trusted him. You were right."

Above them is Drogon, the son she bore from Khal Drogo's pyre. Because of her they sit in the halls their ancestors built and call themselves king and queen. Three cities yet stand in Essos, their slaves free for the first time in thousands upon thousands of years. All her doing.

Viserys accepted a long time ago that he was never going to take back the Seven Kingdoms. He was never going to go home. Yet here he stands, all because of his little sister. Viserys had wanted his father's throne; Daenerys envisioned a new world. Jon Snow is but dush and ash.

"No," he presses a kiss to her forehead, and tries to wipe away the tears. "You're a conqueror, Dany, you're a queen. He chose the old world, and you will craft a new one."

#daenerys targaryen #viserys targaryen #game of thrones #fanfic #this started out much darker #but why can't they be happy?

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liukangmybeloved · 3 years

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the cold now scares her half to death {Mortal Kombat (2021)}

Summary: Emily Young is only thirteen years old when she learns that she is, and is almost killed for being, the end of Hanzo Hasashi's bloodline.

A/N: 2790 words. SPOILERS FOR MORTAL KOMBAT 2021. Set after the movie, Emily Young-centric. i love cole young and his family, fite me. I know it's implied that the dragon marking is passed down when people die, but since it's a bloodline thing for Cole..... what if it didn't need to be through death, what if descendants of Hanzo were simply born with the marking? Also i might write more for this because i know what i want emily's arcana to be. this is very unedited.

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Emily's whole life had changed in a night. Still reeling in the frozen-over gym her dad used to fight and train in, she watches a man produce and hold fire, and all she can think about is how grateful she is for the warmth, how she almost died, and if this man could breathe fire like the other man could.

Then there's a commotion, another man appearing out of nowhere, making vicious declarations as black smoke enveloped the ashen corpse of the man who'd taken her and her mother hostage, leaving only a scorch mark on the floor. Her mother holds her close as the man hollers and threatens, and he's gone in a dramatic bolt of lightening, kind of like the one her father had left in, not too long before she and her mother had been taken prisoner, frozen solid, almost killed. She hugs her mother tighter.

Hearing some of what the others are talking about - champions, they call themselves champions - she hears them make plans to find others like them, though she has no idea what that means beyond assuming they all had super powers of some sort. How could they find others like themselves? How common were super powers? Frowning as she considers, she reaches up and absent-mindedly scratches at her shoulder blade, where her own dragon-birthmark sat. In all the commotion, she'd kind of forgotten about it, about how the man - who now had robot arms? - had said that it meant her dad was chosen.

Shivering, mostly from the cold, she tries not to think about it too hard. They'd tell her if it was something to worry about.

She saw her dad gut a four-armed, impossibly large and tall creature. She saw a man reduce her would-be killer to ash and blood and bone by breathing fire. She was almost frozen to death.

It's been a long day.

When her dad picks her up like he used to when she was younger, hugging her tightly, apologising for letting anything like that happen to her, Emily can't help the tears that well up as she hugs him back. Tucking her face in by his neck, everything hits her, and she realises that this is the first moment in which she actually feels safe since they'd all gone out to eat after his last fight, that she'd been running on adrenaline and nervous energy, and that for all she was glad to have her mom with her, she was terrified knowing what her dad was facing.

But somehow, the man that had seemed like an unstoppable, super-human juggernaut, who had caused snow, then a snow storm, the man who'd kidnapped and frozen both her and her mother, was taken down by someone even scarier. The newcomer, in armour the colours of the bracelet she'd made for herself, for her father, she knew him a way she couldn't quite place at first. It was the strangest sense of deja vu when he'd looked over her father's shoulder when the fight had finally died down, said something in a language she didn't understand, and gave her the briefest of nods.

Now, huddled with her mother as her father and the other champions talked, she squeezed her eyes shut, wracking her brain for how she knew him, before it hit her. A swirling haze of overwhelming red and anger and fire and a blade and the words 'release me' playing in her head like it had so many times before; this time she was simply remembering the face of the man who haunted her nightmares, realising that he was the same man as had helped defeat her assailant today.

How was she supposed to go home, return the world like the world was still normal? Like everything she knew hadn't suddenly been called into question?

When her dad, several days later, sits her down and explains everything that had happened, albeit with the sharp edges of it all dulled down for a thirteen-year-old, he tells her the man she saw breathe fire was their ancestor, Hanzo Hasashi. Asking if she was ever going to see him again elicits a moment of genuine confusion from her father, then a shrug. He didn't know either.

Emily scratches idly at her shoulder blade, and tries to make sense of this new information, fit it in with what she already knows.

They talk about ghosts and hell and assassins and super powers, and Cole gets a faraway look in his eyes when he tells her that 'they're like a box of chocolates' like he's quoting someone. She's seen Forest Gump, but if he were simply quoting a movie at her, she's pretty sure he wouldn't be vaguely emotional in the same capacity. She pets his hand fondly, trying to reassure him. That at least snaps him out of his thoughts, and he takes her hand and gives it a squeeze, asking if she had any questions.

She had about a million, but asks only one.

"How are you going to find others like you?"

"What?"

"The guy in the hat, that's what he said, right? That he was going to put together a list of other people like you and your friend; is it like that guy, Jax, said? Is it the marking?"

Slowly, her dad turned it over in his mind; the question itself was simple enough, but he's kind of surprised that she'd been paying that much attention.

"There's a guy in Hollywood they're asking me to find," he says slowly in response, to which Emily sat up a little straighter, "he's a fighter like me, actually; you've seen the Johnny Cage posters around the ring, right?" And Emily nods, then Cole gives a nod of his own, "yeah, the marking, it means we're champions of Earthrealm - that's what they call Earth."

And then, after a beat, Emily speaks again.

"Does that make me a champion too?"

Slowly, her father remembers the marking she was born with, and the horror dawns on his face at the implication. He's shaking his head before he's even saying anything, and everything that had ever been said to him about taking care of his bloodline, the implications of it all because he hadn't grown up with a family so it was strange to think, even all these years later, that people were referring to the fact that his bloodline continued after him, not just before.

"No, no way Em, you're not- no."

And she doesn't fight him on it, but she still wraps her arms around him beside her on the sofa and hugs him tightly, hearing the fear in his voice at the mere idea of her being a champion like him. She'd heard the stories, seen his opponents; if she could get away with being a kid for a bit longer, she'd take it.

She doesn't ask about her ancestor either, Hanzo, or Scorpion has her father had called him, she wouldn't know what to say. All she knows is that she hasn't stopped seeing him, seeing the place that he must have been roaming for hundreds of years, but he's no longer asking to be released. Instead, he's walking away, but he looks behind, as if waiting for her to follow, and she does, but it feels like only seconds before she wakes up to her alarm clock. Eight hours in seconds.

Except the feeling of her whole body being frozen in place, watching her father fight Sub-Zero, as she'd finally learned his name to be, after watching him almost die at the hands of that four-armed monster, it was a feeling she couldn't seem to forget, and every time she thought about it, how helpless she'd felt, she felt a little ill.

So her dad's in Hollywood, and her mom's working inside from their home-office, and Emily puts on an old pair of gardening gloves, her sturdiest boots, and starts digging her father's old training equipment from the rubble that was the remains of their shed.

Of course she'd learned and trained with her dad from time to time, more to spend time with him, to encourage and support him, than any dedication to participating in the sport herself.

It's rote in no time at all, a routine she sets, she sticks to for the rest of the summer, working out while her mind goes numb, laying punch after punch and kick after kick into the worn training dummy, only knowing that if she can hit harder, faster, run further, get stronger, there's less chance of her getting caught like she was.

She can't leave the property without her mother, which she'd not opposed to; Sub-Zero's body disappeared in magical, black smoke, and they're both half-convinced he's moments away from popping up and kidnapping them all over again. The idea of a hideous, half-burned, zombie version of Sub-Zero kind of scares the ever-loving shit out of Emily, but she tries to use that fear to motivate her.

Even a slight, cold breeze has the hair rising on the back of her neck, checking over her shoulder, and she can barely stand to open the freezer for the rush of icy air that hits her, has her thinking about the feeling of the air frozen in her lungs back at the gym -

"Em?" Her mother calls several times throughout the day from the window of the office.

"Out the front," she'll call back, every time.

And when her dad gets back, she overhears a whisper argument between her parents when she's meant to be asleep; both are worried about her, but neither knows what to do. After everything happened, she is so different to who she was. Focused and quietly fearful, she never wants to be the scared little kid she used to be.

She doesn't know why her parents worry, if anything they should be worrying less.

In her dreams, she sees Scorpion still, she follows him still, but where she'd once thought of these visions as nightmares, she's no longer afraid.

"Will I be able to do what you do?" Eventually, they stop walking, and he turns to her - she wakes up.

"I had to become one with the flames of hell to survive them -" he says, when she sees him several nights later - she wakes up. The brevity of these visions is intensely infuriating, though she's glad that, despite the fact that she can hear him speaking another language out loud, the world they're in somehow allows her to understand his meaning.

However, as of the meetings afterwards, Scorpion becomes deeply unhelpful, simply raising his right hand, fingers together, palm facing her, like the gesture should mean something. When she ask him what it means, he tells her that her arcana comes from her bloodline. That's all he tells her.

When she asks her dad what arcana is, he goes tense, goes quiet, and asks how she knows about that. Emily frowns, tells him she'd heard it somewhere; she doesn't tell him about Scorpion, she doesn't want to worry him.

"Arcana... it's essentially our powers," Cole says slowly, carefully, "we get them because of the marking." His hand comes to rest absent-mindedly on his chest, over where his own mark lay. Emily fidgeted.

"Will I get one?" She asks, and Cole frowns a little at that.

"I hope not," he admits honestly, "arcana is often unlocked in very... dire circumstances; I unlocked mine despite having the mark my whole life, only because I thought you and your mom were gonna die," he reminded her, and Emily deflates a little at that, curling in on herself at the memory. She's stronger now, but she's not sure she'll ever be strong enough to face something like that.

"Why?" Her dad snaps her out of her thoughts, and Emily looks at him, no answer prepared, a little lost for words.

"Ours would come from our bloodline, right? Like, from that Scorpion guy?" There's a long moment of hesitation from Cole after her question, and Emily's gaze slides out the window to the training dummy sitting idly in the front yard of their little property.

"I'm not sure; we have the potential to unlock our arcana because of him, but I don't think there's much linking the actual powers beyond... a similarity of looks, I guess?" He sounds like he's not quite sure himself, and Emily nods, as if satisfied with the answer.

The following night, Scorpion tells her, with his right hand raised and open, 'your arcana will come from your Hasashi blood' - and then she wakes up.

Her parents still worry about her, but her father's quickly got bigger things to worry about, as the fighting tournament the champions are involved in, the one he keeps the details about deliberately vague, has been pushed back by the Elder Gods. This is not a problem Emily ever thought her father would ever had.

One of the men she'd met that day at the gym, when everything was frozen, the one with the lightning powers who called himself Raiden, apparently was right furious. Because of a sudden uneven-ness of the teams, the leader of Outerworld had demanded the Gods give him time to find new champions of his own for a fair and even fight. Considering how he'd tried to have Earthrealm's champions all murdered before the fight could begin, simply so he could claim an easy victory, Raiden was understandably pissed.

Despite everything her father was leaving out, Emily could tell that it was more dangerous than he'd ever let on. He usually didn't talk about the day she and her mother were kidnapped, and he especially didn't talk about how or why he and the others had gotten so beaten and bloody before they'd all showed up, but when he admits they were almost killed - that one of them was killed - Emily's heart is in her throat.

More time for him to train, to hone his skills, of course that was a good thing, but it also meant more time for something to happen to him before the fight.

Sometimes, when Emily considered this while she was doing training of her own, her fear and premature grief overwhelmed her to the point where she was clutching at the training dummy, or curled up on the ground, or doubled over, gasping for air, trying to keep breathing and remind herself that her father was strong; she'd seen proof enough of that herself.

"Em?" Her mother calls like usual, but Emily can't bring herself to answer, with tears in her eyes as she hears the four-armed monster in her mind telling them all how he's going to rip her dad's spine from his body, thinking about how she doesn't know where the monster's body went, how there could be hundreds more like him in the tournament - "Emily?!" Her mother, on the front porch, calls out to her, terrified to see her daughter shaking like a leaf and clutching the dummy for dear life. Emily can't speak, but she wants to be hugging her mother faster than she can even move, to make sure she's alright, that she's here and that she's real, and her palms ache as she runs, and tackles her mother, but the pain subsides as does her fear in her embrace.

"You're okay, it's okay," Alison whispers to her daughter, and Emily nods against her, "you're scaring us, Emmy," she mutters, stroking Emily's hair, "are you okay? What's going on with you?"

"I don't want anything to happen to you or dad," Emily manages, though she's still shaking, "not if I can help it." Her mother holds her tighter, if only so her daughter can't see the tears welling in her eyes.

"We'll be fine, your dad is going to be fine, I promise."

Emily knows she can't actually promise that, not after everything that's happened, but she takes comfort in the words for the moment, pretends like she believes them.

The mark on her shoulder burns.

For all that her father is upholding the legacy of their bloodline, he is no longer the end of it; that weight falls upon her shoulders. So she keeps training, as much as she can, as much as she's allowed, as much as her body can take. One day she will discover her arcana, she's sure of that, one day she may be called upon to fight in the name of her ancestors, fight in the name of Hanzo Hasashi, and when that day comes, she wants to be ready.

She'd never given much thought to what she'd be when she grew up, had kind of liked just being her dad's corner-man, his support, his crew. Now, when the time comes, she'll do her best to simply be him.

#mortal kombat #mortal kombat 2021 #mortal kombat fanfiction #mk #mk 2021 #cole young #emily young #alison young #lkmb

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kelyon · 3 years

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Golden Rings 10: A Favor

The Storybrooke sequel to Golden Cuffs

Rumple deals with the Savior

Read on AO3

He frowns at the parchment in his hands. The twittering bluebird that delivered the message flaps its wings to get away from the window as quickly as it can. The clever animal must sense that the Dark One is in a mood to throw firebolts.

“How bad is it?” His wife gets up from the dining room table. She stands beside him in a patch of sunlight by the uncurtained window.

He slides his arm around her waist. After a year of marriage the gesture is automatic. Touching her is as natural as breathing.

“It is all of our nightmares come to life!” He says the words lightly, as though that will diminish the truth of them.

Belle takes the letter and reads it for herself. “Princess Ella is having twins?” She reads further. “And she thinks you’ll want to take both babies? But the deal was only for her first-born. She would know that if she had read the contract before she signed it! ”

Softly, Rumpelstiltskin drifts away from her. He walks a slow circle around the dining room. Though he never thought much about the castle, he has lived there for hundreds of years. Soon he will never see this place again. He married Belle here. It is his home. It is their home.

“Do you know what really annoys me?”

Belle looks up from the letter. “What, Rumple?”

“In the message,” he takes the parchment back, “the cinder-girl says that a dwarf heard a second heartbeat in her womb. A dwarf. How would a dwarf know to listen for that kind of thing? Dwarves are hatched, fully-grown, from eggs.” He paces back and forth across the room. “In the entire history of time, fewer than a hundred dwarves have ever come out from their mines to interact with the above-ground. How in any hell would one of them be knowledgeable about the pregnancy of a human woman?” He shakes his head. “It’s sloppy. By acting like I believe such a ruse, I will look an utter fool.”

“Then you shouldn’t go!”

The words come out as a cry, and Belle’s hand covers her mouth. Her eyes are wide. She is shocked that she would allow such a thought to escape her lips. He knows that she would take it back if she could.

But the words have already been spoken. They hang in the air between husband and wife like a barrier.

He goes to her, without hesitation. He breaks the barrier of her words. He takes her hand away from her mouth, kisses her fingers, then her lips. There is nothing she can do or say to him that she will ever need to take back. He loves her, and her love for him is his only certainty.

When they pull apart, Belle’s cheeks are wet with tears.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers. She shakes her head and lowers her eyes. Rumpelstiltskin holds her in his arms and lets her cry.

“It’s all right,” he murmurs. He rocks her gently, swaying from side to side. It’s almost like they’re dancing. The last dance they will ever share in this world.

He cannot fault her for not wanting to be abandoned. When he is gone, she will be vulnerable, even with all their best precautions in place. There is still a risk, and Belle is right to be mindful of her own safety. He needs to be near her in order for her to be protected.

“I thought I could be brave enough,” she murmurs. “But I can’t.” She puts her hands on his chest and takes a deep breath. “I can’t let them do this to you!”

Stunned, Rumpelstiltskin looks at his wife. Gently, he brings his hands up to her face. There is nothing but honesty in her eyes. He sees her so clearly, his Belle, his beloved. This tiny, fragile, mortal woman is more fearful for his comfort than her own survival.

“Me?” he whispers. “Belle, what about you?”

“They’re going to put you in a cage, Rumple! A cage with no magic! You’ll be powerless! Those people could do anything to you! They could hurt you or--”

“You’re the only person who can hurt me, Belle,” he assures her. “You are the mistress of the dagger. Nothing anyone else does to me matters.”

Her breath shakes. “I just wish--”

“Shh.” He pulls her close, holds her tight. “No wishing. Wishing is how little cinder-Ella got into the position she’s in. Wishing is wanting something without putting in the work to get it, and we know better than that. After all, my love, all magic--”

“Comes at a price,” she finishes it with him. “I know.”

Her hands go up to his face. She traces his lines and his scales, rubs her palms against his sharp jaw, his cheekbones. He closes his eyes and rests against her touch. Belle runs a finger up the edge of his nose and over his eyebrows. She cups his cheeks in her soft hands. By the end of it, both of them are breathing more easily.

“When will the Savior be born, Rumple? When will the curse be cast?”

“By tradition, the announcements are made in the royal mother’s sixth month of pregnancy. That was just a few days ago. Snow White is about as far along as the ash-girl.”

“So three months,” she says. “For three months, you’ll be in prison and I’ll be pretending.”

“It will keep us safe.” He takes her hands, kisses her ring. “You will be safe from Regina and everyone else will be safe from me. Whoever wants to find me will know exactly where I am. They’ll see me beaten, and will have no reason to fear me.”

“But we won’t see each other for three months.”

He embraces her again, kisses her forehead. “Three months, and twenty-eight years.”

Belle shudders. “Tell me you don’t have to leave right now.”

He squeezes her, and shakes his head. “Tomorrow night, the letter said. At the stroke of midnight. I think the princess thought that was clever.”

Belle scoffs.

Rumpelstiltskin tilts her chin up so that she’s looking at him. “I am yours forever, sweetheart. But for this plan to work, I must play my part. I must be all the darkness mothers tell tales of to frighten children. I must steal babes and trick maidens and be vanquished by heroes who are oh-so-very-good and clever. I must be every evil thing they think I am. And then, Belle, in order to win--I must lose.”

****

Rumpelstiltskin came out of the darkness to the sound of a frantic banging and a woman’s voice:

“Oh my God! Are you alright?”

Belle. His eyes stung and his head hurt. He couldn’t say what he wanted to say. Sweetheart, don’t worry about me…

But Belle’s voice kept shouting, almost screaming. It came from some distance away, even more than through the fog of his unconsciousness. It was like she was in another room. Once again, they were separated by a locked door.

He was lying on the ground. The floor, inside somewhere. A wooden floor.

It was dark. When he tried to open his eyes, lights streamed in through the windows. Orange, electric lights. Street lights. Storybrooke.

“The door’s locked, but I’ve got my new key!” Belle’s voice cried. But it wasn’t Belle on the other side of the door to Gold’s shop. “I’m coming in!”

