i read one charmed fic can’t remember which but that has Bianca as a mathematician or theoretical physicist and it’s like two lines that mention it but those two lines run my soul like bianca and chris is two characters from a series i watched with my best friend when i was about ten years old one of whom is in one season and another who was in a Single Episode but bc of this one semi throw-away idea in one fic i’m like i could write Books about these two

and anyway it’s been Way too long since i touched either maths or physics to do it justice but the POINT IS that in the kinder future bianca’s mum listened to her and got both of them out of the assassin game and many years later wyatt’s at college doing a degree in like… sports or some jock shit (or alternatively drama just because i think that would be hilarious) and bianca is like a TA on a gen ed course he’s been religiously avoiding his entire degree thus far (idk how US higher ed works bite me) and is categorically and entirely as unimpressed by him as it is possible for a person to be which endears her to big ol’ overpowered golden retriever wyatt immediately and he’s like ‘oh you know who also thinks i shouldn’t be allowed out of the house unsupervised and who you’d LOVE??’ and anyway wyatt keeps being relentlessly good spirited and following her about like a ducking and bianca is gradually worn down to a feeling of like ‘yes he’s a total fucking idiot but through no fault of my own he seems to be my idiot now’ and some supernatural shenanigans go down on their campus that the pair of them wind up buddy-sleuthing and wyatt ends up having to call chris to pull his arse out of the fire (as per) and that’s how chris and bianca meet and ANYWAY ANYWAY the further point is she’s doing some terrifying post-grad that’s posing as something relatively normal but for Those In The Know about both magic and high level theoretical physics (a vanishingly small group of individuals) is like… very clearly her trying to build a working theory on the practical mechanics of magic and the FURTHER AND MOST IMPORTANT POINT is that chris and bianca are like. subtly the grossest couple in the world and have very inconspicuous but very definitely matching little ghost tattoos in reference to the einstein ‘spooky action at a distance’ quote about quantum entanglement.

Oohh I've always been fond of fics where Chris picks up some habits from Buck! Aside from the jackets, what other habits/headcanons you have for them that wasn't included in the fics?

This was a surprisingly difficult one to answer, since thanks to the (asides) I use in this series and the flashbacks in I once was lost, I've actually been able to include a lot of them!

(Also, I didn't say the hoodies tidbit wasn't going to be in the fic ;) Just sayin')

I've been trying to think of the ones I struggled to shoe-horn in though, so here's a selection:

Bobby had a Reputation at all of Buck's schools. After his first parent teacher interview at their school in LA, he organised a meeting with the principal. She attempted to fob him off to someone else but he insisted it had to be her. So she diligently collected information from all of his teachers and went to this meeting prepared to discuss what she was sure would be his concerns about his son potentially having ADHD. She had a list of psychologists to refer him to and everything! And then he hands over a folder and starts explaining to her very seriously that the school is barely meeting fire safety requirements and here is a list of all the things she should do to improve their adherence to code and ensure student safety. She passes this information on to Evan's next school, which has a very frantic principal running around quadruple-checking fire safety standards before the first day of school.

Related to the above - Buck is diagnosed with ADHD in this universe, although he never ends up taking medication for it. Bobby is more concerned with making sure Buck is taught in a way that works for him (see "Mr Stugley said that I need explicit instructions" in oh captain my captain) and he has no patience for teachers who just tell him to get his son medicated. The revolving door of sports is also to help Buck manage his need to keep moving and stay active.

One of the first gifts Evan ever got for Bobby was a horrendously ugly mug. Bobby did not care about how ugly it was and used it anyway. Buck got in the habit of giving increasingly tacky mugs, a part of him morbidly curious about where his dad would draw the line. Bobby is suspicious that his motivation is to test him (as is Athena when he starts doing the same thing for her) but actually he doesn't really care because he is that much of a Dad that he will happily use a #1 Dad mug no matter what it looks like. This was actually really close to being in the story, so have this little snippet I wrote: Bobby had wondered sometimes if Evan was subconsciously testing them to see if they would still be willing to use the gifts when they were so over-the-top. Ultimately, though, it didn’t really matter because he had loved every one of them purely because they were from his kid and had taken great joy in using them. 

Lily (the paramedic in Minnesota who treated Evan after the fire) holds a grudge against Bobby for counseling her to stop getting involved when he then subsequently GOT INVOLVED AND ADOPTED THE KID. She gets her revenge by teaching Evan about just how much of a pushover his new dad is and she is the main reason that baby!Evan knows exactly how to soften Bobby up.

Eddie was pretty happy with how things ended in that last chapter of the mortifying ordeal: sure, Hen and Chimney teased him relentlessly about the miscommunication but they actually seem pretty happy to hear he's dating the captain's baby. And then it's Buck's first day at the station and he is suddenly reminded that Evan is in fact the station's baby and he realises he shouldn't be so complacent just yet. There are many, many speeches involved.

Christopher has found their silken ropes in their bedroom once, after they forgot to put them away properly ("it was a long shift and we had a tiny window of alone time, okay, it was a totally normal mistake!" Eddie insisted to a cackling Hen later.) Buck spun a very elaborate story about how someone at the station had gotten a new cat and he had read about DIY cat toys you could make with rope and so he wanted to give it a try but he was just soooo tired that he'd given up and fallen asleep. Chris very kindly offers to to help instead since clearly they can't let the poor kitten not have any toys! The crew laugh when Buck bemoans the loss of the ropes. ("They were expensive!" he mourns, getting laughter from the crew. "And they were so good because they never left any visible marks!" Bobby is visibly traumatised by the conversation.)

Evan got so used to Bobby's cooking that he forgot that there are people who aren't as good at cooking. The first time the 118 have to look after Evan for an extended period of time (because Bobby is in the hospital, badly injured but not on his deathbed, which creates plenty of heightened emotions) Chimney burns their dinner, Sal makes something ridiculously bland, and Tommy uses a store-bought spaghetti sauce. Evan is very judgmental. (Hen and Karen do fine, of course.) Bobby feels very vindicated when he gets to go home and gets a cuddle from Evan alongside a speech about how much he missed his cooking.

Sleep.

Adaar and Solas attempt fadewalking for the first time.

#feral verse, 2000 words. on AO3.

They were lying on a hilltop in the forest, on a fur to keep the cold of fall at bay. Well, Adaar was lying down—Solas had sat up to give her a curious look.

“You wish to leave?”

“No! I mean, yes, kinda—maybe—I don’t know.” She groaned and covered her face with her hands.

“You seem very happy, here,” he said, in that slow, careful way he had.

“I am! I am. I don’t want to leave my family, or this place, or you—”

“Me?” His voice cracked, just a little. Adaar glanced at him from between her fingers.

“Yes, obviously. I know you like to pretend you’re some lone wolf apart from all living creatures or whatever, but you’re my friend, alright? You’re not getting out of that so easily.”

“I don’t—pretend…” He sighed, his skin staining with blush, the faint freckles even fainter. His lips twitched like he was trying not to smile, until he gave up and his mouth crooked. Adaar loved it when that happened. She was pretty good at making it happen, too.

“You do not wish to leave, but?”

Now she sighed and clamped her hand over her eyes again. It was easier in the dark, unwatched.

“The world is so big and so full of things I don’t know,” she said softly, “and I want to learn everything.”

“Adaar…”

She hadn’t figured out if she loved that yet—the way he said her name sometimes, how he looked at her. Like she was the sun coming over the horizon, or a thunderstorm in the distance, or the wind dancing through the fields so hard it sang. At least that’s what she imagined the expression would look like on her face—an expression that was meant for immense and somewhat unfathomable things, not for a single person.

“There is a way I could show those things to you. Not all of them, of course—but more than what is accessible to you right now.”

Adaar sat up so quickly her head spun a little.

“I’m listening.”

He explained, and her head continued to spin, although for different reasons. Lucid dreaming, delving into the Fade like into a cave, how the deeper you went the older the memories imprinted upon the Fade would be…

It sounded ludicrous. Like magic, if she had never heard of it before. It sounded amazing.

“Can we just do that?” she asked. “Right now?”

Solas gave her another weird look; his eyes wide and searching for a brief moment.

“I—yes. Come with me.”

They left the little barren hilltop that poked above the forest behind and instead descended into the small cave Solas had chosen as his resting place. She’d tried often to convince him to join her family at the settlement, but he’d steadfastly refused every time. It didn’t bother her as much anymore—the cave looked more and more like an actual home these days, with a fire pit and cooking tools, shelves he’d carved out of the rock to hold utensils using a spell she hadn’t quite figured out yet herself, and a warm, dry place to sleep.

Solas had a ball of light bobbing in the air above his shoulder, and gazed down at the bedstead. It was cozy: a pallet of hay covered in cowhide, with a blanket and fur to keep warm in winter. It was also not nearly big enough for both of them. At least not if they intended not to share breathing space.

“There’s a bigger bed at home, you know,” Adaar said. “Actual walls and a door, too.”

“I would prefer to try it here. I have set the requisite wards quite often, and I’m familiar with the peculiarities of the Fade in this place.”

She shrugged, glancing around at the runes and sigils he had marked into the walls of the cave. “Yeah, makes sense. I’m just saying, you can get familiar with the farm, too. There’s space for you, it’s not a problem.”

“I’m aware, since you keep reminding me so diligently.”

“It keeps being true.”

She smiled a little at how that statement made his ears dip and his head turn away so she wouldn’t see his face. He cleared his throat.

“I have never… attempted to teach this to anyone else.”

“Because you didn’t want to, or because there was no one you could teach it to?” She hesitated, thinking of his arguments with Lavellan's Keeper. “Or because no one wanted to learn it?”

He let out a low breath. “All of the above,” he replied quietly, “at one point or another.”

Adaar slapped her hands together to resist the urge to hug him, then clapped her palms briefly onto his shoulders because not touching him at all was even more frustrating than being shrugged off. “First time for everything. How do we start?”

Solas showed her how to set the wards—they’d talked about spellwork like it before, but mostly in abstract terms. It took a good while, because she kept stumbling over new questions, like how specific a ward could be, how permanent, how big a space it could cover… They were halfway into designing one that might be used to keep beetles out of the grain, until they managed to get back to the task at hand.

She settled on the bedstead with crossed legs while Solas puttered about by the fire pit and brewed a concoction he insisted wasn’t tea to help them fall asleep. Then she got up again and started pacing, as much as was possible, because her legs were too jittery to sit still. She was just glad most of the cave was high enough that she didn’t have to stoop—she halted, gazing at the stone close above her.

“Solas, did you shape the ceiling, too?”

“What do you mean?”

“The rock here has a different texture.” She reached up to touch it and closed her eyes, searching for that low echo of past magic—and found it. “And it’s been worked with magic.”

“…A little. It is not your fault you are so tall.”

A smile bit into her cheeks. “Aw, that’s sweet.”

“It was a practical consideration,” he muttered, but he didn’t sound like he was actually put out. “You insert yourself into others’ spaces inevitably, it was only a matter of time until you would find your way into this one.”

“That almost sounds like a criticism.”

“An observation. Foremost.” He handed a steaming cup of the not-tea to her, then sipped from his own. She breathed in the smell—chamomile, juniper, and something spicy she didn’t recognize—then exhaled a bit of frost across it to cool it down before taking a sip.

Solas was watching her when she looked up from the cup.

“Something wrong?”

“No, it is simply… nice, to see how certain magic has become easier for you.”

“The frost? Yeah, I barely have to think about it anymore.” She blew a puff of snow into his face to demonstrate. Solas startled, grimacing, and wiped the rapidly-melting crystals from his cheeks.

“Sorry,” Adaar said, very earnestly. “Couldn’t resist.”

He shook his head and grumbled something in Elvish, but he was smiling again. That small, helpless, trying-not-to smile. They finished their cups, put them aside, and regarded the bedstead again.

“I shall take the fur, next to the pallet,” said Solas.

“I thought the point was to fall asleep more easily? And to sleep more deeply?”

“Yes.”

“Then why make it harder on yourself? We just gotta… scrunch up a little, it’s gonna be fine.”

There was a long silence.

“I am not used to sleeping among other people,” Solas said finally, his tone even. He wasn’t used to other people—flesh-and-blood people, that was—in general, Adaar suspected, but she kept it to herself. Right now was probably a bad time to bring that one up.

“Alright, no spooning then,” she said instead and sat down and stretched out along one side of the bedding. Then she remembered she had to get rid of her shoes, untied them, and hucked them against an empty wall. Lying down, the scent of lavender became obvious amid the hay and fur; sprigs had been stuck to the corners to keep bugs away. She’d told him about that trick months ago.

It really was cozy; warm and inviting. She curled onto her side, drawing her feet up, and patted the mattress next to her. Slowly, Solas joined her, folding himself up so he took up even less space than usual. It was still a tight fit, especially since he tried to avoid any real contact beyond the brush of fabric.

“I will attempt to find you once we are dreaming,” he said. “With our current physical proximity it should be an easier task.”

“There’s really nothing else to it? We just fall asleep?”

“It is… difficult to put into words. Question your dreams, if you can. The key is to become aware—awareness begets agency, which in turn begets control.”

Adaar tugged the fur and blanket up to cover them. “Alright. Sleep well?” There was a flash of a smile on Solas’s face before he closed his eyes.

“I shall see you soon.”

It was not soon. Adaar’s mind refused to quiet, anticipation thrumming in her limbs. She kept shifting, unable to relax, and she worried she’d spend the entire night sleepless, when she finally woke up again to a dark, quiet cave. 

She must have fallen asleep at some point, then? So was this the Fade? It didn’t feel different. She was sleepy and bleary-eyed just as she would be when waking up in the middle of the night, and a cursory examination of the cave with a bit of conjured light—a spell that behaved no differently than any previous time she’d used it—told her it looked exactly as it had when they had bedded down. Except…

Solas lay tucked against her front, his body warm, his breathing even. His temple rested against her collarbones and his folded legs leaned against her hips. He was curled up as he’d been before, but now it seemed less about making himself smaller, and more about fitting into the curve of her body.

Adaar stared into the darkness. That was… unexpected. Solas didn’t seek out physical contact. Sure, he usually melted into it for one or two seconds when it was offered before pulling away, but nothing like this.

Cautiously, she tried to brace herself on her elbow to get a better look, both at the cave and at him. She bit down on a sharp inhale when pins and needles erupted in the limb, breathing through it with care until the sensation passed. But even on a thorough second look, nothing changed. The cave was still the cave, nothing remotely immaterial about it, and Solas still slept soundly, curled up against her.

Part of her wanted to wake him up. Let him know it hadn’t worked, at least not yet, and try to figure out what might be changed, because merely the thought of consciously walking in the Fade was enough to make her heart beat faster.

But he looked so much younger in his sleep. His features softened and relaxed, like he might actually be at peace. Adaar wasn’t sure she had ever managed to catch him this unguarded. When they were together, it felt like he hardly stopped watching her.

She let out a small sigh and settled back down, gently wrapping one arm around his waist. Hopefully that wouldn’t upset him, if he woke up before her come morning. Right now at least, a soft, sleepy noise slipped from him, and he rolled even more thoroughly into her embrace.

Only Vampires

(Story Post)

Nari wasn't sure why he trusted these two vampires, but he wanted to know what they knew and so he followed them to their home. They didn't live more than a block north of where the library stood. They must've lived there a long time to afford such a big house, but then again, he had no idea what the housing market was like here. Either way, any active and diligent vamp over 100 years old could secure themself considerable wealth if they tried. Nari himself hadn't focused on capital during the majority of his life though, but he still did well for himself. The front doors of the house were very big, with stained glass windows, but Wesley and Everett took him around to the back door which was average sized and let no light in. This wasn't an issue right now as it was an hour to midnight, but he guessed that any daytime travel came through here, so they'd grown accustomed to it.

Inside was a small mudroom with another door at the other end. Nari waited for Everett to take off his shoes before he removed his own because wasn't sure what the traditions were in this country, but he was only further confused when Wesley took his shoes off but Everett kept them on. “Um, shoes on or off?” Nari had to ask. Wesley wacked Everett's leg with his loafer. “Shoes off, please.” Nari was relieved and did as told. “Alright.” “I'm not sure why we adopted that,” Everett said, reluctantly removing his footwear and then promptly putting on a pair of slippers. “My family always wore their shoes inside, his family wore shoes inside… Not to mention, it doesn't matter at all what Wesley wears.” “It's for our housemates,” Wesley said. “We have several housemates from across the world, you'll find Nari. The general consensus has been shoes off. We do our best to be accommodating.” He then proceeded to pull out a set of wheel slippers and socks and maneuvered them onto his chair. Nari thought for a second and then raised a hand. “I hope you don't think I need somewhere to stay. I'm well established.” “No, no,” Wesley said. “We just like to help anyone when it comes to library matters. As you may have noticed, it is not very accessible to all vamps of all shapes, abilities, and colours. We like to help anyone find the knowledge they need.” Nari nodded. “I see. So you steal the books for them.” “I told you, we borrow them,” Everett said as he led them through to the main hall. “Evie does think of himself as a modern-day Robin Hood of Knowledge, though,” Wesley said. The main hall was a lot more modern than Nari expected for a house apparently full of vampires. It was open concept with a lovely kitchen with granite counter tops. Further on was the living room and stairs, both up to the next floor and down to the basement. An elevator had also been installed beside the stairs for easier access to all floors. Nari’s hosts took him down to the basement, which was set up as a games room and study. There was pool, and darts, and even a pinball machine on one side. Some lounge chairs, a sofa, and a set of bookshelves on the other. There, they found another pair of vampires, one with her nose in a book, the other passed out on the couch, an open book on his chest. “Ah, glad some of you are here,” Wesley said going over to the reading nook. “Inaya, please meet Nari. We met him at the library.” The conscious vampire got up and smiled. She wore a hijab and had big round eyes framed with detailed eyeliner. She offered a hand to Nari. “Nice to meet you. Are you looking at a room?” “No, no, I’m just getting a little extra help with my research,” Nari said shaking her hand. “It’s nice to meet you. I’ve never met, well, a vampire like you.” “A hijabi vampire?” Inaya chuckled. “Me neither. That’s why I’m here.” “To find more?” Nari asked. “No, to learn about being a vampire,” Inaya said. “I didn’t know anything about them really until I was turned, and I didn’t have any other vampires around to teach me. Figuring out how to be a vampire and muslim at the same time is difficult. Blood is haram, you see.” “Ah.” Nari nodded. “Have the books been helpful?” “Some, yes. Wesley seems to know how to find me good reads,” Inaya said. “I’ve tried entering the library on my own, but it’s always been a hassle. They always find some excuse not to let us in.” “I understand,” Nari said rollimg his eyes. “It's a different excuse each time.” Everett went over and kicked the end of the couch to wake its occupant. “Rise, Jeremiah! Meet our guest!” Wesley frowned. “Evie, let the boy sleep. He's probably been studying tirelessly, the poor kid.” It was too later however and the sleepy vampire stirred and sat up, rubbing his eyes. The book he had been reading fell off his chest and onto the floor. The bang made him curse and scramble to pick it up. “Shit, it better not be busted… These old ass books…” “Language, Jeremiah. You know the rules,” Everett scolded. “Shit, sorry, Ev,” the vampire huffed. “Not my fault you woke me up.” “I have half the mind to discipline you,” Everett said, crossing his arms. “Yeah, that’ll look good, you pasty old Brit beating my black ass…” the young vampire mocked. He noticed Nari. “Who’s this little mosquito?” Wesley put a hand on Nari's shoulder. “This is Nari. We're helping him in his research.” The other got up and offered a hand to the newcomer. “It's Jez, but these old farts insist on calling me by my whole name like they're my damn mother or something.” Everett huffed. “Seriously, if you don't straighten out your language, I'll—” “The entire concept of vulgar language is inherently racist,” Jez interrupted, his entire diction changing just to prove a point to old Everett. “My use of swearing is not abusive, but instead cathartic, emphatic and idiomatic, forms of swearing that are not meant to offend anyone. For you to tell me what words I can and cannot say is a blatant form of oppression and reduces my abilities to cope with pain or misfortune.” Everett frowned, his lips pursed. “Fine. But could you tone it down just a bit?” “No.” Wesley came up behind Everett and patted his back. “Relax. We're all adults. Anyway, where's Paolo?” “He's in his room,” Inaya said. “Probably working.” “Ah, okay. Nari can meet him later,” Wesley said approaching the coffee table. From out of nowhere, he pulled out a book and offered it to Inaya. “I found an Arabic tome with stories from Turkey in it. I’m hoping it might help you.” “Oh! Maybe!” Inaya took the book gratefully. “I appreciate it, Wes!” “Where did you pull that book from?” Nari asked, a bit dumbfounded. “The library?” Wesley said, a little confused by the question. “No, I mean… I didn't notice it on your person before,” Nari said. “Oh! It's pocket magic,” Wesley said. “Easier than carrying them around.” “Pocket magic is some real basic level shit,” Jez said, eyeing Nari. “If you don't know that, what abilities do you have?” Nari shook his head. “…I never learned vampire magic. Well, except a blood purifying spell I found the other day.” Everett placed his hands on Nari's shoulders. “Oh dear, so you've just been going about your life with all the cons and none of the pros to the whole vampire thing? Sounds miserable!” Nari frowned. “I didn't know I could learn any of it…” “You absolutely can!” Everett said. “We will show you the basics.” “Honestly, it's fine…” Nari said. “I don't plan on sticking around long, and my partner has enough magic for the both of us…” “Your partner knows magic but you didn't know you could learn it?” Inaya asked. “They didn't try to teach you?” “He’s not a vampire,” Nari said. “He doesn't know what I'm capable of doing as one.” “What is he, then?” Jez asked. “A dragon?” “No, he's a wizard,” Nari said. “A wizard?” Wesley inquired, his voice a little concerned. “Like, a human wizard?” “Uh, yes,” Nari said. “The magic isn't the same, though he's convinced he can learn vampire stuff…” Everett started shaking his head. “Do you always engage in romantic relationships with humans?” “Yes.” Nari frowned, reading the negative energy coming from his acquaintances. “You say that like it's bad. Are you going to tell me we're not supposed to do that? It's taboo or something?” “No, it's fine! I mean…” Everett put his hands on Wesley's shoulders. “He was unturned when I fell for him…” “But we weren't trying to reproduce, that’s for sure,” Wesley said. He placed a hand on Nari’s arm. “It’s no wonder you’ve been having trouble… You can't have children with humans. It never works.” Nari clenched his jaw. “That's not…My information came to a 1-in-8 chance that a vampire can complete live birth.” “It's more complicated than that,” Everett said, pulling out one of the books be grabbed. “It's likely the one successful time out of eight, their partner was another vampire. The odds are much better with two vampires. Like, 1-in-3.” He opened to a page that displayed a large family tree on it. “Any time in history that a vampire successfully completed a pregnancy, both parents were vampires. Any pairings with children from one unturned and a vampire were from before the vampiric parent had turned. Or, there has also been the occasional time a vampire sired a child with an unturned person, but it is rarer.” Nari frowned and sat down on the couch. “But…I… Isn’t there any magic that can help?” Wesley shook his head. “Not that we've found. Your best bet is to try with a vampire.” “But I don't want a child from someone else…” Nari said. “I want one with Diederich.” “I'm surprised you even date unturned,” Jez commented. “It's sad stuff watching humans grow old and die all the time…” “Diederich isn't just any human, he's immortal too,” Nari said. “He knows really powerful skills and spells.” Jez rolled his eyes. “So, easy fix. Just turn him.” Nari shook his head. “No, I can't do that.” “I could teach you,” Everett said. “Or I could do it.” Nari glared. “No, I don't want to turn him. I wouldn't do that to someone.” Everett sighed. “Nari, I don't know what to tell you. Your goal is to have a baby with your partner. Both of you need to be vampires for that to happen. That's all there is. We don't have any other advice.” Nari looked down at his hands, his eyes brimming with tears. “So, all those times I tried… Complete waste of time...” Wesley rubbed Nari’s shoulder. “You didn't know…” He looked to Everett. “Would you give us a moment? All of you.” “Of course, love,” Everett said, kissing Wesley on the forehead. “Come along now, children.” “We are not your kids,” Jez groaned as he got up reluctantly and followed Inaya and Everett upstairs. Once they were alone, Wesley sighed and rubbed Nari's arm. “Before you turned, did you have any children?” Nari slowly and sniffled. “Yes… My son, Tae-seok. He was just a baby when I turned…” “Is he alive?” Wesley asked. “No… He passed away around the turn of the millennia…” Wesley sighed. “When did you start trying for another baby?” “We tried for several years when Tae-seok was young… But his father, Eun-young, died in a factory accident when Tae-seok was still a child. I didn't try again until well after my son passed away too.” “With your current partner?” Wesley asked. Nari shook his head. “No, my previous relationship. It was an accident… But I wanted it to work out. I had a little hope.” “I'm really sorry, Nari,” Wesley said. “It must be difficult to hear about the circumstances of your pursuit… And I'm sorry about Evie. He thinks turning people will always fix everything. It doesn't.” “But he's right though… If Diederich were a vampire, we'd have a much better chance,” Nari said spreading his hands. “If he were turned, we could try…” Wesley shook his head. “I can tell, you don't want to do that. It sounds like your experience with being a vampire has been more negative than positive and you don't want to subject someone else to that.” “I don't. Diederich is… He’s so lovely, and he's happy…” Nari said. “I don't want to take that from him.” “I understand. It isn’t easy. I don't always love being a vampire either… And I certainly wouldn't make that decision for someone else,” Wesley said. “You do realise that if you did manage to give birth to a baby, you'd be choosing a life as a vampire for them too?” Nari blinked. “Yes, but… I…” He paused. “…With Diederich, since he's unturned, I thought that they might not be…” “Well, even if you could reproduce with a normal human being, you’re a vampire. Your kids would be vampires.” Nari grit his teeth. “…I guess I just…you know, if I could have a baby again, I didn't care what they were… But now just saying it, that’s sounds so incredibly selfish… To subject my own child to the exact same curse I've suffered for their entire life…” Wesley rubbed Nari's knee. “I think you need to think about your situation and talk to your partner. Really work out what path makes the most sense for both of you, and any possible children in the mix. What's best for everyone is what is important.” Nari nodded slowly. “Yes… I just want to be with Diederich… I should go…” Wesley checked his watch. “Where are you staying? Evie can drive you over.” “It's okay, I can walk…” “No way, this time of night, any drunk vampires tumbling out of a bar will want to pick a fight, and while I'm not saying you can't hold your own, you don't know much magic and vampires around the library know their stuff.” Nari sighed and told Wesley his hotel. “I do appreciate you guys trying to help me… You’re honestly the nicest vampires I've ever met.” “Aw, it's nothing,” Wesley said going to the elevator. “Each of us understands the difficulty of being accepted in the vampire world. But we've been very lucky and those who have should give.” “So, is this sort of a boarding house for vampires using the library?” Nari asked. “Sort of… We keep the rent super cheap though because the house was paid off many, many years ago. Our housemates just split utilities. Evie and I cover the taxes and insurance.” Wesley smiled. “If you ever need somewhere to stay, we'll be here. First month is free for long term. Of course, we won't charge you if you just want to come over and visit.” Nari nodded. “That's more than generous, thank you.” They rode the elevator together and met with Everett at the back of the house. “Good talk?” Everett asked, spinning his car keys. “Yes, I think so,” Wesley said. “Inaya and Jeremiah are back in their rooms, then?” “Yeah.” Everett unlocked the door. “Alright, Nari. We won't keep you any longer than you'd like. Wes said you needed a ride, yes? Come along.” Nari blinked. “When did he tell you?” “Come on, now.” Everett placed his hands on his hips. “You really do need a rundown on basic magic. You could teach toddlers mind connection.” “I really don't know anything, then…” Nari frowned following him out. Wesley waved as they left. “Hope to see you soon!” Nari waved again before going to the garage with Everett. “You should consider coming back tomorrow night,” Everett said, unlocking the car. “Jeremiah will teach you everything you need to know.” “I might take him up on that. At least I'll have gotten something out of this trip.” “Well, there you go. Nothing ventured, nothing gained.” “Hm… Yes, I suppose.” “Oh, and you still have to meet Paolo! He’s Asian like you too! Wouldn’t guess from his name though, would you?” “You really don’t think before you speak, do you?” “Hey, respect your elders.” “Sorry, grandpa.”

bingo

another fic for the chayenzo community fanfiction challenge! i asked for this prompt today and wrote it in [checks watch] two hours? i was inspired. anyway! we now have vincenzo attending his mother’s funeral and having feelings about it. oh and my prompt was “i’ll still be here when you’re ready.”

thank you to @the-chayenzo-community for organising this!

word count: 1164

read on ao3

(sorry for any errors!)

enjoy :]

-

The day rains cold and rains relentless. Service takes less time than necessary, and with Geumga Plaza at his back, Vincenzo sees his mother for the last time. Unfilial son that he is, he has no tears to shed as they lower her casket six feet under, no tears to shed as the mud is filled in and she is gone from the world.

When the priest sums up all that has to be said to honour Oh Gyeongja, mother of one, Vincenzo is only left with the strangest loneliness. Only left with more space between him and the world, between him and the world, only a stretch of quiet.

The tenants of Geumga Plaza leave, one by one, unloading their condolences. Vincenzo nods, bows, receives. And then he follows Chayoung wherever she takes him by the hand, one step behind, lifeless in his steps and his grip.

Riverside. Cold, too. But the rain has let up, and the rocks are only slightly damp.

“They buried a man alive once,” He says. “I saw Father do it. It wasn’t even a big enough coffin for him to fit.”

Chayoung tugs him by the hand to sit, to watch the waves. “What happened of him?”

Vincenzo shrugs. “Never found out. I was only fifteen.”

“Thrilling for a fifteen-year-old to see,” She comments lowly. No vigour in her words. “How are we doing?”

Vincenzo’s eyes dart to her. She’s looking right back.

“I need time.”

She nods. “I’ll still be here when you’re ready.”

Vincenzo looks at the waves.

Chayoung sighs and picks up a stick. “Do you want to make a bingo or something?”

“Bingo?”

“Orphans, lawyers, attractive, incredibly smart, like seriously, too awesome for this world…”

It draws a laugh out of him. A pathetic, dead excuse of a laugh, but a laugh nonetheless.

“I’m glad you laughed,” Chayoung says. She aimlessly throws the stick. “Took a real gamble with that one.”

“What, did you think I would throw you into the river?”

“Wouldn’t put it past you, Mr. Consigliere.”

“Cruel.”

She pets his shoulder in consolation. “If it makes you feel better, I know how to swim.”

“You’re horrible.”

Chayoung takes it, shifting closer to lean on his shoulder. “She’s proud of you, you know.”

Vincenzo looks at the sky. “She would be, wouldn’t she? To have a murderer of a son.”

Chayoung glares at him. “Don’t underestimate a parent’s love. It’s unconditional.”

Vincenzo meets her glare, huffs out a scoff. They’re close enough for his breath to reflect on her nose.

“Trust me,” Chayoung insists. “I have experience in this department.”

He blinks at her, then nods, acquiescing. “Sorry.”

“No need.”

Chayoung exhales in the silence, leans in further, wraps a tentative arm around Vincenzo. The river runs and the wind flows. There are birds singing somewhere.

“Unfilial,” Vincenzo says. “Liars. Living with the most painful thing in life.”

Chayoung moves forward, almost directly in front of him, her hand placed on his back. “What are you harping on about.”

“The bingo,” Vincenzo mutters, looking into her eyes.

She sighs, sliding out of the half-hug and setting her hands on Vincenzo’s shoulders. “I think you should shut up.”

“I don’t think I should shut up,” He replies, defensive.

“Byeonhosa-nim,” Chayoung chastises. “You won’t achieve anything by beating yourself up.”

“But —”

“But then again,” Chayoung cuts in, “I was no different. Alright. You have three minutes to curse yourself out as much as you want.”

“There is a lot I should be getting angry with you about.”

“We’re partners, byeonhosa-nim.” Chayoung says, all matter-of-fact-ly. “And we’re very much the same. Getting angry at me would be getting angry at yourself, no?”

Vincenzo’s face morphs into one of those rare expressions of extreme disgust. Chayoung knows she’s seen right through him. Before he can reply, she stands.

“I’m getting out of your sight, I’m going,” She hurries to say. “Three minutes. I’m timing you.”

Vincenzo watches her walk away from the river with a scowl.

-

Chayoung buys him coffee on the way back. Espresso, in that annoyingly tiny cup, and Vincenzo Cassano. A scene that has become as familiar as her reflection in the mirror. He sips diligently.

“Did it feel good?”

Vincenzo shakes his head with resolution.

“It doesn’t,” Chayoung sighs. “I know.”

Vincenzo downs his espresso in one go.

“Wanna go home?” Chayoung asks. At his nod, she chugs down the rest of her drink.

“Let’s go, then.”

She’s standing, picking her coat off the back of her chair, when Vincenzo speaks in the smallest voice.

“Byeonhosa-nim.”

Chayoung looks at him. He’s looking back, up at her, with the slightest of red in his eyes.

Chayoung plucks his coat off the back of his chair and drapes it over her forearm, then hauls him up by the hand.

“Let’s go,” She repeats. “Let’s take you home, you’ve had a long day.”

-

The only real challenge is parking the car, for the rain had caused a power cut, and the lights in the parking lot were all out. Vincenzo’s hands only shake slightly when he unlocks the door, and he has to lean on the wall a moment before he can regain himself to take off his shoes and discard his coat and fall back-first on the sofa.

Chayoung follows less quietly, banging pots and pans even when she does not mean to. When she has water boiling, she pads to the sofa as well.

Vincenzo stares straight up at the ceiling. His lighter is in one hand, closed and held closed, and his exhales are timed.

“You’re home,” Chayoung says. “You don’t need to hold back at home.”

Vincenzo moves his gaze to hers, blankly. He takes another measured breath.

Then, brokenly: “Will you sit with me?”

Chayoung nods in less than a heartbeat, making herself comfortable the moment Vincenzo sits up. She opens her arms, and at Vincenzo’s mouth open equally as much, she just scoffs and pulls him close.

He lets out a sound of surprise, but settles against her wordlessly.

“It’s okay to need comfort.”

Vincenzo gulps, blinks up at the ceiling. Chayoung can feel the way his throat moves from where his neck is perched on her shoulder. Slowly, he reciprocates the embrace, his arms tight across her back.

Chayoung soothes him with a hand stroking his hair.

“You do trust me, don’t you?” She questions, when the heaviness builds in her throat as well. “I trust you.”

“I trust you,” Vincenzo murmurs, breath hot against her neck.

Chayoung shifts back for a moment, puts a little distance between them without breaking the embrace. The hand she had in his hair traces its way to cup his cheek. She leans forward and kisses his forehead.

“I’ll still be here when you’re ready,” She repeats.

Vincenzo bites his lip, nodding, and blinks hard. When his tears fall, they have a sure shoulder to fall on, and when he crumbles, unquiet, he has a sure embrace to fall into.

Savageries of the Heart Chapter 1: Courtship

SFW

Next

Zelda always hesitated outside of the King Daphnes’ door. Bracing herself for the twinge of disappointment that always came when she entered the room to find her father’s chair occupied by her uncle, she straightened her spine and stepped into the room with a schooled expression and a head held high.

“You called for me, your Majesty?” she asked, folding her hands in front of her abdomen as she stood in front of his desk. He didn’t acknowledge her for a moment, signing off one last document before looking up at her with a radiant smile that sent a chill down Zelda’s spine.

“Excellent news, my darling Zelda, I’ve found a husband for you.”

She sucked in a breath, “My husband?”

“Yes, my dear, at long last you're getting married! It was a challenge, mind you, but I’ve arranged for you to marry quite the accomplished Zonai warrior.”

She was speechless. As the first born of the royal family, Zelda harbored no false hopes of marrying for love, but she had at least hoped to stay within Hyrule’s borders, where she could at the very least continue her research. 

“The temple will never allow it,” she insisted with a voice that shook in tandem with her beating heart. The smile on his face spread wider, though his eyes grew colder.

“The temple has always put too much stock on a bloodline bedtime story. Your mother was a gifted mage, but if present company is anything to go by,” he stood to walk around his desk and loom over her, “it was hardly a divine inheritance.”

“Zonai authority is established through combat prowess,” Zelda pointed out, “I fail to see why they would be interested in marrying me for my blood.”

“It doesn’t matter why they want you!” he snapped, the pleasant veneer of politeness cracking. He took a breath before placing heavy hands on Zelda’s shoulders, forcing them down into a slouch.

“What you don’t understand, Zelda dearest,” the King pushed through his teeth, “Is that we are vulnerable. Our military has been in shambles for an age, and ever since that wretched coup we have been surrounded by factions that refuse to fall in line. With the Zonai on our side, those other races will think twice before moving against us.”

In the ten thousand years since the continent was fractured there was never one incident that pointed to ambitions of conquest from any of the other five nations, but that didn’t matter to Zelda’s uncle, who had moved to a map of the continent. He stood in front of the east portion of the map, where the Akkala, Faron, and Necluda regions were painted Zonai green. 

“My fool of a brother didn’t see the threats, but I do,” he whispered, frowning. He spun around to face her once again, “All you need to know, sweet Zelda, is that in a month’s time you will cross the Bridge of Hylia and make your home in the quaint woodlands that were once a part of our great nation.”

Zelda opened her mouth to protest, but he cut her off.

“Everyone wins!” he proclaimed, “We get the support of the largest nation on the continent, and at long last you can finally do something to help your country. As princess.”

Zelda sighed at her defeat, “I don’t know their language.”

“A month should give you a decent enough head start,” he insisted, sweeping a hand towards the door, “I suggest you get started.”

Zelda rushed out the door, desperate for a moment to process. Her plan was momentarily foiled by the arrival of Nohansen. The young prince was an unfortunate reflection of his father made all the clearer by his sinister smile.

“Ah! Have you heard the news, dear cousin? You must be ecstatic! The biggest day in any young woman’s life is her wedding day, and yours is a mere thirty days away!” 

“I fail to see how we’re to organize a royal wedding in one month,” Zelda muttered. Nohansen’s smile sank into a smirk. He ruffled her hair, knocking her tiara off in the process. 

“Oh, the wedding won’t be held here” he laughed, twirling the gold in his hands, “Of course not, we can’t have those barbarians running around our castle now, can we?”

Zelda took a breath to speak-

“No,” he said, holding up a finger to stifle whatever she was about to say, “We will be taking you to them. Your glorious wedding shall take place deep in the savage Zonai wilds. They even have a little spring said to be protected by a goddess. Does that not please you, O Daughter of Hylia?” he ended with a sneer.

Zelda snatched her crown back, the gold biting against her grip as she pushed passed him to rush through hallways stained burgundy with banners bearing her uncle’s crest to climb her tower, rushing up stairs and crossing the bridge to her study, the most remote room in the entirety of Hyrule Castle. She slammed the door and locked it before kicking off her shoes and climbing her desk to open the window high above it. She lifted her face to the breeze that rushed in. It was here, away from prying eyes, that she could truly relish in fresh air. She stood there a moment to relish the stillness before lowering herself to the floor and taking a seat in front of her carefully cultivated collection of samples of Hyrule’s most elusive flower, the Silent Princess. Despite her best efforts, she couldn’t get one to sprout within the confines of her study. 

Her study was cluttered with several clay pots hosting their own samples. Stalks of Saffline and flowering Blue Nightshade gently glowing against the shadows. She also had several vials full of elixirs her uncle refused to consider implementing into the kingdom’s resources, citing a lack of reports backing her claims. Of course, any reports written by Zelda herself were disqualified because of a conflict of interest.

That didn’t mean her work went unnoticed. Zelda had built quite a rapport with servants and soldiers alike when she managed to concoct a working contraceptive elixir with ingredients common enough to distribute. From that point on Zelda became an unofficial medic to the people of Castle Town. Those employed at the castle had full access to the infirmary, but the same could not be said for their families. Since her activity outside the castle was heavily restricted most of her specimens were given to her by grateful family members who consulted her.

She was reviewing her notes on the Silent Princess when a knock at the door brought tension to her shoulders.

“What is it?” she asked, wary of her cousin coming in to gloat once again.

“You’ve been invited to dinner by his Majesty King Daphnes, he requests you come down immediately.”

“I’ll be right there,” she huffed, fixing the golden band on her head and straightened her hair before making her way down to the dining hall. To her aggravation, everyone had already been seated and turned to look at her as she walked in. Another one of her uncle’s tricks.

She sat at the last open seat at the head of the table. Her uncle intended to make a spectacle of her in some way, but she didn’t find out exactly how until dessert was served and the King knocked a spoon against his glass to call for the attention of the other nobles in attendance.

“It is my tremendous pleasure to inform you all as of today that our lovely Crown Princess,” he waved to a servant, who brought over a package “is officially engaged to be married!”

There was a round of polite applause before King Daphnes cleared his throat, continuing after they quieted down. The attendant placed a solid wooden box in front of Zelda after a maid cleared her unfinished cake away.

“In honor of this momentous agreement the groom in question was so kind as to send a gift to his beautiful bride to be and I thought it only right to share this celebration with you all by letting you bear witness to the first gift between our dear Zelda and her fiance!” the King turned to her then, laying another heavy hand on her shoulder.

“Don’t be shy now. Open it.”

At first glance Zelda thought the box itself was the gift. It was finely crafted, polished wood with a reddish tinge that she hadn’t seen before, and the various symbols and runes carved into it had her itching to go to the library. Zelda lifted the lid and reached in, pulling out a knife crafted by some creature’s polished jaw bone.

The room burst out in raucous laughter.

“My word!” a woman’s voice yelled, “I knew they were backwards, but to think they would present a young lady with the remains of some animal!”

“Well of course,” cried another, “If they couldn’t fashion a proper metal blade, what hope could they have of crafting jewelry?”

Zelda fingered the spiral carved into the lid’s center as she considered pointing out that the handle was made from silver wrapped in silk, but she doubted it would make a difference.

“Well she can always wear it about her neck if she wants to show off her engagement!” Prince Nohansen laughed.

Zelda did not wear the knife around her neck, but she did take to wearing it on a sash tied at her waist. The morning after the engagement was announced Zelda descended to the lower floors of the castle to reach the laboratory. Diplomatic relations between Hyrule and Zonai were nonexistent, but there was one researcher that spent a fair amount of time in Faron to study some of the plants there, and Zelda had gotten quite acquainted with him upon his return to the castle.

“Owlan!” she called, a smile growing on her face as the old man came into view, working diligently on documenting the fruits of his research.

“Come to glean Zonai secrets, your Highness?” he asked with a raised brow and his ever present gentle smile.

“You’ve heard the news then?” she asked. 

“There’s not a soul in this castle who hasn’t. It’s the talk of the town,” he closed the book he was writing in and turned to face her, “Would you like a tutor in their language?”

“I would, but that’s not the only reason I’m here,” Zelda set the box she’d received the night before on his workspace, “What do you make of this?”

He took the box in his hand, giving the intricately carved lid, “If nothing else, you know that he’s a gifted carpenter.”

“You think he made the box himself?”

“Rather than a ring, Zonai engagements are marked with a dagger. Typically the suitor in question will present said blade with a personal touch. A seamstress would wrap it in a sash for her beloved, a gardener might send flowers along with the blade itself, and your betrothed,” he tapped the box lid, “sent a carved box. Would you mind terribly if I took a look at the knife in question?”

“Go ahead,” she said, taking an empty seat beside him. She turned back to him holding the knife in question with a frown.

“What is it?” she asked.

“It’s common for particularly capable warriors in the Zonai nation to slay a beast and have a bone fashioned into the blade. It’s a way of showing off, you see,” Owlan said with a mischievous smile, “but I can’t tell what creature it’s from.”

Zelda took the dagger in her own hands, running a ringer across the large fang at the point. Now that she had a closer look, she could see etchings on the bone as well, depicting a long horned serpent curling under the teeth.

“What should I send back?”

“I’m sure a reciprocal blade would be appreciated,” he said, a twinkle in his eye.

Zelda left shortly after to visit the blacksmith to have a dagger commissioned before heading to the library. After consulting a librarian she had several books on the Zonai language sent to her room while she perused the shelves until she came across the tome she was looking for.

The Hylian Bestiary was one of the oldest books in the castle’s collection, the original copy was written back when the kingdom encompassed the entire continent. She hefted the book onto one of the empty tables and flipped through the illustrations of beasts both alive and of their remains. She rested her head on her fist, nearing the end of the section and still at a loss. She turned a page, a little discouraged until she scanned it’s contents.

There wasn’t much information on this beast, apart from reports of different colors and different regions it had been spotted in. There wasn’t a live illustration either, but there was a careful sketch of a skull. Zelda opened her box and took out the dagger just to be sure. She held it up to the page.

Her fiance had sent her a Lynel’s jaw.

If his intent was to impress, he’d certainly succeeded. She had never seen one herself, but there had been occasions where her uncle had dispatched knights to slay one that had wandered a bit too close to hylian villages. It was one of the few times the King would approve of Zelda’s assistance of the medical staff, because they always needed extra hands afterwards. Zelda returned the book to its shelf and entered her study. The books she’d asked for were stacked on her desk, but she bypassed them for her cabinet of finished elixirs. She opened the doors and considered, wondering which one she should send to her betrothed. She considered a poison she’d extracted to coat the dagger in, but decided against it. With the language barrier as high as it was, she didn’t want to risk him drinking it. She ended up making a defensive concoction that would give him an extra layer of protection, which he might need if he made a habit of facing Lynels. 

She was called down to the blacksmith’s a few hours later to approve of their handiwork. The blade was serrated, as she’s requested, and a fair bit longer than the knife around her waist, but she gave her approval and had it shipped off with her elixir to her fiance before returning to her study and reading through the basics of the Zonai language.  

A week after she sent her own engagement dagger she had received another gift from her fiance. Unlike the first, this gift was contained within a basket. Zelda had the good fortune to intercept the servant on the way to deliver her gift to her uncle. The maid in question was a regular consumer of one of her contraceptives, so it didn’t take much convincing before she was walking back to her room with the basket tucked under one arm. She sat on her bed, and somewhat excitedly opened the lid of the basket-

And slammed it back down again. She stared at the basket as though it might combust for a moment, heart slamming against her ribcage. Not wanting to jump to any conclusions, Zelda gingerly picked up the basket and placed it on her desk, ond once she put a few paper weights over the lid, paid Owlan a visit.

“Good afternoon your Highness! Are your studies going well?” he asked, looking up from the medication he was crafting.

“How do the Zonai feel about snakes?” she asked by way of greeting.

“Well I would say they’re quite fond of the little creatures,” Owlan explained, “Snakes in general are held in high regard due to their resemblance to one of their guardian deities. The Faron Python in particular is a common pet.”

“A snake is a common pet?”

“Contrary to popular belief, they can be quite friendly. The Faron Python is known for being affectionate and gentle, that coupled with their penchant to hunt pests earned them a spot in many a Zonai household.”

Zelda found herself in the library once again looking for answers regarding the nature of an engagement, and returned to her room with an illustrated guide to Faron Pythons and their care. Once she was once again seated on her bed with the basket placed in front of her. She made sure to turn to the page to a diagram of the snake’s physical characteristics to make sure she could verify her suspicion. Not wanting to spook the creature, she took the lid off slowly, giving the snake a moment to adjust to the light of her room before taking a closer look.

The serpent itself was shockingly beautiful, bright white scales with splashes of blue along its body that looked almost translucent reflecting the light filtering through her windows. After a few tense moments, Zelda carefully reached in the basket. The serpent didn’t shy away, so she felt secure enough to tuck her hand underneath a section of its body to gently lift it. First it was only a few inches, giving the sweet creature a chance to escape, but it only curled around her hand in an embrace that felt softer then it looked. The snake slowly turned to look at her. A tongue flicked out of an upturned mouth, and Zelda was lost.

From that day forward, it was common to see the Crown Princess of Hyrule walking through the castle with a serpent coiled around her neck. She liked the reaction her new friend had on those around her, even her uncle and cousin seemed to give her a wide berth whenever they caught sight of the python leisurely draped around her shoulders. She never mentioned the snake’s name because she liked the watchful respect she acquired and refused to undermine it by advertising that the intimidating serpent’s name was Noodle. 