Rumpelstiltskin raised his head for a moment, but then the pain flashed like lightning and he sunk back to the ground.

“Oh, Jesus!” Mrs. Gold opened the door and turned on the lights. He winced at the brightness. Eyes closed, he heard the crunch of broken glass under her gray suede boots. “Oh Jesus Christ, Mr. Gold! What happened? Are you okay?”

She knelt on the floor beside him, touching his face and chest frantically. Like she was trying to assure herself that he was real, that he was breathing. Her touch was warm on his skin. Belle was always so warm...

“Christ, Mr. Gold, you’re bleeding! Can you talk to me? Please talk to me!”

Obedient to his wife, Rumpelstiltskin opened his mouth and made a noise. It was mostly a groan, but it was enough to calm her a little.

“Can you open your eyes?”

Her concerned face blocked the light, so it was easier to do what she asked. Slowly, Rumpelstiltskin sat up. He pushed himself backward with his good leg, until he was leaning against one of the glass counters.

“I’m all right,” he whispered.

“Bullshit! You’re bleeding. And you were clearly knocked out! What happened? Who did this to you?”

“I did it to myself,” he breathed. True, his assailant had sprayed his face with some noxious chemical potion. Blinded, he had flailed back into a display. But he hadn’t gotten the cut on his head until he tried to lunge forward and his ankle had given out on him. He had fallen onto the corner of a chess board on the counter.

It could have been worse. The girl could have bashed him in the head with the brick she had used to break the window. His mortal skull could have shattered just like the glass. He could have bled out on the shop floor without ever seeing the curse broken. He could have died without ever seeing Belle again, without ever finding Bae...

“Oh my God.” Tears rolled down Mrs. Gold’s cheeks. Why would she cry for him? Gold had never been anything but awful to her, and Rumpelstiltskin hadn’t been much better.

“Check the safe,” he said, mostly as a way to get her away from him for a moment. He needed to think.

“Jesus, were you robbed?” Mrs. Gold scrambled to her feet and hurried to the back wall of the shop. Framed paintings crowded every inch of wall space. One picture swung open on a hinge. Behind it, a metal safe door was also open. When she spoke again, her tone was less teary.

“You were robbed by an idiot,” she said. “They left the key in the lock. And they locked the side door on the way out!” Rumpelstiltskin heard the rustling of papers. “They left all the cash too. It looks like the only thing missing is--”

“A contract,” he finished. Where was that cane? A moment’s reprieve had given him time to come up with a plan. But he couldn’t enact it on the floor. “Ashley Boyd’s contract.”

Mrs. Gold scoffed. “Are you kidding me? Are you fucking kidding me? That stupid bitch!” Slamming the safe closed, Mrs. Gold stormed through the curtain into the back room of the pawn shop.

“What are you doing?” he called weakly.

“Getting the first aid kit!”

Rumpelstiltskin leaned his head back against the display case. Right. Gold kept a good stock of medical supplies in his house, his car, and the shop. Bandages, burn ointments, medical scissors. Considering what Gold liked to do with his wife, it was best to be prepared for injuries.

Mrs. Gold reappeared with a white metal box in her hands. Kneeling beside him, she opened it. She put on a pair of rubber gloves before she began to clean the cut on his forehead.

He let her. It was the first time he had allowed Mrs. Gold to touch him. The first time anyone had touched him, since the last time he had seen Belle.

“I can’t believe that sneaky little skank!” Her touch was gentle, but her words were furious. “You’re saving her by taking that baby off her hands! And this is how she repays you? She thinks she can weasel out of a deal with you? Unbelievable!”

Rumpelstiltskin closed his eyes again. “The girl said something about changing her life.”

“Ruining her life is more like it!” Mrs. Gold huffed. “Ashley Boyd thinks she can be a mother? She’s too stupid and irresponsible. She’s always wanted some fucking fairy godmother to solve all her problems for her. You just know she got pregnant on purpose.” Mrs. Gold squeezed a paste out of a white tube and spread it over his skin. Careful to brush his hair out of the way first, she adhered a plastic bandage to his scalp. “She wanted Sean to marry her, so she decided to trap him. And when his father found out, he came to you to take care of it. You found some family to adopt the baby and got Ashley to sign the contract. But now she wants out of it? Why? What reason could she possibly have for wanting a fucking baby?”

Snapping the metal lid shut on the box, Mrs. Gold stormed back into the other room to put away the first aid kit.

“Something must have changed,” Rumpelstiltskin said when she returned. Gingerly, he brought his hand up to the bandage. “I suspect Ashley spoke to someone who convinced her that she was stronger than she thought.” Despite the pain, he found himself grinning. “Someone who made her believe in the possibility of a happy ending.”

Mrs. Gold handed him the cane and helped him stand up. “Who would do that?”

“The same person I’m going to talk to in the morning.”

****

Technically, an unauthorized roommate was a violation of the lease on the studio apartment that Mary Margaret Blanchard rented from Gold. But that didn’t matter to Rumpelstiltskin. It was convenient for him that Emma Swan had taken to living with the woman she didn’t know was her mother. It made her easy to find.

When Snow White answered the door, the former princess went even paler than normal. She had never seemed afraid of him before, even when he looked his most inhuman. Of course, to the people of Storybrooke, Gold was more of a monster than the Dark One could ever be.

“Is Emma Swan here?”

Mary Margaret Blanchard looked over to the side of the room before speaking. It looked like she was trying to be discreet about having a guest, while simultaneously advertising the fact for all to see. Well, that was to be expected. Snow White had never been known for her ability to keep a secret.

Emma came to the door.

“Yeah, I’m here.”

Even in this world, she was a princess. A true princess, someone who had battled and politicked and worked her way to whatever power she had. Emma Swan had been born in a castle, but she had spent her first eighteen years of life in a dozen different foster homes. Gold knew that Henry Mills’ birth mother had had him in jail. She had given birth while handcuffed to a hospital bed. Since then, the woman had made a career as a bail bondsperson. Her job was to find people who were running from their fates and force them to do the right thing--by hook or by crook, as the shepherds used to say when herding sheep back into the fold.

There was a fire in her green eyes, a vibrant spirit that no one else in this town had. Even if Rumpelstiltskin didn’t know she was the savior, it was obvious there was something special about this woman. From the moment she was born, she’d had to fight.

And there was nothing a fighter needed more than an opponent.

“Hi,” Rumpelstiltskin extended his hand out for her to shake. “I’m Mr. Gold, we met briefly when you first came into town.”

“I remember.”

She wasn’t, exactly, unfriendly. But she spoke with a businesslike brusqueness, a tone that said get to the point more than any actual words. She certainly was her father’s daughter.

“May I speak to you about something? Privately?” He gave a meaningful look to Mary Margaret, who bolted like a rabbit away from her own door.

“Sure,” Emma said begrudgingly.

Without asking, Rumpelstiltskin walked in to the apartment. The central room was as neat as a pin, except for a dozen packing boxes in one corner. All of them were opened, half the contents of each box scattered and piled around that section of the room. A knitted blanket was draped over a chair. It was a small blanket, the kind in which a loving mother would wrap a newborn before sending her on a perilous journey. The name Emma was stitched out in royal purple.

“Moving in?” he asked.

“Yep,” she said, neither denying the obvious nor giving any extra details. “So what can I do for you, Mr. Gold?”

Emma Swan’s natural posture was to keep her back to the wall, her feet apart, and her hands on her hips. Not aggressive, but not one to be pushed over either. She was a rock, as so many heroes were. No force could move her unless she thought it was her idea to move.

“I don’t want to go to the police about this,” he began. “But something has been stolen from me, and I understand you’re good at finding people.”

She cocked an eyebrow. “Where’d you hear that?”

“There was a write-up about you in the paper,” he answered. “If you were hoping to avoid attention, breaking the ‘Welcome to Storybrooke’ sign on your first night in town wasn’t the best move.”

With a rueful expression, Emma wiped her hands on her trousers. “So what was taken?”

“All due respect, Miss Swan, one of the advantages of you not being the police is a certain level of discretion. Let’s just say it was a precious object and leave it at that. I’m more concerned about who did the taking. Last night, a young girl named Ashley Boyd broke into my shop and opened my safe. She’s also responsible for this.”

Brushing his hair back, Rumpelstiltskin revealed the cut on his forehead. It had scabbed over, but the wound was still a vivid red.

Emma frowned. “So that’s breaking and entering, petty burglary, and assault. You’re sure you don’t want to call the cops?”

He looked at the ground, made a show of playing with his cane. He had to make sure Emma underestimated him. “Ashley’s a nice girl. She’s never been in trouble like this before. She’s young, she’s pregnant. She’s just a confused young woman at a bad place in her life. I’m more than willing to forgive and forget, as long as my property is returned.” Rumpelstiltskin looked up at Emma, and mentioned something that hadn’t been published in the paper. “Can you imagine one bad decision leading to a baby being born in jail?”

It was gone in a flash, that flicker of emotion in Emma’s eyes. He would have missed it if he hadn’t been looking for it. Emma’s masks were better than Regina’s, but he had been manipulating people for centuries. He knew how to recognize that moment of decision--often long before the other party knew it. That moment when he knew that they were his.

“Yeah, that’d be terrible,” she muttered, crossing her arms over her chest.

Rumpelstiltskin pressed in. The deal would be finalized before she even knew she was seriously considering it.

“So you’ll help me?”

“I will help her,” Emma said. She was stone again. The Savior had wavered for just a moment, but that moment was all he needed.

“Grand.” He gave her a smile. Nothing nicer than making people feel good about doing exactly what you wanted them to.

Before they could say anything more, the apartment door opened.

“Hey, Emma, I think we need to--” Henry Mills stopped talking as soon as he saw that his birth mother wasn’t alone.

“Hey, Henry.” Rumpelstiltskin’s cheer became more genuine. There was something about Henry Mills that he liked. The boy had an insight and a determination that were rare gifts in a cursed town. Something about him reminded Rumpelstiltskin of Baelfire when he was that age. “How are you?”

“O...kay.” The boy took a step back. His excited features slowly schooled themselves into a cautious non-expression.

To Rumpelstiltskin’s sorrow, the sudden transformation from excitement to sobriety was also something he had seen in Baelfire. Shrewd children could always identify monsters, no matter how friendly they tried to act.

“Well then.” He made his way to the door, passing by Henry in the process. The boy swiveled so he never had his back turned to the fearsome Mr. Gold. “Give my regards to your mother. And Miss Swan?” He nodded to the Savior before he let her go fulfill her destiny. “Good luck.”

****

When he got back to the shop, Mrs. Gold was behind the counter, ringing out a customer.

“Your sister is going to love this! A cute little pin is a great fashion statement. And where else could you find jewelry that looks like a brick wall? It’s so different!”

She handed a gift bag to the middle-aged woman, who took it with a dubious expression.

When Mrs. Gold saw that he had walked in the side door, she quickly added. “Of course, it all depends on how you like getting pinned!”

The other woman went pink and barreled out of the shop, her stick-brown hair streaming behind her.

Rumpelstiltskin didn’t talk to Mrs. Gold about how she intimidated people with her innuendo. What else could he expect from her? She did and said what she thought her husband wanted.

“Was everything alright while I was out?”

Mrs. Gold nodded. “No break-ins today, though I did keep a weapon handy.” From the far side of the cash register, she pulled out a flat, heavy wooden paddle. Gold identified it as a cricket bat. Mrs. Gold twirled the handle with practiced deftness. “But now that you’re here, maybe we can put this to better use?”

He didn’t give her an answer. He didn’t need to. After just a moment of glittering hope, Mrs. Gold lowered her gaze and set the cricket bat aside.

“Sorry for asking, Mr. Gold. I know that’s not my place.” Still looking down, she knocked her knuckles against the countertop. “I, uh, I just wanted to show you that I’m willing, always. For anything.”

Rumpelstiltskin licked his lips and resisted the urge to reach out to her. He didn’t desire Mrs. Gold, and he wasn’t going to treat her the way she wanted him to. But she looked so helpless now--so small and confused, seeking affection from the only person she had, in the only way she could think of. He wanted to help her, he wanted to comfort her.

He wanted to hold his wife in his arms and let them comfort each other.

But he didn’t do any of those things. Instead, he took the cricket bat from the counter and put it back in its proper place among the store’s merchandise. Out the front windows, he saw a bright red vintage sports car make its way up Main Street.

“That’s Ruby Lucas’ car,” he said mildly. “But that isn’t Ruby driving.”

Mrs. Gold rushed to the window. “Who is it?” She craned her neck to see, then grinned as she recognized the driver. “A dumb blonde in a ratty sweater, that’s Ashley Boyd alright.” She looked to her husband. “Now that we know where she is, are you going to call Sheriff Graham?”

Rumpelstiltskin shook his head. “I have every confidence Miss Swan will work things out.”

“She’d better work fast.” Mrs. Gold squinted out the window. “It looks like Miss Too-Good-For-Birth-Control is trying to get out of town.”

“You sound pleased to know that.”

“Idiot’s taking the Widowmaker Highway.” There was a grimness seeping through Mrs. Gold’s vindictive pleasure. “Even in broad daylight, that road is a death trap.” She shook her head, moved away from the window. “If Ashley doesn’t know enough to stay in Storybrooke, she deserves whatever happens to her.”

Despite his better instincts, Rumpelstiltskin decided to keep talking to Mrs. Gold. “Why do you hate her?”

“Huh?” She blinked.

“Ashley,” he said. “You seem… uniquely unsympathetic to her plight.”

Mrs. Gold pursed her lips in thought. “I mean, she broke in here and knocked you out. I’m not nuts for taking that personally, am I?”

“I suppose not,” he assured her. “But your enmity clearly runs deeper than that.”

Shrugging, she began to wander back to the cash register. “She’s stupid, that’s the main thing. She doesn’t know what she’s doing, so she’s bad at it. That offends me on a professional level.”

Rumpelstiltskin raised his eyebrows. He stayed where he was near the door. “Professional?”

“Well, yeah, it’s…” Mrs. Gold began to search around the counter, less like she had something to do and more like she was finding an excuse to fidget. “I mean, it’s not a secret that I know a thing or two about a trashy Old Town slut trying to get a better life by marrying someone rich enough to make her problems go away.” Now she looked at him, her face determinedly impassive as she said what she thought was the truth about her own life. “I don’t blame Ashley for wanting Sean to marry her. He’s an idiot too, so they’ll get along well, and his parents will always bail him out if things get too tight. But she didn’t get the job done. He split and she’s trying to avoid the consequences of her failure.”

“She wants to keep the baby,” Rumpelstiltskin said. “That doesn’t sound like avoiding consequences.”

Mrs. Gold shook her head. “Even if she hadn’t made a deal with you, things were never going to work out for that girl. Not so long as she went around thinking that she didn’t have to work for what she wanted to get out of life.”

She slid her forearms over the glass as she leaned against the counter. The posture displayed her cleavage, but it didn’t seem to be an invitation. Not a pose, just a slump.

“It was the first lesson you ever taught me, Mr. Gold.” She gave a smile, wistful, nostalgic. “Everything comes at a price.”

****

Shortly after Ruby’s car had left town, Emma Swan’s yellow Volkswagen rumbled down the road in the opposite direction.

Half an hour later, the Beetle drove past the shop again. Faster than before, it was now heading the same direction as the runaway Ashley.

Later still, the car raced up the street at a frightening speed. This time, Emma and her passengers made a turn at the hospital.

Rumpelstiltskin smiled and checked his pocket watch. It was almost four in the evening. Gold didn’t normally close the shop so early on Saturdays, but this was a special occasion.

“I’m going to drop you off at home,” he said to Mrs. Gold. “I’ll be back in time to make supper.”

Mrs. Gold looked up from the small case of rings she had been arranging according to size. “Am I allowed to know where you’re going?”

“The hospital,” he answered with no small amount of pleasure. “I’m going to see if Miss Swan will let me steal Ashley’s baby.”

****

Gold was familiar with Storybrooke General Hospital. His physician, Dr. Whale, did his private practice on the third floor of this building. Today, Rumpelstiltskin was heading for the maternity ward.

When he rounded the corner around the reception desk to the waiting room, he saw Emma talking to a nurse. Henry was there too, patiently sitting in one of the stuffed vinyl chairs. The boy’s feet swung back and forth and didn’t touch the ground.

“It’s a healthy six pound girl,” the nurse told Emma. “And the mother is doing fine.”

“What lovely news.” He announced his presence. “Excellent work, Miss Swan. Thank you, for bringing me my merchandise.”

Before Emma could react, before she could vent out any of her undoubtedly righteous fury, Rumpelstiltskin slid past her to get to the vending machines, cool as a mountain stream. He took some coins out of his trouser pocket and deposited them into the coffee machine. He had no intention of drinking any coffee, but it would serve a purpose. When Emma saw that he had a styrofoam cup in one hand and the cane in the other, she would see that he was powerless. Just a harmless old cripple. Not a threat at all.

“You could have mentioned that the precious object Ashley ‘stole’ was her own child.”

Interesting that Emma’s wrath was not the fiery passion of her parents. Prince Charming would have drawn his sword as soon as the Dark One had made his presence known. But aggression had never done the prince any favors, and maybe Emma knew that posturing would only waste time. Get to the point, was the Savior’s way of doing things. Whatever needs to be done, just do it.

How delightfully refreshing.

“You didn’t need to know,” he answered calmly. “All you needed to do was keep Miss Boyd from leaving Storybrooke.”

“She isn’t going to run,” Emma said. “I talked with her today. She wants to stay. She wants to raise her kid.”

“Now, that’s a very heartwarming sentiment.” Rumpelstiltskin brought the cup to his lips to look like he was drinking. “But I have a contract that says that baby is going home with me. I even have a car seat for the wee thing.”

“That’s a lie,” Emma said, correctly. “Consent to adoption papers can’t be signed sooner than seventy-two hours after the birth.”

That was a good strike, but he didn’t let it land. “I also have an envelope filled with more cash than Miss Boyd has ever seen in her life. I find that sort of thing tends to smooth over certain technicalities.”

Her eyes narrowed. “What do you even want with a newborn? Why are you adopting?”

His instinct was to let out an impish giggle from the old world. But he restrained himself just in time. “I’m not,” he said simply. “I’m merely the go-between. I arranged things with a very nice couple. They’ve already adopted one daughter, and were willing to take on a second.”

“‘Willing?’” Emma repeated the word with exaggerated brightness. “Well, Ashley is more than ‘willing.’ She is eager. She is desperate to keep this baby. And I’m not going to let you stop her from being a mother.”

Rumpelstiltskin grinned. Here it was at last, the declaration of intent. In her own way, Emma Swan had just drawn her sword. Now he could draw his.

“A mother who committed--what did you say earlier? Breaking and entering, petty burglary and assault?”

She clenched her jaw and he went on.

“All I have to do is press charges against the mother, and that baby is going into the foster care system. And that would be a real shame. Did you enjoy your time in the foster system, Emma?“

At that barb, she fought back. “No jury in the world is going to convict a woman who only committed crimes so she could keep her kid.”

He shrugged, dodged the attack. “Maybe.”

Emma pressed in. “And maybe a court of law will think there’s something kind of fishy about a pawnbroker pressuring a teenage girl into placing her baby for adoption for financial compensation. ‘More cash than she’d ever seen in her life,’ isn’t that what you said? Why do you have that much cash, Gold? Do you want a court looking into your business dealings? Or into any other contracts you might have?”

Rumpelstiltskin smiled. Oh, the Savior was magnificent--like a force of nature or a perfectly executed spell. If she was ever actually a threat to him, he might well have something to worry about.

“I like you, Miss Swan,” he said. “You’re not afraid of me. That’s either cocky or presumptuous, but I find it charming. And I’d like to have you on my side.”