With this new edge to her authority Zelda made doubly sure that any gifts from her mysterious groom came directly to her hands. The benefits to this policy were two fold, the first being insurance that her uncle wouldn’t make a further mockery of her engagement or perhaps keep the gift if he took a liking to it. The second was the prevention of any diplomatic incidents. As much as she loved Noodle, Zelda was well aware that a snake in a basket could be interpreted as an assassination attempt. 

As thanks for her new friend, Zelda sent one of her old journals she thought had a thorough description of how she made some of her earlier, more basic elixirs. She knew there was a chance he might not understand Hylian, but she thought it would be a good way to get to know her. She had tried translating the recipes, but gave up after the first few and sent the incomplete list rather than spend her remaining month translating a single journal. Her Zonai vocabulary was primarily conversational and sadly didn’t include scientific vernacular.

She must have gotten her point across, however, as just a week later she was delighted to find a few vials full of her fiance’s attempts to recreate her recipes. 

Zelda was also surprised, quite a feat after Noodle’s auspicious arrival, to find a Silent Princess pressed into glass. At first she was perplexed, wondering if her fiance had simply ventured a lucky guess, but then she recalled the day she began researching the flower and attempting to foster it on her own was also the day she filled that journal, suggesting her fiance had read to the last page of her journal before preparing his third gift.

Her elation at this discovery was fueled by a torrent of relief. She had heard the stories of arranged marriages gone wrong. She had considered countless times in the past weeks that the gifts sent could be a ploy to gain her affections only to have such generosity evaporate as soon as the final wedding vow was spoken. Yet the Silent Princess in her hands whispered tales of a considerate husband, who took the time to read through all she had written and took the time to learn her interests. Deep in Zelda’s chest, she felt hope flicker, foolish as it might have been.

tw: character deaths, funerals

* * * *

The funeral was small. Close friends and family only. With the war going on, it was dangerous to have too many people attend in such a small setting— “an easy target” as Moody reminded everyone diligently. Remus sat with his hands folded in his lap next to Sirius, who was sitting very still and staring at the floor with a numb expression on his face. He had already broken down earlier that morning in their flat as the two of them were getting ready, and Remus had held him for several long moments trying to keep him together. Now, Sirius seemed determined not to show any emotion. It was for James’ sake, Remus was sure. Sirius wanted to be strong for his brother as they buried Euphemia and Fleamont. As they buried their parents.  

Remus glanced across Sirius’ lap to see Lily, sitting beside James and holding onto his arm tightly with one hand, the other resting across her stomach. She wasn’t quite showing yet, but Remus knew that she was thinking about the baby she and James were bringing into this world. A baby that would never know their grandparents. Peter was on the other side of James, twitching in his seat, unsure what to do with himself. He never knew how to handle situations like this.

Lily’s wet green eyes met Remus’ briefly and her lips twitched, as if trying to form a smile but the muscles in her face wouldn’t allow it. Remus himself just looked away, having nothing comforting to offer her in this moment. He himself couldn’t understand any of it. His own mother, Hope, had died a few years ago and it was bringing up a lot of emotions he had tried to repress ever since. Cancer. Dragon pox. It just seemed like such silly things to die from during a time of war and Remus didn’t understand.

The service was nice. James spoke beautifully about his parents, his tears never ceasing to stop despite his efforts. He talked of his childhood, how his parents were so patient with the whirlwind of a child they were given, how everything good about him had come from them. He talked about how proud he was to be their son. How he wished to someday be half the parent they were for his child. He had looked at Lily as he said it.

Sirius didn’t speak. Moody had insisted they keep the service as short as possible, giving only enough time for one person to speak. James had offered to split his time, but Sirius had declined, the insecure feeling that he was intruding on a family that wasn’t really his still so apparent after all these years.

“You, Sirius and Peter should come back to mine and James’ tonight. I don’t think we should be apart.” Lily said quietly in Remus’ ear as they found each other after the ceremony. James was at the door thanking everyone for coming as they left, Peter hovering closely behind in case he was needed. Sirius had snuck out for a smoke.

“Sirius might not agree.” Remus muttered. “He likes to mourn alone.”

Lily frowned, no doubt thinking about the self-destructive things Sirius partook in when he grieved.

“He’ll come.” She said. “He wouldn’t deny James.”

Remus couldn’t argue with that. He excused himself from Lily’s side to go in search for his boyfriend to inform him of the plans. He was stopped a few times by other Order members and Professor Dumbledore along the way, but eventually, he found his way out the back door of the building. Sirius was leaning against the brick wall, his hand dangling beside him, holding an unlit cigarette.

“You need a light?”

Sirius’ head shot up and Remus was surprised to see the wetness on his cheeks and the bloodshot look in his eyes. Sirius let out a humorless laugh and glanced down at the methanol stick in his hand.

“She hated when I smoked.” His voice cracked as he spoke. “I can’t bring myself to light it.”

Remus stayed quiet. He didn’t want to push Sirius to talk about his feelings, knowing that Sirius would just push him back and internalize everything. Instead, Remus focused on the weather, finding it oddly jarring at how bright it was outside with the sun shining and birds chirping. It was a great contrast to how everything felt. He looked down at his shoes.

“It’s not—” Sirius began, a choked sob escaping his lips. “It’s not fucking fair.”

“I know.” Remus said.

The dam broke again, just as it had that morning, and Remus lunged forward just as Sirius collapsed onto himself, sobs racking his body. A wet feeling spread across Remus’ shoulder as tight hands grappled at his back in a desperate motion and Remus felt his heart breaking. He could relate, on some level, to the pain of losing Euphemia and Fleamont because of his mother, but unlike Sirius, Remus was able to compartmentalize his feelings and control when and where he allowed himself to break down. Sirius was more prone to random bouts of anger and depression that were nearly impossible to predict.

“Let’s go to James and Lily’s tonight.” Remus whispered into the dark hair against his chest. “It’ll just be us and Pete there.”

“Remus—”

“James needs you tonight, Pads.” He knew it was a low blow, to use James to get Sirius to agree. But Lily was right, Sirius was never capable of denying James.

“Fine.”

They drove back to Lily and James’ in silence. Remus thought that disapparation may have been more practical transportation to and from the funeral, but again, Moody had been quite insistent on being cautious and apparating was a magical source that could easily be tracked by the Death Eaters and so, they had to do things the muggle way. It was probably for the best. Remus doubted any of them would be able to disapparate in such a state anyway.

Sirius reached forward and turned the radio on, the static cracking through the air as a song came on. It was a nice distraction from the noise and for a brief second it almost felt like a normal day to Remus with Sirius sitting beside him in the car, listening to tunes and just existing with one another. He wished he could go back to those days, if only to give Sirius one more moment of happiness.

When they arrived at James and Lily’s, Sirius walked through the threshold quickly and quietly, taking his place in the small, yellow loveseat by the window. Remus frowned slightly, wanting to be able to sit next to Sirius in order to gauge how he was feeling, but clearly Sirius wanted space. Remus sat down on the sofa next to Lily. James had rushed off to the kitchen, shouting something about getting drinks and Peter took a seat near the fireplace, still fidgeting in his lap.

“Alright,” James said as he came back into the room, hovering various beverages with his wand. “Lils, I brought you some water, Remus and Peter get tea and Padfoot and I get whiskey.”

He chucked a bottle of firewhiskey toward Sirius, who caught it with ease, immediately screwing the cap off and taking a long swig. Remus saw Lily give her husband a look of disapproval before taking a sip of her own water, choosing not to say anything.

“Are you sure it’s a good idea to be drinking?” Peter said, unable to read the room like Lily had.

James just shrugged, practically pulling the bottle from Sirius’ lips to take a swing himself.

“Don’t really plan on being anywhere tonight, so I would say it’s perfectly fine to indulge a little bit. I mean, I did just bury my fucking parents, I think I’m allowed to have a drink, Wormtail.” His voice came out harsh and Peter’s face took on a look of deep hurt. James had never spoken to Peter with such venom before, even going to great lengths to tip toe around his friend’s feelings, knowing how insecure he was.

The sudden tension in the room made Remus’ skin itch. He wondered if the rest of them could feel it like he could or if this was something the wolf was able to pick up on. Lily kept tucking her hair behind her ear and opening her mouth to say something, though nothing ever came out. Peter stared down at his lap, either not wanting or unwilling to look at James, and Sirius seemed to have zoned out, not even registering the conversation that just occurred. Remus felt useless. There was nothing he could think to say or do to make the situation better for anyone. He realized that it was always James or Sirius who were the ones able to distract everyone else from their sorrows. Their boisterous personalities and witty remarks always putting people in a better mood, but now, both their lights were out, and no one knew how to fix it.

“Remember that time your dad caught us snogging on the roof?” Lily said, her eyes on James. “We nearly fell off it when we heard him open the window.” She let out a soft laugh and Remus watched the grip James had on the bottle loosen a bit.

“Yeah. He said we needed to find a new hide out.” A shadow of a smile flickered across James’ face as he walked over to Lily, sitting on the other side of her and taking her hand, the firewhiskey abandoned on the small coffee table.

“Remember when Euphemia made us all those biscuits when we went out to the lake?” Peter said a moment later. James looked up at him with a smile and nodded.

“She made nearly a whole basket for each of us.”

James laughed and Peter followed suit, happy that his friend was smiling with him again. Remus grinned, too, remembering the day fondly. Euphemia had baked nonstop the night before and presented the four boys with baskets of goodies to take to the lake with them that day.

“It came in handy,” Remus said, “considering we all had the munchies after smoking that joint.”

They burst out laughing, James crying tears of joy instead of sadness now.

“Do you think she knew?” Peter asked.

“That we were going to get high? No. I think that’s just what mum did.”

“She was an extraordinary person.” Lily mused. “So was Flea.”

“No one like them.” James agreed.

Suddenly, Sirius stood from his seat and rushed out of the room. Startled by the sudden movement, everyone’s eyes followed him, watching him enter the kitchen and then a moment later the sound of the back-door slamming echoing throughout the small home. James made a move to stand, but Remus raised his hand.

“I’ve got it.”

With tentative steps, Remus made his way outside, walking carefully as if he were sneaking up on some wild animal. He heard soft sobs coming from around a bush and maneuvered until he could see Sirius sitting there on the grass with his head tucked into his knees. His long fingers were pulling at his dark hair as his body shook and Remus knelt down, gently taking hold of Sirius’ wrists.

“Hey, hey. You’re hurting yourself, Pads.”

“I’m sorry I just—” Sirius gasped, brining his head up to meet Remus’ gaze. “I just don’t know how to be here. How to do this.”

“It’s okay.” Remus pulled Sirius to his chest, tears of his own suddenly sprouting in his eyes. He could taste the saltiness of them as bit down on his bottom lip, urging himself to keep it together for Sirius.

“They were my mum and dad, Rem.” Sirius whispered, barely loud enough for Remus to hear. “I mean, I know that they weren’t really my parents but…but they were my mum and dad.”

“I know. It’s okay to miss them, you know. To cry over them.”

At those words, Sirius’ cries renewed, and the two of them sat there in the grass until his sobs slowly turned into heavy breathing. Remus glanced down at the tear stained face resting against his chest to see that Sirius had apparently tired himself out. He looked younger as he slept, his features softer and less tense. Like a face that hadn’t experienced these things. Remus carefully lifted Sirius, wrapping an arm under his knees, holding him tightly to his chest and took him inside. Peter seemed to have left, but Lily and James were still in the living room, curled up against each other, now changed out of their dress clothes and into pajamas. They glanced up when Remus entered.

“He cried himself to sleep.” He said quietly.

“The guest room is all yours. Go get some rest.” James said, his eyes flickering with concern as he looked to Sirius.

“Thank you.”

Remus laid Sirius down on the bed gently before ridding him of his shoes and clothes until he was just in his pants and undershirt. He pulled a large quilt over his boyfriend, running a hand across his face to brush back the hair that had fallen there before sitting beside him. As he looked at Sirius, Remus couldn’t help but hope that the boy in front of him wouldn’t have to deal with anymore loss. It seemed a futile wish during times like these with disappearances and deaths happening every day, but Remus hoped that the universe would make an exception and spare his star anymore heartbreak.

The One That Stays

Keanu Reeves x Reader (A/n- Alrighty folks, it’s been fun, but this is where the road ends for this one. I really hope everyone that read this, enjoyed it because I had a lot of fun writing it. Maybe one day we can revisit these two, and see what their lives are like in a few years. Maybe.) Just some supplementary texture, the dress that the reader is wearing, linked <here>

Chapter1  Chapter2  Chapter3   Chapter4  Chapter5  Chapter6  Chapter7  Chapter8  Chapter9  Chapter10  Chapter11  Chapter12

Chapter 13- Revelation

“You know you’re home when you find the ones that stay.” -Lp, Strange.

Two Months later Since Julie’s wedding and they’re decision to let the public know that they were in fact, an item, Y/n and Keanu had become a bit more liberal with their appearances together. They went to dinner more often, visited public beaches and he’d even taken her to brunch with his family, who as it turned out, adored her, maybe more than Keanu himself. His sister was already planning mini girls’ getaways with her and his mother couldn’t wait for the next opportunity for a family dinner.

Other developments had quickly made themselves known too, and by then, Y/n had all but officially moved in with Keanu. Julie had moved in with her new husband, and with nothing but her belongings tying her to her apartment in Malibu, Y/n had found it easy to spend most nights at Keanu’s place. Besides, a week together in Vegas had seen them both quickly growing used to falling asleep in each other’s arms. After that, when they had returned to Los Angeles, Keanu couldn’t have been happier when he started seeing more of her things pop up among his; a coffee cup in the cupboard, a few outfits in a recently cleared out section of his closet and her own robe in the bathroom. They had even exchanged keys, which they both used liberally. 

The new, growing closeness was something that they both enjoyed; Y/n adored having someone to go home to, to love, and Keanu was elated that he could finally share his home, and start building a future with a woman he adored. 

“My mom wants to know if you’d go shopping with her and Karina next Saturday,” Keanu asked, his arm snaked around Y/n’s waist as they walked towards the elevator in her office. Diligently, like the doting boyfriend he was, Keanu held Y/n’s bags in his free hand and Y/n was tucked comfortably into his side, enjoying his warmth. “You know,” he began before Y/n could respond, “I think you three are gonna have to exchange numbers or something, being the messenger is getting old fast,” Keanu teased as they got in, only parting so Y/n could push the button on the wall. 

Rolling her eyes, Y/n chuckled, automatically returning to his embrace after, “Aww,” she cooed, “Is that jealously I hear?”

“No,” he scoffed playfully, tickling her side when Y/n rolled her eyes again, mumbling her disbelief, “I’m not jealous, promise.”

“I know,” Y/n giggled, her arms going around Keanu’s center, a little disappointed when the elevator doors reopened just a few minutes after they had slid shut. Thankfully, things had cooled down over the past couple months and they could now, for the most part, roam L.A without cameras being shoved in those faces, there were however, still those with flimsy morals, willing and ready to follow the two around, eager for a steamy picture; a cozy cuddle here and a passionate smooch there. “Tell her I’d love to go out with them, and you can pass on my number while you’re at it.”

“Great,” Keanu craned his head to look down at Y/n, pressing his lips to hers just before they left the building, “And I’ll give you theirs tonight.”

“Perfect,” Y/n beamed, before grabbing the front of Keanu’s grey t-shirt, yanking him down for another, final kiss. 

“You know,” he mused as they left the building, making their way to his car parked at the top of the block, “I wish your mom liked me they way my mom likes you. Or you know, at the very least, could tolerate our relationship.”

Sighing, Y/n licked her lips, “Well, technically, she doesn’t not like you. She’s just.....” Y/n huffed; they hadn’t really spoken about what had transpired between Y/n and her mother at the wedding, and neither she nor her mother had reached out since then, but Y/n could tell that it bothered Keanu, just a bit, that her mother hadn’t accepted him they way his had her. “She’s just.....complicated,“ Y/n sighed again, “And she just needs some time to.....” she was really at a loss for words.

“Get used to her daughter dating a man nearly twice her age?” Keanu held the door open for Y/n, then walked around to get in on his side, “I mean,” he sighed, starting the car and pulling away from the curb, “I guess one day, when we have a daughter-”

“You think about us having kids?” Y/n cut Keanu off, her grin wide. 

For a minute, he stuttered but quickly gave up, “Well yeah, sometimes,” unsure again, Keanu’s whiskey gaze flicked between Y/n and the road ahead, hoping she’d say something.

Eventually, after she’d found that Keanu had worried enough, Y/n put her hand over his hand on her thigh, “I do too, sometimes. I think you’d make an amazing dad,” she turned to him, watching the visible parts of Keanu’s cheeks go bright pink. 

“I....” Keanu tripped over his words, “You’d make a great mom too,” he eventually sputtered out, trying to push thoughts of them being parents out of his mind; they still had a lot to do first, like survive their first public appearance as a couple. It was coming up by the end of that very week; on the coming Friday night they were supposed to attend a charity gala together. It wasn’t the kind of thing that Keanu usually attended; he never saw the point of dressing up and buying over expensive tickets in the name of charity, he was perfectly fine with making donations in private, without the fanfare and media coverage. But his publicist had informed Y/n and Keanu that it was the best place to make their debut as a couple, and it was the only celebrity event happening in the near future anyway, there was to be a red carpet and everything. 

“Thanks,” Y/n blushed, lacing her fingers with his as Keanu’s hand turned over on her palm, “But, we still have a lot to get through before that. Like Friday night,” she sighed, her smile fading as Y/n turned to look out the window.

Keanu knitted his brows at her less than enthusiastic reaction; Y/n had assured him time and time again that she was okay with the attention, that she could learn to live with it if it meant being with him, but Keanu kept getting the feeling that she wasn’t as on board with it as she was leading him to believe. He understood though, at least, he thought he did; she wasn’t used to the kind of life that was always scrutinized by complete strangers and adjusting would be hard given her reserved nature. “Are you having second thoughts?” He probed when Y/n remained silent for a while.

Turning back to him, she forced a smile as Keanu turned into a quieter part of L.A, nearer to his community, “No,” she dismissed, not meeting his eyes, “It’s just,” she hesitated, “What if everyone hates me? I mean, do you really want to risk your career because of a woman, because of me?”

Squeezing Y/n’s hand affectionately, Keanu brought it up to his lips, kissing her knuckles, grinning lightly when her frown started to fade, “I’d risk everything for you,” he reassured her.

Y/n scoffed, rolling her eyes, “You shouldn’t; Keanu, this is your career, if your fans hate me then, automatically they think you have bad judgment and then they’ll-”

“Okay,” Keanu chuckled, cutting off Y/n’s ramblings, “I get your point, but I promise you, if they’re really my fans, they’ll see, at the very least, a fraction of what I see in you, and they’ll adore you.”

Sucking in a breath, Y/n felt the tension in her shoulders start melting away bit by bit, “Yeah,” she nodded slowly, “Yeah okay,” it would still take a while, but Y/n trusted Keanu’s words, and in the end, she knew that he’d never let someone else’s opinion get in the way of their relationship, “I love you,” she determined as they pulled into his garage and Keanu parked next Y/n’s car, “And I promise I’m not having second thoughts.”

“I love you too,“ leaning over the console, Keanu untangled his fingers from Y/n’s only to cup her face, his thumb grazing her cheek, “And I’m glad to hear it.”

Friday Y/n had never had so many hands touching her all at once, it was a little uncomfortable, and very awkward, though, she supposed she’d have to get used to it one day. There was someone’s hands in her hair, brushing and styling it, another pair on her face, doing her make-up, which she had insisted that she could do herself; much to the dismay of the hired team and at some point, a young woman had started holding earrings up to her ears, testing them to see how they looked. At that point, Y/n would be surprised if they let her put her shoes on herself.

A dress, on loan from a prominent designer, hung secured in a garment bag on a hook on the bathroom door. Y/n had only tried it on once before; a few days after the designer’s representative had reached out, oddly enough, to Y/n’s assistant, asking if she’d be interested in wearing one of their new pieces, they had sent someone over with a few options and she’d ultimately gone with a silver-blueish, haute couture gown.

Amidst all the hustle and bustle of getting ready, they weren’t even at her place, or Keanu’s; apparently it was completely irresponsible to get ready at one’s residence for star studded events. So instead, Keanu, or rather his people, had booked them a suite at a five star hotel in Beverly Hills.

Y/n hadn’t expected all of the excess when she agreed to attend the event with Keanu. Okay, maybe she’d expected a hairdresser, maybe someone doing her make-up, but instead, Keanu’s regular stylist had afforded her an entire team where they was at least one person for something that Y/n would normally do herself. And speaking of Keanu; Y/n hadn’t even seen him since after they parted ways upon setting foot in their suite that afternoon. 

She wasn’t finished until late that evening, when the sun was just about to set and the event, being held at a rented out museum in cushy part of the city, was just over two hours away from starting, and, just as Y/n had suspected, they really didn’t let her put her shoes on for herself. 

Giving herself one last look in the full length mirror, Y/n was actually surprised at her appearance; she didn’t think she’d ever looked that....posh, for lack of a better word. The slit on the lacy dress ended higher up on Y/n’s thigh than she remembered and the designer shoes blended perfectly. Her hair had been styled to needle straight perfection with a shiny, bejeweled comb pulling back one side, boasting diamond earrings and around her neck, sat the only familiar piece of jewelry that she’d been wearing; the necklace that Keanu had given her on Valentine’s day. 

The room had long been cleared, so when someone whistled lowly behind her, Y/n jumped. Though, her surprise was quickly quelled when she met Keanu’s eyes through the reflection. “You look......” Keanu licked his lips, approaching her slowly, dressed to the nines in a black designer tux, his arms pulling Y/n into a hug from behind, “Absolutely stunning.” The height that her shoes offered made it easier for Keanu to bury his face in her neck; his groomed beard tickling her as he peppered kisses there, all while reveling in the sweet scent of her perfume. 

Y/n’s eyes slipped closed as a result of his affections, her hands loosely gripping his forearms, “Thank you,” the two words were punctuated by giddy giggles and Y/n was already sinking into Keanu’s chest, feeling like in his embrace was the only place she wanted to be. “Are you ready to go?” She eventually managed, reluctantly. 

“No,” Keanu mumbled, the word muffled by his lips still on her skin, though he soon pulled away and Y/n turned in the circle of his embrace, looping her lace clad arms around his neck. After a few slow, lingering kisses, Keanu frowned light heartedly, “With you here, looking this gorgeous, I might never be ready, but we should cause the car has been waiting for a half hour now.” Pulling away, they untangled from each other and Keanu took Y/n’s hand in his, leading her to the main room, where they took some pictures before eventually heading downstairs. 

The drive to the museum was filled mostly with comfortable silence, champagne flavored kisses and intimate touches. When they got there, just about half hour after leaving the hotel, someone opened the door on Keanu’s side, and after getting out, he offered his hand, helping Y/n out too. The steps leading to the inside of the grand building had been fitted with a bright red carpet as was the long walkway towards the entrance. Behind a metal, temporary barricade, photographers and fans alike screamed for at least a few seconds of their attention.

Taken aback by the loud cheers and the bright flashes, Y/n recoiled a bit, her hand squeezing Keanu’s as she unconsciously tried to side-step behind him. Slowing his pace, Keanu’s lips were close to her ear, concern heavy in his tone, “Are you okay?”

Y/n’s breath caught as she tired to split her attention; everything seemed to be going by so quickly; the questions, the pictures, the person in front of them telling them to keep moving. How did he do this? Involuntarily, Y/n stiffened and her breathing quickened, “I don’t know,” she looked up at him, eyes wide, internally kicking herself for not being about to enjoy being with him.

“It’s okay,” Keanu kissed the top of her head, “Just relax and pretend they’re not here, that always helps,” soothingly, Keanu rubbed his thumb over hers, “Just focus on me,” he pecked her again.

Taking a deep breath and blinking slowly, Y/n tried to take Keanu’s advice, feeling herself slowly start to relax a bit as she did.

Pretend they’re not there.

Just focus on Keanu.