She raised her eyebrows, but didn’t loosen her stance. “So you’ll rip up Ashley’s contract?”

He raised his cup of coffee in a gesture of helplessness. “That’s not what I do. After all, a contract, an agreement between two parties where both of them benefit--that’s the very foundation of a civilized society.”

Emma rolled her eyes. “Yes, what happened today has all been very civilized.”

“And there’s the adoptive family to consider. I’ll have to make things right with them and that won’t be easy. It’s not something I’ll do for nothing.”

Arms still crossed over her chest, Emma stepped closer to him. “Alright, Gold. What will you do it for? What’s your price?”

Rumpelstiltskin gave her a long, slow look. “I don’t know just yet,” he said. “But seeing the lengths you went to for Ashley’s sake is rather inspiring, Miss Swan. You said you were going to help her, and you did. I may be wrong, but I think you have the resources necessary to help a lot of people.”

“So what’s your point?”

“Help me,” he said with all the sincerity he could while still acting like Gold. “When there comes a time, when I--or one of mine--needs the assistance of Emma Swan, fight for me. The way you did for Ashley. Call it a favor.”

“A favor, huh?” Emma offered her hand. “Deal.”

He tossed the coffee in the trash to take her hand and shake it. Now he knew how the Savior worked. He knew what she was capable of, and now she owed him a favor. He had won so much--and all he’d had to do was lose.

“Deal.”

#golden rings #rumbelle #rumbelle fic #rumbelle fanfic #ouat

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moonah-rose · 3 years

Text

Defrost

Weather is starting to turn cold here so quick Wintry S2 fluff with a still kinda bad demon kitty.

Vicky decides to cause a snowstorm at the worst time, for Eleanor.

Michael was beaming. This was absolutely hilarious.

It was only his third ethics lesson and definitely his favorite so far, none of which had anything to do with what he was supposed to be learning. Presumably.

When he’d begrudgingly arrived, all of the humans had been gathered waiting for class to start, Chidi stood at the chalkboard tapping his foot, while Jason and Tahani sat awkwardly at either ends of the couch, as if it wasn’t obvious enough that they were having a ‘secret fling’ the rest of the dummies were too blind to notice.

There’d been an annoying twinge in his chest when there didn’t seem to be any sign of Eleanor, the one human who wasn’t afraid to sit near him and make these damn lessons somewhat bearable.

“She’s decided to skip today. Apparently the weather was far too good to stay inside when there’s good ‘Arizona style skin baking’ to do.” Chidi had explained with a groan when Michael had asked about his missing classmate.

The brief irritation and pettiness that Eleanor hadn’t asked him to ditch classes with her was quickly replaced by a burst of giggles, his hand moving to his mouth.

“What is so amusing?” Tahani asks, looking up.

“Oh, it’s great, trust me! I was about to warn you all; Vicky’s about to get Janet to mess up the weather so that we have a week of insanely cold snowstorms! Apparently something to do with Eleanor giving you ‘the cold shoulder’, yada yada,” Michael waves off, addressing the egocentric princess; “And...Ha! Eleanor is out there sunbathing?! Oh, that’s priceless!”

Why did he never think of that in all those reboots? Maybe because sending murder hornets after Chidi whenever the two of them tried to have a romantic picnic or soak them in torrential rain seemed too similar. But this was even better! If only he could take credit for it.

A flash of white outside the windows gets all the humans to their feet as they turn to see Michael’s words come to fruition. Heavy, sharp winds carrying the thickest of snowflakes begin whirling around and burying the ground outside in a quickly rising layer of powder.

“Oh, so THAT’S snow! Awesome!” Of course the Florida DJ hadn’t ventured far enough beyond his swamp city to see such weather before; “I wanna go eat it!”

“Trust me! You really don’t wanna go out in that, it’s not designed to be fun. I’m supposed to make some announcement to be broadcast in your homes later about a glitch and you all needing to stay inside.” Michael warns them of that.

Chidi turns on him; “And you said Eleanor’s out in that?!”

“Yeah! Imagine her trying to make her way back in that! She’s probably frozen solid already. That’ll teach her to skip class, right, Teach?” He raises his hand in the air.

Chidi leaves him hanging. As does Tahani. Not even Jason will indulge him.

Ugh. So much for a team. He drops his hand down as their stares on him turn to full on glaring.

“Tough room.” Michael puts his hands in his pockets.

“You’re supposed to not torture us anymore, you need to go make sure she’s okay.” Chidi tells him.

Oh, for fork’s sake. Why should he do that when Eleanor was gonna leave him to endure this dumb lecture while she got to relax and top her tan up? This was the best he was going to get to payback...as well as for the eight hundred previous defeats that he seemed to care less and less about each day.

“She’ll be fine! It’s only a bit of snow. And anyway, this isn't my torture, it's Vicky’s - speaking of which, Janet will be offline for a little bit as she’s supposed to be helping fix this, but it’s really just to make your quarantine more boring.”

See? He’s nice enough to fill them in on that and what thanks does he get?

“Okay then, I’ll go-.” Chidi starts towards the door.

Michael huffs and blocks the professor’s path; “No, you’re supposed to stay in...Plus your limbs might fall off from frostbite in five minutes.”

“You just said-.”

“I know what I said, she’ll still be fine...” Michael turns and stomps his way out the door, muttering under his breath; “...So long as I find her quick.” He clears his throat and exits into the snowy chaos.

It’s lucky his extra senses are able to help him find the path towards the beach, as the fog is getting denser along with the downpour. He snaps a pair of snow boots on to help him trudge through where his loafers don’t help quite as much, along with a long, blue coat flapping behind him. He doesn’t feel the cold as bad as the humans would, but it’s still a pain in the ash. It’s bad enough relinquishing control of his experiment, now his beautiful torture city is going to be wrecked by this wintry storm.

He hopes he wins some major extra credit scores in these ethics lessons for journeying out into this to help bring one filthy cockroach back...even if she was the most enjoyable cockroach to be around.

A claw reaches out to grip his ankle.

“AH, SHIRT!” He almost trips, at first expecting one of the ice demons to have taken off their skin and planning to surprise him; “Sven, is that you?!”

He glances down, seeing the hand still exposed through the snow on the ground, his sight adjusting to make out the fallen form, half-buried alive...well, close enough.

Oh. Crab.

He kneels down and digs the inches of snow away, exposing Eleanor’s shivering, half-naked form on the ground. Her hair is damp and her lips nearly bright blue, arms hugged tight around herself, her swimsuit possibly making her more cold than if she was wearing nothing at all.

“Eleanor? Eleanor, can you hear me?” He shakes her by the shoulder.

Flakes are caught in her eyelashes as she tries to open her lids, teeth chattering like those little wind-up novelty set he has in his cabinet.

“H-h-h-hey b-b-bud.” She says, smaller and weaker than he’s ever heard her; “C-c-care to t-t-turn up the...th-thermostat...a b-b-bit?”

About another twenty degrees Celsius?

Michael sighs, brushing the snow away from her hair, though more quickly falls on her. He knows he should take this moment to mock her, to take advantage of this rare opportunity to see her in true misery...But he’s pretty sure she’s going to pass out at any moment. And, damn it, has she always been this small?

He shrugs his coat off and swaddles it around her frame, trying to make sure every corner is tucked in against the icy wind, before he lifts her up.

Her head turns to find its way to the crook of his neck.

“Wow....H-h-how are you so warm? You made of f-f-fire?” She whispers, jaw still moving rapidly beyond her control.

“Yes.” Is as much as he reveals, for now.

He scoops her close in his arms, turning to go back to the clown house before spotting Vicky beyond some trees, possibly on her way to look for him.

Cursing inward, he turns and heads back towards the rocks near the beach.

“R-r-really not in the mood for a beach read r-right now, man.” Eleanor barely has the strength to stand in her giant coat burrito as Michael releases her near some boulders.

Michael snaps his fingers, summoning an igloo behind the giant rocks, out of easy line of sight for any potential scouting demons, though he knows not many venture this far out - usually making it the perfect spot for his and Eleanor’s after-school study groups (aka the Make Fun of Chidi and Forget To Study groups).

“Oh, n-nice! An ice house for me to f-f-freeze in some more!” Eleanor’s quickly numbing face makes it difficult for the sarcasm to translate on her face.

Michael rolls his eyes and nudges her to get inside.

Obviously, it’s no mere igloo. It’s more like one of those ‘glamping’ - as Tahani would say and then lose points for using - pods or tents, essentially a portable mini-apartment with a sofa, a TV, a stove and a lit fireplace that doesn’t melt the walls. Because magic.

“F-f-fork...I t-take it back,” Eleanor exclaims, swaying as she clutches the coat around her and glances at the surroundings which are, of course, bigger than the outside would allude to; “This is pretty swe...Sweet set...”

Michael sees her begin to fall to the floor despite being no where near the large sofa. He catches her and hurries her over to the fireplace, snapping his fingers to ignite some more flames.

“Better?” He asks, rubbing her arms, watching her aura and studying her vitals.

Probably not the best thing for a human to get hypothermia, even when already dead. Especially so. The ones being tortured in the snowy Bad Place neighbourhoods looked rather happy, though that was mainly because their mouths were frozen in permanent smiles, the ice forever smothering their screams.

Eleanor nods a little, before shuffling out of the coat.

“T-that things too wet...So is this...” She gestures to her skimpy blue bathing suit, struggling to move her numb fingers; “Dude...gimmie a hand?”

A hand? Wait.

She wants him to...? Oh. Right.

His throat suddenly goes dry, which is ridiculous as he shouldn’t ever need to hydrate. Michael nods, moving his fingers to fumble the knot on her back, allowing the bra to slide off of her after a couple of minutes.

He hears her chuckle; “Wow, even demon boys still struggles to get a human bra off, huh?”

Michael feels the blush on his cheek, not having expected that to be a skill he would need to learn.

He watches her keep her back to him, pushing her bottoms down to her ankles before kicking them aside on the warm, white ‘carpet’ he made up for the igloo, before she shuffles as close as she can to the fireplace. Sitting bare naked and not seeming to give a fork that he can see every inch of her.

Thank Upper Management the whole shivering and blue-tinted skin doesn’t make her the least bit attractive...Not that she ever was...Gross, dumb human.

“Lemmie guess...Vicky’s latest idea? Why didn’t you tell me, man? I thought we were a team.” She berates over her shoulder to him.

“Hey, I was going to tell you and the others at class. It’s not my fault you decided to ditch without giving me a heads up.” He tries to look away as the side of her breast is in view when she turns and this...Damn it, why does she have to be so carefree and public with her nudity?

She smirks; “What’s the matter, dude? First time you seen a hot human naked you weren’t covering with scorpions?”

“Please, as if I care if your skins are covered or not.” He rubs the back of his neck; ��You should be thanking me! I decided to venture out into this weather to rescue you, of my own accord, with no external persuasions needed!”

“Chidi told you to find me, didn’t he.”

“Yes, he did. But I could’ve said no and I didn’t. So...” He shrugs; “Progress?” Is it? He’s still new at this.

Eleanor suddenly starts to laugh and Michael can’t help but smile. He takes it that he’s right then. He notices that her face is still rather off-color, her lips now a shade of lilac, even though her shivering isn’t as violent as it was when he found her.

His chest aches, just for a second, as he remembers hesitating to come out.

How he’d been excited at the idea of Eleanor suffering from this...Why wasn’t it enjoyable to see it happening before him?

“Uhm, Janet’s gonna be AWOL for a couple hours...But I could get something to warm you up? Humans like drinking warm liquified chocolate when it’s cold, right? Or I could fill one of those bags with dangerously scalding liquid?”

“How about you just bring that internal fire of yours over here, bud?” She curls a finger at him, her other still wrapped around her shoulder; “You can be my hot water bottle while we wait this out.”

He isn’t sure what she means about that until he goes to sit next to her and, suddenly, Eleanor is grabbing his arms and folding them around herself as if he were now the wrap to make up her human-flavoured burrito. Her hands grip his, tight, bringing them around to rest around her stomach.

Michael shifts, awkwardly. He’s still getting used to the whole ‘hugging’ thing, which was mostly something Eleanor did as her own torture to annoy him, also Jason sometimes not having much of a concept of a personal space. It’s a whole other set of issues he thinks to put his arms around her when she’s completely naked. She has no qualms about leaning back into him.

“Awww, yeah, that’s nice. Demons make for good bean-bag chairs.” She smirks as she snuggles into him.

He isn’t sure whether to be flattered or insulted.

“Am I...helping then?” He asks, oddly nervous.

“Mmm hmm.” She hums, her heartrate steadying a little, as well as the pink returning to her lips.

The glow that fills Michael’s chest as he watches her smile in his arms, that sated buzz rushing through his stomach, is what he had expected to feel from seeing her be successfully tortured. Instead it had brought him some weird after-sad sensation that was new and frightening. And yet, helping her, making her better...That was the result that made him feel better?

Holy shirt....What was happening to him?

“You okay there, buddy?” Eleanor asks after a while, “You’ve got the look I used to have when someone told me they were bringing their toddlers out to lunch with me.”

He shakes his head; “S’fine....A-are you okay?” His hands shift around her middle, wanting to make sure she’s getting as much warmth as she can from him.

For some reason it matters a lot that she is. The softness of her skin beneath his fingertips is distracting him from working out what he’s heard in his ethics lessons so far that might explain this.

“Well, sat nude in an igloo, cuddling up to the demon who tortured me for three hundred years, isn’t quite the weirdest thing that’s happened to me in this place...but it’s also far from the worst.” She quips.

He feels as if he could melt now, that look she’s giving him making his essence fizz like a well-shaken soda bottle.

“Thanks for coming to get me...Eventually.” She says, moving a cold hand up to touch his cheek; “Damn, that touch would be good payback if you were human.”

“Sorry.” He smirks back; “I can’t help being a hot Architect, Eleanor.”

“And they call me full of myself!” She grins; “Whatever, we’re right and we should say it.”

That’s not what he meant but...Sure, he’ll take that.

“Actually...your face could do with helping mine warm up.” Eleanor’s thumb brushes against the corner of his mouth.

Michael frowns; “...Really? How?”

She smiles, a twinkle in her eyes; “Like this.”

She moves in close, before he can even comprehend her next action, pressing her lips against his and sucking, lightly, her tongue invading his mouth while her hand gently head his head in place. Michael freezes, to start, stunned in shock and confusion.

Do humans really do this just to...warm up? He wouldn’t be against the idea if that was the case, but...This is Eleanor Shellstrop in front of him, Arizona born and bred, almost ninety per cent of her actions were a pathway to sex.

Fork!

Michael pulled back, ignoring the softness of her lips, resisting the temptation to lose himself in...whatever that was.

“Ugh! Gross! Why do humans do that? Your food holes are for eating, you horny dinguses!” He makes a show of rubbing his lips on his hand.

Eleanor is laughing again; “Oh my god, you’d think I gave you cooties or something!”

“Is that a thing?! A human disease?! Do I need to disinfect myself?”

He starts to shuffle away but she reaches to grab his hand; “Relax, Mikey...It was just a bit of fun. Don’t worry, if you’re not into gross humans, I’ll be all good and pure and restrained...for one day.”

He gulps, feeling as though he should be relieved; “G-good. W-why would I ever want to...Again...I mean. Good. Thank you.”

Now he has to stop his eyes from looking at her again, now that she’s warmed up and dried, no longer shaking like a leaf and looking smaller than usual. She’s sat in the glow of the fireplace, giving him that smile she had every time she saw through him, saw who he was, always too impressed or pleased with herself to be angry at him.

Damn it, he should have left her to freeze.

You know you couldn’t do that. Not anymore.

She’s beaten you. Accept it.

“If you’re not gonna warm me up the fun way, the least you can do is snap us some hot chocolate.” Eleanor says, turning back to the fire and putting her palms up.

Michael sighs. Yes. That he can do, easy.

“And some dry comfy clothes....I wouldn’t wanna prolong your torture any longer.” She winks at him; “It’s only fair.”

#hellstrop #michael x eleanor #tgp fanfic #fluff #first kisses

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stunt-lads · 3 years

Text

Tagged by @jimtheviking (tysm for tagging me)

Rules: List the first lines of your last 20 stories (if you have less than 20, just list them all!). See if there are any patterns. Choose your favourite opening line. Then tag some of your favourite authors

(Under a read more due to length!)

★ Untitled - Wolvlock; Logan kicks in the door to the room he can smell Sherlock’s scent emanating from. He finds him, alive, moving, breathing but he shies away from the light streaming in behind him.

♥ Nonae - OC Backstory; He thinks he had a name once. Before he ran away. But leaving his realm, his home has left him empty.

★ Camping (Working title) - Streddie (IT); “So, we’re going camping this weekend right?” Richie can hear Eddie in the other room, double and triple checking to make sure he has everything.

“Yes, we’re leaving today actually, so make sure you take everything you’ll need for a week.” Eddie snarks from his bedroom across the hall. Richie thinks it's sweet he doesn’t even pretend to believe Richie’s packed already.

Richie smiles to himself as he haphazardly throws things into the bag. There’s something that makes him feel domestic in that.

♥ Vent - OC Style (ft. Carter, Declan, Peyton); The door creaking has him slowly waking up. It’s not common that someone comes into his room at night but maybe it’s dad or Declan in need of something.

♥ Untitled; He lays on his back, looking up at the stars and moon

The ground is finally dry enough from all the melting snow for him to just relax It’s still partially frozen and his clothes aren’t thick enough to stop all the water from seeping into his skin Cooling it in the cold night air But it’s worth it It’s so worth it to look up at the sky and see the vast array of stars.

★ Nitis - Penultimate Chapter; “Are you sure this is the right way?” Soot’s voice echoes slightly in the metal interior.

“I think so. It’s so hard to tell…” Dart sounds unsure of himself. Fern steels herself and steps forward at the same time Ash does.

They look at each other and nod.

“Follow Ash.” Fern’s voice is soft but confident, “Dart, you follow her and then me, and Soot if—“

“Yeah! I can use my antlers if I need to.” He lets them crackle softly to enunciate his words.

“Yeah. Ok.”

Dart inhales deeply, the four of them able to breathe easily even as the smog and black smoke surrounds them and prevents them from seeing clearly. Ash stops in front of him and looks back at them, her eyes glowing a soft green in the harsh red lighting.

“She wants to know which way to go.” Soot says, tilting his head curiously. He gently nudges at Fern’s hindquarters, “Get up next to her. You’re our navigator.”

“B-But I—“

“You can do it Fern.” Dart says stepping aside. Fern lays her ears flat back against her head and steps forward on shaky legs. Ash looks at her with a small smile and nods.

“Alright, ok. Uhm…” She closes her eyes and concentrates until the loud sound of the machinery around them fades away, until she doesn’t feel the rumbling of the behemoth moving around them.

“Right. And then the next fork we go left.”

“Alright! Let’s go!” Dart says excitedly as they all run deeper into the darkness of the metal monstrosity, Soot whooping as he brings up the tail end again.

★ The Thief and the Bard - OC story (ft. Caleb and Lysander); It’s dark now and the rafters creak under his weight as his eyes take in the empty store.

He’s been stalking it all day, watching the shopkeeper, learning his habits. He’s friendly enough, if intimidating. To be expected though. He’s a bear.

As soon as the candlelight went out, the torches were doused with a soft sizzle, and the light from the fire had died down to embers, he made his move.

He genuinely couldn’t believe his luck when he saw the window left open on the second floor. Climbing his way up had been easy enough and the cloud cover had left him invisible to anyone watching.

The fox’s nose twitches as his ears swivel and he waits before swinging down onto the log floor. He winces when the wood groans softly under his feet.

♥ The one where they’re queer - Stozier (ft. Trans Stan); Richie Tozier was a rambunctious boy. But it also wasn’t unusual or hard for him to make friends. Which is how he made friends with the nice girl down the street.

Her name was Hannah Uris and she was the only girl Richie ever liked.

✘ Omega Stan - Stozier; He doesn’t like being soft

He doesn’t like being vulnerable and when he presents his status he’s really pissed about it Especially since He’s the only loser who is an omega

★ FBI Stan + Richie, Witness Protection Eddie (Steddie); He’s had to relocate this dude liketimes and ‘Eddie’ is his new name and he has no friends and Stan feels bad for him

So he says “hey, why don’t I keep you company until you’re settled in and comfortable?” And Eddie goes from 😔 to 🥺 and Stan’s like oh fuck he’s cute

★ The guy next door - Reddie (ft. Trans Eddie); When he first moves in Richie’s already intrigued by him.

He looks perpetually angry and Richie is living for it. Richie makes his move when he goes to catch a box that nearly falls from his hands, the boxes stacked too high.

✘ Barry/Soso - Dark A/B/O; “Please, i dont want this, I asked you not to when I was in heat, sTOP!”

But Barry doesn’t listen and pins his wrists to the bed, after turning him onto his stomach and making him keep his face buried in the pillows.

✘ Corruption and blasphemy? Yes - Reddie (ft. Demon!Eddie & Priest!Richie); For a demon Eddie Kaspbrak is small, he’s unassuming, petite, he thinks he even heard a human refer to him as a “twink” once when he was in a gay club and looking for a hookup to ease his bloodlust.

He doesn’t really care what they call him, he just knows when he sets his sights on someone, they become his.

Must be the greed in him.

✘ Venting via proxy; it’s hazy, his memories, and that’s ok. or, well, it’s not okay, but he prefers the haziness to the vivid memories.

at least with the lapses in his memory he can pretend nothing happened. because even if something did, he doesn’t know what it was, can’t pinpoint it, doesn’t dwell on it late at night when the demons come for him in the darkness. all shadows and long arms.

♥ Christmas but make it horror - Reddie; “Do I have to stay, Richie?” Stan whines, throwing a pillow at him from the spot on his bed.

“You do.” Richie says cheerfully, throwing a wrapped gift in his direction, “And here’s your present you whiny baby.”

Stan tears into it eagerly. He tries not to laugh when he sees the hideous thing, “Thanks, Rich.” He deadpans and Richie presses an exaggerated kiss to his temple.

“Anythin’ for you toots.”

Stan shoves him away laughing.

★ Oceans Embrace - PotC OC/Canon story; what’re ye worried about in these waters? eyes flit to the darkening sky in answer ain’t no harpies for leagues and ‘fore you mention ‘em mermaids flock t’gether in shallower waters.

aye but there's somethin’ worse than harpies, worse than mermaids even. breaths are held, and work is paused as the second mate speaks, somethin’ that's the unholy mixture of the two.

✘ Soft Reddie; Eddie always wanted to believe in unicorns. He wanted to see one one day, a pure white animal, pristine and clean that only showed itself to those who it deemed worthy and good of heart?

Yeah. Eddie wanted that.

♥ Blurb/Ficlet - Reddie; It’s after Derry, when they’re all staying for a week with Richie, ignoring their obligations so they can catch up on things they’ve missed in their time apart. And Stan has brought along Patty and she and Bev are already getting along great. Stan is obviously smitten, if the way he looks at her and just holds her hand is any indication.

✘ Barry/Richie/Milo; He isn’t sure when the turning point is. When he decides he just can’t do it anymore. But he knows it starts when he’s on stage. Seeing the spotlight and suddenly snapping back to beneath Derry, frozen in fear and tense. He vomits on stage and there’s murmurs of “oh god” and “is he okay?” from the crowd and Richie Tozier, for one of the first times in his life, sincerely apologizes.

♥ But Trust me to take you home - Reddie; It’s funny, Eddie thinks, that as things change they still always sort of stay the same.

Key:

♥ - Completed

★ - WIP/incomplete

✘ Abandoned

Tagging: @ull-float-too @bimmyshrug @blueeyedrichie @fuckbitchesgetreddie @fuji09 and whoever else wants to do this! <33

#ecks speaks #tagged me #I’m so!! Extra!! I formatted this and made it so nice and now I’m mad bc It didn’t!! Save the colors!!#ANYWAY thank u for tagging me #noncon implied #for one of these oops 😬

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degrassi-fanatic · 3 years

Text

Knight’s Widow

Gwen does not know how much time has passed since the funeral. All she knows is that the flames that were once raging against the wood of the pyre have now died down. In its place, remains only the ashes of Lancelot’s earthly possessions. From where she is standing in front of what is left of the funeral pyre, she sees that the moon is already high up in the night sky behind the structures of Camelot.

As if her body has just registered it is night time, a shiver runs through Gwen’s whole body. Her flimsy skirts are not enough to protect against the cool summer nights. Had she been in any other circumstance, she would have already been on her way back home.

She doesn’t dare to go home today, though; she knows the only thing waiting for her at home are Lancelot’s belongings scattered around their once shared home. If she goes back home, all she will find is sorrow and Gwen likes to think she’s dealt with enough of that for a lifetime.

On their own accord, her palms come up to rub against the sides of her arms in an attempt to warm her up. The cold metal of the ring on her left hand is felt through the fabric of her sleeves.

All of a sudden, she feels a heavy fabric spread across her shoulders. In the pale moonlight, she can see the tell tale red of a knight’s cloak floating around by her feet.

At the sight of it, she bites back a cry because Lancelot used to do the exact same thing, he used to drape his cloak over Gwen.

The habit had begun last winter. The two of them had taken a stroll out in the forest only for the first snow to fall and cut their little outing short. Fortunately for Lancelot, seeing as he ran cold no matter what the season was, he had worn layers of tunics and thick woolen socks. Gwen, on the other hand, was still dressed in her thin maidservant skirts and open top flats.

At the sight of her, Lancelot had unclasped his cloak and swaddled her in the fabric. Without another thought, he picked up Gwen in his arms and rushed back towards Camelot. Ignoring all of Gwen’s protests as he did so. He knew that she secretly liked how doting he was.

Blinking back the memory, she finds Arthur standing next to her. Looking out to the long extinguished pyre. From the corner of her eye, she can spot him fiddling with his own wedding band resting on his ring finger.

“His last thoughts were about you.” Arthur murmurs as he is unable or unwilling, she does not know, to look her in the eye, “He told all of us to take care of you. To love you enough that you will not feel his absence.”

“I will always feel his absence.”

She will feel his absence in their home, even long after she's put away his possessions to keep her from bursting out in tears at the sight. She will feel his absence when she sees all of the knights lined up at the gates of Camelot for another quest, and how they're will be a gap between Gwaine and Leon because Arthur could not bear to replace Lancelot. Gwen will feel his absence for the rest of her life.

As she fiddles with her wedding ring, Gwen thinks she will not remarry, not for the life of her. She doesn't know if she can. How could she? How could she settle for anyone else after having lived less than a lifetime with Lancelot?

She loved him— No, she loves him with her whole being. No one else would ever come close to him. For her, there was only ever him.

“I think in all the time I have known him, I never told him I loved him.” she confesses as she clutches onto the lining on the inside of the cloak, “Never those exact words.”

Finally, Arthur turns to look at her. His eyes are rimmed red and Gwen is reminded that Lancelot was more than her husband, he was Arthur’s friend.

“Trust me, Gwen. He knew.” he says, his voice coming out choked, “It was implied.”

“When?”

“Everyday.” he answers, truthfully, “From the moment you two met.”

What were the last words Lancelot ever heard from her? Were they enough to remind Lancelot that he was loved, that he will always be loved?

Her throat starts to get watery as she recalls the last thing she ever uttered to him.

She hadn’t told him to be safe or that she needed him to come back or that he had to take care of himself.

No, Gwen had told him to take care of the knights. Gwen had made him promise her that he would look after their friends, their family.

“He died for me.” Gwen rasps out as water fills her eyes, “When you were all about to leave, I asked him to look after you. All of you.

“Why?” Arthurs asks as his voice breaks on the syllable, his face full of anguish, “Why would you ask him to do that?”

An inappropriate chuckle escapes her throat as she turns away from Arthur to look out at the pyre once more, in hopes that if she stares for long enough Lancelot just might come back to her.

“Because all of you have a self-sacrificing streak. I was worried about one of you, or God forbid all of you, dying. I couldn’t bear the thought of losing another friend.” she explains as her gaze moves up to the night sky, “One already dealt me a mortal blow.

“Never in a million years, did I think Lancelot would adopt that penchant for death the rest of you had apparently been born with.”

It was true. Though the rest of the knights were family and tried their best to remain largely unharmed, they didn’t have a wife waiting for them to come back alive and whole. They had the allowance of acting reckless and, in Gwen’s opinion, stupid.

Lancelot couldn’t afford to take unnecessary risks for he had Gwen waiting at the gates of Camelot each time he came back. He had always swore to Gwen he would come back home to her, for her. For the most part, she bitterly thinks as she looks out at the ashes that were once her husband's sword, he kept his promise.

“I’m sorry I killed your husband.” he whispers.

Gwen wonders how many times Arthur had to say that to a knight’s widow.

“You didn’t kill my husband.” she says with a sigh, “I think you and I both know that nothing was going to stop Lancelot from walking into the veil. People call him noble, I call him stubborn.”

“He was one of the best men I ever knew.” Arthur admits.

To Gwen, he was the best man she had ever known but that alone had been his downfall. His sense of nobility, loyalty, chivalry was what had damned him in the end. All she had done was ask for a favour and she had sent him on the path down to his death.

God, Gwen had damned him.

The tears that were welling up in her eyes since the funeral had finally made their descent down her cheeks. A sob erupts out of her chest, wracking against the bones of her rib cage. She buries her face into her palms as she attempts to control the hiccuping cries leaving her. It's all in vain, however.

Without a moment's delay, Arthur collects her shaking frame into a hug, and she feels his arms wrap around her shoulders. Her hands claw against his back as she perches her chin on his shoulder. Tears fall down onto his tunic as she hears Arthur let out hushed reassurances. A second later his palm comes up to smooth down Gwen’s hair only serving to make her cry harder.

Gwen should pull away. It’s improper for the King, the married King, to be seen embracing the widow maidservant of one of his fallen knights, in the middle of Camelot. It would tarnish Arthur’s reputation and it would have Gwen even more on the outskirts with the serving staff of the castle.

Gwen should pull away but she doesn’t.

She just lost her husband, everything feels like it’s falling apart at the seams and she just needs her friend to help keep her together. For all the King's horses and all the King's men couldn't put the Knight’s widow back together again, she thinks to herself as she presses her nose down into Arthur’s tunic.

#merlin #guinevere #lancelot #gwencelot #~fic~

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cultureisdarkbeer · 4 years

Text

We Will Remember; From Out of the Ashes

From my Rooted in Friendship series, this is Mulder on 9/11/2001

It was September. Mulder had spent the summer wandering aimlessly. Using the identities The Lone Gunman had given him he roamed from one menial job to the other in one town to the next. Every day was spent looking over his shoulder and every night dreaming of Scully and William. Hesitant to make contact, he hadn’t even checked his email for fear of a trace. It didn’t even matter. There was nothing for him to say that wasn’t already said. He wanted to come home. To be with them again. The only positive, if there was any, was that he was meeting different people from all kinds of backgrounds and philosophies. There were more people out there that believed than he had realized. Some circles had even mentioned him by name as a crusader. If they only knew. If he was on a crusade it was to return to his family. The only way to do that would be to discover what destroyed human replacements and stop them before it was too late.

Mulder opened one eye and squinted at the time. He thought it read 10:37. He was thinking that it must be A.M. as there was sunlight shining into the window. Sometimes it was an arduous task to simply discern one day to the next. Today was Tuesday. He knew this since his last day at the mill had been yesterday and the guys had gathered at the local bar for a going away bash. The last thing he remembered was being dropped onto the couch by Randy after having too many drinks to maintain the ability to walk let alone drive a car. His head was still buzzing, but he did recall crying into a beer or two over Scully. He slowly rolled into a sitting position on the most recent couch he called home. Rubbing his neck, the stiffness reminded him that he needed to buy a pillow. Thinking of stiffness, he stared down at ol’ reliable standing at his usual attention. Not that he had much use for it. The times he did partake he usually ended up in a worse depression than before and he wasn’t in the mood for tears today. He rubbed his face and the scruff that had formed cut into his calloused hands. Blindly, he turned on the small picture tube in the room and went to the bathroom to empty his bladder. When he returned he had a toothbrush hanging from his mouth and disbelief in his eyes. The news showed smoke rising from where the World Trade Center once stood. There had been an attack on the Pentagon as well and in Pennsylvania. The next couple hours he spent glued to the television absorbing everything in front of him. His first instinct was to contact Scully, but he knew he couldn’t. The FBI had to be heavily involved at this point. Thoughts of human replacement involvement crossed his mind although most evil didn’t land from the sky, but that from within. It was then he decided his next destination would be east to NYC. If nothing else, they could use his help.

As he got dressed he accidentally glanced at himself in the mirror. He usually avoided mirrors as they reflected his heartache. Today he looked at himself as if from afar. It was the first time in a while he felt he might have a purpose again. Tanned from working in the sun, his skin glowed golden and his abs had a harder cut to them than usual. The muscles in his arms and chest were wider. Scully would be impressed he thought as he ran his hand over his chest. The pain of her absence began to culminate in his heart and he quickly resumed getting dressed frantically trying to push his mind onto another track. Any thoughts of Scully resulted with tears, anger and unending sadness. He walked outside and flung his bags into the back of an old Buick sedan he had purchased for a couple hundred dollars. The plates and registration were phonies Skinner had retrieved from FBI storage, but they got him wheels. He sat the picture Scully had given him in the corner of the instrument panel wishing he had one of William as well. Straightening his rear view mirror he gave the rural landscape one last look, put on his shades, and headed out.

A few days had passed before he had reached New York traveling from Kansas. He had stopped to visit Sheila and Holman. At least there he got to share good memories, eat some home cooking, and be the proud papa as he told them about William. He had given Holman a package to mail to Scully so she knew he was still alive and took off for New York.

As he entered NJ, he took heed of the solemn atmosphere. There was an eerie quiet looming. When he finally pulled the car into a parking spot he was near Liberty State Park. The air was cold, a frigid day with no wind, the only breeze being from the echoing of voices from the dead and the screaming hearts of the living. He came upon a spot with candles burning. Pictures and cards hung everywhere. There were notebooks too. He picked them up and read them. Poems and prayers, wishes and requests, all to missing loved ones. They were beautiful and he felt his anger rise up with the sadness. The monster inside him was winning. He spun around when he felt a tap on his arm. It was a woman with tears in her eyes. She hugged him without words. A total stranger holding him, greeting him like family. They cried in each other’s arms for each of their losses without sharing words. Others came to pray, share hugs and photos, and leave messages. Everyone was leaning on the other. Mulder had witnessed many things in his life, but such a beautiful reflection of humanity he never would have guessed to find in the vicinity of so much that was corrupt.

“Hi. My name is Lauren.” A tall slender woman dressed in what might be considered hippy attire held out her hand for Mulder to shake. “Do you have missing loved ones?”

“No… I, uh. I came to help.”

“Yes. It seems there are people from all over the country some from other parts of the world that have traveled to help. I’m from Long Island myself. There’s a group of us meeting here in a while to make the trek over into the city. From there we will meet up with the firefighters.”

“What will we be doing?”

“You’ll see.” She replied with a warm smile.

For lack of any ideas, Mulder wandered into the city with them. The streets were covered in ash. What looked like snow was more ash falling from the sky. A post-apocalyptic feel gripped at his fears. This was not cruelty from an alien force, but only that capable of man. They walked the streets. Lit candles covered every street corner accompanied by flowers, cards, letters, and poems. The walls of every business and billboard filled with pictures of loved ones.

Children, mothers, fathers, sons, daughters, friends, wandered the streets searching. Some came as he did. From a pull that they did not know. From a pull to be together, for comfort from the sadness. To mourn the loss, embrace each other. When they finally settled on a street corner they waited. The firefighters were changing shifts. The truck stopped at the corner and the firemen got out as others piled in. They carried with them shovels and masks. The news stated it was an attempt at a recovery mission, but Mulder knew better. It was to dig up the dead. To find evidence of who had died, to attempt proper funerals. Most would remain where they died, their tombstone a memorial and another skyscraper to once again reach out to the heavens on the backs of their souls. The returning firefighters had it all in their faces. The people cheered them like superheroes upon their return. Those people were there for one purpose. To hug those men, to give them their strength back through their love. Total strangers giving the only thing they had to give to the men that had lost so many of their brothers. The firefighters in turn cried into the embrace. Falling apart in their arms. Real giants did exist and they walked the streets that day. It was the men in red and those in blue that ran towards their impending doom as others ran away. To now be represented by those from all over sifting through the ashes, not giving up on a chance of resurrection. If there was a place Mulder felt at home since leaving D.C. it was there among the mourning. They gave him strength to go on. To know that he was blessed to have Scully and William still alive waiting.

After sharing handshakes, more prayers and kind words, he left as soft music played bouncing off the resilience of the tall standing buildings of downtown. The Empire State Building glowed red, white, and blue for all to see that we still stood tall. People had brought their instruments, boom boxes and whatever they had, playing the music throughout the night to let everyone know they were not alone. The spotlights boomed into the sky like a signal to batman calling for a savior when the only one to answer was from inside. Mulder continued to wander the streets, like he was searching, but for what he had yet to know. He got to a large rock near central park and sat down. His heart started to race as butterflies beat furiously in his stomach. “Scully.” He said to himself out loud.

“Mulder” Scully said as butterflies grew in her stomach at that familiar feeling.

“What is it Dana?” Monica asked concerned at the upset look on her face.

“Nothing. I… I just got a strange feeling like Mulder was here.”

“Maybe he was.”

“Maybe. I miss him Monica. Not a second goes by….”

“You have to stay positive.”

“I know.”

Scully and Monica were two blocks from Mulder’s rock in Central Park. They had come to see the tragedy with their own eyes and unknowingly came within steps of Mulder. Monica waved down a cab and got in. Scully paused for a second longer, the butterflies still beating in her stomach. “I know you’re out there Mulder. I hope you feel me too.” She whispered more to herself than anything else. She joined Monica in the cab and they headed to the airport to return to D.C.

Mulder got up from the rock looking for the subway to take him back to his motel room. A kid in his twenties in a gray hoodie came up behind Mulder and tapped him on the shoulder startling him.

“Excuse me. You’re Fox Mulder!”

“What? No, I’m sorry you have the wrong person.” Mulder picked up his pace taking longer strides to get away from the attention this guy was bestowing upon him. The kid only ran to keep up.

“No, I know you’re him. You were friends with Max from NICAP. I’m from NICAP too.” The kid said extending his hand to Mulder as they walked. Mulder kept his hand in his pockets and didn’t slow his pace.

“Look I’m kind of undercover. I’m not really able to talk right now it could compromise my position.”

The kid nodded, but didn’t back away. “My name is Josh. We’re having a meeting tomorrow if you’re interested. The topic… alien hybrid kryptonite.”

This stopped Mulder in his tracks. “You’ve figured out how to stop them?”

Josh looked hesitant. “Well that’s what the meeting is about. We have reports that some of the members have seen them turn into one of those magnetic desk sculptures. You know what I’m talking about?”