The tension seemed to roll off her shoulders, sliding down her back as she left it behind. She could do it, as long as she was with Keanu. In just minutes, Y/n was visibly more relaxed and she could even muster up a shy smile when they stopped for pictures. “Better now?” Keanu asked between shots, his hand moving from holding hers to resting low on her back, his pinkie finger barely brushing the thin cool metal belt of her ensemble while the rest felt comfortingly warm on her exposed back.

“Yeah,” Y/n smiled, her eyes twinkling with love as she glanced up at him, “Thank you,” she breathed.

Keanu licked his lips, his gaze shifting between Y/n and the cameras. Keanu hadn’t ever done it before; he never liked the idea of the whole world knowing about his private life, but seeing as everyone already knew, he didn’t see the point in keeping Y/n a secret. Besides, he was enamored with her, more than he had been with any other in a very long time and Keanu wanted to sing it from the roof tops. But since he couldn’t, he’d take the next best thing. Looking adoringly into her eyes, he wordlessly asked if she was okay with it, and after Y/n nodded ever so slightly, Keanu leaned down, catching her lips in a slow, breath-stealing kiss. 

The clicks and shutter of the cameras quickened, the people behind them went wild and there was even a collective ‘aww’ than ran through the crowd. Neither Y/n nor Keanu heard any of it though, too lost in each other to care what anyone thought of their relationship. They ended their lip-lock with one final, short peck, but even then, they couldn’t keep their eyes off each other; drunk on love and the feeling of freedom.

Even after they’d continued walking, the press called after Keanu and Y/n, up until they were safely out of sight; behind the heavy wooden doors of the ancient looking building. The rest of the night passed without the stress of having to shy away from photographers, mingling with guests, many of whom were celebrities themselves. At first, it had left Y/n a little shaken, knowing that she was surrounded by people who typically seemed larger than life, but with Keanu’s reassuring words and his hand in hers, she quickly became at ease with it. Even better was the fact that the few that he took her meet actually seemed to really like her; fawning over her dress and the fact that she worked for a cosmetics company seemed to somehow help her fit in easily. 

All in all, the night went by better than Y/n could have imagined, and by the end of it, she had made several new friends, and unbeknownst to her, gained a wider adoring public, though, it was still, without argument, been perfect only because she had spent it with Keanu.

One Week Later After the night of the gala, and the confirmation of their relationship, news about Y/n and Keanu’s relationship blew up. Varying headlines buzzed around the internet, most of them reading along the lines of; “Keanu Reeves Goes Public With Girlfriend Y/n Y/l/n” or “Breaking News: Keanu Reeves Shares Passionate Kiss With Suspected Girlfriend”. Seeing her name on tabloids in the grocery store and on online magazines had, in just five days, become the norm, though Y/n tried to steer clear; reading about herself seemed a little vain and not to mention juvenile. Besides, from some of the over-inflated hooks splashed across the flimsy tabloid covers, Y/n could already tell that most of the pieces labelled ‘exclusives’ were just filled with lies and exaggerations.

That Friday night, Y/n had driven herself home, or rather back to Keanu’s place, which had started to feel like home, after work since Keanu was carded to have a late meeting at Arch. She didn’t mind though, and they had agreed to have a late dinner; she had brought back take-out and they’d have it over a couple movies and wine. 

Y/n had gotten in at around six, and after a warm shower, she had traded her stylish outfit for a pair of comfortable shorts and a cotton vest, padding around the house barefoot. With the company of a glass of chilled red, Y/n had resigned to the large sofa central to the living room, eyes glued to the television which played a rather boring thriller. The irony. Y/n’s attention wasn’t really fixated on the film and she spent most of the hour trading texts with Julie. That was, until her phone rang, startling her enough to almost make her drop it. 

For a minute, Y/n regarded the familiar number wearily, though she eventually swiped the green icon, deciding that sooner or later, they’d have to work things out. “Hey mom,” Y/n’s tone was flat, trying to stifle her annoyance.

“Y/n,” her mother greeted, sounding unsure of herself, perhaps wondering if it was best to try to make amends over the phone, several states away, “I was hoping you’d answer.”

Y/n sighed heavily, “Yeah, well, if you called to try to convince me to break up with Keanu, it’s not going to work.”

On the other end, Maryann was quiet for a couple seconds before continuing, “I’m sorry about that,” her apology sounded sincere, but Y/n wasn’t willing to take it so readily, so instead, she let her mother go on, “It wasn’t my place to just judge your relationship like that; you’re a grown woman, and if you say you love Keanu, and if you know he loves you, then I shouldn’t try to come between the two of you.”

“You’re right,” Y/n said stiffly, finally turning off the television and tossing the remote to the side, “And thank you. He really is a good man, you just need to give him the chance to show you.”

Maryann hummed and Y/n could almost see her nodded in unspoken agreement, “If you love him, then I’m sure he is,” she offered, and then, further extending her olive branch, “I’d like if you two could give me another chance, do you think he’d be okay with flying out here? He could see where you grew up, your brother is flying in at the end of the month, maybe you two could come in then. I’d love to have the whole family here, and I’m sure your dad would too.”

Y/n chuckled, jubilated that her mother, even if indirectly, had just referred to Keanu as family, “I’ll ask him, but I’m sure Keanu would love that. He really wants you to like him.”

“I’m sorry that I gave him the impression that I didn’t, and for not giving him a chance. Can you tell him that for me, please?”

Just then, Y/n heard the hum of Keanu’s bike as it parked in the garage, followed minutes later by the side door being opened and then shut seconds later, “Y/n, babe!” Keanu called from the hallway, “I’m home!”

“In here!” She returned, covering the bottom of her phone, “I’ll definitely tell him what you said mom. And thanks for calling, but I should probably get going, Keanu just got in.”

“Oh! Of course,” her mother sighed in relief, thankful that she was no longer at odds with her daughter, “You’ll get back to me, about coming to Seattle?” 

“I will,” Y/n smiled as Keanu walked into the living room, having already shed his jacket and taken off his shoes on his way there. Craning her head up, she kissed him quickly and scooted a bit so he could sit next to her, his arms automatically going around Y/n’s shoulders as Keanu slouched into the chair, “Bye mom, I love you.”

“Bye honey,” her mother was the one ending their conversation, hanging up after, “I love you too.”

With the call now ended, Y/n discarded her cell next to the television remote, and took a minute to greet Keanu with a proper kiss. By the time their lips had parted, she was in his lap, Keanu’s hands holding her at the waist and one of Y/n’s arms on his shoulder while her other hand laid over his chest. “That was your mom?”

“Yeah,” Y/n nodded slowly, worrying on her lower lip, “She wanted to apologize for Vegas and she wants us to come out to Seattle in the next two weeks. We don’t have to go if you don’t want to though,” Y/n reassured, moving her hand to brush some of Keanu’s hair out of his face.

“No, I’d love to go. She was just looking out for you; she’s your mom, its her job,” Keanu absently caressed Y/n’s side and she laid her head in the crook of his neck.

“Good, I’m glad you’re on board with this,” pulling away, Y/n took Keanu’s face in her small hands, and briefly, it felt like the first time they’d kissed, at the bar in the city. That was probably the night she’d decided that she didn’t ever want to be with anyone else, even if she hadn’t consciously realized it yet. That was just three months ago, but so much had changed since then; her best friend had gotten married and she’d fallen in love. By then, sitting like that with Keanu, Y/n didn’t want to think of her life differently, with someone else or somewhere else and she’d be contented to stay with him like that forever. “I love you,” she pressed her forehead to his.

One of Keanu’s hands slid up Y/n’s back stopping at the base of her neck to toy with the edges of her hair. Relaxed in his lap, Keanu thought she looked even more beautiful than the night they’d met. Maybe it was because he had grown to know her, to love her. It was hard to think that just a few months ago, he wasn’t even looking for a relationship, and now, Keanu was in one that he didn’t want to be without. Y/n was his; his love, his home, his future. “I love you too,” he grinned softly, stealing a lingering kiss.

Their lips moved in tandem with each other; two souls barely touching but knowing that they’d be joined for life. Keanu’s tongue slid over Y/n’s and her hands slipped down to his neck. When they broke for air, after a couple minutes, their noses were still touching at the tips and Keanu smiled breathlessly. He had been mulling over something since they’d come back from the gala, hell, probably since they’d come back from Las Vegas; like the rest of their relationship, he knew that it would be a big leap in their whirlwind romance, but if the last few months was anything to go by, Keanu knew that he was ready for anything with Y/n. “I’ve been thinking; maybe when we get back from Seattle, you could move in. Officially, I mean.”

Giggling, Y/n scrunched her nose, “You’re serious?” Y/n already knew what her answer was, but she just wanted to make sure that Keanu wasn’t making a decision based on the high from their great week.

“I am, in the past two months, this place has started to feel more like a home than it has in the past ten years. I want us to come home to each other everyday Y/n; I want to come home to you,” reaching for her hand, Keanu rubbed his thumb over her knuckles, “What do you say?”

Squealing, Y/n crashed her lips to his, catching Keanu off guard before she pulled away, excited eyes and racing heart, “I want to come home to you too Keanu. Everyday, for the rest of our lives.” 

A wide grin split his lips, and Y/n shifted so she was straddling Keanu. Bringing her face to his, they got lost in each other, eventually falling sideways onto the sofa as they celebrated the new step in their relationship, together, in their home. 

The End!

*********

Tagging- @baphomentwolf666  @kindainlovewithkeanu​​  @harrisongslimited​  @a-really-bi-girl​  @soarocks​

Picnics and Bonfires [A TRC Fanfic]

This is written for @oldkingyounggod for @trcspringfling. She asked for a fic where the Gangsey has a bonfire and hangs out, so I delivered. This also proves that I'm capable of actually writing fluff when I mean to not just by accident. It tries to veer into sad things a couple times but I think I managed to save it each time. We'll see I guess. 🤷‍♀️ Hopefully you enjoy it, Aurum.

Also, the title is terrible, I'm sorry.

It was interesting the way that endings had their own feel even when objectively not much was actually changing.

Blue’s bedroom was the as it had always been. In fact, the only thing different was the old duffle bag she’d dug out of the basement and stuffed full of clothes and toiletries and a blanket and a few other things she’d deemed necessary. It sat on the foot of her bed along with her school backpack, also stuffed full. Somehow that changed the whole feel of the room. It wasn’t like she was moving out of anything. She was just going to be gone for a little while, but it still felt like something was ending. Maybe it was. Maura had always been diligent about giving Blue her independence, but this would still be the first time Blue had spent any long period of time away from her mother and the other women of Fox Way. All that new independence was bound to change someone. Still she was excited. Last year this trip had seemed like an impossibility. It was amazing to actually be able to do it.

“Blue!” Calla yelled up the stairs. “Your Raven Boy is outside!” As if Blue’s window wasn’t open and she hadn’t the Pig pull up outside.

“Coming!” she hollered back, stuffing her feet into combat boots and flying down the steps with the laces still untied. She left the duffle bag and backpack on the bed; those were for bright and early tomorrow morning.

She hurtled into the kitchen and retrieved the perfectly ordinary fruit salad she’d made that morning from the fridge. Calla and Maura were sitting at the kitchen table watching with fond smiles on their faces.

“Tie your shoes before you trip,” Calla said.

“I’ll tie them in the car!” Blue called over her shoulder as she raced out of the house and into the bright early summer sunlight. It was summer, everything was going to be alright.

Gansey was just getting out of the Pig to come knock on the door. Blue almost reached him before she stepped on her shoelace and tripped. Gansey’s eyes widened and he only barely managed to catch the fruit salad before it hit the pavement. They stared at each other for a minute then Blue burst into laughter. “Calla told me to tie my shoes before I tripped,” she told him.

Gansey grinned. “Then I guess it’s good that I was here.” He set the fruit salad in the driver’s seat and turned back to hug her. No kisses. Even though Gansey hadn’t shown on St. Mark’s Eve this year, neither of them was quite ready to confirm that meant they could kiss without him dying.

When they broke apart, Blue circled to the passenger seat and got in. Gansey handed the fruit salad to her and got in as well. Blue looked into the back seat. It was just the two of them. “Where’s Henry?”

“He wanted to drive himself,” Gansey said. “I think he wanted to take his car on one last spin.”

“Does he know where the Barns are?” Blue asked.

“I gave him directions,” Gansey said. Officially speaking the Barns didn’t exist so you couldn’t exactly find it using Google Maps. “He should be fine.”

Gansey pulled the Pig out into the street. Blue had offered to let him drive the car Ronan had given her—they’d started to call it the Green Pig—these last few months to get used to it but he’d refused. She got the feeling that he regretted not being able to take his Pig on this trip, but was too aware of the problems with taking a car that reliably broke down on the drive between home and school on a cross country trip to mention it.

“Did you tell Ronan we’re on our way?” she asked, rolling down the window and smiling as the wind blew through her hair.

“He said to be there by two,” Gansey said. “We’re going to be there a little bit after so it’ll be fine.”

“Your phone’s still off, isn’t it?” Blue asked. After winning the battle of wills and cited studies about the benefits of gap years with his parents, Gansey had turned off his phone so he had a valid reason to pretend not to have known if they changed their minds. Sometimes he turned it on to make important phone calls, but overall, he was harder to reach than Ronan these days. It had been sort of funny at first, but it was starting to get old. Blue was glad he’d probably turn the thing back on once they were on the road and his parents couldn’t stop him anymore.

Overall, though, Blue did her best not to think about the cultured but undeniably giant blowout which had happened in the Gansey family when Gansey had announced his intention to take a gap year. She especially tried not to think about the fact that Gansey had eventually won that argument by agreeing to start college the next fall—"probably at Yale, Mom and Dad, possibly Harvard, but probably Yale.” He confided in Blue that he still thought he’d won on that front too because, “Yale has a good history program and it’s not like they can force me to major in law or something else stupid like that.” Still, Blue tried not to think about it because she didn’t like to be reminded that this year was simply delaying the inevitable: next fall Gansey and Henry would go away to fancy colleges and Blue would still be stuck in Henrietta. She knew that Gansey would give her all the money she needed if she asked, but she didn’t want to be in his debt like that—especially since she was fairly certain he’d never let her pay him back—so she made sure not to bring it up.

“You really should turn your phone back on,” she told him. “You’re eighteen now; it’s not like they can stop you.”

Gansey just shrugged and focused on the road.

~~~~

Even if you hadn’t known the Barns was literally magic, you would have felt something different about it. Being there felt a little like how you’d imagine stepping into a fairy tale did. It was the sort of place that radiated a feeling that here all things were possible.

Blue loved it. She’d grown up surrounded by magic, but the kind of magic the psychics of Fox Way practiced was a different kind of magic than the magic of the Barns. The magic of Fox Way was subtle and careful. It was easy to miss or brush aside as a lucky guess. The magic of the Barns was loud and ostentatious and uncanny. It was glorious and Blue loved it.

When she and Gansey arrived, preparations for a picnic were well underway. Ronan was in charge because it turned out he was the only one of the Raven Boys who could cook (Adam had been informed that knowing fifteen different spices to mix with rice did not count as cooking). Blue was a better baker than cook anyway, so she didn’t complain. She did question why Ronan and Gansey had subsisted on take-out, cereal, ramen and microwavable mac-n-cheese cups while living at Monmouth if Ronan had been able to cook the whole time.

“There’s no stove there,” Ronan explained, taking the fruit salad from her and somehow conjuring a place for it in the overpacked fridge. “How was I supposed to cook?”

“You could have bought one,” Adam spoke up from where he was shucking corn at the kitchen table. “It’s not like you two don’t have the money.”

Ronan and Gansey both shrugged like the idea had never occurred to them. Maybe it hadn’t.

Henry was a bit late. Turned out he had managed to get lost despite following Gansey’s directions to the letter. He first called Gansey and when Gansey obviously didn’t answer because his phone was off he called Ronan and Adam answered. Despite first Adam and then Gansey’s best efforts, Henry wasn’t able to find his way to the Barns despite it sounding like he was in the right place. Eventually, Ronan took the phone from Gansey, and Henry was arrived in five minutes. This led Blue to believe the Barns hid itself from new people, which was at once both utterly ridiculous and utterly unsurprising given the feel of the place.

Once Henry arrived things kicked into high gear. Adam and Ronan pulled a grill out of one of the outbuildings. It had no charcoal and no propane tank, but somehow it lit right up when Ronan tossed a match into it. No one questioned it.

Blue was put in charge of the other food while Ronan grilled because Ronan (correctly) judged her as the only other person who could be trusted not to accidentally make the food inedible. Adam was pressed into service as the fetching things, so he spent a lot of time running back and forth. Gansey and Henry were (also correctly) judged as the most incompetent where food was concerned so they stayed out of everyone else’s way by attempting to teach Opal to play catch in the driveway. That ended rather quickly when they realized Opal was perfectly capable of taking a bite out of a baseball like it was an apple.

“Does she have guts?” Henry asked when he and Gansey finished relaying the story to Blue in the kitchen.

“I don’t think I want to know,” Blue said and set them to work cutting vegetables for the veggie plate that Ronan insisted was a vital part of any picnic. Who would have thought Ronan Lynch would ever be in the position of advocating for people eating their vegetables?

When all the food was done they laid it out on the kitchen table and countertops and filled their plates before going to sit on the front porch. The weather was beautiful and the air smelled like hope and new beginnings. The food was very good too—it turned out Ronan really did know how to cook.

Everyone went back for seconds and thirds—Opal went back for fourths and then ate her paper plate too. While they ate they talked only about good things. No mention was made of demons or death prophecies or dead fathers. It was good.

After lunch, they put the food away and went on a walk around the full perimeter of the Barns. Walking the Barns was not quite as uncanny was walking in Cabeswater had been—the Barns was not alive—but you still came across a number of odd, obviously dreamed features. For a start there were the sleeping cows. Most of them were still in the fields where they’d fallen asleep upon Niall Lynch’s death. None of the Lynch brothers had been at the Barns long enough afterwards to figure out how to move them—the cows might be dreams but they were just as heavy as real cows—but now that he was living at the Barns again, Ronan had plans to dream something that would make them easier to move.

“It feels wrong to leave them outside in the elements,” he mentioned.

There were lots of other things to discover as well. In the far back of the property they found a camouflaged wooden cover hiding a dark shaft that vanished into the ground. Henry kicked a rock into it and it fell out of sight before a horrible, hair-raising grinding emanated from the depths of the pit like the rock was being ground to bits. Ronan didn’t know what the pit was and admitted that he and Matthew hadn’t been allowed this far from the house so it was likely it had been here since Niall was alive. Given the horrible noise, they all decided they didn’t want to know what it did so they covered it up again so nothing fell into it and headed off again.

The rest of the walk was much less exciting and by the time they got back to the house the shaft had mostly faded in favor of ideas for what to do next. Unsurprisingly, there was a large assortment of lawn games in one of the outbuildings—Blue was fast realizing that just about anything could be found at the Barns if you knew where to look. They divided into teams—a feat that ended up requiring them to all take turns being the judge which in turn rendered the concept of teams rather useless. Still, time flew by until dusk when it was getting too dark to play anymore. They were just beginning to get set up for a bonfire and S’mores when a car pulled into the driveway.

Henry was the first to notice because he was in the process of carrying things outside. “Are we expecting anyone else?” he called through the screen door.

“Because someone’s here. It’s a gray Volvo.”

Everyone else paused. Ronan and Adam looked at each other. “Told you he’d come if you asked him to,” Adam said quietly.

“It’s been hours; you’d decided he wasn’t going to show too,” Ronan growled. “Don’t kid yourself.”

Adam didn’t deny it.

A car door slammed and then someone was pounding up the steps and across the porch. The screen door banged against the wall and Matthew threw himself at Ronan in a full-on leap that nearly knocked Ronan off his feet. “Ronan!” Matthew squealed. “It’s so good to see you!”

“Good to see you too,” Ronan said, sounding a little like he’d gotten the wind knocked out of him.

“I’m sorry we’re so late,” Matthew said, speaking so fast Blue had a hard time understanding him. “I had to retake a test for school. Ms. Fischer said that if I didn’t retake it I’d fail sophomore year and Declan said that wasn’t acceptable so he helped me study real hard and then I went into school today and Ms. Fischer came in so I could take the test again and then when I was done we went back to the house to pick some things and came right here! How much did I miss?”

“Well you didn’t miss the bonfire and S’mores,” Ronan said. “I’m glad you made it.”

“I brought popcorn, jellybeans and chocolate chips,” Declan said from the kitchen doorway. Blue jumped. She’d been so focused on Ronan and Matthew’s reunion that she hadn’t even noticed the oldest Lynch brother come in. He was dressed in a suit as always and holding a Walmart bag that did indeed appear to contain popcorn kernels, jellybeans and chocolate chips.

“That’s an interesting combination,” Henry said.

“It’s hideous,” Gansey said. “Really, Ronan? You let me go all this time thinking that monstrosity was a you thing not a Lynch thing?”

“It’s even better when you mix caramel sauce and chocolate sauce in too,” Matthew said emerging from Ronan’s arms with a huge smile. Ronan and Declan at least had the decency to look a bit grossed out by that proposed addition.

“Alright, it’s good you came,” Ronan said to Declan his voice much more level that it usually was when the two brothers met. “We’re going to be starting the bonfire so if you’re making popcorn, you should start it now.”

“Alright,” Declan echoed with a nod and that was that.

~~~~

Blue half suspected the bonfire to be lit with some kind of dreamthing, but it turned out that Ronan and Adam planned to light the fire the old-fashioned way—at least it seemed like the old-fashioned way, though she supposed there was no guarantee the matches or firewood weren’t dreamed. In a surprisingly short time the fire was blazing.

Blue went inside to use the bathroom. On her way back out she peaked into the kitchen where Declan was hard at work making two huge vats of popcorn. A paper plate with some of the leftovers from their picnic feast was sitting on the counter next to him. Blue was going to continue on outside, but then Declan looked over his shoulder. “Can you take that out to Matthew?” he asked pointing at the plate. “I want him to eat some actual food before all this junk.”

“Sure,” she crossed the kitchen and picked up the plate.

“I’ll be out in a minute,” Declan called after her as left the kitchen. “The popcorn’s almost done.”

Blue made her way back to the bonfire and handed the plate over to Matthew who pouted a bit but started eating when Blue told him that Declan said he should. Matthew listened to Declan like he was his father not his older brother, it was a bit unexpected, especially given the state of Declan and Ronan’s relationship. Blue had gotten used to thinking of Declan as the hated outsider of the Lynch family; Matthew’s obvious adoration of him was disconcerting. 

Declan came out of the house about five minutes later, carrying two large bowls—turned out he’d thought of those who didn’t think the popcorn, jellybeans and chocolate concoction was edible. Matthew immediately held out his hands for the bowl with jellybeans and chocolate. Declan raised an eyebrow Matthew showed him the plate Blue had brought out which was somehow already empty. Declan handed the bowl over without comment and gave the other bowl to Gansey who looked very relieved to have some normal popcorn. Ronan passed sticks and marshmallows around and the bonfire was on for real. 

There was a lot of talking and laughing and many sticky fingers. Blue and Henry tried Declan’s popcorn concoction and it turned out to actually be pretty good. Gansey jokingly muttered about being betrayed and took the normal popcorn over to sit with Adam who had said he, “abstained from that kind of culinary insanity on principle.”

Eventually, Gansey and Adam headed off to get more wood for the fire. Matthew jumped to his feet and announced that he was going inside for caramel sauce and chocolate sauce. He vaulted over his bench and bolted for the house. This left Declan and Ronan—who moved so he could better talk to Matthew—sitting on the same bench with no buffer between them. Both brothers fidgeted and avoided making eye contact.

“Thank you for inviting us,” Declan said after a while, his tone slow and halting. “It made Matthew really happy.”

“No problem,” Ronan said, equally slow and halting. “I’m glad he’s here.”

They lapsed back into silence until Ronan ventured, “Is he doing alright at his new school? He said he was flunking.”

“He didn’t study for a final,” Declan said. He was sitting very rigidly, staring into the fire. “Some of his friends decided they were going to go on some kind of trip instead of studying and talked him into coming with them. I was able to smooth things over with his teacher and he says the retake he did today was better.”