“Not exactly. They might have thought they killed them, but these things rejuvenate. I’ve seen them crushed into a tiny cube and come back to full capacity.” Mulder countered.

“According to our latest reports, this destroys them. If you come to the meeting, you can speak with these men yourself. Ask all the questions you want. It would be quite an honor to have you there. You’re kind of a celebrity in our neck of the woods.”

Josh handed him a small NICAP business card with an address and time. “See you then”

As Josh walked away, Mulder looked around nervously. If I guy from NICAP could locate him, anyone could. He wouldn’t be able to stay much longer.

After a restless night’s sleep in a rundown motel, Mulder went back over to ground zero and put in some hours helping with the recovery. At a little after 7 he headed over to 8th avenue where he found a building with windows nailed shut by wooden planks covered in Broadway posters. He went down a dark alley, down a flight of stairs to a locked door. He knocked on the door and a 400 lb. man with a Spiderman t-shirt answered. “It’s the second star to the right” He said to Mulder. “And straight on ‘til morning” Mulder answered.

“Please turn around and expose your neck.” The heavy set man answered. Mulder turned around and lowered his jacket so the man could observe the top of his spine. He then handed Mulder an alcohol swab and a disposable blood lancet. Mulder punctured his finger so the man could witness that his blood was red. Lastly he ran a wand over him for evidence of weapons, tracking devices, or taps. When he was satisfied that Mulder was clean he let him proceed. The man opened the door to let Mulder in. “It’s an honor to meet you Fox Mulder” the man winked and smiled. As Mulder looked around he realized he had found the greatest collection of outcasts the planet earth may have ever known. Once everyone was checked in, the meeting commenced. There was a lot of formalities, new business, old business until finally they got to eyewitness accounts. Each person would go up front and speak of their experience. It was nothing new and all things Mulder had heard several times before.

“And now the moment we’ve been waiting for.” Said the meeting head. “Eric will be reviewing his latest information on Hybrids.”

He started his speech telling of first accounts of hybrids being birthed from human mothers using mutated eggs. He told of stories of embryo implants through abductions and contaminated water supplies. Most of it Mulder was aware and some seemed skewed or misguided. Finally, he got to what Mulder really wanted to hear. “We have some exciting news today. It’s been confirmed. We have dead hybrids. They were turned into a metallic dust. It happened at ground zero. What we believe is that when the twin towers fell, they exposed the Manhattan bedrock which is millions of years old. Folded into that bedrock is an iron ore, remnants of an old meteor. We believe that if we could mine meteors that contain this same iron, we may be able to build a weapon to combat these hybrids.”

“So where do you find this iron and how are you going to test it?” Asked one of the members.

Eric turned on the projector. “This is a Map of all the meteor dustings in the past two million years. As you can see the largest concentration is in Arizona, New Mexico, Colorado, Utah, and Nevada. This is where we should concentrate our efforts.”

“But how do you know this iron stuff will kill them?” Asked another member.

“Because we have it on video and we have the dust sample.”

The room became silent as he hooked up his video camera.

The video took place after the first tower fell. There was a considerable amount of smoke and it was apparent the video had been taken by someone in law enforcement. Two men with FBI jackets were running into the smoke and the camera was shaking widly. You could see them enter the building and go down steps where the mall once stood. Ash was everywhere and smoke filled the hallways. It appeared they were in search of something inside the mall. Then one of the FBI agents froze like he was magnetized to the floor. With tremendous force the two men crumbled as if from the inside out like a huge magnet drew them downward. You see the man holding the camera yell and pick up their clothing which now contained only dust. He let out a few expletives and the camera shut off.

Even this made Mulder miss Scully. He wished she was there to witness the tape. He wanted her opinion. He also wanted some of that dust. She would be able to dissect it in the lab and find the answer. Not this time. This time he would have to prove it on his own.

“What happened? It was like terminator was struck with a light saber.” Shouted Josh, the kid he had met in the street.

“We don’t know. This is all we have, but the rock that was scraped up from the site had a high concentration of a form of magnetite. If we could fashion a weapon, we may be able to use if against them.”

Walking back to the motel Mulder didn’t know what to make of any of it. Was there a way to stop them? There had to be. Nothing was invincible. Except maybe Scully. He went to put the key in the door and it creaked open with a push. Someone had already been there. The place had been ransacked, but from what he saw nothing was taken. His first instinct was to ensure the intruders had left, but they were gone. His suitcase full of cash was still intact. He searched his luggage finding a tracer. He also found a bug inside the lamp on the nightstand. They had located him. His time in NY had run out. He grabbed his stuff, packed it into the car, placed the picture back on the instrument panel, and headed west in search of magnetite and an old friend.

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carryonsimoncarryonbaz · 4 years

Text

New Fic!

I initially wrote this fic for the Carry On Countdown deleted scene/ missing scene prompt but didn’t manage to finish it/edit it in time. Then I thought I would use it for the Carry On Big Bang, to have an actual FINISHED fic ready before deadline for once. But I wasn't sure if there was enough inspiration for an artist in this fic. And I'm impatient when I have a finished fic in my files. And I had another idea for COBB. So here it is--a canon based, gap-filler of the night they went searching for Nicodemus.

I Follow You

Simon

I’m sitting in this posh car of Baz’s and flipping through the radio stations. There’s not much music at Watford, not since the Mage banned electronics. I stop at the station playing Christmas carols.

It’s not felt like Christmas at all this year. The days have blended together so the fact that it’s almost Christmas has caught me by surprise.

I’d be hiding out in the den with Agatha if I’d been at the Wellbeloves. Their big party is on Christmas Eve and it’s always a madhouse there in the days leading up to the actual event. Mrs. Wellbelove never liked us underfoot.

Well, she didn’t like me underfoot. And Agatha hated helping Helen dust, so we’d skive off as much as we could.

I’m relieved Baz told his step-mum we’d miss the evening meal tonight. I guess relieved isn’t quite the right word. I’m a bit gutted to miss the food but thankful to be spared another awkward encounter with his family.

I suppose I’ll have to sit through Christmas dinner with them. Won’t that be a treat. I wonder if Baz will try to make me wear coat and tails, the tosser. I’d look like a damn penguin, I would.

And he’d look like a fucking prince, the prat. I can just see it. I shake the thought out of my head.

Baz is taking forever.

I look out the passenger side window but there’s no sign of him.

I’m glad he said I didn’t have to go in with him. His aunt Fiona creeps me out. She looks so much like Baz but with sharper edges somehow. Looks at me like she’d burn me to cinders with her eyes if she could. Baz has threatened to burn me to ash more times than I can count but somehow his eyes never look quite as disconcerting as hers do.

I can’t sit still. I think about getting out of the car to stretch my legs but I don’t want to risk locking myself out. Merlin, I’d never hear the end of it from Baz if I did. I’ve not got my wand to magic myself back in, even if I could spell it open without some disaster happening to the car itself.

Not something I’d particularly want to explain to Mr. Grimm.

I tap my fingers on the armrest.

What could be taking so long? He’s supposed to ask her about Nicodemus, not stop for tea and biscuits and a bit of a jaw.

I pull at the collar of my jumper. I don’t really want to stretch it out but the neck is snugger than I like.

Not that it’s even my jumper. It’s Baz’s. Soft and posh, a pale Nordic blue. Even smells like him.

Baz insisted I wear something other than my uniform. Said I looked twelve in my Watford gear, which is rot.

At least he let me wear my own trousers. Imagine the laugh of me wearing his posh jeans—too long in the leg and too tight in the arse, no doubt.

He does look imposing in the suit he’s got on. It fits him just right, like all his clothes do, the wanker. The only clothes that fit me like that are my Watford ones. In the summers I just make do with trackies, t-shirts and baggy thrift-shop jeans.

But even my magically fitted Watford clothes have never looked anywhere near as sharp as Baz’s stylish togs. Looks right fit he does.

Dr. Wellbelove let me borrow one of his posh suits one Christmas. I wasn’t as tall or as broad in the shoulders then. It looked good. I looked good. I looked like I belonged there, next to Agatha, even if the suit hung a bit loose.

I didn’t look like I belonged last night at Pitch Manor. I looked out of place—flushed and stammering, my wrinkled school uniform starkly plain against all their posh clothes. Even with Baz wearing jeans, rather than the waistcoat and silk scarf I’d always imagined he’d wear to lounge around at his ancestral home.

Like some brooding protagonist in a Gothic novel.

I didn’t belong there yet somehow it still felt like they were trying to make me feel welcome, odd as that may be. Mr. Grimm didn’t say much after greeting me, but he didn’t make any snide comments or asides about the Mage either. Baz’s step-mum just kept passing me platters of food and giving me these fleeting little smiles when I’d pile more on my plate. I couldn’t say no. I always thought Cook Pritchard’s food was the best, but this was even better than the meals at Watford. I had to pop my trouser button before the pudding last night.

I wasn’t going to pass on eating that trifle.

Baz

Fiona was painfully resistant to providing much information about this Nicodemus. There’s more to his story than she’s telling me, that’s for damn sure.

Who would go to the vampires? It doesn’t make sense. A Mage has power in and of himself. Magic gives us so much. Why trade that to become a pariah and an outcast?

An eternal life being ostracized? Sounds more like hell. I think the immortality rumors are complete rubbish. We’d be overrun by vampires if they were true (I don’t want them to be true.)

All I know for certain is that we have to go to Covent Garden. Fiona spilled that at least. I should be able to sniff them out. Follow the scent of a fresh kill.

I hate that.

I hate that they’re out there, lurking in the shadows. Preying on some poor sod who had too much to drink. Some girl who made the mistake of walking to the tube station alone.

I can’t save them all. I can’t save any of them.

Not by myself. Not even with Snow. What are we going to do—take on an entire pack of vampires on our own? I think the fuck not.

No. It’s not the time for retribution. I need to know the truth about what happened. Why my mother seems to trust this Nicodemus when Fiona—who was his friend (or more) (I don’t want to think about that)—can barely bring herself to speak his name.

I need answers. I can burn it all down another time.

Although this may be the only time I have Snow at my side.

On my side.

He’s all agitation and tumbled curls when I get in the car. “Did she tell you anything, Baz?”

“She told me enough.”

“What’s that mean?”

I sigh as I start the car. “It means I have an idea of where to find him.”

“So we’re off to the vampire lair, then?”

I give him a withering look. “No, Snow, not yet.”

“Well, why the hell not? You know where to look now, yeah?”

“I’d rather find them after they’ve fed. They might not be all that interested in me but you look like a tasty snack.” In more ways than one, but I keep that thought to myself.

He does though. Snow looks fabulous. He looks gorgeous all the time, but the sight of him in my clothes—there’s an intimacy to it that’s threatening to wreck my composure.

Breathtaking. That’s what he is.

Even now, in this old jumper of mine. It stretches over his broad shoulders, hugs his chest, in just the right way. The colour brings out the blue of his eyes.

I want him to keep it.

I know that’s stupid. But I don’t wear it and the thought of Snow having something of mine—something that brushes against his skin, that soaks in the scent of him, that is tangibly my own and now his--that’s tantalizing, I must admit.

I’ll make sure he takes it with him when he goes.

Fuck.

I don’t want him to go.

But what reason do I have to convince him to stay once we get answers from Nicodemus? None, really.

Not unless I can find a way to draw it out. Keep the truce going through the winter break. Make him stay by my side as we puzzle this mystery out.

Entice him with more of Daphne’s cooking? That actually might work. He’d certainly not stay for me.

Snow’s voice interrupts my fantasies of toasting New Year’s Eve with him at my side. “So what’re we going to do then? Just drive around until what, dinner time?”

My tone is sharper than I intend when I answer. “No, you berk, we’ve got research to do.”

Simon

So now we’re at the British Library. I’ve never seen so many books in one place. Entire floors of them. Galleries full. It’s a world of books.

Baz is striding around as if he owns the place, pulling books off the shelves, foraging through catalogues, going up on tiptoe to reach the higher racks.

I’m following behind, carrying books. I can barely see over the towering pile he’s burdened me with. “Can I put these down somewhere? Nab a table for us or something?”

Baz frowns, places two more books on the stack in my arms, then narrows his eyes at me. “You’d have to stay at the table, to make sure the librarian doesn’t reshelve them while I keep looking.”

“It would be a treat to stop following you around like your own personal book Sherpa.”

I think Baz almost smiled. His lips quirked up and it wasn’t a sneer for once.

“Fine, Snow. Your Sherpa duties are suspended. Find a quiet spot, and I’ll join you in a bit.”

There’s precious few people here besides us.

I suppose most people don’t willingly spend their Christmas holiday in a library. Baz looks as if he couldn’t be happier. It’s odd to see him so . . . well, maybe content is the right word? He’s more at ease here, almost smiling to himself as he pulls books out, carefully flipping through them, and then putting them back on the shelf. I think he actually patted one a moment ago, before setting it aside.

I can’t help but think of how similar he is to Penny. They’re both absolutely gone when it comes to books. Can’t get enough of them. I’ve been to Penny’s house before—I’ve seen how she gets when her mother brings home a load of new books.

Baz has that same gleam in his eye right now. But softer somehow, like his edges have been smoothed a bit.

Merlin, maybe the trick to getting him to soften up is to surround him with books. Distract him from his plotting to end me.

Although he’s not done much scheming since our truce. I haven’t had that feeling from him at all. It’s odd. Unnerving in a way.

I kind of like it.

Which is bollocks, because as soon as we’ve figured things out everything will go back to how it was. Stinging comments. Dirty looks. Spats about the window, the bathroom, the smell of my magic, my dismal inadequacies as a mage—all the miserable interactions we usually have.

Baz joins me a short time later, a tower of books in his arms. He pushes one pile toward me and keeps the other for himself.

“Any mention of vampires, Snow. That’s what we’re after. Get to it.”

And with that he buries his nose in the book he’s holding and it’s research time.

Bloody hell. He is just like Penny.

We leave an hour later with our stash on the table slightly diminished. Baz has pocketed at least three of the books and he’s ignoring my outraged looks.

“You can’t take those,” I hiss at him.

“It’s the British Library, Snow. It’s meant for all of us.”

“To read the books, you privileged prat, not steal them.”

“I’m not stealing. I’m borrowing. That’s what libraries are for, in case you’ve conveniently forgotten, Snow.”

“So you’re telling me you’ll bring them back, then?”

“I’m not a barbarian.”

“I’m sure you’re breaking some law.”

“It’s our tax dollars at work on the upkeep here, Snow. And I highly doubt they’ll miss them.”

“You’re insufferable.”

“You’re overly self-righteous. It’s tedious.” He turns and raises one eyebrow. “Come along, now. We’ve not got all day.”

My stomach rumbles as we make our way to where Baz parked his car (illegally, I might add) (he spelled the no parking sign invisible, the wanker.)

I hope our next stop is dinner.

It’s not.

Our next stop is the fucking British Museum.

The Reading Room to be exact. Baz pilfers a few more books. I end up arguing with him again. He’s trying to get me to hide one of them under my jumper.

“Listen. You can’t just do this. You can’t just take those books.”

“I told you, it’s research.”

“it’s treason, is what it is.”

“Are you going to tell the Queen, Snow?”

I huff and make him steal his own books. I’ll not be party to theft against the Crown, for Merlin’s sake.

The museum closes and we wander around until my stomach rumbles loudly again. Baz rolls his eyes.

“Well, I don’t see why the vampires get to have a meal before we go searching for them and we don’t,” I complain.

“Ugh, fine.” He waves an arm around the square. “Find a place. Just not a chippy. I don’t want to get grease stains on the books.”

“Oh, now you’re worried about the books.”

We find a place where I can get a curry and some samosas. Baz doesn’t order anything. He sits across from me, sucking on his fangs and flipping through the pages of some dusty leather tome—the one he was trying to get me to pilfer.

I expect this is why he’s never had a girlfriend. At least none that I’ve heard about. Can’t imagine many girls would be up for dates that involve library research, outright larceny and being ignored all through dinner. Not bloody likely, even if he is all posh and fit.

Baz slams the book shut, startling me just as I’m scooping up the last remnants of my tikka masala.

He stands up. “Come along, Snow.”

He’s out the door in an instant. I don’t know how he moves that fast.

I scramble to follow him outside. “Are we going after the vampires now, then?”

“Would you keep it down? I don’t need our business broadcast through all of Bloomsbury,” Baz hisses as he sweeps past me, heading down the street in the direction of the car (illegally parked again) (it’s getting to be a habit, this criminal activity of his.)

I buckle in and narrow my eyes at him. “So Covent Garden, then? That’s where she said they hang out?”

Baz glances at his watch (I swear to Merlin it’s a fucking Rolex). “Bloody hell. How can it only be eight o’clock?”

“What’s the problem? It’s dark out. The vampires should be on the prowl by now.”

I get another eye roll. The similarities between Baz and Penny are really starting to grate on me.

“No, Snow. They won’t start this early. It’ll be close to midnight before they’ve got easy pickings from the drunks heading home for the night.”

I frown at him and cross my arms over my chest. “How do you know this?”

Baz sighs. “I don’t know anything. It’s just conjecture. It’s sure to be a damn sight easier to lure someone into a dark alleyway late in the night, rather than when commuters are still crowding the streets and club goers are just heading out.” He meets my gaze, eyes grey as the winter sea, but lacking their usual spark. “It’s how predators work, Snow.” His shoulders sag as he leans back in his seat.

I think of all the times he slipped back into our room late in the night. I think about the hollowed-out rat corpses in the Catacombs. I think about the night I found him down there, fifth year.

I decide not to push Baz on this.

“So what’re we going to do now? Rob another library?”

That gets the flash back in his eyes as he directs a glare at me. “We’re going to go to the feeding grounds.”

That sounds sufficiently ominous.

It’s not what I expect.

It ends up Baz means the various dance clubs scattered around Covent Garden. The clubs that spill out drunk and boisterous revelers at all hours of the night. Revelers who need to catch buses or the tube or flag down taxis in the dark and twisty streets. Pretty girls who may not notice the unnaturally pale skin of their dance partners in the multi-colored strobe lights of a dance bar. Carousers who eagerly take the offer of a ride home from the bloke who’s been sitting next to them at the bar for the last few hours, making pleasant conversation about Arsenal.

Baz

There are a surprising number of people out and about in Covent Garden tonight, considering it’s Christmas Eve. It takes me an inordinately long time to find a parking spot. We could have walked from the restaurant, as Snow keeps unhelpfully reminding me, but I prefer to have the option of a quick getaway, should things turn ugly with the vampires.

This was probably a mistake, coming here with him.

Snow continues to badger me as we get out of the car. He’s far too hung up on this and I simply don’t have the patience for it.

“Crowley, Snow, it’s not like I spend all my time plotting your downfall. I do have a life that doesn’t revolve around you.” Not quite a lie but close enough.

“But dancing? You go dancing? You can’t be serious.”

I can’t believe this is what he’s fixated on. I give him a withering look. “It’s called having fun, Snow. Ever tried it?” I want to take the words back as soon as I see his face fall. Of course he hasn’t. His life has been an endless shuffling from care home to care home, except for when he’s at Watford where he spends any free time he has training as the Mage’s boy soldier—honing his skills as a weapon of destruction.

I feel like an absolute wanker. But I can’t take it back now. I can never take back anything I say to Snow. It stays there, written on both our souls in indelible ink.

Simon

“You can’t be serious,” I say. “I’m not going to a dance club.”

“Then you can sit in the car and wait, Snow.”

Well, I’ll be fucked if I let him go sneaking off on his own. I trot down the sidewalk after him. “Baz, this makes no sense.”

He whirls back to face me, the streetlights highlighting half his face, the rest of it shadowed. “Then let me explain it to you using small words. We go to the club. We watch for suspicious activity. When we see someone acting dodgy we follow them out.”

“But what if they’re… I mean, what if they’re...”

“Spit it out, Snow.”

“There’re dodgy people at clubs who aren’t vampires, is all I’m saying. They’re not the only ones who might be willing to get up to dubious behaviour in a back alley, if you get my meaning.” My face is hot. I can feel the heat rush all the way up to my ears.

Merlin, this is fucking awkward.

I can tell as soon as he realizes what I mean. His mouth drops open and his eyes widen. He schools his face rapidly and drops his eyes, making a show of adjusting his cuffs. “Well, we’ll try to make sure we don’t interrupt anything . . .”

He trails off.

“Right. Good luck with that.”

He squares his shoulders then lifts his gaze up to mine, eyebrows lowered, eyes hooded. “I trust that I’ll be able to recognize the difference.”

“You’d have to be bloody psychic.”

“Trust me, Snow, I’ll have a better clue than you will!” There’s a harshness to his tone and a pained expression on his face.

And now I’m the one making a realization. He can sense them. Or at least he thinks he can.

Has Baz ever met another vampire? Other than the ones that Turned him? Not like he actually met them, of bloody course. Doubt they bothered with introductions first.

So I don’t know if he’s ever come face to face with one since and I don’t quite dare ask him right at the moment.

I’ve got to get through this night with him. Antagonizing him isn’t the way to do it.

I can’t believe I’m agreeing to this. But I do know one thing--I’m not letting him out of my sight, not with other vampires around.

“Fine. I’ll trust you on this, Baz. But so help me, I do not want to stumble onto some randy couple getting it on in a back alley!”

I don’t particularly want to blunder into a vampire feeding on a victim either but at least I’d know what to do in that situation.

“Point taken, Snow. I’ll try to ferret out the blood-sucking versus the cock-sucking before your delicate sensibilities and virgin eyes are irrevocably sullied.” He stomps away, still managing to look effortless and graceful, while I scurry in his wake.

“You are such a fucking arsehole.”

I follow him across the street to the club and isn’t it just typical that he bypasses the regular line to queue up at the VIP entrance.

The bouncer greets him like an old friend. “Ah, seems like it’s been ages since you’ve been here.” He peers over Baz’s shoulder at me. “Not your regular company tonight, eh? The boys off for the holiday?”

The boys? Oh. He must mean Dev and Niall. Seems Baz keeps company with his minions even when he’s away from Watford.

“Unavoidably detained in the country,” Baz drawls, then slips the guy a tenner as he sweeps past him, motioning for me to follow.

I’m gobsmacked.

Baz has practically admitted he’s a vampire, but somehow the revelation that he frequents dance clubs is harder for me to fathom at the moment.

“Shut your mouth, Snow. It makes you look far too thirsty. And I don’t mean for a drink. Someone will be whisking you into a back alley, if you don’t watch yourself.”

I sputter for an instant but I’ve got to keep my wits about me, because Baz is already striding toward the bar and I don’t want to lose him in the press of people.

He’s back, drinks in hand a moment later. I take the one he passes me and eye the glass dubiously. “I don’t drink, you know.”

I get a raised eyebrow. “Good to know you’re so virtuous, Snow.” He takes a sip from his own and gestures at my glass. “It’s soda water and lime, you utter berk. I’m not about to let either of us get muddled tonight. We’ve got to keep our wits about us, challenging as that may be for you.”

I take a cautious sip and relief floods through me at the bland taste of the soda water. I swallow the whole thing down.

“You’re a barbarian, Snow, really.”

“I’m thirsty is all. Those samosas were a mite salty.”

“Well, I’m not about to go get you another drink. That’s all I need tonight, you skiving off to the lav right when things get interesting.”

“Piss off.”

I turn away from him and take a moment to look around the club. I’ve never been to one before. It’s not the kind of place for a care home day trip.

The music is loud, the bass beat so intense I can feel it thumping through my chest. It’s early in the night but there are still masses of people here, hovering near the bar, gathered around high tables, pressed against each other on the dance floor.

I can’t say it fits with what I imagined, but I’ve never really thought much about places like this either.

I can honestly say I never imagined Baz at a dance club. I’m still a bit staggered at the thought.

I’ve lived with Baz for over seven years and I’ve somehow managed to discover more about him in the last twenty-four hours than in all that time before.

It’s unexpected. Everything about the last few weeks has been.

I move closer to Baz, going up on tiptoe so I can reach his ear. I probably don’t even need to bother, what with his vampire super senses, but I do it anyway. “So you weren’t kidding when you said you hang out at places like this? On a regular basis?”

I can’t tell if it’s the glow of the lights or if his face gets flushed at my question. He doesn’t turn to look at me and he doesn’t answer right away. I bump his shoulder lightly with mine, to encourage him.

He tilts his head down, bending close to my ear. I can smell his posh shampoo when he does. His hair is falling forward a bit, not quite as pristine as it was a few hours ago. It tickles my cheek.

“I wouldn’t go so far as to call it regular,” Baz says. I don’t expect him to say more after that but he does. “It gets quite boring in Hampshire over the summer.” He pauses and then I feel his breath against my skin as he continues. “It’s just a lark. Dev, Niall and I come up for the night on occasion, have a few drinks, a few laughs, burn off some energy dancing. For fun.”

I think about that. I think about Baz doing something for fun. I don’t think I’ve ever really thought about Baz doing anything for entertainment--other than finding ways to humiliate or enrage me.

It makes me feel odd, to think of him here, standing under the flashing lights. Grinning at Dev and Niall, letting his face relax into something other than a sneer. Making his way to the dance floor, as graceful and fucking ruthless as he is on the pitch.

I can almost see it. See him swaying to the music, shirt partially unbuttoned, head tilted back, eyes closed as he moves to the beat.

It’s right warm in here.

I can feel a trickle of sweat trail its way down my back. I dart a glance at Baz, who looks as cool and collected as he did when we left Pitch Manor. He raises his glass to me and smirks.

My face heats up. I jiggle the ice in my glass and sip a few of the drops that have melted.

We stand, shoulder to shoulder, pressed together by the growing crush of bodies around us.

Everyone looks pale and washed out under these lights. I don’t even know what I’m looking for. I don’t even know what a normal vampire looks like. I mean maybe they’re like goblins—fit buggers? Posh and fit, like Baz?

I’ve got no idea.

I don’t have much time to think about it. There’s a bloke standing right in front of us, all wavy blonde hair and tight jeans, with his silky shirt half unbuttoned. He’s smiling but it’s not at me. He’s only got eyes for Baz. I can’t quite catch what he says but Baz gives him a polite smile and a shake of his head.

The bloke shrugs and walks away, turning his head to wink at Baz before disappearing into the masses of people on the dance floor.

I’m whirling in Baz’s direction as soon as the guy shoves off. “Did he . . . did he just hit on you?”

Baz gives me a side-long look, then leans down so I can hear him. “It’s a dance club, Snow. He asked me to dance. It’s what people do here.”

I’m still reeling from that when a girl sidles up to Baz and starts batting her eyelashes at him, twirling a strand of her dark hair with one finger and going up on tiptoe to make herself heard. It also makes her lean forward and flash a bit more of her cleavage in his direction.

He gives her the same smile he gave the bloke and the same shake of his head. She darts her eyes at me and then back to Baz before resting her hand on his forearm and nodding in my direction. He shakes his head again but his smile’s gone this time.

I wish I’d heard what she said to him. I hope she’s not going to turn around and talk to me now.

I needn’t have worried. She’s off a moment later, without a backward glance.

I scan the people around us, take in the bodies moving on the dance floor, and then I pause for a moment to really look at Baz. To take in the sight of him, as if I were seeing him for the first time.

As if I didn’t know what an absolute prick he is.

He’s striking, with his grey eyes and his shiny dark hair. That aristocratic nose (I’m likely the only one that can see the bump on it) (I put it there.)

How he carries himself, the set of his shoulders, so self-assured. The way the fabric of his suit clings to him, hugs every curve, accentuating his long legs, his slim yet powerful build.

He’s breathtaking, if you don’t know him, isn’t he?

Baz shifts, breaking my concentration. He gazes down at his watch and tilts his head at me. I can see his lips move, mouthing the words “let’s go.”

Seems it’s time to hunt down some vampires.

I almost regret it, when we leave the club.

For a moment I could forget the rest of it. For a moment we were just two blokes having a night on the town together.

Baz

I don’t know how many times I’ve come to these clubs to exorcise Simon Snow from my brain. I don’t know how many times I’ve danced with faded copies of him, in a vain attempt to pretend he’s the one with me.

I finally have him here, at a club, within easy reach. Steps away from the dance floor and inches away from my arms and it’s nothing like my fantasies.

We’re not here together. Not really. We’re not even here as friends.

We’re here hunting vampires.

We’re searching for clues about my mother’s killer.

We’re here because we’ve been forced into this uneasy detente.

No more than that.

I look at my watch. It’s early yet but I can’t stand being here any longer.

Not like this.

Not when I can feel every beat of his heart, every thrum of blood in his veins, the heat of his body next to mine.

I can’t even let myself look at him, for fear he’ll see the yearning in my face.

I bump him with my elbow, just to savor that one brief instant of contact.

His eyes meet mine. “Let’s go,” I say and then I turn away.

#carry on #simon snow #baz pitch #snowbaz #gap filler fic #london #time between Fiona's and finding Nicodemus #dance clubs #covent garden #my fics #my writing

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reylofanfictionanthology · 3 years

Photo

TO FIND YOUR KISS - AUTHOR REVEALS!

Here are your authors for this year’s exchange!

To Find Your Kiss collection on AO3 | Treats Masterpost

GIFT FIC MASTERPOST

- Reap the Stars by XarisEirene for abbytheatre08

He will be remembered, and they will not.

Call him The Light Bearer and Joy Giver. Call him He Who Loved and Laid Down His Life. Call him Ben.

- we are question marks that hang above the endless unexplained by LittleLostStar for AlwaysEverlark

- Eighty Bucks Says Sweetheart by strangeallure for Amoreusou

Ben likes puzzles. Rey needs help with a bunch of them. Good thing it's a slow day at the office.

- Seldom Visions by SpaceWaffleHouseTM for Andrina_Nightshade

- The Dyad by Lady_of_Haven for aneighthdomain

- The Delegation by Vivien for aNerdObsessed

A humanitarian delegation from Naboo arrives at Niima Outpost. Rey is skeptical, to say the least.

- Saudade: The Love That Remains by shipperofdarkness for AnneAnna

Saudade (n.) a nostalgic longing to be near again to something or someone that is distant, or that has been loved and then lost; "the love that remains"

In those first few weeks, everything had been muddled in a haze as the Resistance tried to rebuild all that had been lost. Rey had buried herself in the work. It’s what she’d always done. Don’t think of your parents, don’t think of waiting, scavenge and repeat.

But it’s different.

Her parents hadn’t wanted her.

He had.

Her parents hadn’t loved her.

He had.

And in his wake, the wound had split Rey’s soul to the bone, like the scar she’d given him all those moons ago. It's a blessing. And a curse. And all she has left. It’s the love that remains.

- i don't want you like a best friend by irridesca for anopendoor

But Rey can’t really be upset—and she is totally, unequivocally not upset—that Ben's bringing someone because, well.

She is, too.

- Love is Weakness by crossingwinter for bittersnake

“He’s someone I found on my recent trip to Corellia,” Rey replies placidly, her face practiced in its boredom. “It doesn’t mean anything.”

“Love is weakness,” her grandfather reminds her, the way he has for years. It’s why he doesn’t love her. He will not be weak. It’s why she doesn’t love him, either.

- in sickness and in health (with health being less likely) by thehobbem for BlueButterflyKisses

Deciding to spend the rest of their lives together is the easy part for both Rey and Ben; the trouble is in how to propose.

- Snowed In by darlingreadsalot for Blueyedgurl

- Curses, Comforts and Capybaras by Andrina_Nightshade for Bombastique

Arrogant CEO bites off more than he can chew when he angers a witch... And suddenly finds himself transformed into a capybara. Can kindhearted wildlife rehabber Rey Niima help him break the curse?

- To Heal a Broken Soul by Reykenobi68 for Cat2000

Ben survives the fallout of Exegol, but his connection to the physical world is in danger. Rey tends to him as she searched for a way to heal him.

- holding me like water in your hands by literallynoonecares for Ceallaigh

After Hux finds out Ben killed Snoke, Hux encases Ben in Carbonite. Rey refuses to let Ben stay frozen forever so she mounts a rescue.

- Like a Thief in the Night by firelord65 for chagrins

Their bond won't let them be alone. At least this time it's the middle of the night and they can't get into a shouting match.

- The Chance by darknessvisible for Crysania

- Awake by QueenOfCarrotFlowers for cuddlesome

Something inside him is awake, and something inside her is about to wake up.

An alternate interrogation scene.

- darkness rises, and light to meet it by politicalmamaduck for czechia

After the throne room, Jedi Ben Solo and Kira Ren meet again a year later.

- Not Quite a Fairytale by Crysania for DarkMage13

Rey lets a stranger use the phone of the café she works at late one night. It changes the whole course of her life.

- The Canvas of Your Skin by tearoomsaloon for darlingreadsalot

She was incapable of touching him without drawing blood, it seemed. Lines like vermillion paint streaked where her fingers sketched down the contours of his face, his back, and now his chest.

In which a Force bond is splintered, a resurrection goes wrong, a kiss is forgotten, and two almost-lovers avoid speaking for the better half of a year.

- You Won't Escape Me ('Cause I Set You Free) by DarkMage13for DoorKeeper9

“W-What are you doing?” She would have been more irritated if she wasn’t shivering.

Kylo rolled his eyes. “I’m not going to let hypothermia kill you.”

“S-Stripping me is not going to kill me? That makes n-no sense.”

Rey needs a kyber crystal and Kylo is trying to prevent her from getting into more life-threatening situations. It's definitely not because he cares about her. Nope.

- Fleeing the Storm by Padawan_Writer for driverfever

But her suitor and revolutionary Hux won’t give her up so easily. Hounded by revolutionaries and falling in love, Rey and Ben must use all their wits to flee Paris and make it to England.

- Equal Measure by misszeldasayre for dustoftheancients

- Benimina Solo's Late On-Set Force Ability by MissCoppelia for Evangel10n

- Splatter by DoorKeeper9 for expendable

“You’re Palpatine’s girl,” he says coldly.

“His chief of staff, yes.” Rey’s eyes narrow. “And you have your hand on my ass, Kylo. Kindly take it off.”

“Or what?”

AKA powerful corporate rivals Kylo and Rey put the hate in love/hate.

- The Haunted Mirror by AlwaysEverlark for FangirlintheForest

When Rey travels to UK to attend the reading of his grandfather will, a grandfather she didn't know existed until that very moment, she finds a house, and a old story that will haunt her...

- i'm your secretary by OccasionallyCreative for firelord65

- and they danced across the sky by chagrins for flipflop_diva

When he was still a child, he constantly watched the blue butterflies as they danced in the sky.

But that’s another life. Another world. Another time. Another, another, another.

And Kylo's no longer a child.

No. He welcomes the darkness now. Embraces it.

- Finding The Answer by Cat2000 for FrenchMartiniPlease

Rey pines for Ben Solo…so why does her soulmate mark always drain of colour whenever she gets close to him?

- Almost Unforgettable by maq_moon for HopeRebel

It'll take the combined efforts of gumshoes, a flatfoot, a washed-up Hollywood starlet, and more to get to the bottom of this bad business. In the end, these things always come back to the beginning.

- The Curl of a Sigh by okpianist for irridesca

- and they were roommates by myownlittleinfinity for Lady_of_Haven

When Ben loses a bet to his roommate, Rey, he has to eat her out for 30 days.

- torn away from you (my heart is broken) by bittersnake for lakerose

The Force binds more than minds.

- 3 Days in Vienna by anopendoor for Like_A_Dove

- If You Take Me flipflop_diva by literallynoonecares

Rey sighed wistfully as she watched her two friends lean in toward each other as they danced, their lips meeting and melding together as they seemed to become one person instead of two separate beings. She had seen them kiss so many times, but this kiss … it was special.

“I just want someone to kiss me like that,” she mused softly to herself, her eyes not leaving her friends.

“I could make that happen if you wanted.”

- Confidence and Desire by MBlair for LittleLostStar

“Stay afraid, but do it anyway. What’s important is the action. You don’t have to wait to be confident. Just do it and eventually, the confidence will follow.” - Carrie Fisher

- Love brightens even the most monstrous parts of ourselves by Lutrosis for LRRH17

- Your Sweetness Comes With Sugar on the Side by AnneAnna for Lutrosis

- Allegories, or Allusions to Real Life by czechia for maq_moon

- We’ve Met Before by PoliticalPadmé (magnetgirl) for MBlair

Rey and Ben meet, move in together, get engaged, and marry.

- Invite the Wild In by thewayofthetrashcompactor (BriarLily) for midwinterspring

(The ancient Sith had some interesting rituals.)

- Purim Party by Lorelei713 for MissCoppelia

- The Banished Heart by stellardarlings for misszeldasayre

On Rey of Niima’s nineteenth name day, Jakku gains a new wizard.

- The Smuggler's Bride by tmwillson3 for MyJediLife

- Annabel Lee by driverfever for myownlittleinfinity

- with my body i thee worship by yodalorian for niennathegrey

- the losing game by KoreRosemarinus for no_big_deal

- standing right in front of you by reylotrash711 for notkellymarie

- the good, the bad, and the smuggling by Priestly for OccasionallyCreative

It’s like his dad used to say: bounty hunters are nothing but trouble, kid.

- Whatever our souls are made of...his and mine are the same by writergenie for Padawan_Writer

Ben and Rey meet only after Kylo has defected from the First Order and returned to the Resistance and his mother. Will the dyad still find a way to be?

- You're My Dark Princess by Evangel10n for persimonne

Five years after the defeat of the First Order, Rey is no longer the woman we knew. Having no war to fight, Rey turns to contract killing. Not quite a bounty hunter, no, an assassin is not that honorable. She no longer relies on the Light side to guide her or the Dark, not claiming either side. She is a completely different person, lost, angry, numb. One day she is hired to kill a man she knew intimately, but he doesn’t remember her. What is she going to do? She has two choices here, kill the past or save a man she thought was dead.

- They say that only the dead have seen the end of war by Juulna and Annaelle for politicalpadmé

A Force Ghost Ben/Rey love story, with a side of rebuilding the galaxy.

- Cicatrix by cuddlesome for Priestly

Getting cut up by Rey on Starkiller awakens something in Kylo.

- I Will Always Be With You by Ceallaigh for Prix

She carried his child. The tiny spark of light woven with darkness, just like her. Just like his father.

—————

The world has gone dark More times than you Or your mother Or your grandmother Can remember. And every hurricane That was meant to be The end of it all Had instead ended In sunshine again.

So believe me When I say; You will survive this And the next one too.

World’s End—Nikita Gill

- all my daydreams are disasters by persimonne for QueenOfCarrotFlowers

- on what ground I was founded (when I first saw you) by midwinterspring for redbelles

Kylo dreams of Rey after the Battle of Crait. And the yearning is mutual...

Some Force Bond dream smut inspired by "Shrike" and "NFWMB" by Hozier.

- Last Summer by Abbytheatre08 for Reykenobi68

- The Long Way Home by VR_Trakowski for reylotrash711

In the aftermath of Exegol, Ben and Rey are divided by misunderstandings. It will take time and danger for them to work things out.