He lapsed into silence for a moment then went on, “I’m a bit worried about him actually. It’s not that he bends to peer pressure, it’s that I don’t think he knows was peer pressure even is. He believes the best in everyone, and I don’t want to know what would happen if he fell in with someone who wanted to manipulate him. We talked about it on the way down here, but I can’t tell if he listens to me half the time.”

Privately Blue thought that tonight she’d seen plenty of indication that Matthew listened to what Declan said to him, but she didn’t think it was her place to say.

“I could say something to him if you’d like,” Ronan ventured sounding like even he was a little surprised he was even offering. “Tell him about the importance of being your own person and not letting other people make your decisions for you.”

There was a long pause. “Sure,” Declan said right when Blue started to think he wasn’t going to respond at all. “If you would do that, that would be helpful.”

“Okay,” Ronan said. He looked like he was going to say something else but then the screen door slammed and Matthew pelted back across the dark grass, clutching two bottles to his chest. Blue wasn’t sure where he’d been able to find them. Caramel sauce and chocolate sauce didn’t seem like the kind of things Ronan would buy for himself; maybe he’d bought them knowing Matthew might be here today. Declan took another handful of the popcorn concoction and held the bowl out to Ronan who did the same. Then Declan offered the bowl to Blue and Henry. “Last chance,” he said quietly. “It only gets worse from here.” Blue and Henry took handfuls as well, just as Matthew leaped back over the bench.

“I’m back!” he announced the world’s biggest smile gracing his face.

Matthew joyously squirted the sauces into the bowl of popcorn and mixed it together with a spoon he conjured from his back pocket. They all watched in growing horror as the bowl turned into a sticky mess and Matthew dug in with relish. After a minute he realized everyone was staring at him. “What?” he asked. “Would you like some?”

Before anyone figured out how to say no without hurting his feelings Adam and Gansey were back, only they didn’t appear to have any wood. Instead they were lugging a large crate between them.

“What’s that?” Henry asked, looking a bit confused.

Adam and Gansey heaved the crate up onto the bench. “Fireworks,” Adam said grinning. “Are they dreamed or regular, Lynch?”

“I have no idea,” Ronan said, which answered the “does Ronan know everything you can find in the Barns” question. Then he grinned back. “Do you want to find out?”

“You bet we do!” Matthew plotted the popcorn concoction bowl into Declan’s lap and leaped to his feet. “Where did the matches go, Ronan? Where should we set them off?!” --

(XCOM) Chosen Stories From the War #2: We’re Not Using the “Zed” Word

For a month, Kon-Mai stayed secluded in the XCOM medical bay, spending most of that month sleeping, in deep meditation, or staring at the ceiling while her thoughts tangled in her mind. Her wounds, despite Malinalli’s assurances, were deep and painful, and often seemed just on the cusp of infection. Her IV contained one dose of antibiotics after another and, when the pain got too bad, the occasional shot of morphine so she could relax enough to sleep.

Seclusion leads to depression. Kon-Mai had never been very social with her brothers before, but being surrounded by the unfamiliar faces of people who kept you at arm's length, it was beginning to wear on her. Tygan was one of the only people who didn’t seem to fear her, but his social skills were lacking to say the least, and thus she didn’t trouble him for conversation.

Her only respite was Malinalli. While often swamped with tending to other injured soldiers, when her nurse could get a moment she would come change her bandages or refill the IV, and then take a bit of extra time away just to talk. She was much more talkative than Kon-Mai would ever be, but even listening to the human girl ramble was a nice reprieve from the solitude.

“I think you need a break.” The girl said to her one morning while changing Kon-Mai’s bandages.

“I have been resting diligently for weeks on end.” Kon-Mai replied. “I am already in the middle of ‘a break’ as you say.”

“I think you need a break from resting.” Malinalli pouted. “You don’t talk to anyone besides me.”

“They do not wish for my companionship.” Kon-Mai tried to sound dismissive. “I am used to being solitary.”

“Is that why you look so sad all the time?”

“I do not look sad, this is just the structure of my face.” Her borther had often commented on her “resting bitch face” and while she hated when he did...she ad to agree. She was no pretty sight.

“Mhm.” Malinalli pulled the new bandages tight and tucked them in. “You’ve gotten most of your strength back, haven't you? If nothing else, your wound looks much better. I don’t even think there’s a risk of dehiscence anymore.”

Kon-Mai was silent. While she’d been out of bed occasionally since the last time, it was only with help from Malinalli and while leaning heavily on a walker, and that was only because her medic insisted that she use her muscles so they didn’t atrophy. There was no other reason: she had no need for food of any kind and, thus, no need for the restroom facilities the other soldiers used. She also had not showered or bathed herself since she arrived, but that was less due to her own genetics and more out of...apathy.

“A bunch of my colleagues usually like to meet in the bar to hang out.” Malinalli kept talking. “I want you to come.”

“I appreciate the offer, but I’ll have to decline.”

“I told them you were coming though.”

“What?” Kon-Mai bared her sharp teeth and growled. Malinalli flinched, but only for a split second. She stood her ground firmly.

“I can’t pick you up and force you to go.” She said, “I mean literally. You’re a lot heavier than me. But, I want you to.”

“I can assure you, your colleagues DO NOT want me to join them.”

“I think you’d be shocked.” Malinalli said. “They’re really excited to put a face to the name. Everyone’s been talking about you.”

“They fear me.”

“Yeah but…” Malinalli shifted on her feet. “How do I put this...you have a bit of a growing...fan club.”

Kon-Mai growled. “Wonderful. As if the pathetic civilian stalkers were not enough, the very enemy wishes for my attention. Would they like me to autograph their plastic swords?” She said in a high, mocking tone.

“They admire you.” Malinalli insisted. “Facing you in battle made a lot of us realize we’re woefully unprepared in melee combat. Goldilocks has been trying to make a training regimen based on your work but without you it’s all guesswork, and I know she’d love to learn from the best-”

“Cease!” Kon-Mai held up her hand. “You prattle like a Sectoid! Who is this ‘Goldilocks’?”

Malinalli seemed to smile knowingly. “I could tell you, but it would be much easier to just...show you.”

Kon-Mai bared her teeth, but it was half-hearted. “...I will need garments.”

“You can borrow mine…wait…”

Kon-Mai raised a brow.

“I guess you can’t. Um...gimme one second!”

.

.

Kon-Mai stared at herself in the mirror of the tiny bathroom. She towered over the sink and had to look down in order to see her reflection, but even at that angle she noticed how ragged she looked. The battle had taken more from her than she’d thought it had. Aside from her main, self-inflicted injury, she was dotted with tiny bullet wounds that had bruised as they healed, leaving her peppered with indigo dots.

She reached up behind her head and ran her hand through her...her hair. Her long, white hair. She had not worn it down since...she couldn’t remember when. She remembered being issued her clasps, the tubs with which her hair had hidden behind. She remembered the circlet fitting around her skull, the priests clasping it in place and then drilling-

She ran her fingers along the slight scars along the sides and top of her head: they looked uneven. She supposed the doctors must have removed her circlet? If they’d removed her chip, they must have had to. Now, her white hair breathed again: her eldest brother’s hair was soft and radiant, almost glowing. Hers, in perfect contrast, was knotted, kinky and so very oily from years being neglected, only taken from the tube every few months to be cut down and scrubbed raw. She shook her head, the while curls bouncing around her shoulders, and ran her fingers through it. It only grew from the back of her head and down her neckline to the nape. There already wasn’t much of it, and the way it stuck together made her look as bald as The Hunter. No wonder he wore a hood, it was not a good look on either of them.

Following her scarred hairline, she reached back and felt along the thick scar where her chip used to be. She no longer heard the Elders’ voices, and they could not read her thoughts. To them, she must have been presumed dead. She had expected the emptiness in her mind to be stifling, but for perhaps the first time in her life, she had been sleeping peacefully at night.

Kon-Mai reached into the shower and turned it on. She was the Assassin, and if she was going to present herself to the enemy, it was on her to make sure she looked presentable.

She pulled off her gown and stared at herself, at her scar, running jagged along her belly. Her dagger had cut so deep; so many torn muscles and arteries, so many split tendons, she had nearly felt her soul leave her body when she drove the blade into her ribs. The fact that the Commander not only saved her life, had brought her back to near perfect health…

She was supposed to die there.

That woman was hiding something.

Kon-Mai stepped under the hot water, shivering at the sensation. She didn’t remember this kind of warmth. Her baths had always been cold, and she herself was always...cold.

She hugged herself and just stood there for a moment, feeling the water run over her body.

Then she reached for the shampoo. If she went to all this trouble to take her hair down, she might as well wash it.

.

.

She put her hair into a single braid when she stepped out, not wanting to encase it while it was wet. With that, Kon-Mai dried herself off and reached for the clothes Malinalli had brought her.

They were small, of course. That was to be expected, no one here was even close to her size. The pants she was given were more like shorts, stopping just below her knees and hugging her body where Kon-Mai was pretty sure they were supposed to hang loose. The shirt was a flowy dress that on a human would come down to the knees. On her, it almost reached her waist and hugged her lady-lumps a bit more than she would have preferred. It had no sleeves, leaving her arms exposed. She looked over the glowing veins and…

Shook her head.

There were no shoes that fit her, of course, so she walked barefoot into the infirmary, the cold metal floor biting the soles of her feet. Malinalli was waiting for her, and beamed when she saw her. “You look so pretty! And your hair! I didn’t realize you…” She trailed off.

“I do indeed have hair.” The Assassin glowered. “I simply can’t leave it flying like my brother can.”

“No, no, I totally get it.” Despite her dark complexion, Kon-Mai could see Malinalli blushing. “I have to keep my hair back during work so I understand….”

Kon-Mai said nothing, barely meeting her gaze. “Let us get on with it then.”

“Yeah.” Malinalli held out her hand but Kon-Mai shook her head.

“I can walk perfectly fine, if you lead the way.”

“Okay...the canteen is this way.” She opened the door and held it. “After you.”

Kon-Mai had to duck slightly under the doorframe. Perhaps it was a good thing she was barefoot, she could only imagine the trouble she’d have wearing something akin to heels.

Despite the insistence on her independence, every step Kon-Mai took sent a shot of pain up her legs and into her chest. She clenched her fists, biting her lip and willing herself to keep a steady pace with the small human woman. Thank goodness she was walking slowly.

The canteen was, thankfully, close by. They rounded a corner and the metal shifted to dark, polished wood. The bar was much darker, lit with mood lighting and candles, and Kon-Mai could feel her muscles relaxing in the calm environment.

Until she heard the yelling.

“I TOLD YOU!” A distinctly British voice cried. “WE ARE NOT USING THE ZED WORD!”

“Why not?” Resounded another woman’s voice, without the noticeable accent. If Kon-Mai had to guess, she’d say this one was American.

“Because it’s RUDE!”

“Rude to who, the zombies? They don’t fucking care!”

Kon-Mai heard Malinalli sigh audibly, and she looked over to the source of the nose, where two human women sat at a booth.

“It’s the principle of the matter!” The British one said.

“There is no ‘principle’ to this matter.” The other one began counting on her fingers. “They walk like zombies, they’re half-rotten, they eat brains, they talk in weird growls, they are zombies, so I will call them zombies!”

“They still have human rights!”

“NO THEY DON’T! And neither do we, Princess! Have you forgotten the world ended?!”

Kon-Mai approached the table, and the shadow she cast over it made the two women stop and look up at her.

“Guys!” Malinalli called. “Meet Kon-Mai!”

“Oh!” The British woman, a girl in her youth with short purple hair, perked up. “Oh yes! We’ve been absolutely dying to meet you!” She jumped up, and Kon-Mai noticed that clasped in her hair was a little tiara. “Lady Demetria Min of the British Isles!”

“Don’t believe anything she says.” The other woman piped up. “You’re not an actual Lady, Princess.”

“Shut up.” Princess snapped.

The other woman looked significantly older, with wrinkles and scars carved in her dark ebony skin, but the bright red hair she sported gave her a youthful demeanor.

“Kon-Mai, this is Zuri Temitope.” Malinalli gestured to the woman.

“I prefer Tisiphone.” The woman smiled, looking the Chosen up and down. “I don’t know what I was expecting, but you...certainly live up to the hype.”

Kon-Mai nodded in thanks, but remained silent.

Tisiphone turned to Malinalli. “Hm. She’s quiet. I like her already.”

Princess pouted. “Well, come on! Sit with us, don’t just stand there!” Kon-Mai yelped as Princess pulled her into the seat beside her. 

“Maybe she can finish this debate for us.” Tisiphone said as she sat back down. “So. I say that the Lost should just be called ‘zombies’.”

“And I say that it’s rude to call them the zed word, and ‘The Lost’ is more politically correct!” Princess countered, her tone rising.

“I’m not fucking worried about hurting the zombies feelings, Princess.”

“It’s not about feelings, it’s about what’s right!”

“What do you mean what’s right? Our job is to mow them down like grass!” Tisiphone turned to Kon-Mai. “But what do you think? Your perspective is probably a lot different.”

“Yes. Tell her I’m right.”

“Shut your goddamn mouth, Princess.”

Kon-Mai blinked as the two women finally fell silent, staring at her expectantly.

“I believe it was one of your kind that said, ‘a rose by any other name would smell just as sweet.’” Kon-Mai said slowly. “What you call them does not matter, or change what they are. As long as you can do what must be done and eliminate them.”

“Oh fuck off.” Tisiphone said. “That’s a non-answer. You gotta pick a side.”

“Guys, come on, she said her piece.” Malinalli cut in. “Don’t badger her.”

“Why do you object to their current title?” Kon-Mai asked Tisiphone.

“It sounds like some sci-fi fantasy bullshit. Zombies have been part of human mythologies for centuries and everyone knows the term. Calling them ‘The Lost’ is just needlessly complicated.”

“Of course it is!” Princess cut in. “Everything is complicated right now, Tisiphone! But we have it so much easier compared to them, the way they’re suffering. Even if I gotta put them down, I don’t wanna forget that they are human, just like us.”

There was a brief silence, in which Kon-Mai’s eyes drifted to the hallway and she, unfortunately, locked eyes with a familiar Skirmisher woman.

“Betos.” She hissed, and hid her face with her hand, but it was too late. The conversation died at the sound of combat boots clomping their way towards the group.

“The Commander instructed me to fetch you.” Betos’ gravelly voice sounded too close for her comfort.

Kon-Mai looked up briefly, again catching Betos’ narrowed, yellow eyes. 

“I did not expect to see you here.” she said as she stood, Princess helping her to her feet.

“My soldiers are here, and thus so am I.” Betos turned to Malinalli. “You are dismissed.”

Malinalli stammered. “I need to return the patient to-”

“When the Commander is done, she will page you.” Betos said firmly. “You are dismissed. Go back to your post.”

Malinalli looked warily to Kon-Mai, who gave her a nod.

“...Understood.” Malinalli mumbled as she left.

“It was nice meeting you!” Princess called after Kon-Mai. “Come back sometime, alright?!”

Kon-Mai did not answer her.

.

.

Betos’ pace was much faster than her human nurse’s, and despite her best efforts, Kon-Mai found herself falling behind. She dared not call out, but she saw Betos getting farther and farther away and knew if she didn’t, she’d get left behind on this damned ship.

Luckily for her, Betos stopped dead in her tracks and turned to face her, her yellow eyes glowing in the low light.

Kon-Mai bared her teeth. “This was your plan, then? Lead me away, so I would be helpless, and then strike me down?” She nodded. “A devious trick, but it has worked. If you wish to kill me, now is your time.”

“Believe me, if I wanted to, you would already be dead by now. Dead and rotting in your stronghold, where your poor brothers would find the broken body of their little sister, and they would know that your life was taken by your own hands...” Betos shook her head. “But no. No, it’s not enough. Killing you, it wouldn’t be enough.”

Kon-Mai’s goading smile fell, and she felt a chill run up her spine. “What?”

“If you died, that would be it. You might feel a moment of pain and in the end, you might even beg for repentance. But…” She smiled. “No. I began this journey not so different from you. Mox has killed more than you, lest we forget.” ”Do not remind me of that.” ”I will. You are not the monster you want yourself to be. And I want you to look upon that truth, and swallow it like medicine. I want you to renounce your precious Elders and become exactly what you swore to destroy, to live like us, to truly feel.”

“I did feel, once. You saw it yourself, Betos. And yet you did not seem to care so much then.” Kon-Mai blinked violently, hot tears in her eyes. “...Do not be so sure that anything will happen.”

“We’ll see.” Betos turned her back to her. “It’s why the Commander wants to meet with you.” She continued her pace, and Kon-Mai limped along, trying to catch up.

Thankfully, it was only a few more feet down the hallway that they stopped at a single metal door, upon which Betos knocked. “Commander, I have her.”

The door opened, and Kon-Mai froze.

The woman stood up, her long white hair flowing like it had its own wind current around it. She walked slowly around to the front of her desk and locked eyes with the Assassin, those green eyes glowing with warmth and light and calm. She radiated with ethereal beauty.

“Welcome, Kon-Mai Mordenna.” The woman said. “I am Commander Senuna of XCOM. I’ve been so looking forward to our meeting.”

.

.

.

.

.

(God I’ve been looking forward to this. I’ve decided I’m going to post a new chapter once a week on Saturdays, but I already have five or so written so waiting to post this has been torture.

Now that it’s out, I hope you all enjoy!

Also extra credit to the people who catch the “Shawn of the Dead” reference.)

The Fairest Of Them All

This is actually a crack fic that is based off this fic (the CRACK edition), which is actually based off this fic (the original serious, mafia edition).

Original Authors;; @every1studio​ @writeformesinpie 

Summary;;

Of all the places you could have stumbled into today, you could have never guessed that this one would be such a treasure trove. Both the Districts and the Kings were here and both had their eyes set on you.

Three men competing for your hand, two opposing cliques, and one shotgun.

How did it end up like this… again?!

A smile flitted across your face as you slid the certificate into the sheet protector. With a sigh on the tip of your tongue and a squeal building in your chest, you just wanted to scream and shout and let it all out! You lived in an apartment complex, however, and knew you had to be mindful of the other tenants. With this in mind, you decided to turn on some music and sing along to express your building excitement, throwing in some freestyle dance for the heck of it.

   "Jesus, stop, you sound like a drowning cat!" Your neighbour called through to you, crisp and clear like the morning breeze.

   While his words were lost on you, the sentiment was not. It was hard for even your neighbour (who you had known for quite some time now) to restrain himself. His voice had quaked with anticipation. He couldn't take it anymore. The sound of your soft, angelic voice must be torturing him as he cursed these walls that are so thin yet too thick to tear down.

   It seemed even animals were starting to be affected - a bird (or was it one of those squirrels that can fly?) began to caw and slam against the window, tapping the glass with beak and talon. Its beady eyes bore a hole into you, glaring with an intensity that only grew with every attempt to break through and get closer to you.

   Oh well, the celebration wasn't necessary anyway. All that mattered was the paper in your hands. Just the thought of it was enough to make you forget everything else. You smiled down at the certificate again.

   You had finally done it!

   You had built up the courage to go online and take the first step to becoming a private investigator. After deliberating on whether or not to do it for so many weeks, you bit the bullet and filled out the application. To your exhilaration, it was also the final step and you were able to print out your very fancy and definitely official certificate after paying the licensing fee. Who needs to eat, anyway? Money you can get anywhere, but life experiences only come once every 42 months.

   Your only regret is quitting your job before setting aside some money to laminate the certificate, but the sheet protector would do for now. Everyone starts small, after all. If you started at the top, you would have nowhere to go but down and you weren't the type that went down easily!

   With that in mind, you spent a week researching the happenings in your city while also promoting your services around the interweb. You learned many things which all proved useful and juicy, all the while building your portfolio.

   The local vet worked diligently through the night to save your old teacher's cat's life and you offered your help, promising to investigate their clinic for any malpractice on her Facebook timeline.

   You vowed to find your cousin's killer, even though your aunt insists he is just travelling abroad which is why she misses him and not because he died, making her seem all the more suspicious and prompting you to push her to the front of your list of suspects.

   Then there was the auction for the church restoration project and like a lightbulb going off, it became so obvious what you had to do, what your first step in cleaning up the city would be: shutting the charity ball down.

   It didn't take a genius to realise that the items being auctioned off were stolen, or "hot", goods. No one around here just happens to have a spare yacht lying around that they're willing to just give away for a "good cause", even if they're planning to upgrade it.

   Besides, the original owner was a catfish. There was no way that a man that young and good-looking could afford a yacht, let alone buy an even better one.

   With that in mind, you fell down the rabbit hole that was hardcore and extensive research. You looked into every nook and cranny of his life, searching from site to site, and even going old-school and hitting the archives for a papertrail. Once you felt comfortable in your knowledge of the first man, you moved on to his friends who were equally unrealistic.

   It wasn't stalking, but investigating.

   To your surprise, you find out that they're not catfish - they really are that attractive and seemingly perfect. Putting two and three together and connecting the dots like a true P.I, the answer to the puzzle became more daunting and chilling than you could have originally imagined; they were criminals.

   Gangsters.

   Misdemeanor-ers.

   Full on mobsters!

   … or, perhaps, trust fund kids.

   One or the other. Either or. It didn't really matter because either way, you wouldn't be fooled any longer and you couldn't be stopped.

   Armed with your homemade dossiers on the men (all stored inside the one place in this world that you knew no one else could ever access - your mind), it was time to get serious and crack down on the crime building in your once-pleasant city.

   Starting at the church, you questioned as many religious-looking people as you felt necessary before moving to the docks to find the questionable yacht.

   After several hours of searching for the mysterious water vehicle and threats of police involvement from the dock's security guards who didn't respect your license and the authority it held, the clouds thickened and welled with moisture before bursting and creating a downpour to rain on your investigation. Everyone dispersed, desperate to escape the wet conditions.

   There was just one boat left. The Aurora.

   Just one last chance to get to the bottom of this mystery once and for all.

   With one look at the sleek and slick design, you knew it was futile to try to clamour aboard while it was this wet.

   Oh well. What was the likelihood it was the right one anyway?

   You sloshed your way out of the docks and toward a bar across the way. There's what sounds like a fight breaking out in the alleyway nearby and you thought you saw a flash of silver but with the rain soaking your hair and droplets dripping down and stinging your eyes the longer you stared, you decided to ignore it.

   Kids will be kids.

   Opening the door to the bar, you tried not to bring too much attention to yourself but that's no easy task in your current state. Then again, it never has been.

   You pulled off your raincoat and hung it by its hood on the coat rack. With a sigh of relief, you adjusted your thankfully dry shirt, dressing yourself as modestly as you could. The last thing you needed was to be approached while you were in the middle of an investigation. With that in mind, you flicked the droplets of water off your face and wrung out your hair, allowing the excess to splash on the ground.

   You continued to slosh just as you did out on the dock as you entered further into the bar. Your sweats were heavy at the ends with accumulated rain and your shoes felt full and moist. Even your hair felt heavy against the skin it clung to.

   Making your way across the establishment, you bit back a groan. You felt everyone's eyes on you. It was inevitable but you always held hope that this would be the exception, that this would be the time you would be able to avoid the inquiring and curious and admiring gazes that followed your every footfall.

   That's the problem with brilliance - when you shine this bright, it's hard not to be seen.

   With a quick glance around, you realised this bar was actually quite fancy. There was glass (lots of it!) and gold (but it probably wasn't real… probably), plus silver and other shiny-looking things.

   You whistled as you held an ashtray in your hand before sitting on a stool near the bartender. If you weren't such an eye-catcher, you could've pocketed it, or at least some of the cutlery.

   "What an eyesore."

   You looked toward the source and understood her outburst immediately. Jealousy often reared its ugly-head when you were around. She wasn't the only one, either. Many of the patrons held contempt and disdain in their eyes. It was such a classic tactic for nursing a bruised ego, one you had become quite used to so you just ignored them all and turned back to the bartender.

   "And what exactly is it that you want?"

   "Thanks, but water will be fine."

   He scoffed once his confusion passed, filling a glass with tap water and putting it on the table. It wasn't your empty wallet that prevented you from ordering something from the menu, but your dedication to the job. With a swell of pride at your own work ethic, you stared off into a dark corner of the room as a few men strolled inside from the back alley entrance and sat in a booth within your line of sight.