- Under the moonlight by Takekurabehime for shariling

- Fallen by Reykenobi68 for shipperofdarkness

Prompt: Devil!Ben and Angel!Rey or Angel!Ben and Devil!Rey. How do these two on completely opposite sides fall in love and defy worlds to be together?

- come away with me by HopeRebel for silentfleur

Rey owns a tinker shop, but her life changes when she meets Ben Solo and is cursed by a witch. Not necessarily in that order.

- A Picture of Me Without You by the-reylo-void (Anysia) for SpaceWaffleHouseTM

"I suppose I'd somehow struggle through / But I'd hate to picture myself without you."

- Lips Raw With Love by MyJediLife for stellardarlings

Their kiss on Exegol wasn't their first kiss...

Nor would it be their last.

- Everyone Makes Divine Mistakes by no_big_deal for Takekurabehime

- Glitter & Gold by aionimica for TearoomSaloon

- To kiss like lovers do by FrenchMartiniPlease for the-reylo-void (Anysia)

- Snow Turns To Rain by aneighthdomain for thehobbem

“I’m not sure,” he said finally, shaking his head. “I’m happy...” he said, and she tensed a little, so he continued, “with my work. I’m glad I’m doing what I love, but....”

“But?”

“But it wasn’t the only thing I loved.”

- Change the Dance by expendable for theresonatinglight

- Meet Me in the Woods by FangirlintheForest for thewayofthetrashcompactor (BriarLily)

- permanent calligraphy (your name on me forever) by theresonatinglight for Thursdaygirl

- show me the stars. by shariling for tmwillson3

“Now that’s the truth,” says Poe, who Finn invited about half an hour ago to keep him company.

“People have bad taste, I don’t know what to say.” Huffing, Rey scrolls through her phone with more intent. “Neither of you are helping me, anyway.”

“What’s the problem?” says Poe.

“Rey thinks her hot neighbor hates her —”

“He does hate me.”

“ — When really he’s been flirting with her for the past, oh I don’t know, how long have you lived there?”

- I realized that I need you, I wondered if I could come home by Blueyedgurl for VR_Trakowski

Rey is doing exploration work for the Resistance, searching for force sensitive planets so any force sensitives that they find have a place to train.

One day, midflight she finds a slip of paper with the elegant scrawling words of the ones that came before. The ones that she found when Ben still roamed the galaxy.

When she lands on a dark and barren planet she is forced to face the feelings she thought she buried.

- Shadows of the Moon by dustoftheancients for walkingsaladshooter

The hallways got darker, the corridors grew longer. Shadows stretched across the walls. The ghosts of Breha Manor grew each night.

Rey clutched her necklace. Ben met her gaze.

And every night, there was weeping.

- show the way (the world could be) by niennathegrey for writergenie

When the tension threatens to boil over and a desperate plan goes awry, Rey begins to wonder whether there really is a line between light and dark after all.

(Stars do burn brightest in the blackness of space.)

- why don't we go (somewhere only we know) by LRRH17 for XarisEirene

- renewed, transfigured, in another pattern by midwinterspring for yodalorian

Rey mourns on Tatooine while Ben is stuck in the World Between Worlds. But neither of them are alone, and blue butterflies light a path back to each other.

#reylo #reylo fanfiction anthology #rffa writers #reylo fanfic #reylo fic #to find your kiss #master post #mod post #photo edit

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fmdxsujiarchive · 3 years

Text

summary: as always, suji takes inspiration from the little things in her life. this time it’s a snow globe that sits on her dresser date: march 2021 word count: 756 words, excluding the lyrics notes: creative claims (full lyrics) verification self-para for fire

despite the months creeping closer to spring, the weather doesn’t seem to be getting any warmer. there’s still nights where suji has to turn on a heating blanket as she heads to bed so she doesn’t wake up shivering. the days, however, seem to be growing longer as the sun remains in the sky for longer periods of the day.

her head is pounding as she replays the same track over and over again like she has been for about the past hour and a half. it’s a simple guitar track that she’d composed in about ten minutes a couple of months ago. the chords and melody were too good for her to pass up, and she remembers hurriedly rushing home to pick up her guitar and record the rough draft. everything’s all laid out for her, but she can’t seem to come up with a topic to write about.

usually, suji found it easier to write lyrics. the words came flowing out of her head, and she would always find herself scribbling things down either on a notepad or the notes app on her phone. these days, however, she seems to be in some sort of rut.

she’s become aware that there’s a certain sound and message that people look out for in her songs. it’s influenced a lot of other things in her career such as brand deals and magazine shoots. that soft, almost perfect child image that’s been placed onto her is, admittedly, pressuring to live up to, and she doesn’t think she can write more songs along those lines without having it sound too repetitive.

these days she’s been thinking about challenging herself. trying to explore other things. that was the whole reason she joined our songs but even then, the songs she wrote for that hadn’t been all too new. while she understood what her audience wanted, she didn’t want to trap herself into this box for too long.

looking around her room, she decides that she’s going to find some sort of object in her house—anything—and try to write from there. it may not become the final product when it comes to this track, but she has to start somewhere, right?

the first thing that catches her eye is a snow globe. it was a gift from an old manager after his trip to the rocky mountains, she thinks, but she remembers loving it because inside the snow globe was a model of a fireplace. it seemed a little odd to her with all the contrasts as it was mostly surrounded by snow.

what do people think of when they think fire? destruction? safety? avatar the last airbender?

for her, she thinks it reminds her of warmth the most. a warmth that may disappear at any moment if more snow were to be added into it. a warmth that was once so strong but now dimming out. however, that initial warmth is so strong that it feels like something that can be depended on. fire also works as a source of light in the midst of darkness. it sparks up hope in situations where it has to.

you whispered to me that you’d protect me i believed you but without a single goodbye without anything remaining, you got so far away

was that perhaps too dramatic? suji looks down at the notebook in her lap, scribbling out some of the words and replacing it with something that flows better. she already had most of the melody so she goes back to the track, plays it and tries to figure out where this could fit.

she closes her eyes and tries to imagine an actually lit fire. how it burns and burns away before eventually dying out when there’s nothing left to burn. how the ashes may be hot initially but then eventually cool down as well. there’s nothing as passionate yet temporary like fire.

you’re the fire i’m pulled by your warmth you spread inside of me when i open my eyes only traces of ash remain

looking at it now, she wonders why she’s never written about fire before. it seems like a perfect metaphor for love. hell, if she wanted, she could turn it completely around and write about something so passionate rather than so destructive. she takes another look at the snow globe and how the fireplace now seems to be lighting up though nothing’s actually changed. she simply just feels more inspired.

on the top of the notebook, she makes a note to herself to ask minwoo to take a look at the composition. she doesn’t think the acoustic version that she’s drafted would fit with what the lyrics are starting to sound like. no. she needs something even more dramatic, a guitar strum that will pull at people’s hearts and percussion that rings in their ears.

before she knows it, she has her verses written down and what she thinks can become a chorus. humming the melody to herself, she plays tetris with the words, figuring out structure as she goes, but it’s something. she’s managed to write something, and that’s good enough for her.

#( ♡ * // self para: happiness. )#fmdverification

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ahh-fxck · 3 years

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Warrior’s Blues Ch 11: What Would I Do Without You?

WOW! It is finally here, the much-awaited chapter 11 of Warrior’s Blues! As @stressedspidergirlsfandomblog (most excellent editor and co-creator of this fic) can tell you, getting this chapter into shape was uphill both ways in the snow. I am super pleased with how it shaped up though, and I think you guys will like it, too!

Jaskier shows up to work after Yennefer’s visit drunk, and his best friend is there to help him sort himself out. CW for smoking, drinking, implied death of an OC, grieving

Please let me know if you’d like to be tagged (or untagged) for future updates!!

@astouract @ladyknight-keladry @yes-im-the-violin-girl @smolpoe

Rating: M

On the day of Yennefer’s visit, Jaskier arrives at work on a bicycle. He’s late and on a bicycle for the same reason, which is to say, he is drunk and cannot drive his car. He is drunk because he’d been so full of mixed emotions after Yennefer left that he’d sat down to eat the rest of the fruit and whipped cream. Somewhere in there, it had seemed like a brilliant idea to pour half a bottle of bourbon after it.

It was not. Luckily for him, the person working the bar tonight is Julia.

She is a stocky woman in her mid-forties. She has tawny skin and skeptical hazel eyes, and there’s a kind twist to her lips that she often hides. She has a tuft of cropped blue hair and wears a denim vest with a white t-shirt. Even though she is exasperated when he staggers through the door, she feeds him a sandwich and coffee while she fills him in on the meeting he missed. From there, she lets the crew in for the night.

Jaskier feels like the whole world is an itchy sweater, even after the sandwich and coffee. It’s like his brain is on fire, and he can’t quite settle into the usual friendly chatter that his job requires. He passes an irritable and lonely night out by the door. By the time it’s time to clock out most of the staff is eager to clear out from underfoot; Jaskier is a great boss, but when his nearly infinite good humor runs out he can be a real asshole.

The only one who doesn’t give a fuck is Julia. She knew from the second she saw him wheeling in the door that it was going to be a late night, so she lets the rest of the staff out before pouring herself a big glass of gin. Then she settles her elbows against the bar, watching Jaskier mop the dancefloor. He is flailing wildly with the mop, clearing the floor with brutal inefficiency. Internally she begins to count down the time until he knocks the bucket over. Sure enough, a moment later he does just that. She nods in satisfaction, pleased that her timing is still on point.

Jaskier throws his head back and lets out a shout of pure frustration as his poorly-contained feelings boil over at last. Julia smirks and grabs a bunch of towels, then ambles over to him and starts tossing them on the floor to soak up the mess.

As she does so she says nothing, but the look she gives him makes him feel transparent. Jaskier avoids her eyes as he tosses some towels down onto the puddle.

Julia gives a little harrumph, unimpressed, bending to help him clear the towels away. They right the bucket and clean the floor in silence. When they’re done, she turns to him and gives him a long look.

“So… What’s eating you?”

Jaskier grumbles and straightens. “Nothing.” He hauls the bucket away, fills it with water, and returns. Without making eye contact he begins to mop again.

Julia hums, crossing her arms. “Yeah, and nothing made you stink like bourbon, too. Cough it up.” She leans against a nearby wall, giving him a skeptical look. He looks at her from under the fringe of hair that has fallen over his face. Something about the wide-eyed, guilty glances that he keeps shooting her makes him look sixteen again. She smirks. “I think you wanna tell me but you’re embarrassed, so how about I start making guesses?”

Going pale, Jaskier groans. “Why are you so hell-bent on pushing my buttons?” The last thing he wants is Julia making guesses about what is bothering him. She has a terrible habit of being accurate and she has a memory like an elephant.

“Because you’re not a dumbass kid anymore and you haven’t shown up drunk in years. You missed an important meeting! What the fuck, Jaskier? Don’t make me call you Julian, I swear to fucking god I’ll break out your birth name.”

“Julia…!” Jaskier protested. “I d-”

“Julian Alfred P-”

“Fine! Stop! Oh my god, you are merciless!” Jaskier cries, but secretly he’s glad that she cares enough to needle him. He stops and holds the mop for a moment, blowing his hair out of his eyes as he gathers his thoughts. Then he starts pushing it across the floor again. “I’m sure you heard about the man who rescued Pride this year.”

“Heh, I feel like I’ve met him. Yarpen won’t shut up. Heard from him recently?” She narrows her eyes at him, sure that she’s about to hear some sort of horny idiot story.

Jaskier blushes hotly, confirming Julia’s suspicions. “Well, funny thing about that.”

“What did you do now?” Julia asks, smirking. She retreats to the bar and picks up her tumbler of gin, then lights a cigarette.

“We-e-elll…” Jaskier prevaricates.

Julia gives him a long look, and he folds.

“Um, so I might have brought him back to my house after Pride.”

Julia barks a short laugh. “Color me not surprised. What’s the problem? Is he why you were wearing that birdy when you came in?”.

Jaskier’s flush deepens. “I meant to take that off before his wife showed up. After that my day got all sort of… muddled.”

“You mean you got chewed out and then got drunk, right?”

“No! You know what, Julia? She yelled at me when I met her in the hospital, but when she came to my house she was…” He pauses, seeing the bewildered look on Julia’s face. “All right, let me back up and explain. He broke his hand, and I had to take him to the hospital. Two weeks later we go for his followup appointment and his wife is there waiting for him. Tracked him down all the way from fucking England! Got the third degree from her there, but the wildest part is, she showed up at my house the next day to talk. About me dating him.”

Julia laughs again, harder and longer. “What the fuck, Jaskier?”

Despite himself, Jaskier breaks into a rueful grin.“Right? Seriously though Julia. If I talk to you about this it stays strictly between you and me, got it? All of it. He’s in the closet and no one else here needs to know any of this.”

“You got it. No gossip. Your secrets are my secrets.” Julia smiles crookedly, sipping at the last of her gin. She’s been keeping Jaskier’s shit to herself since he was a teen. At first, it was out of a desire to not get involved, but by now she genuinely likes the dingbat. He’s dumb but sweet, and he’s been good to her. “So what’s the deal, kiddo?”

“So what it all boiled down to is that she’s not mad at me for sleeping with him… she’s mad I slept with him so fast. Turns out she’s okay with me seeing him again.”

Julia puts her glass down on the bartop, eyes twinkling with amusement. “Okay, that is a new one on me, I gotta admit. What’s the story there? She into watching or something?”

A surprised laugh escapes Jaskier. “No, thank fucking god, I don’t think I’d survive. This woman… oh Julia, you should have seen her. She’s like, five foot four inches of lightning in a bottle. A total force of nature. I think she could snap me like a twig.” A wry twinkle comes into his eye as Julia’s eyebrow goes up.

Smirking, Julia taps some ash off of her cigarette. “Sounds like a hell of a woman.”

Jaskier snorts, cutting her an amused look. “She is, but I don’t think you’d get very far with her. She’s asexual.”

“Oh? The plot thickens.” Julia grins wolfishly, leaning her chin on her hand. Jaskier had a way of getting up to his neck in crazy situations, and it had become something of a spectator sport for her over the years.

Flushing with embarrassment, a crooked grin flickers across Jaskier’s face. “Yeah, well.” He turns his glass in a full circle. “So it turns out, they uh… have a kid together. And I want you to understand how terrifying this woman was because there was no way in hell I was going to ask for more details. But. What she told me was this. They got married because of their daughter, but Geralt… her husband, the man I was sleeping with… He’s gay.”

“Oh man, you really have a way of finding them, don't you?" This is top-notch Jaskier fuckery, it really is. She’s glad she’d stayed to get the story out of him, even though she knew it meant that she’d be dragged into his shit sooner rather than later.

“I really do,” Jaskier agrees with a little groan.

“What’s her name?”

“Yennefer.”

“Hm. Nice names. Yennefer and Geralt. So she got mad at you for sleeping with Geralt so fast, and then what?”

“And then, Julia! She told me that she’d always hoped that he’d find someone special. She looked me dead in the eye and said, ‘maybe someone like you’ and I just lost my mind. Just- Pow!” He makes an exploding gesture out from his head with his hands, then shakes his head and returns to mopping.

“Wow. That was not the reaction I was expecting.”

“Yeah. Yeah! No kidding! Apparently, he’s always been free to choose his lovers. He’s never wanted to bring one home before, though.”

Julia lets out a low whistle, her eyebrows going up. “So he likes you, likes you. And his wife is… okay with this?”

“I don’t think she likes me very much, Julia, but she gave me the phone number to their hotel room. Says I should have a real talk with him before I think about dating him.” He stalks past her into the kitchen to dump out the dirty mop water.

“Just like that?” Julia laughs, leaning in the doorway.

“Threatened to bury my dead body if I didn’t treat him right, in those exact words,” Jaskier says over his shoulder.

Julia leans against the doorframe, shaking with mirth. “Oh my fucking god, Jaskier.”

“I know!” Jaskier cries, flinging his hands up. “This is absurd, Julia! And you know what’s even more ridiculous? I really think I could fall for him, I really do. He’s just so…” He sighs, tossing the mop and bucket in their corner and washing his hands.

“Yeah, Yarpen wouldn’t shut up about him. Six feet plus, white hair, amber eyes, stacked? Sounds very striking.” Julia drawls, eyebrows arching.

“No, Julia- Well, I mean, yes, but…” He walks back out to the bar, flopping onto one of the tall stools.

“But what?” She smirks, returning to the bar and tapping out her ash.

“Well, I was gonna say beautiful, but I didn’t mean it like that.” Jaskier puffs, drumming his hands on the bar top, trying to find a way to put it. “Like… ohh, I sound like a fool, but he feels like a warm hearth. I just wanna curl up next to him with a book and a cup of tea and fall asleep because I feel so good around him. Safe. And don’t you go telling me he’s a stranger-” Jaskier breaks off as Julia rolls her eyes and opens her mouth to speak. “I know that! I know, and that’s what makes it so weird, Julia. But like, good weird.”

Julia hums thoughtfully, tipping her head to the side. Jaskier has been getting more self-aware as he ages, and for once, she’s inclined to believe that he remembers this guy’s a stranger. “Have you called your therapist yet?”

“For once in my life, yes. I called her before I came in. Hopefully, she’ll have gotten back to me by the time I get home.”

“Good for you. So this is why you came in here drunk off your ass this morning? This whole mess?” She pours him a shot glass of rum and passes it to him.

He takes it with a nod of thanks. “Yeah… I guess I got a little freaked out after his wife grilled me this morning, didn’t cope with it well.” Taking a sip, he frowns. “Julia, I’m in over my head. I don’t really know what to do here. He’s never had a boyfriend before.”

Letting out a low whistle between her teeth, Julia stubs out her cigarette. “Ain’t he about my age?”

“Yeah… He’s… I guess he spent his whole adult life in the military and never let himself have one. That’s what his wife said.” Jaskier worries at his lip, blue eyes wide as he shoots a glance at Julia. His glass scrapes on the bar top.

Annoyed by the sound, Julia tosses him a coaster. Then she hums thoughtfully, swirling the dregs of gin in her glass. “That’s a long time to be lonely.”

Puffing out a long, slow breath, Jaskier nods. He draws the coaster over and sticks it under his drink with a guilty look. “Yeah.” Slumping to the bar top, he puts his chin on his hands. “She said… if I cheated on him it would crush him. She said… ‘Please don’t make things worse by being irresponsible with his very fragile heart.’” Putting his face into his arms, Jaskier gives a little groan.

Julia sucks in a breath, watching Jaskier crumple in front of her. He’d at least grasped the concept of fidelity by now, but until recently his romances had never been particularly stable. Her heart goes out to him. She finds herself walking around to the other side of the bar to stand awkwardly by his side, her stocky frame only coming up to his shoulder where he sits on the stool. She awkwardly pats said shoulder, then gives it a squeeze. “That’s gotta feel pretty big to you. How are you doin’ with it?”

“I’m feeling massively intimidated, Julia. He’s gorgeous and I really want to date him, but I’m really afraid I’m going to be bad for him. I don’t exactly have the most amazing track record.”

Julia hums, sucking her teeth thoughtfully. She rubs a gentle circle between Jaskier’s shoulderblades, an unusually affectionate gesture for her. “Kiddo, you know I wouldn’t say this normally, but you’ve put a damn ton of work into your personal relationships. I trust the man you’ve grown into, and I think you should try trusting yourself for once. See how it works out for you. It’s been a long time since you let anyone in.”

Jaskier sighs, leaning into the touch. “I know. I worked so hard, and Rue didn’t even get to see much of my life after the dust settled. I hope she’s proud of me.”

A smile lights Julia’s face, but as she speaks a note of grief creeps into her voice. Her partner Rue had passed two years ago, but the pain was still fresh and hot. Rue had been more than a friend to Jaskier, she’d been his absolute favorite person. He missed her almost as dearly as Julia herself did.