   Your mouth began to open in sync with your widening eyes. They were all very handsome, like models, and they looked strong and tough. A blush graced your cheeks. Perhaps it was the alcohol or a fever from the rain. You knew it wasn't of your own volition. You were on a job, after all. You weren't about to go boy crazy and-

   That's when it hit you.

   That's them. The kids from your mental dossiers! The Districts! Probably all nine of them, but who has time to count?

   You had taken to calling them the Districts because it sounded cooler than 'those guys you found accidentally and looked into but not in a creepy way while also not-stalking those other guys with the boat'. From what you could tell by their Instagram accounts, they compensated for their lack of height with sarcasm and bad attitudes.

   They also seemed to enjoy partying all through the night, always being near the rowdiest events and craziest incidents in town. At least they had the sense to get out of Dodge before things got too bad - they were never around once the police showed up.

   But if they were here, then perhaps the main focus of your investigation was nearby… the Kings.

   That's the name you had given to the boys all involved in donating the yacht to the church auction. They had all looked posh and gorgeous and regal in their photos, so it felt suiting at the time. In retrospect, you were giving them too much credit. Imagine thinking that these boys, who were, as far as you were concerned, way too into boats and other aquatic things, deserved such a title.

   Perhaps the Mermans was more fitting.

   With a scoff, you broke your attention from the Districts and just about dropped the glass you were raising to your lips. Thankfully, you instead only let water trickle down your chin.

   How wrong you had been; they deserved the title and so much more.

   Of all the places you could have stumbled into today, you could have never guessed that this one would be such a treasure trove. Both the Districts and the Kings were here and both had their eyes set on you, unable to look away.

   The Kings looked rough, sprawled in their seats as they muttered to one another. On occasion, a nod or hand would gesture toward you until at last one of them stood, his blue hair reminiscent of the deep, blue ocean as he stalked toward you. His smile was tight, as if fighting to hold back his true emotions.

   It was hard to break eye contact but you found it within yourself to face forward, if just for his sake.

   You can't say you're surprised when he takes the seat next to you, only disappointed. If you've already caught their attention this early on, the rest of the investigation will prove quite troublesome.

   "Bold of you to come in here looking like that."

   Lifting the glass toward the bartender, you signalled for a refill. You ignored his display of obvious jealousy masked as irritation that he sent toward both you and the younger, more impressive bachelor that had now arrived on the scene and was vying for your attention. You feared the worst so you gave them the same treatment: the cold shoulder. There was no need for a fight to break out over you.

   Not again.

   "You couldn't keep your eyes off us a moment ago and now you're ignoring me? You really are something else."

   "I'm not interested."

   "Me either. I can give you a twenty to get out of here."

   "I'm not a prostitute."

   "I mean, you look like one, but that's not what I meant."

   "Fine, buy me dinner and I'll consider it."

   "What? No, that's-"

   "Wow, you are really cheap. I'd sooner fuck the bartender, honestly."

   You gave yourself a mental slap on the forehead. If you kept talking, you'd end up saying something worse and giving even more people a glimmer of hope. You needed to control yourself before your sex appeal reeled in too many fish. This was already getting out of hand with just this one guy.

   Risking a look at the bartender, you saw your fears had come to fruition. Shock was plastered all over his face and his ears were burning. Words tried to form but nothing coherent came out. Like a fish blowing bubbles, he opened his mouth only to close it once more. After a long minute, he gave up and excused himself.

   How cruel you were to give him hope when there, in actuality, was none.

   The man beside you tensed, hands clenched as he steadied his breathing. He was ensnared in your charms already.

   It very well may be too late for him, you thought sadly, sneaking a glance at his face. He took this as a chance to engage in the conversation again, trying his luck once more.

   "What's your name?"

   "Oh, now you want to know?"

   "Yes," he replied through gritted teeth after a deep breath.

   Your mind tried to find any name to give him that wasn't your own or that could be traced back to you, or to your newfound (online) investigation agency.

   Scotch? Gin? Glass? Microwave? Shit! The silence is dragging on, it's becoming too obvious. Any name will do! Just think! Even the name of a damn boat would work. You looked at so many today, surely you can remember one!

   And the lightbulb turned on.

   "Aurora."

   He just about choked on air at your response. Why'd you pick such a beautiful name?! He's going into shock, just like the bartender. Is this what it means to be a man killer? If this keeps up, you'll need to lock yourself up for society's sake. You needed to steer the conversation away from yourself before it was too late, but he didn't give you the chance to, too eager to learn more.

   "Is that so?"

   "And you are?"

   He smirked at you before standing with enough force to send the chair flying. Much in the same way he came, he disappeared off to the corner where the rest of the Kings were waiting for him. Their eyes were blazing with uncontrollable emotions, brimming with rage and need and lust and fury. Most obvious amongst it all, however, was jealousy.

   Of course this would be my fate, you cried internally, eyes glued to them as if watching a tragedy.

   As this all unfolded before you, the seat on your other side became occupied. Not to your surprise, it was one of the Districts. It was only a matter of time before one of them approached you.

   His eyes were warm and you felt drawn to him as you stared deep within them. In this moment, you thought you could finally understand how everyone else felt when their gaze fell upon you.

   "Don't mind them, they're creeps. Did Yunho hurt you?"

   "No, I'm fine, thank you."

   "Can I get you a drink?"

   "The bartender, he, uh-"

   The District leaned over to grab a can from behind the bar and placed it in front of you. His smile was adorable. His cheeks were adorable. In fact, everything about him was adorable. All you wanted in this new moment was to make him yours, which again helped you to understand everyone else.

   "Don't worry, it's on me. I'm Han Jisung. What's your name, gorgeous?"

   Fuck.

   A pet name? He's already too attached!

   It had been, what, ten minutes and you had three men wrapped around your pinky and ready to throw fists for you?

   You needed to think fast and deescalate the situation. You had already skipped too many important steps in the investigation and you were in over your head. Time to take a step back, reevaluate, get some air, and escape this Hell of your own creation.

   "Your name, sweetheart?"

   "Sex On The Beach, but I'm working right now."

   Jisung's mouth fell open and he sputtered out a few words that didn't quite make sense to you.

   Snapping back to the present and realising what you had said in response to what you had thought was still a question about drinks, you spun toward him searched your brain for the fake name you had given the other one but it escaped you. Instead, you yelled out the first word that came to your head, the first thing that came to your mind every morning, "Mirror! I'm the fairest, I know!"

   There was a commotion in the King's corner that overshadowed the sudden tense atmosphere in the District's. The one named Yunho was coming back and he looked pissed, his gaze trained on you and Jisung. The tension was palpable from wall to wall in the bar and it gave you the clarity to notice that everyone else had left and you were stuck in this bar with these hungry, ravenous dogs.

   Aurora, you dumb bitch. That was the name.

   Yunho stared at you with something dark in his eyes as he took in what you imagined was a situation that broke his heart; you had already forgotten him and moved on to the next.

   "Mi...roh?"

   "Uh, yeah, Aurora. But what is he doing?"

   Tearing your eyes off Yunho to risk a glance at Jisung, you saw a similar look to the one Yunho had prior and gulped. It was happening again. Another had fallen into your web and realised too late that he couldn't escape your involuntary seduction.

   Yunho grabbed the Sprite, holding it so tight his knuckles turned white and the aluminum threatened to explode under his force. This snapped Jisung back to reality.

   "What the fuck do you think you're doing?"

   "Why the fuck are you giving her a Sprite?"

   "Don't fight! Really, I'm not interested in either of you!"

   "What?" They both growled in unison, inching toward each other with every word until you felt trapped between their bodies.

   It wasn't unpleasant.

   With lightning fast reflexes, Yunho held your wrist within his and began to tug you away from Jisung and toward the other Kings. "She's coming with me."

   "No, you brute! I'm not interested in you and your small dick energy! Unhand me, buffoon!"

   Your shouts and weak slaps aimed toward him did nothing to stop him. It wasn't until your free hand was pulled back, now enclasped within Jisung's grip, that your progress was halted.

   "No, actually, she's coming with us."

   "Us?! I don't think so! I'm not into that!" You stopped, giving a quick glance over at the other Districts who were starting to stand. "Well, I mean, never say never."

   "Shut up!" They yelled in unison, each giving a tug and earning a pained yelp from you.

   Back and forth you were yanked, pulled between the two men as they fired insults and threats. Knowing how these things always turned out, you allowed yourself to go limp and go with the flow. There was no point in getting involved until they sorted it out amongst themselves.

   Sooner than later, they'll be going at each other like dogs, trying to tear the other apart to prove themselves worthy of your hand. Once that failed, they'd be on their knees begging.

   You sighed.

   The only way this whole situation could get worse is if their friends decided to jump in and join the squabble as contenders. You could see the fiery desire in their burning gazes. It was only a matter of time.

   Or perhaps the bartender would return, brandishing a shotgun, and yelling something like, -

   "Quit fighting and let that woman go!"

   Everyone stopped dead in their tracks, both their jaws and grips loosening. Wiggling free, you took a step away from them and rubbed your bruised skin. The bartender took notice of this small action but, as per usual, you weren't surprised. When it came to men in love, nothing could surprise you anymore.

   "Come on, move. You'll be safe with me. For now."

   For now.

   At least he knew the inevitable, as did you.

   Even though all three were absolutely and completely enamoured with you, Jisung and Yunho were too far gone, lost within their burning hearts and heated emotions. You were mere seconds away from being kidnapped, saved only by the bartender's own greed! You would be safe from the Districts and the Kings if you joined him, and you could deal with the consequences and his shotgun later.

   With another sigh, you took a step toward him, ignoring the commands from Jisung and Yunho to stay by their side, presumably forever. They sounded so desperate and needy, you couldn't bring yourself to abandon them like this.

   Three men competing for your hand, two opposing cliques, and one shotgun.

   How did it end up like this… again?!

blossom 

pairing: mark x reader  genre/warning: singleparent!reader, teacher!mark; some soft shit word count: 7k description: soft mark as your son’s teacher. a/n:  buckle in buttercups

“Do you ever feel like your life is spiraling down a black hole headed nowhere?” “No. Is that an adult thing?”

 The young boy sitting across the table from you asks, pausing in his breakfast consumption. Sighing, you put down your spoon and shake your head. “No, I think it’s a me thing. Your mom is a mess. Have I apologized to you lately that you ended up with me as a mom?” The young boy chuckles and shakes his head. “You’re a great mom and a beautiful mess.” He says as he stands up and clears his dishes, heading for the sink. “I’m a blessed mess.” You call over your shoulder as you stand up. “It’s the only way I could end up with a kid like you.” You add as you follow your son’s example and place your dishes in the sink. As you start to rinse them off, you catch sight of the clock. “Oh, shhh-It’s time to go!” You save yourself, shooting your son a smile. The kid shakes his head. “Swear jar.” “I didn’t say it.” “Swear jar.” His arms cross his chest, and his feet stand firm. Your cause is lost. “Fine. Go grab your jacket and backpack. And hurry about it!” You call as he disappears into his room. Heading towards the annoyingly large glass jar which sits in the far corner of your living, you dump all of your change into it. The jar is nearly full, and the sight makes you cringe. The past few weeks at work have been stressful, leading to your statement at breakfast and the full jar. While you hope the trend won’t continue, reality leads you to believe otherwise. You do need to find a better outlet for your stress though, or you’re going to end up broke. “Mom!” “Coming.” You rush to the entryway, slipping on shoes before dashing out the door your son is so kindly holding open. His school is close by, the reason you chose the apartment. He insists that being ten he is old enough to walk to school by himself. You insist that being twenty-eight you are not old enough for him to walk to school on his own. You plan on living a long and healthy life, and if something happens to him, you’ll either end up dead from grief or in jail for vengeance. So the two of you walk to school together. These couple minutes are sacred to you. With all the stress and demands of work, time with your son is scarce, so you take advantage of every minute you have. “Alright, what do I need to know about this coming week?” You ask as you head down the street. Your son walks silently beside you, fiddling with the zipper on his jacket. “What is it?” You ask at his hesitation. “We are currently in a full honesty, no judgment zone. Didn’t you see the sign we just passed?” You gesture over your shoulder to the non-existent sign behind you. He cracks a smile and shakes his head. “There was no sign mom.” “Okay, but my point still stands.” Taking a deep breath, he starts. “I want to make a deal with you.” His eyes dart to yours, and you nod urging him to continue. “If you say yes, you can take back all the money in the swear jar.” The money in the swear jar is designated for charity. You two had come up with this deal when he was in first grade and was sent to the principle’s office for swearing in class. You had been mortified but were even more mortified when you realized it was your fault. That day you had told him that swearing in school was not okay and promised that you would stop swearing, and that ff he caught you swearing, then you would put all the change in your wallet into the swear jar. Once it was full, you would take all the money and donate it to the charity of his choice. While you hadn’t been able to keep your promise as diligently as you would have liked, you two had donated quite a bit to charities. “Kid, that money-” He holds up his hand though, and you zip your lips. It’s his time to talk. “At the end of the month, we’re going to have a choir concert.” Everything within you plummets as your mind follows the path he’s laying out. “Minnie’s mom was supposed to help with the costumes and the set, but she broke her arm and can’t. Mr. Mark can’t do it all by himself, and he asked if any other parent’s might be able to help. I know you’re busy with work, but no other parent’s can help and if Mr. Mark doesn’t get any help then we can’t do the concert and-and…” His shoulders heave, and his eyes start to glisten, and you stare back at him helpless. Ever since that first day when the doctor placed this tiny bundle in your arms, you’ve been helpless whenever you look in those eyes. “Okay.” “Okay? You’ll do it!” He bounces on his feet, smiling up at you so brightly, and you know if you could you would give this kid the world. “Yes, yes, I’ll do it.” “Mr. Mark will be so happy.” He beams as he starts to skip down the street. “Mhm.” You nod as you follow him at a more moderate pace. Mr. Mark. Mark Tuan was your son’s first grade teacher, the one who had sent him to the office for swearing. He was there when you came to pick him up. Your son had been in tears. He hadn’t realized what he said was a bad word. Mommy said it all the time. He didn’t want to be a bad kid. Mark had sat beside him, telling him that just because he said a bad word didn’t mean that he was a bad kid. People made mistakes. He just needed to learn from his mistake, so that way he didn’t make them again. Standing down the hall watching the interaction, your mind was a war of emotions, the chief being mortification. You were mortified that you were teaching your son to cuss; that because of you, he felt this way about himself; and that Mark witnessed it all. The second emotion was gratitude. You were grateful that Mark was the one who witnessed it, that he would sit with your son and comfort him, and that he had somehow found a way back into your life. Fate is funny, you think as you give your son a kiss and send him off to school. While the goodbye embarrasses him as it would any ten year old boy, he lets you do it every morning. Because, as he has told you so many times, his love for you is greater than any embarrassment. You hope it’s something he learned from you. That cussing isn’t the only thing you’ve taught him.  Your love for him is greater than any embarrassment. You wish it was the same for your family. Heading towards the nearby bus stop, your mind wanders through old memories. You were young when you had your son. Fresh out of high school, you found out you were pregnant. You were unwed and unemployed with only your family to lean on, except you couldn’t. They wouldn’t let you. Coming back from another unsuccessful job hunt, you had found a suitcase on your parent’s doorstep with all your clothes in it. Your father wasn’t pleased with what had happened you could tell that by his stony silence and your mother was always looking away when you entered a room, but they were your parents. They should love you more than any embarrassment. You had stood on their doorstep, pounding on the door and screeching until night fell. But the door never opened. They probably weren’t even home. They had kicked you out and fled. You collapsed against the door, staring at the sliver of moon which hung in the sky. That’s when Mark came. You had known Mark your whole life. He lived down the street from you and was by far the coolest kid on the street. All the boys wanted to be his friend and all the girls wanted to be his girl-friend. He was your first crush and your first love. Being two years older than you, he had already gone off to college. So when he came and crouched down in front of you, you were shocked to see him. He had undoubtedly heard you screaming, the whole neighborhood had, but he didn’t say anything about it. He didn’t ask about it or offer any false words of hope. Instead, he held out a hand and asked if you wanted to grab something to eat. As you board the bus, you smile at the memory. His face had shone with kindness, but all you wanted was to tell him to fuck off and leave you alone and stop trying to be nice. With him there, you couldn’t curl up in a little ball and cease existing. But you said none of that. You couldn’t. While the thing inside you was probably no bigger than a grain of rice, it needed you. Without you, it couldn’t survive, and you refused to abandon it. Your love for it would be greater than any embarrassment. So you took Mark’s hand and let him pull you up. He grabbed your suitcase and, with his hand still wrapped around yours, started walking down the street. He did all the talking which was shocking because he never talked. Mark was always the quiet, mysterious type, but tonight he was a fountain of words. He told you about how he was studying to be a teacher and about his roommate Jinyoung who was also pursuing education. The two of you headed to a local restaurant, and over a steaming bowl of soup, he continued to speak. Eventually, you started talking too and joking. He never asked about the pregnancy or made any comments about it. For one night, you were able to just be you. After dinner, he offered you his sister’s room for the night. Being older than him, she had already moved out. Hesitant, you declined, but he assured you his parents wouldn’t mind. Having no other options, you relented and agreed. His parents didn’t mind. They welcomed you in with open arms, showing you the spare room. A towel lay folded neatly on the bed with little bottles of shampoo and soap. After a warm shower, you laid down and fell asleep instantly. The next morning, you woke before any of them. During your shower the night before, you had accepted the truth. The life you had lived before came to an end when the second pink line appeared. Your parents made it very clear you no longer had a place here, and you couldn’t live of the Tuan’s kindness forever. Before they could wake and talk you out of your decision, you left with only a note to thank them for their kindness. Life was hell after that. Working, raising a kid, and putting yourself through college, you wonder how you did it. There were lots of tears and sleepless nights, but you survived. After all your hard work, you were able to land a good job and send your son to a good school. He loved his school, especially his teacher Mr. Mark. It wasn’t until that first parent-teacher conference that you realized Mr. Mark was your Mark. That had been a fun night, followed by more fun nights. Over the school year at different functions, you and Mark had filled each other in on those years since you left. He regaled you with the tales of him and his friends, and you allowed him a glimpse of your hell. Feelings you had thought long dead floated to the surface. They weren’t the same though. The infatuation of a young girl had matured into respect and appreciation and desire. For a time, you entertained your childhood fantasies. Then your son swore. Standing there watching Mark comfort him, you were thrown back to that day on your parents doorstep. After all those years and all that hell, you were still the same girl who needed Mark to step in and help her up. You couldn’t face him after that. The feelings which had surfaced, you forced back down. Your son graduated to second grade and your interactions with Mark dwindled until your son decided to join the school choir. For years, the school choir had been run by a kind old man who had lost his hearing at some point during his tenure. No one had the heart to tell him though. But, before your son’s third grade, the old man announced that that year would be his last. Mark, a music minor, was unanimously elected as his successor, and your son was one of the first kids to sign up the next year. Now, you see Mark on a weekly basis. Thus far you have successfully limited your interactions to polite greetings and small talk. Stepping off the bus, you acknowledge that moving forward this will no longer be the case. The two of you will be working closely until the concert. The feelings you sunk, stir at the prospect, but you force them to still. Mark has always been a pleasant fantasy, but you live in the real world and have dealt with too much shit to indulge in fantasies.

Later that week, you sit hunched over a sewing machine as you curse under your breath. The damn bobbin keeps messing up, and if you have to re-thread the needle one more time, you’re likely to shove the whole thing off the table. Believing the school would have adequate equipment for the task at hand, you left your beautifully functioning sewing machine at home. The mistake would not be repeated again. Next time, you would bring it. 

Needle re-threaded, you run the cloth through the machine, only to hear the whir and feel the tell-tale tug. Before the machine can meet the floor, long hands pull it out of your reach. Glancing up, you find Mark standing above you. A smile tugs at his lips, but he forces them to still. He wants to appear serious. “Would you be able to help me with the set pieces? I’ve finished cutting them out. I just need someone a little more artistic to paint them.” Sewing had offered you the opportunity to distance yourself from Mark, but if you spend any more time with that machine, you’ll end up owing the school a new machine. Maybe that’s what you should do with the swear jar money this time around. You muse, chuckling to yourself. “What?” Mark’s eyes catch yours. “Nothing, I was just- it’s nothing. I’ll just get started on those set pieces.” You stand heading over to the cut-outs. The less talking you do the easier all of this will be. You grab a nearby paint brush and bucket and begin outlining the branches. Mark settles next to a fence as an uncomfortable silence falls. “Do you mind if I put on some music?” Mark’s voice breaks the silence. Your brush streaks across the tree leaving an ugly stain. You hadn’t expected him to speak. Determined to escape the awkwardness, you had filled your mind with everything you had to do for work. “No, I don’t mind.” You clear your throat. “It’s fine.” Music starts as you try to fix your mistake. The two of you continue to work, as the music pushes the silence back. However, the awkwardness remains and grows worse as the night drags on. You continually check your phone, hoping hours have ticked by. But only minutes have passed. “Mom!” Your sons voice enters the room, and you glance up from the bush you’re working on. A relieved smiled slips on your face. Today’s torture is coming to an end. “Hey, sweetie. How was studying at Minnie’s?” You ask as you start to gather up the brushes and paint. Not able to physically help with the concert, Minnie’s mom had offered to watch your son while you worked. “I finished all my homework.” He beams. “You did? Good job, kiddo.” “Yes…” A glint appears in his eyes. Pushing off the floor, you cross your arms and nod for him to continue. “Since I finished all my homework, I was wondering if we could go and get some ice cream.” He fixes you with those eyes, and you tell yourself that he earned a treat. You’re not being a pushover. “Okay,” He fist bumps the air before you can finish, “We can get ice cream.” You chuckle as he proceeds to do the dorky victory dance he learned from you. “But first, help me clean up. We don’t want to leave this mess for Mr. Mark.” “Oh, Mr. Mark,” he turns to his teacher, “do you want to get ice cream with us?” The invitation should have been obvious. You should have waited to agree until after you left. Now the invitation hangs in the air, and you can’t face Mark. You can barely face your son for fear he will read too much in your expression. Smoothing your face, you turn to Mark with a simple smile. “You’re more than welcome to come with us.” “Sure, I can always eat ice cream.” He returns the smile. Drawing on a strength you didn’t even know you possessed, you manage to keep the smile on your face and nod. With the three of you working together, you finish the clean up in minutes. Down the street from the school is a local ice cream shop which has been run by the same family for generations. Here you three head for the promised treat. Your son is quick to order chocolate fudge, requesting a second scoop when he thinks you’re not paying attention. He receives one scoop with sprinkles. You request the more moderate vanilla. Mark completes the trio with cookies ‘n cream. Outside the shop, benches and tables sit clustered around a little wishing well. Your son plops onto a chair, and you settle on the bench across from him, failing to realize your mistake until Mark exits the shop with his cone in hand. The cluster your son has chosen only has the chair he occupies and the bench under you, leaving the only available seat beside you. Glancing at your son, you find that glint in his eye as he slowly licks away at his ice cream. “Do you mind?” Mark asks gesturing to the accursed spot. You shake your head scooting over until the arm rest bites into your side. Mark lowers himself, careful to keep an arms width of distance between you two. “Mr. Mark?” Your son asks. Mark motions for him to continue. “Did you really know my mom when she was little?” Sputtering turns to coughing as you choke on your ice cream. Mark pats you gently on the back, but you wave him off. “Sorry.” You cough. “Wrong pipe.” “Ummm…” Mark glances at you, but you wave him off again as you regain your breath. “Uh, yes. We grew up in the same neighborhood.” He turns his attention to your son. “What was mom like when she was little?” “We didn’t know-” “She was very independent,” He cuts you off, “like she is now.” “Really? How so?” “There’s one thing I remember from when we were really young. She would wander away from her house all the time, and the whole neighborhood would know when it happened because her mom would rush out of the house screaming. Everyone would start looking for her, and she would be somewhere different every time. When she finally returned home, her mom would rage at her.” “Mom!” Your son accuses. “And you won’t even let me walk to school by myself.” “Do as I say not as I do. Have you ever heard that expression?” You defend your protectiveness. “I was lucky that nothing happened to me.” Mark clears his throat before taking another bite of ice cream. You eye him. “What?” “You weren’t always lucky.” He mumbles, but you still hear him. At your bewildered expression, Mark continues more clearly. “There was one time I saw you wandering, and there was this guy. He made me feel uneasy, so I went and got my dad. And he reported the man to the police.” The knowledge sends a chill racing down your spine, and you stare at him horrified. “After that, I would always keep an eye on your door, and if you ever went wandering I would follow behind.” “You did?” Clearing his throat, he nods, but he doesn’t meet your eyes. “So you were my mom’s guardian angel?” Mark chuckles. “I wouldn’t say that. I was just worried something might happen.” His focus goes to his ice cream as he continues to chip away at it. You stare at him and then a crack in the sidewalk until your ice cream drips onto your hand. Cursing in your head, you lick up the mess and make quick work of the frozen treat and cone. Your son works more slowly, that glint in his eye ever present, so you hurry him along and excuse yourself from the situation. You need to get home before any other secrets come to light.

At work the next week, you sit through yet another meeting. This one thankfully marks the end of the project you’ve been slaving over for the past month. You wish your boss would show his gratitude for your teams hard work, by not having a meeting. Glancing at your co-workers, you can tell they are of the same mind set. Your boss does end the meeting earlier than usual though which everyone applauds. 

As you gather your things and prepare to return to your desk, you hear your name called. Your boss stands on the other side of the room a smile on his face. That smile sends your stomach plummeting. It means more work for you. With this project completed, you had hoped you would receive a reprieve from your overloaded schedule, but you seem to be luckless.

“I’m sorry sir, could you repeat that?” He chuckles at your bewilderment. “I want you to head our new office.” “If I’m not mistaken, that office is in a different country.” He nods. “Of course the promotion comes with a move, but the company would assist with your relocation, and you would be allotted a housing stipend.” The offer is an honor, recognition for all the work you’ve put in. Everyone knew about the new office opening, and the office gossip had all been supposition about who would helm it. You had never given consideration to the idea that it would be you. While work can be exhausting, you are content where you are, and you believed the company was content to keep you where you are. “This is a big change, sir. Could I have some time to think about it?” “Of course, we don’t have to announce anything for another two weeks. Take your time think it over, but I’m sure you’ll find the benefits outweigh any minor inconveniences you face now.” His smile broadens as you nod. Exiting his office, you find your co-workers packing up and saying their farewells. A glance at the clock confirms that the workday has come to an end. You breath a sigh of relief. After that bombshell, you wouldn’t have been able to focus on anything. Grabbing your own bag, you head out of the building to your bus stop. The bus ride home is spent in silence. You watch the world pass by, but notice nothing as your mind weighs the benefits against the “minor inconveniences”. While your boss saw them as minor, you did not see them the same way. Moving meant leaving the apartment you had worked for years to be able to afford. It meant tearing your son from his school and his friends. It meant uprooting the life you had worked so hard to achieve. Did the benefits really outweigh what you would have to give up? You would have a new apartment, probably better than the one you had now, but it wouldn’t be the apartment that you had walked by every day for three years, promising yourself that one day you would live there. Your son would make new friends. The new city would have a good school, maybe a better one than he went to now, but Mark wouldn’t be there. That last thought stills you, and you almost miss your stop. Hoping off the buss, you start towards the school, but the familiar path is a blur as you try to rid Mark from your mind. He doesn’t fit into any of your plans and isn’t one of the “minor inconveniences”. Your relationship with Mark ends at the school gate. As you approach that gate, you find your son standing there talking with Minnie and a few of his other friends. When he notices you, he says his goodbyes and heads towards you. “How about a hug today, kiddo?” You hold your arms open wide, and after a moments hesitation, he walks into them. Squeezing him tight, you breath deeply. “You know I’m the only kid my age whose mom still hugs him?” He mumbles into your shoulder. “That’s either because they don’t want to be hugged or because their moms don’t love them as much as I love you.” You reply, releasing him. He gives you a look, causing you to chuckle. “I was thinking BBQ for dinner tonight. What do you think?” “Really? Yes! Let’s go!” He starts off down the street before you can change your mind.

Sitting at the table waiting for the waitress to bring your drinks, you prepare yourself for the coming conversation. This move will affect him just as much as it affects you. He has a right to know what’s coming and to add his input. 

“Mom, what is it?” His question startles you and draws your attention to him. “What?” “You keep staring at nothing and sighing, and you said we could have BBQ tonight. Something is going on.” Your poker face never was the greatest. Nodding, you begin. “I’ve got some good news, but it could also be bad news.” He nods for you to continue. “My boss called me into his office today to offer me a promotion.” His eyes go wide, and he beams at you. “That’s awesome, mom! You’re the best worker at the company. You deserve a promotion. Why is that bad news?” “The promotion means we have to move.” “Where?” “Another country.” Silence. He stares at you, the joy from moments before washed away by this revelation. “Sweetie-” “Mom, we can’t move to another country. What about my friends and my school and our apartment, and everyone here. We can’t leave all of that.” His voice is a squeak, evidencing the boy he still is. He stares at you with those eyes, and you feel your inside crumble. “I know we would have to give up a lot, and I know that would be hard. But, there are a lot of good things that would come with the new job and the move. We would find you a new school, and you can make new friends. I would be making more money which means that we would be able to do more fun things like go on vacations and adventures.” “Would you be working as much?” You’d be working more. The answer shows on you face. He snorts, crossing his arms. “We won’t be going on any adventures. You’ll be too busy working, and I’ll be home alone with no friends.” “Kiddo, you’ll make-” His glare cuts you off. He’s angry, and he has every right to be. “I think we should both give this some serious thought, and then we can talk about it again.” His response is a huff.

Working with your sewing machine is a relief. If you had to struggle with the demon school machine, you would have gone on a rampage. The promotion has been dominating your thoughts, robbing you of sleep and leaving you peevish. You’ve weighed the pros and cons a thousand times and come to no satisfactory conclusion. Your son is firm in his resolution to stay and refusing to speak to you which irritates your aggravated state. You’re a toe stub away from a full melt down. 

A knock, knock on your work table draws your eyes to Mark who is standing above you with a two steaming mugs in his hand. “Tea?” He offers. While you should say “no” and return to your work because being around Mark isn’t helping your situation, you straighten, stretching the muscles in your back, and reach for the mug. The warmth spreads through your aching fingers, and you sigh as you breath in the tea’s earthy smell. The steam caresses your face, relaxing the muscles. “Thank you.” You mumble as you bring the mug to your lips. “You know even Okoye needed the help of the Dora Milaje when she took on Killmonger.” He states as he perches on the edge of the table. You snort, nearly spilling tea down your front. “What?” “Okoye is the greatest warrior Wakanda has, but she was still able to accept the help of her fellow warriors.” He says, taking a sip from his own mug. “I’m sorry. Are you using a Black Panther analogy to tell me that it’s okay to accept help?” You raise an eyebrow at Mark as you lean back in your chair. Mark smiles and shrugs his shoulders. “It got you to smile didn’t it?” The smile, he referenced, thins to a line, but you can’t keep the edges from tugging upward. “So it at least accomplished one of it’s tasks.” “And the other was to get me to accept help?” “To let you know that you can.” His eyes hold yours, and you feel yourself falling back through time to that day on your parent’s doorstep. The last day you had accepted anyone’s help. “Are you offering again?” Your eyes fall from him as you set the mug on the table, your fingers fiddling with it’s handle. “I’ve never stopped.” His voice is light, and you can hear the smile in it. But the words lay heavy on your shoulders. “Mark-” But you don’t know what to say after that. Does he want you to apologize? Do you want to accept his help? You don’t even know what you want?   “I hear congratulations are in order.” He says sparing you from your unfinished thought. “What?” “Your son told me that you’ve been offered a promotion.” Mark explains. The action shouldn’t surprise you. Your son has been attached to Mark since his first day of school. He’s the first solid male figure in his life. “What else did he say?” Mark pauses, his eyes drifting to a corner of the room. “You said it was okay to accept your help, Mark.” You don’t look at him as you speak, and the words burn on the way out. But you say them in the hopes of alleviating your ever mounting stress. “He won’t talk to me. I’d like to know how he’s feeling.” “He doesn’t want to move. He’s afraid he’ll be alone because he won’t have any friends and you’ll be too busy to spend time with him.” Your son is shy. A truth which you have buried as you’ve contemplated your decision. His fear is well-founded, and it rips at your chest. “You don’t think I should take it.” The irritation that’s been gnawing at you bleeds into your words, turning them from a question to an accusation. Mark holds up his hands in a gesture of surrender, and with a simple smile says, “I think you should do what you think is right.” He relaxes his arms, folding his hands on his lap. His smile and demeanor fit his words, supporting them, but his eyes don’t. His smile doesn’t reach them and an emotion resides in them which sets your heart racing. The emotions which you have been suppressing for years burst forth, and you find yourself asking, “How do you feel about this, Mark?” The question encompasses more than this moment and this decision. The question goes back years to when you were kids growing up in the same neighborhood. You ask him how he feels, but really you want to know why he followed you all those days, why he offered you a hand and a place to stay, why he was with your son at the principle’s office, and why he keeps showing up in your life. “I don’t want you to go.” The answer is simple and soft. No loud declaration or demand. “What?” “I’ve never wanted you to go, but I understand that just because I want you to stay doesn’t mean you should.” He smiles, shattering everything inside of you. “Why?” The question is pointless and self-serving, but you have to know, want to hear him say it. “Because I love you. I have since that first day I followed you on your wanderings.” Tears leak from your eyes, evidence of your wreckage within. “I-I...” You stutter as your brain shifts through the rubble for a response. “I have to go.” You stand up, grab your bag, and run like you did back then like you always do.

“It’s time to go.” Your son informs you. They’re the only words he’s spoken to you in the last week.

You catch his eyes in the bathroom mirror and give him a smile as you nod. “I’ll be ready in just a minute.” His lips remain a thin line as he turns and heads for the door. A sigh forces the air from your chest and slumps your shoulders. After a final check of your make-up, you head out of the bathroom and towards the front door where your son is waiting. He fixes his eyes on  the door as he waits for you to slip on your shoes, and he is out the door the second they are on. He keeps two steps ahead of you the whole way to the school. “How much longer do you plan to keep this up? If we move, are you never going to speak to me again?” “You’re going to take the job.” He whirls around to face you with tears welling in his eyes. Clearing your throat, you respond, “I didn’t say that. I just wanted to know.” “If I say ‘yes’, can we stay here?” Hope has replaced the tears, and you find it wrenches your heart more. “We should hurry. I don’t want you to be late.” You start to walk again, and your son plods along behind you.

The concert is beautiful. The costumes, the set, the singing. Everything turned out perfectly. But you notice none of it. Your attention is split between your son who whispers and giggles with his friends during each song break and Mark who directs the boys with a patient smile. 

Since the night he confessed, you have kept your distance from him, not even helping with the final set up for the concert. Mark never texted or called about your absence. He allowed you your space like he always does. Staring at the most important person in your life and the person who has always been beside you, you make your decision. The weight which has rested on your shoulders since your boss offered you the promotion lifts instantly. You exhale all the stress and smile as you sit back and enjoy the rest of the concert. When the last song is sung and the children take their bows, you stand up and applaud with the rest of the parents. Your son finds you in the crowd. His smile pushes his cheeks into his eyes, and he practically glows with pride. But all too soon, memory returns, and he whips his attention from you. You continue to applaud though until the children take their final bow and exit the stage. Leaving your seat, you head back stage to share your decision with your son. Before you can reach him though, you run into Mark. He freezes when he sees you, and you mirror the behavior. Clearing his throat, he nods to you and continues on his way. “Mark.” He stops. “Can I talk to you?” He turns his eyes finding yours. The way he looks at you stills your heart and stops your breath. He’s searching, and you wonder what he sees. Whatever he saw causes him to nod again as he walks towards you. He leads you to a small alcove which allows you both a modicum of privacy. Standing a few feet apart, Mark starts talking, “If this is about what I said the other night, I want to-” You hold up a hand stopping him. “I’m sorry.” You apologize, staring him straight in the eyes though your mind screams in protest. “I’m sorry I ran then and that I ran all those years ago. I tell myself that I’m strong and independent but most of the time I’m just scared. And I act out of fear. Even as I say all of this to you, I’m scared,” you release a shuddering breath but continue, “but I’m tired of letting my fear control me. I love you too, Mark. I’ve loved you since before I can remember.” The truth flies from your lips leaving you with only fear as you study Mark’s face. He smiles, not big and bright but small and sad. Watching him, your heart plummets. “What I said that night is the truth. I love you, but I know that just because I love you doesn’t mean I can stop you from doing what is best for you.” You blink as your mind works to unravel the meaning behind his words. His response was unexpected and unwanted. Searching his eyes, realization strikes. “The job. You’re talking about the job.” You chuckle to yourself which furrows Mark’s brow. “I’m not taking the job, Mark.” “If it’s because of me…” You both know the end of the sentence. You smile up at him, and yours is big and bright. “It’s not because of you. Well, it’s not fully because of you.” Your smile eases as sensibility asserts itself. “I would be lying if I said you didn’t play into my decision. “The truth is it really is an incredible job. It comes with more money and more opportunities. And for those reasons, I’d be a fool not to take it. But it also comes with more hours and more traveling which means less time I get to spend with my son. You pause, your eyes becoming unfocused as your mind travels back to your early years. “When he was little, and I was putting myself through that hell; I told myself it’ll be worth it. If I work hard now and put in the hours, when he’s older I won’t have to. I can have time with my son.” Glancing back up at Mark, you continue, “If I take this job, I’ll have lied to myself all those years. I only have so much time before my son goes off to live his own life. I want to spend all the time I can with him until that day. “After that day,” you shrug your shoulder, “I’ll take a job with money and opportunities and hours and traveling. So I guess, I’m not saying no. I’m saying not now.” “Not now.” Mark nods with a true smile. “Not now.” You repeat returning his smile. “So what happens now then?” “I wouldn’t be opposed to dinner.” You cock a brow. “I also like movies. Video games occasionally. They’re really good stress relievers.” Mark snorts and nods. “I’m free for dinner most nights. And I also like movies and video games.” “Do I get to go to dinner and the movies and play video games too?” Both of your heads turn to face your son who stands in front of the alcove, smiling up at you two with his hands clasped behind his back, a familiar glint in his eye. “How long have you been there?” You ask. “Long enough to know that you two love each other and we’re not moving.” He smiles up at you. You’re caught between wanting to scold him and wanting to laugh. “And you didn’t think you should announce your presence?” “No.” Mark laughs, and you glare at him, but he continues. Shaking your head, you rub your eyes. “I’m hungry. Are you both hungry?” Glancing between the two, you find them both agreeing. “Good. Then let’s go to dinner, and we can talk about all of this there.” Your son smiles wide and heads for the door. As you start to follow him, you feel a hand slip into yours. Mark meets your eyes and offers you a simple smile. You return the smile and fall into step with him as you two head after your son.

Unexpected (Bucky x Reader, One Shot)

Summary: On the eve of your birthday, Bucky loses the person under his protection detail and you both have to hit the road to go find them.

Pairings: Bucky x Reader

Warnings: Only fluff and cheeky fun here!

Word Count: 1800 words

A/N: This lil thing was written today for and dedicated to my dear @bunsterjonez (aka @ramblerumble) for her birthday!!  HAPPY BIRTHDAY darling!! There is so much more goodness in the world because you are in it. Love you!

MY MASTERLIST / JOIN MY TAG LIST

_______

“Hey...”

…

“Psst, Y/N…”

Wrapped up in thick blankets and the cover of darkness, sleep fell away from you as a familiar voice brought you up back to the surface of reality. You stayed still and quiet and hoped for the love of everything you held dear it wasn’t who you thought it was...

“Hey Y/N...” insisted the low, gravely voice not more than a foot away from your face.

Goddamn it Bucky.

“So help me, Barnes,” you muttered, raising your head up from the pillow to look accusatory bleary eyes at him. He was wide awake and just as handsome as ever, quite unlike the state he found you in. “Just tell me; why do you hate me?”

Your friend pulled a face, bright blue eyes confused, and opened his mouth to counter that remark but you cut him off first.

“Because if you liked me you wouldn’t dare wake me up at…” You reached out and checked your phone, stomach dropping a little. “Oh god, it’s not even midnight yet!”

You must have just fallen asleep, exhausted from the day’s work and training, only to have Bucky sneak into your room like this. He better have a good reason because a sleepy, grumpy Y/N was not something to take on lightly and he knew it.

“Someone better be dying or I swear t-“

“Yeah yeah, death threats and swears and all that, I get it,” he said with half an eye roll and a vague gesture. You huffed out at him, adding fuel to the growing fire inside you. Stop poking this bear, Barnes, you thought to yourself. “But I do have a good reason to be here. I need your help, Y/N.”

You sighed, sitting up from your unbelievably comfy bed and rubbed your eyes. You turned looking at the man dully, waiting for the explanation. You’d at least wait to hear that before trying to snap his neck.

“I lost them,” he said once he had your attention in full, like that explained anything.

He remained crouched beside your bed unmoving and looking at you with those serious, deep eyes you had gotten lost in on more than one occasion. Not tonight though.

“Your balls or your last remaining brain cells?” you scoffed.

“Goddammit, Y/N,” He grabbed your arm and pulled you awkwardly to your feet with a loud groan from you. “Neither of those, thanks very much. I lost... a person.”

Well, that sure snapped you awake.

Wide eyes you looked at him in silence for a second, ignoring the tiredness that clung to you as you stood half held up by Bucky still. The next second was filled with a flurry of movement as you pulled on a sweater and looked around for your shoes in the darkness.

“Don’t tell me-“ you started, groping in the near pitch black for something to pull onto your feet.

“She’s more wily than she looks!” he said, trying to justify himself.

Yeah, right.

You pulled on your shoes and grabbed your bag, already bee-lining for the door that would take you out of your blissfully dark bedroom and into a chilly December night.

“Oh god, let’s go and find her before Steve, her father, or her father's entire army draws and quarters you.”

_______

Bucky’s latest mission was a relatively straightforward one.

For the last few days he had been looking after an ambassador's daughter while her father was in peace talks here in New York. No one better than the former Winter Soldier to offer protection against possible assassins, threats, and those looking to stop the brokering of peace. All in all pretty routine for someone as diligent and experienced as Bucky.

You didn’t think the girl would be the problem, though. She was, all things considered, a semi-responsible adult with no history of dashing out from protective details in the middle of the night for god knows whatever reason.

Apparently Bucky didn’t think she’d be much of a problem either.

“Where was she last?” you asked as he raced silently down black roads in a sleek car.

Dark limbs of dark trees shadowed the edge of the roads, tall walls of endless green and black. Deep inside they could hide anything or anyone looking to remain hidden. The only reprieve from the darkness was the wind-swept snow, weaving and whipping around trees, masking shadows and tricking your eyes with visions of a woman standing alone out there in the night.

“In bed,” he said, brows furrowed and steel blue eyes on the road ahead, trained to weave himself through roads like this on snowy dark night such as these. “Asleep.”

“Well, that’s helpful,” you said in an obvious tone.

“Listen, I woke you up to help me here,” he reminded you with a bit of a bitter smirk. “Less sarcasm and more help, hmm?”

“Fine fine,” you sighed, putting to rest the dreams getting away from chilly nights and into a warm bed in the near future. “Okay, where do you think she’s heading at least?”

“Security cameras caught her heading to the garage,” he started. “She flirted with valet on night duty. Sounded like she used some bullshit excuse about losing her copy of the keys and got the spare from him. From there she drove off and I lost eyes on her.”

... What?!

“Bucky! What the hell?!” you half-yelled in the small car. “How on earth did you let her get into a car and drive off?! You were supposed to be watching her and keeping her safe, weren’t you?!”

Bucky gave you a withering look and you just barely managed to catch yourself.

“... would be the question I would ask if I was a less supportive person,” you added unconvincingly.

“Remind me why I like you again?” he asked, sarcasm dripping from the words.

“Because someone has to bring muscles, brains, and a winning personality to this friendship, Barnes,” you teased, unable to hide your smile.

He made this too easy sometimes, and to be honest, you both loved it. The pair of you had enough seriousness in your lives before, so any chance for a smile- even in situations where Bucky had been an idiot, which, admittedly, were few and far between- was snatched up. Often times on missions or during training, but this was good too.

“Oh, ha ha,” he said dryly, a glance and smile thrown your way.

The fact was, since day one you were nothing but a support to him. You didn’t treat him damaged. You didn’t treat him like a time bomb. Didn’t treat him like he was any less capable or any less spectacular than he truly was. He wasn’t used to it at first, but at some point he got used to it. Even managed to like it, dishing it out as much as you could (cheeky smiles and all).

Because you treated him like a friend. Someone worthy of being here and being in your life. Worthy of support and love and trust. Honestly, it was exactly the kind of therapy he needed to get back to the person he had been.

So all things considered, you weren’t surprised he came to you tonight. Frankly, you wouldn’t have it any other way and he knew it. Maybe you would bite back a little sarcastically when he pulled you out of bed in the middle of the night, but you would have been properly angry the next morning when you found out he hadn’t.

If only your Bucky was far less careless when it came to protecting the only daughter of a country so close to peace- or conversely, to war- just days before the treaty negotiations. Of all people to lose, of course it would be her and of course it would be now.

“But listen, I have an idea on where’d she go,” he said, getting back to the business at hand. “We’re just about there.”

“Okay, good,” you said, almost breathing a sigh of relief. “Club? Bar? Some sketchy apartment with a secret lover?”

“Not quite,” he said, pulling smoothly into a parking lot and nodding to the building dead ahead through the blowing flakes of snow.

You leaned forward, pulling on your seatbelt as you looked out to the little grey building, standing small and proud in the moonlight. You read the sign, somewhat blocked by thick, overrun vines, but you got the gist of this place fast.

“You’re not serious here...” you said, voice low and turning slowly with quite the unimpressed eyes to him.

He put the car in park and got out, waiting for you to do the same. But you didn’t, remaining unmoving in your seat.

“You’re not... You’re not serious here, Bucky,” you called out, looking at Bucky through the windshield. “Are you actually seeing this? Why on earth would someone come here?”

“Come with me and I’ll fill you in,” was his only explanation, stepping closer to the glossy wood front door and leaving you behind.

Reluctantly you got out, grabbing a small handgun from your bag, before catching up to him as he was steps from entering.

He paused with his hand on the knob when he spotted the gun in your hand. “We’re not here to shoot her, Y/N. Kinda the opposite actually, since the point is to get her back alive and generally unharmed.”

“Yeah okay, well when the zombies start coming to life in this place you’ll be wishing you had a gun,” you said, nodding for him to open the door.

The corner of his mouth silently pulled up a little and he shook his head, retching the door open and breaking the lock with one swift motion. You half expected an alarm, but then who would want to break into this place?

Pinned outside just above the door were the words “Matty Mausoleum’s Funeral Home” with the rest obscured by vines, but the motto underneath was all to clear with “I’ll help you find your resting place!”.

So here you were, walking into a funeral home just minutes before midnight… No way some young and vibrate person would come here of all places so why the hell did Bucky bring you here?

Down the dark and eerily silent hall, you walked with your gun posed in front of you while Buck walked just behind. The only sounds were the soft and carefully placed footfalls from your shoes.

“This is insane, Bucky,” you whispered back to him. “Why would she come here?”

“It’ll be easier to show you,” he said nodding to a room just on your left. You frowned but quietly turned the knob and with gun ready, took a slow and firmly placed step into the pitch black space.

Faster than you could react, Bucky wrapped one arm around your waist and pulled you back into him, your spine hitting his chest. His metal hand instantly snapped the gun right out of your hand, jerking it free from your grasp before you could think to protest.

A second later sudden and jarring white lights illuminated the whole room, briefly blinding you where you stood.

“What the-” you started.

“SURPRISE!” erupted a cacophony of voices all around you, boisterous shouts and yells following.

If Bucky wasn’t holding you up, you would have probably landed on your butt with a thud at the shock.