“She’d be proud of you all ‘round, kiddo. You’ve really shaped up. Hell, you stepped up when I needed you.” She gives Jaskier a little shake. “You might be a dumbass, but it matters that you try to get things right. It matters more that you do your best now to fix it when you don’t. That’s all anyone can do.” Julia’s hand moves back to his shoulder, giving it a firm squeeze. “You’re a good man, and I think she’d tell you that, too.”

Jaskier nods, swallowing hard. As Julia’s hand closes on him he realizes all of a sudden how much he misses Rue. His heart contracts with terrible grief. “Oh!” He gasps, surprised by the abruptness of the pain. Reaching back to squeeze Julia’s hand, he can feel his throat tightening. “I feel really lost right now. She’d know what to do.”

A crack appears in Julia’s heart. She nods and steps closer to Jaskier, reaching around his hip and pulling him close. Jaskier leans into her and she grips him tightly with her strong arm. Her cheek presses against him and she squeezes her eyes shut, nodding. “Me too. I miss her like hell.” As she grips Jaskier, silent tears dampen his cheeks. Before long, Julia’s eyes begin to well over too.

Rue had been the center of both of their lives. Julia had been in love with her since they met one hot summer on Coney Island as teenagers. They had kissed in the rain under one of the piers, and that had been it for her. By the time they’d moved in together as adults, Julia would have gone down on one knee and married her in a heartbeat.

Every summer they took a long vacation on Fire Island, where Julia would pick up part time work as a bartender. They’d met Jaskier one summer there when he was just sixteen years old. He’d been a disaster of a baby queer, but gregarious little Rue had seen something of herself in him. She had taken him under her wing, and he had thrived.

When Rue was diagnosed with ovarian cancer four years ago, it had been at a quiet time in Julia’s life. Jaskier had gotten a therapist a year before and was finally out of her hair. The bar was thriving. Rue and Julia had settled into their home just the way they’d liked it, tea settees and all. Julia remembers looking at this yellow, gold, and cream-colored doily on their tea table after they got home from Rue’s diagnosis. The little sunburst pattern had seared into her mind as she sat in shock.

The following two years had been hell on a plate. The bar came closer to folding than it ever had as both Julia and Jaskier bent themselves completely out of shape trying to get Rue the care she needed. In the end, that had meant hospice and a funeral. Jaskier had ended up having to plan it for her, and he’d stepped up to the role with a seriousness that she hadn’t thought him physically capable of. It changed something about his personality. Julia watched him go almost overnight from a happy-go-lucky kid to a closed-off and responsible adult. The only exception had happened shortly after Rue’s death.

When the fuss from the funeral had died down, Jaskier had disappeared for the better part of two weeks. Scheduled everyone in, made sure payroll was cued to go properly, and just… vanished. He’d come back with a bloody lip and fear in his eyes, and Julia had been too heartsick to ask questions. That night they’d grieved Rue together, sitting next to one another and crying their eyes out. Jaskier had fallen asleep on their dinky little couch, and she’d tucked one of Rue’s crocheted blankets over him before she went to bed.

Since then Jaskier had been eerily quiet. At least, until Pride. After that his mood had been so pleasant that it was making Julia downright nervous. She’d been waiting for the other shoe to drop. Now, at last, it had.

Jaskier takes a few napkins out from under the bar top, passing them to Julia. They wipe their faces in sticky silence, and afterward, Julia pulls out a smoke and hands him one too. The click of her lighter is loud in the silent bar, echoing off the far walls.

“Can you imagine what she’d say about this mess?” he asks, a soft huff of laughter escaping him as he shakes his head. His wide blue eyes turn up to take in the fairy lights over the bar, the smoke twisting among them.

“Oh! I can just imagine.” Julia chuckles damply, shaking her head. “She always said you found love in the strangest places.”

Jaskier smiles crookedly. “She’s not wrong.” Smoke drifts from the cigarette between his long fingers, swirling eddies forming as it rises.

Julia nods, then blows a slow, lazy smoke ring. “She’d say… don’t listen to your heart anymore. Don’t listen to your head. You’ve heard enough from them for now. Go find someplace quiet, where the silence can slip in through the cracks of you and fill you up. Sometimes the answer slips in alongside the silence."

The damp groan of chagrin that escapes Jaskier makes Julia smile. "That's right,” he replies, a little smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “And I would say, I hate silence, it makes me nervous."

Julia nods, amused. "And she would say-" Jaskier's voice joined Julia's and they finished together, "There's your problem right there."

With a damp chuckle, Jaskier shakes his hair out of his eyes and blinks away the last of his tears. “Oh lord, Julia. I’m glad you’re still here. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“Suffer.” Julia jokes, knocking back her gin. “Suffer and die, probably.”

“Crash and burn, at the very least.” Jaskier snorts. He knocks back his glass of rum, then rises at last from the bar. He stubs out his cigarette as he rises. Then, with a soft clinking, he gathers all the glasses and takes them back to the sink to wash. A hush falls over the room, broken only by the splash of water against the metal sink.

Julia turns to watch him, leaning her elbows against the counter. Her head tips to the side as she watches Jaskier dry the dishes, then start scrubbing at the already-clean sink. He takes sanitizer and sprays it on a towel, then starts trying to evict the microscopic grit left around the base of the faucet. After a while, she stirs. “You think this guy might be it?” she asks, her eyes soft as she tips her head to look at her friend.

Jaskier looks down at the wet towel dripping in his hands. “I don’t know. I just… he’s different. I feel really different around him. I think I want to try, but I’m trying to just...” He grimaces, tossing the towel into the bin with a little too much force. “Take a minute to look before I leap.”

Julia breaks into a wry smile, hazel eyes sparkling with gentle humor. “Good for you. Does that mean I’m gonna be staying late a few more nights?”

“Could you? I could use the company.” Jaskier looks at her out of the corner of his eye, moving on to wipe the counter.

Julia scoffs, but there’s a playful note in her voice. “Fine, but you gotta cough up those kreteks you've been teasing me with. You owe me.”

“Oh! I actually have those back at my house, thank you for reminding me!" Jaskier exclaims, smacking his forehead. "I can't believe I forgot. I’ll bring them in tomorrow, I got you a whole case. They came in from Indonesia last week and I just spaced out about them what with everything else going on.”

Eyes lighting up, Julia socks Jaskier affectionately on the shoulder. “Hey! My man! That’s what I’m talking about.”

Jaskier laughs, rubbing his shoulder. “Anytime. It's the least I can do.”

Julia takes one last drag off of her cigarette, then turns to stub it out. “Listen. You want a ride home? It’s late.”

Jaskier wavers, then turns to look at the storeroom where his bike is. It’s a long ride home in the cold and dark, and he’s heartsick as all hell. It’s hard to turn her down. “Got room in your trunk for my bike?”

“Yep. No sweat. I’ll pull the car around front while you shut down.” Julia pats her pockets, making sure that her wallet, keys, and cigarettes are all in place.

By the time she’s parked in front, Jaskier is locking the door of the bar. They wordlessly wrestle the bike into the back of the car together, working with the ease of practice. In the car, Julia flips on the stereo and pops in a Patti Smith cassette. Patti’s smoky, dry voice floats through the car, twining through the bouncing and jangling guitar riffs of the opening song of the album. Oh, she looks so fine… I’m gonna uh-uh, make her mine…

They drive home in comfortable silence. Julia pulls up behind Jaskier’s car and parks. She eyes the white truck in the driveway silently, finishing her smoke as she considers it. Jaskier sits beside her, making no move to get out of the car. Finally, she stubs out her smoke and says, “Is that his?”

Jaskier nods. “Engine keeps overheating. He knows what’s wrong with it but I don’t have the tools for him to fix it, so it’s gonna stay there until I can get them for him. Honestly I don’t have the faintest idea what he wants, it all goes in my ear and then out the other. If he’d just let me take him to the store it would be fine but no-”

Putting her hand on the door, Julia eyes Jaskier kindly. “Kiddo, I don’t need every single detail. It’s his truck, I get it. Let’s go in.”

Jaskier puffs as he’s thrown off track. Then he smiles crookedly, face catching in a bar of orange light from the streetlamp outside. “Sorry. You go on in, I’ve got to bring the bike around back.”

Flourishing her keys, Julia nods. She ambles around the front of Jaskier’s house and unlocks his door, letting herself into the dark entryway. Flicking on the lights, she looks around. The place is uncannily clean and stinks of floor wax and furniture oil. Jaskier’s home usually looks a bit rumpled, like a bed that’s been slept in and then had the covers thrown back into place without being smoothed or tucked. Not dirty, precisely, but not clean. Lived in. This, though… she gives a low whistle under her teeth. Her friend had been understating the distress he’d been experiencing. His home didn’t get this tidy unless something really got under his skin.

She kicks her boots off and heads to the kitchen to get a pot of coffee going, then snags a pudding out of the fridge. As she’s digging around for a spoon, she hears the jingle of keys announcing Jaskier’s arrival through the back door.

He notes the pudding cup in her hand and the very corner of his mouth turns up, but he doesn’t comment. Instead, he slips past her to drop his bag in his bedroom. When he returns to the kitchen he smiles at her, leaning against the fridge.

“Better?” she asks, tearing open the plastic lid.

“Better,” Jaskier agrees, eyes dancing with a teasing light. “Still like the taste of stolen pudding?”

“Tastes better if you swipe it,” Julia grins unrepentantly. She settles on the stool with her pudding. “Gonna cough up those kreteks?”

Jaskier grins. “You’ve got it. Just a minute, darling. I have to figure out where I put them.” He turns on his foot and bounds off to the other end of his house, rummaging around until he remembers where he stuck the package. It turns out it’s still next to the front door in plain view, hidden on a shelf by the other oddities it’s been stuck on top of. Jaskier’s house is unusually clean, but it isn’t that clean. Making a triumphant noise, he grabs it and heads back towards Julia.

Pleased, Julia opens the case up in a few quick movements and takes out a carton. She flicks it open, smelling it with great satisfaction. The rich smell of clove and tobacco wafts up to her, and she sighs in contentment. “Ah, that’s the good shit. Thanks, man.”

“You’ve got it. I’ll order more tomorrow, you deserve them. Takes them a while to import but we should be seeing them in the next month or so.”

Julia laughs. “Man, I’m earning them signing up to listen to your shit like this. Go check your message machine, I ain’t subbing in for your therapist.”

Jaskier huffs a quiet chuckle, shaking his head. “Fine, fine, I’ve got it.” He pours himself a cup of coffee, then ambles over to the message machine and picks up the receiver. He punches in a code and waits, then jots something down on a pad of paper next to it with a brief smile flashing across his face. He turns back to Julia, wiggling the notepad at her. “Got an appointment tomorrow before I go to work. She shoehorned me into her lunch hour.”

“Huh,” Julia grunts, amused. “Better bring that poor woman lunch, she’s a saint for taking you back like that on short notice.”

Jaskier looks chagrined. He settles himself back on a stool with his back to the refrigerator. “Yeah, you're not wrong. Best kind of saint. I thought I’d bring her Thai from that place up on Market street. You know the one with the little golden treasure bag dumpling things?”

“Man, she gets treasure bags? Do I get some?” Julia teases.

“If you come hold my hand tomorrow, you get anything you want.”

“Mm, no dice. I’m doing enough hand-holding as it is. Speaking of which, you could still bring it to me at the bar...” she grins over her mug, eyes sparkling playfully.

Jaskier rolls his eyes and sighs. “Extortionist.”

“You love me,” she snorts.

“I do,” he breaks out into a smile, leaning against the island top with his elbows. “Thanks for running me home.”

Julia shifts in her seat and sighs, leaning forward onto her elbows and giving Jaskier a frank look. “I got you, it’s no problem. It’s not every day you get blown out of the water by something like this. You gonna be ok?”

Jaskier considers his mug with a thoughtful moue, then nods. “I think I am, Julia. I’m sorry about this morning, it won’t happen again.”

Smirking, Julia shrugs. “Just do better.”

Fluffing the hair on the back of his neck, Jaskier nods. “You got it.” He takes a thoughtful sip of his coffee, then asks, “How are you doing?” His voice is gentle as he asks the question, sensitive to the ongoing nature of her pain.

Julia shifts uneasily, squinting at her mug. “I dunno. I’m making it. Don’t wanna look for a new place yet, but I know it’s gonna be time soon.” She casts a short, hard-to-read look at Jaskier. She appreciates him asking, but she’s also not sure how much she wants to talk.

“When’s the lease up?” Jaskier asks, his eyes soft.

“Uhm…” Julia cleared her throat. “June.”

“Julia!" Jaskier gasps, exasperated. "That was over a month ago! You didn’t just sign a new one, did you? Why didn’t you talk to me first?”

“I didn’t wanna talk about it,” Julia growls, scowling.

Jaskier rolls his eyes. “Oh, don’t get all growly with me. You’re miserable there! Rue is all over that place, darling! I can barely turn around twice in there without bumping into something that breaks my heart, I don't know how you go and live there every day."

Julia presses her lips together, tapping her carton of kreteks between her fingers. She shrugs. "I can't imagine being anywhere else. All I have left is there."

Heart breaking a little, Jaskier sighs. He regards Julia kindly. "You can't hold on like that forever."

Scowling, Julia shrugs. That might be true, but she didn’t have to like it.

Pursing his lips thoughtfully, Jaskier looks her over for a moment. He hesitates, then says, "Why don't you just start looking? There's no harm in at least checking the paper…" he nudges her gently. "Worst that can happen is you don't fall in love with the first place you see. No harm, right?"

Julia shuffles uncomfortably, taking a big gulp of her coffee. She frowns at her cup, then looks out of the corner of her eye at Jaskier. “I can’t afford to break the lease.”

“Nonsense, you’ve got plenty of savings to cover shit like that,” Jaskier replies, still exasperated. “Besides, even if you didn’t, I’d cover you. You know that!”

“I know…” Julia grumbles, “But-”

“So what you mean is, you’re still stuck and you’re not ready to go yet.”

Julia scowls. She wants desperately to argue with him, to lash out and protect herself, but the impulse passes before the words can even form. She shrugs. “Maybe so.”

Jaskier sighs. “Julia darling, I’m convinced there’s a place in the world for you. Somewhere that will feel good and be just for you. Who knows, maybe you’ll even meet someone soon? Stranger things have happened.”

“Stranger things can eat my ass,” Julia snaps.

Unimpressed, Jaskier shrugs. “Okay.” He pops open his pudding cup and spoons up a mouthful, sucking it off of his spoon thoughtfully. “Mm. Should you ever decide to come out of that suck-ass hedge-maze of grumpiness you’ve built for yourself I’ll be here. I love you, despite all your best efforts to turn into an unmanageable troll.”

“Oh what, and you’re Prince Charming?” Julia scoffs. “Puh-lease, you little drama queen.” They both eye each other for a moment, wavering, then break out in quiet laughter. Jaskier reaches over and pats her hand, and Julia smiles crookedly. She drains the last of her mug, then sets it down with a final-sounding ‘thunk.’ “All right, mijo. I won’t keep you talking all night. Thanks for the kreteks, I hope you work everything out. Call me if you need me.”

“I will. Same goes for you, darling. My phone is always on for you, and my door is always open. I don’t care what time it is, if you need me you come. Ok?”

Julia eyes him uncertainly, then nods. She had taken him up on the offer before, showing up at odd hours eaten alive by grief and unable to be alone with it anymore. “Ok. See you tomorrow.” She punches his shoulder affectionately, then heads for the door.

“Good night, Julia. Safe drive, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

~*~

Jaskier puts himself back together during the intervening days. He attends therapy, brings Julia her takeout, and things return to normal at the bar. Sunday morning he rides his bike, but this time he’s sober, more himself. At the end of the night, he pulls Julia to the side as she sighs in exasperation.

Jaskier gives her a sheepish smile, leaning back against one of the counters. “Sorry, I’m not going to keep you long tonight.”

“Yeah? Good, my fish are starting to worry I’m seeing someone new,” Julia cracks. “What’s up?” Her eyes travel to the closet where the bike is and back to him. “Car ok?”

“What?” He looks over his shoulder in the direction she’s indicating. “Oh! No, it’s fine. I just wanted to take a long ride tonight after work, maybe catch the sunrise out south of my house.”

“Then what is it?”

“It’s Geralt. I finally decided to call him. I think I’ve got my head on straight and I still wanna do it.”

Julia sucks her teeth thoughtfully. It’s sweet to see him excited, but she worries about his heart, too. He doesn’t always guard it as carefully as he should. “You sure? From what you’re telling me, it doesn’t sound like you’re lookin’ at a walk in the park. He’s married, he’s got a family halfway across the world, he’s in the closet…”

Jaskier sighs. “I know, Julia. I was there, I remember.”

Julia arches her eyebrow at him but doesn’t comment.

Jaskier chews his lip. “I know it’s probably stupid, and I know we could break each other’s hearts, but…” he ruffles his hand through his hair. “I don’t meet men like that every day. Besides. I will definitely regret it if I don’t at least see him one more time.”

Julia rolls her eyes, but a fond smile creeps across her tawny face. “I’ll give you wanting to see him again one more time, you two really should talk. Just try not to be a dumbass, ok? Go slow. You’ve gotta take care of yourself, you’re not twenty anymore.”

The look on Jaskier’s face softens thoughtfully, and he nods. “I know. I’ll try to be good.”

“Good. Where are you planning on taking him? This doesn’t sound like public conversation material.”

“Well… that’s one of the reasons I wanted to talk to you. I was thinking maybe the best place would be the bar.”

“What, don’t want to use your house?” Julia asks dryly.

“Nnnoo, uh…” Jaskier rubs the back of his neck, turning red.

“I get it.” Julia cuts him off with a quick gesture, smirking. “You wanna keep it on the up and up. Don’t you have somewhere else you could meet him though?”

“Mmm… I mean, there are some parks I could take him to, but that feels weird for a private conversation, you know?” Julia nods. Jaskier continues, “He’s staying with his wife at the hotel, and I feel like it would be rude to ask him to kick her out so we can talk. Most of my friends have these teeny apartments so I can’t exactly borrow space from them. The bar seemed like the best place.”

Julia hums, then nods. “I get it. Not like I have a porch I could offer you or anything.”

“Yeah. So…?”

Shrugging, Julia stuffs her keys into her pocket. “Go for it. Just don’t fuck all over the furniture or I’m gonna fire you,” she cracks.

Jaskier laughs. “I’ll keep that in mind.” She might not be able to actually fire him, all joking aside, but Julia has a way of finding truly horrifying tasks to saddle him with. He isn’t about to try her and they both know it. He pushes off of the counter, then digs a faxed receipt out of his back pocket and unfolds it. “Kreteks are on the way, by the bye. Here’s the tracking number.”

Julia lights up, making grabby hands as Jaskier hands the receipt over. She scans it, then gives a satisfied smile and folds it up to stick in her wallet. “Great. All right, I’m gonna head outta here. Let me know how it goes, ok?”

“As if I’d leave you out of the loop,” Jaskier hums fondly. “I’ll see you tomorrow. Am I gonna lose a hand if I try to hug you?”

“Yep,” Julia says with a chuckle. She reaches over and slaps Jaskier’s shoulder companionably on her way out the door. “Good night, mijo.”

“Good night, Julia. Drive safe.” Jaskier says to her retreating back, smiling. He turns away as the kitchen door swings shut and makes one last circuit of the bar. When he gets outside he closes up; there is a satisfying click as the tumblers lock into place. It has been a good night, and tomorrow is full of possibilities.

#self reblog

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