The dark space turned from silent and apparent emptiness instead to a bright and warm glow, filled with colourful streamers covering the ceiling and balloons covering every inch of floor space. But what was best was the sea of your best friends and teammates standing there, smiling and laughing at what you could only guess was the absurd look on your face.

Immediately the horde of happy Avenger faces were around you, hugging you and laughing all at once.

“That face was priceless!” said Tony, arms wrapping around you, the streams of people coming at you as Bucky stepped back and letting the crowd overrun you.

“Wait! Wait!” Steve shouted above the crowd, looking at his watch. “It’s midnight which means…”

“HAPPY BIRTHDAY!” shouted everyone at once, Natasha holding you next with a quick peck on the cheek.

“Alright, time to get this party started!” said Clint as most everyone broke away and mingled now, laughing to themselves and patting each other on the back of a job well done on the surprise party. You watched as Thor and a few others recreated your shocked face (you assumed, the cheeky devils).

Steve smiled, wrapping an arm around you in a hug, giving your shoulder a squeeze.

“What... What did...” you said, turning and looking back from Bucky to Steve, still a little shocked.

“Your birthday is New Year’s Eve, so we wanted to make sure you actually had a birthday this year,” Bucky started to explain, blue eyes absolutely glowing in the warm light. “And with all the New Years plans and late parties we have that night, we never get to surprise you and don’t get to celebrate you like we should. Thought it was finally time to make a move, you know.”

You felt heat spreading across your face as your smile spread wide too. It was a far better feeling than cozing down into a warm bed, you had to admit.

“And this place was too good to pass up,” Steve said, pointing across the room where you now really saw what this place was. “Here, let me get you a drink.”

It was a large private room of a brewery, a bar on one side, large copper beer tanks on the end, and a slew of tables and chairs. The words- this time in their entirety- said “Matty Mausoleum’s Funeral Home for the Dead-Impaired and Drinkers of Fine Brew” up above the bar where Steve was now ordering you a drink.

You almost groaned before stepping up to Bucky who began before you could.

“I picked it, I just wanted to see the look on your face as we walked in,” he said, absolutely beaming at this point. You didn’t think you had ever seen him smile so big before. You couldn’t help but do the same.

“And you said I wouldn’t need the gun, hmm?” you teased, poking him in the chest. “You seem to be banking a lot on me not shooting you, Barnes.”

You grabbed the gun from his hand with a laugh, clicked the safety on, and shoved it in the waistband by the small of your back with exaggerated movements.

“I’ll get you back for this, Bucky,” you whispered, leaning into him with a mischievous smile, thoughts already racing.

Because tonight was New Years. And you thought it would be a bit of a shock if you kissed him for the first time at midnight... He wouldn’t be expecting that now, would he?

“Not if I get you again first,” he whispered confidently, leaning in closer to you too.

But by the look in his eyes and smile on his face, you wondered if he was thinking the exact same thing.

_______

A/N: Thanks for reading darlings and another BIG HAPPY BIRTHDAY to my dear friend and extraordinary writer Bonnie!! Love you babe and even though we both hate surprise parties lol I really hope you enjoyed this!

Permanent Tags: @dontpanc, @smodvocate, @bunsterjonez, @buckybonky, @marveloustrashpanda, @hangirl93, @captainrogerrsbeard, @friendly-neighborhood-lich-queen, @thisgirllikeme, @jjsoccer11, @innerpandablizzard-blog, @fanatic-fanfic, @mdgrdians, @christinky, @universal-death-of-a-fangirl, @cauraphernelia, @ailynalonso15, @cassiopeia-barrow, @1elboomdemsechevarria, @cameronskywalker, @rogrsnbarnes, @verygraphicink, @onlyanothersocialcasualty, @lisalisa007

Bucky Barnes Tags: @bexboo616, @kaaatniss, @lost-in-translating, @emabookcookie, @crazybutconfidentaf, @jitterbuck

CHAPTER 1A. Approx 1600 words. As always, feel free to send Asks or Messages about what’s written or anything you’re curious about.

Confetti rained down from the sky like snow, every color imaginable and then some. The brass band trumpeted loud enough to be heard all over Merveaux as it passed through the streets, and it rattled the windows as it walked down main street, all the way from the palace to the western edge of the city, where they would perform the battle of the Grandes Fabricantes for Mirinmas, just in front of Moriel’s University. Children shouted and cheered and sang along as they tried to catch swirls of color and glittering images of pixies that fell from the sky. Musicians marched past in perfect sync, while the fabricants kept the floats danced along on air currents just above the ground.

Gemstone dragons battled knights made of roses and wildflowers. Pirates battled each other for claim over the land and sky. The Fabricants Chancelliers would stand atop their dais and show off the scholars latest discoveries, and the Suvi firestar dancers would paint the sky with their fireworks and wyverns. And a princess in a tower pleaded for help while acrobats in suits of armor climbed and fell while they battled the evil Avaryss, fabricant of shadows and night, with her flowing, glittering robes and sparks flying from her hands.

But she was getting distracted. It would be another few minutes before the Avaryss float came by, and there was work to be done. She looked down from the rattling window, back to the lacy sunhat in her hands.

It was as white as the walls of the buildings here, all whitewash with gold gilding and those sky blue rooftops. Comtesse Sylvia was having her baby shower in a few weeks, and she had to have her outfit ready. Winnifred had worked tirelessly with Comtesse Sylvia’s personal seamstress to ensure the designs matched up perfectly. She would be a shining beacon of light. Saint Mirin would be jealous of the light glimmering off her outfight, bright as the holy fires .

The lace was her favorite part. She made it from hand as often as she could, each delicate thread being woven in and out of the other, despite the fact that it could mean each hat took weeks or months to complete. She had no attunement herself, no skill for any sort of magic, but there were few people in the city who believed it.

A boom shook the tools of her workspace, and Winnie nearly jumped out of her seat, hand clasped to her heart, eyes wide in fear. It knocked curls loose from her braid, and it took a moment for her to recover her senses before sitting forward once more, pushing her hair back behind her ears and clearing her throat, ashamed despite her solitude in the workshop.

A glance below told her Agnes was still craning her head above the crowd, glitter peppering her tanned skin and dark hair as she held held her nephews’ leashes. They tried their best to pull against the leads, aching to get in the middle of the procession and join the dancers. They knew the steps by heart. Everyone in the Millinery did. Duva had snuck them into rehearsal after rehearsal. On lucky days, they even got Winnie in on the fun, though she had never cared for such revelry. Not when she didn’t already know the steps by heart and knew she wouldn’t make a fool of herself.

But it was hard not to smile when the music hit that familiar crescendo and became dangerous and foreboding. The Avaryss float was coming by, with Duva herself standing at the top in all the glittering robes, smoke billowing out of her dyed fingertips and silver stars shining in her tightly coiled hair, dark as the night and all piled up on top of her head so that she looked even taller than she already was. Deneri men and women towered over them all, and Winnie couldn’t help but love seeing Duva standing tall, dancing and cackling like a proper villain.

But as her tower passed by, that evil glare turned towards the workshop window, and it went from theatrical to dangerous. Duva stomped her foot and pointed a damning finger as she passed. Winnie shrank under that unspoken accusation, not looking forward to the trouble that would come that night. She’d only promised she’d try to make time to get out for the festivities, after all. Not that she would. But she said she’d try.

Winnie continued her work diligently. Comtesse Sylvia’s hat would be perfectly unique, and deserving of such a wealthy woman’s attention. Duva was going to tell Agnes, of course, and Agnes would stomp inside and drag Winnie to the festivities, kicking and screaming if she had to.

--

It took twenty minutes to take a horsecar from the parade’s end to the Aureus Millinery and their home above the shop, and Agnes arrived right on time, heeled shoes announcing themselves loudly on the cobblestones before she even unlocked the front door. Winnie sat in dread as her footfalls grew closer. She’d put her things away already, knowing the argument to come would be lost quickly enough. Agnes was a force of nature when she wanted to be, and one did not have to work hard to cow Winnie into submission.

Duva, still dressed as Avaryss, stepped in silently with her cloth slippers and Avaryss costume, Agnes right behind her in vibrant yellows and green that went so beautifully with her dark skin and darker hair. Her father had been a cartographer from Dener, and her mother a sculptor. They’d visited Merveaux half a year ago and took a tour of Saint Moriel’s University library. She’d fallen in love with the city, and with Agnes, at first sight, and she’d stayed ever since -- pursuing theater rather than science, much to her parents’ horror. But Duva seemed not the least worse for wear, least of all when she dragged Winnie up from her chair and into Agnes’ bedroom muttering in Deneri. She pulled a chest out from the closet -- many of her old costumes she couldn’t bear to part with. Winnie caught something about girls with dark hair, and the sin of staying inside during holidays.

“It’s not a crime to stay inside in Dener, is it?” Winnie tried.

“It is in my family.” Her Deneri accent had yet to fade, and she still struggled now and then with Noques’ language.

“Your parents hated the holidays here.”

“They hated the music here. Too much brass instruments, not many wooden ones. It sounded silly.”

“I promise, I’ll go to the next one.”

“You said you’d go tonight,” Agnes chimed in, sitting Winnie down on her bed as she joined Duva at the closet.

“But the hat…”

They began to pull costumes out of every color. Winnie winced at the sight of them, each one worse than the last. Bright, shining fabrics, ornate embroidery, brocade corsets that had to have been out of style for a hundred years now, if not more. Duva was taller and slimmer than Winnie, but they could be made to fit. And their feet were almost the same size besides. Winnie just about fainted at the sight of how tall some of those heels were.

No -- Winnie blushed pink. The gowns were the worst. Low-cut, nearly see through. Robes meant to be worn over a suit of many colors, but the fact that Agnes even held it up against Winnie, considering the idea of making her wear it … she could have fainted.

Even the modest clothes they chose were appallingly colorful. A layered pink skirt with orange stripes that just barely reached her ankles -- entirely taffeta, of course -- and a heavily patterned turquoise vest, all tied together in a bright yellow bow at her waist. Even her sleeves had been puffed and fluffed up for the evening.

“It’s Mirinmas, Winnie,” Agnes insisted, while Duva tied Winnie’s curls back and away from her face with ribbons to match her skirts.  “You’re supposed to be colorful.”

“I don’t like loud colors. People will stare at me.”

“Stop fussing. Everyone will stare at you if you wear anything else.”

“I’ll be in the shadows, watching the boys.”

“And the boys will be yelling and causing trouble. You’ll be seen no matter what. Might as well look the part.”

Winnie fussed with the bow, trying to find a strong enough argument. “If I’ll be seen regardless, then I might as well be comfortable, don’t you think?”

“I usually would agree, but I very recently learned on good faith that a certain Monsieur Francame, will be off duty that night, missing his sister who’s stuck in Veroesse until summer’s end.”

She made herself look away, flushing pink, before Agnes could begin waggling her brows knowingly. It was a cruel thing, using Sacha against her. Winnie’s infatuation had only recently begun to show its face, and she was still unfamiliar with the entire concept of crushes and young men. Her heart stuttered foolishly, and her face turned a ridiculous shade of red as she thought of his messy yellow hair and how he always ran his fingers through it. His soft, grey-blue eyes. This nonsense wasn’t a good look on a young lady like her -- someone of high breeding and class, and sensibility in all things, stammering and blushing at the very mention of someone’s name.

Taking her silence as compliance, Agnes pressed a kiss to Winnie’s cheek and whisked her out the door just as Duva finished with the ribbons. She found herself missing her navies and pale blues of daily life long before she stepped out the door. Bright colors, loud noises, ideations of romance … Winnie missed the safety of her workshop already.

Could you do one where Theseus dies and sort of Leta and Newt mourning him. Or some cute theseus/leta moments. Thankyou, I just love them!

Look, I’m apologising in advance. I wrote this as a damn novel when I was in hospital over night when I couldn’t sleep and its so long…I’m so sorry (but I think I covered all your requests?) Literally I made a part 2, this is only half of it. If it’s not a pain med fuelled mess and you enjoy it, let me know if you want the second part. I’ll put a ‘keep reading’ because oml its so long, forgive me.  I am so sorry you poor people on mobile if the keeping reading cut doesn’t work. Put me on a damn leash when it comes to angst. (Thank you for sending me this prompt though!) 

It could never have lasted…such happiness.

Leta silently and delicately packed up the items – even the half-crumpled up scraps of parchment with hastily scrawled reminders and mindless scribbles – as if they were fragile shards of Occamy egg shells. With her gloves removed and laid aside, she carefully handled each item individually, feeling the weight and the shape before laying it on the bunched-up newspapers that had been roughly stuffed into the cardboard box that had been left on the desk prior to her arrival.

She was well aware and not at all fretted by the stares of the Aurors that were working behind her, awkwardly trying to busy themselves in their paperwork likely wondering why she was drawing out this uncomfortable, awful task when she could put herself - and the rest of them - out of their misery with the wave of her wand and a simple packing spell.

But even they, as brave and highly skilled wizards as they were, wouldn’t dare approach her with this suggestion.

Leta wanted to do it this way. No one really understood Theseus’ strange insistence on doing everything manually. Collecting firewood, brewing tea, getting out of bed in the bitterly cold morning hours to get an extra blanket or a book on the dresser, making little use of the Ministry interdepartmental owls to cheerily whistle his way across the different floors to deliver his letters himself (though he always took the route – no matter how long and ridiculous – that took him past her desk).

Leta had understood though – eventually.

She absentmindedly pulled the sleeve of her dress further down her wrist, doing little to hide the mottled scars peeking out from the fabric and creeping across her hand. It was hard to imagine magic as being anything other than a mangled, twisted thing.

Leta was thirteen before she found out it could be beautiful – sitting cross-legged with Newt, sometime past midnight, with his first incorporeal Patronus a misty silver cloud above them, her hand over her mouth and unexpectedly, to his horror and her embarrassment, starting to cry.

The war had given Theseus a heroic reputation, the accompanying renown and respect, a notable career and a bravery medal (which Leta had found once she worked up the courage to visit, only days after he had been sent home from the hospital, on the ground outside, among shards of glass and a telling broken window behind it) but it had taken so much more.  

For all the fame and admiration that he seemed to amass, she was the only one who would notice him disappear continually.

The first panic attack she had seen was after she had noticed him slip away from the celebratory party the Ministry had thrown in his honour after he was discharged from the hospital. The party, she remembered, that he had no shame in unfairly bullying her into attending with pleading blue eyes, messy brown curls and looking as tragic as possible all bandaged up in his hospital bed. She watched grumpily from the corner where she had taken residence for the past two hours thinking on loop what a waste of a nice dress this evening had been, how long it had taken her to get her hair neat and how her constant attempts to be kind to people kept ending up in her being roped into situations like this.

Everyone had started shooting red coloured sparks in the air which exploded like fireworks in the large room which is when she’d noticed Theseus was gone. Leta rolled her eyes, figuring that he’d probably disappeared with one (or more – she didn’t judge) of the women that were practically trying to hang off for most of the evening. She pushed herself off the wall, slightly annoyed at the fact that he seemed to have been enjoying himself quite alright on his own and her presence that he so insisted upon was, in her opinion, completely needless. Leta could have easily, like any other scorned woman, slipped out tearfully or in a huff but that sounded dreadfully dull and she may as well recoup some enjoyment from the dismal evening in the form of interrupting and annoying Theseus just once more before she left.

She searched the empty corridors and threw open the door to a small store room and froze mid-smirk to see him hunched over against the wall, rocking and hysterical, his hands tangled roughly in his hair as if he could crush his skull with his palms. To anyone else it would have looked as if he had completely lost his mind, but it was all too familiar to her.

Even during the worst parts of his recovery, his spell work was still excellent. His reaction time took a while longer to return but he rarely handled his wand opting to keep it in his coat pocket and only taking it out when necessary and even then, he would lift it with a weariness that was well beyond his age. It was the first thing to be tossed aside when he arrived home before messing up his hair and collapsing back on the couch.

Magic had been weaponised so much for him that it had lost any of the beauty it had held before. He had seen the worst side of it a lot later in life than she, but the effects had been no less damaging.

Leta nestled the Foe-glass and Sneakoscope safely between the pages of the old Daily Prophet’s and fitted the tattered pack of Exploding Snap and roll of Spellotape down the sides expertly. She had plenty of practise from this from building and repairing the Augurey’s nests in the woods around their house during the stormy months. Nothing moved around when she tipped the box slightly from side to side to check.  

She ran her hand over the surface of the mahogany wood which had been cleared save for a framed picture facing away from her and a name plaque which she gingerly picked up and ran her fingers over each engraved letter and holding it to her chest subtly before nestling it in the box.  

Leta didn’t want to linger on the photo frame and instead wrapped it in his faded scarlet and gold scarf placing it on top of the pile and going to the other side of the desk to check the drawers once again.  

The only thing that rattled in the drawer when she opened it was new. Another name plaque though this one was shiny and polished.  

Sterling Boyle

Head of Auror Office

He sounded awful, Leta decided letting the plaque slip from her fingers into the draw with a clatter that made Auror Hessington jump in his chair. She imagined a balding, paunchy man with sweaty hands and moist lips. That’s what she would have liked to have imagined. She didn’t plan on sticking around to find out for sure.

To her complete reluctance, Newt’s new American friends seemed to have adopted her against her will some time ago. They had been diligent in caring for Leta and Newt and so exhausted in doing so that when the short-haired woman, Tina, found the rare sight of Newt and Leta sleeping, she had covered them with blankets and passed out in one of the arm chairs. Leta knew it wouldn’t be long before would one of them would wake and realise she was gone.

Leta let her hand lay on the desk a moment longer before slowly curling her fingers away and putting her gloves back on. With great care, she slid the long overcoat and then, due it to being double the size of her, meticulously folded it three times and hung it over her arm. She picked up the box, her small frame, dehydration and sleep deprivation doing very little in aiding her with the weight and walked past all the Aurors who quickly starting shuffling papers at random. Auror Netley held an upside-down report in front of him.

She smirked slightly at their thinly veiled disdain. If it wasn’t her maiden name, the colour of her skin, or her unworthiness as a suitable wife for such an Auror, it was surely the way she could carry all this weight in her arms and her heart without so much as a discreet, politely concealed sob.

“MORNING ALL,” Hector Fawley bellowed as he burst through the double doors to the office unnecessarily. “BIG DAY TODAY, BIG DAY! NOW BEFORE-”

The Minister of Magic stopped in his tracks so quickly, Leta wasn’t sure if she imagined the squeal of his shoes or not. He turned from side to side quickly as if assessing whether there was any possibility, he could avoid the attention of the woman in front of him.  

As if Flamboyant Fawley could ever avoid being noticed.

“Ah!” he clapped his hands together as if she were the jolliest surprise. “Miss Le-Mrs Scamander! We weren’t expecting you…”

His eyes, full of badly hidden panic, drifted down to her full arms. “Ah! We would have delivered those items for you. Here, allow me…”

Leta turned herself slightly to keep the box out of reach.

“I am more than capable, sir.”

Fawley let his open hands swing and clap together and Leta could hear him practically screaming in his head. He had unfortunately gone through this uncomfortable talk with women before but likely not with someone like her.

“Well, erm…if you need anything…just ask. We’re more than happy to assist.”

“Thank you,” Leta cut across icily. “I think you’ve done enough.”

“Yes, well. If you’re sure then…I hope, we all hope, you’re keeping well. Sleeping enough and such.”

“Well enough,” she smiled. “And you, sir?”

“Pardon?”

“Your sleeping, Minister Fawley,” Leta answered. “How are you sleeping these days?”

“Um, I suppose it’s…okay,” Fawley answered, entirely aware of the whole office of Aurors watching him be terrified by a five-foot girl. “Um, but, again anything you need…just send word. Rest up and…all the best.”

“Thank you,” she said with graceful iciness, and her eyes drifted to the colourful tea cup in his hand. “And to you as well. Rest peacefully.”

She heard Fawley tip his tea into the sink as she left and hoped Theseus would appreciate that. He had always enjoyed finding comical use of her last name which had, for most of her life, caused her nothing but misery.

“There you are!” she remembered Theseus had exclaimed joyously, skidding to a stop in front of her desk and nearly losing his footing on his unnecessarily (in her opinion) long coat.

“Here I am,” she replied dully, bundling parchment together with a stapling charm.

Theseus knelt in front of her desk and folded his arms on the wood. She was sickened that, even on his knees, he was the same height as her sitting in a chair.

“You’re looking gorgeously glum this afternoon, Lestrange,” he commented.

“Travers is being especially delightful today,” she sighed before freezing and slowly raising her hazel eyes to him. “You ought to watch your wandering hand, Mr Scamander, before it’s stapled to the underside of this desk.”

“My apologises, milady,” he chuckled, surrendering the hand he had rested on her knee. “I have come to rescue my dearest from her boredom.”

“You mean you need a favour,” Leta said blankly returning to her work.

“More of a joint venture,” he explained. “I have some weary business with the Head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation who may become a lot more agreeable had he want our meeting over with quickly.”

Leta brightened up immediately. She liked this game.

“You require my sparkly personality?”

“Always, love,” he smiled. “But more so your notorious, though occasionally handy, surname. May as well put it to use while you’re still so reluctant to marry me anytime soon.”

“Goodness, you can sulk,” she rolled her eyes but laid aside her work. “What shall I do?”  

“He’s a jumpy fellow, if you just prepare some tea, I think that would suffice.”

“Excuse me?” Leta pouted which made Theseus laugh and kiss both her hands.

“Fine, I’ll make the tea, suffragette, if you can bring it in with that beautiful icy uncomfortableness, you’re so magnificent at emitting and with any luck, I can steal you from here early…”

“Lestrange! I don’t hear the dulcet sounds of work being done!” her boss shouted from his open office door, not looking at her but clearly noticing the absence of stapling, paper shuffling and the scratching of a quill. “Get back to it or you’ll be selling your body in the Prophet for rent money.”

Leta smiled and grabbed Theseus’ wrist to prevent him from standing up and going full Gryffindor. “Please don’t kill my boss. He’s the only person here who treats me the same as he does everyone else. Terribly.”  

Snapping out of her thoughts, Leta walked out into the bustling street. It still seemed so inexplicable to her, that the sun was still hanging in the sky, that everyone was going about their day as if the world had not been viciously ripped in two – before and after.  

Leta realised absentmindedly that she ought to collect Theseus’ car from one of the side streets. Another time, perhaps. Maybe she could ask Newt’s Muggle friend for help. Theseus, and his fascination for tinkering with Muggle things, had some time ago impulsively decided to get and learn to drive a real Muggle car.

Leta was reading and walking along the footpath to her old flat after work one evening and Theseus pulled up in the noisy absurd thing beside her, accidentally bumping into the curb, causing her to jump and drop her book, and the milk and the bag of apples she had bought.  

“Lestrange!” he yelled cheerily. “Want to go for a ride?”

“Not even if it would cure dragon pox, Scamander,” she replied, scooping up her belongings – the milk unsalvageable – and walking off. The next day at work there was a new bottle of milk on her desk.

Even afterwards, she could never fully embrace this strange joy of his for herself. It was certainly handy for the purpose of pulling her into the back seat of during their breaks to kiss her under she was dizzy but apart from that, she found it not at all a desirable mode of transport. She also hated broomsticks, Apparation, Floo Powder and portkeys and would avoid them to the best of her ability due to the unbearable waves of motion sickness that would undeniably follow.

Mrs Scamander, who had never been sick a day in her life and never let Leta or her two sons forget it, used to tell Leta, as she would hand her a paper bag when Newt half carried her off the Hogwarts Express, it was all psychological and that as soon as she fell for a boy cute enough she wouldn’t get sick at all when he was flying her around on the back of his broomstick. The only time she wouldn’t get sick was on a Thestral or a Hippogriff.

It turns out Muggle cars were not an exception either as an unconvinced Theseus found out when he jogged around chivalrously to open Leta’s door and ended up with vomit on his shoes.

She had certainly improved over the course of the next few years and had even started to let Theseus teach her the very basics of driving – only around the empty gravel path near their house – she thought she may have been getting better, but she supposed it didn’t matter now.

Despite her distaste for it, Leta rather decided disapparating would be preferable to being tracked down and dragged back by Tina Goldstein and found an empty street to do it from.

She imagined very clearly in her mind the small clearing that they used to apparate and disapparate from. Knowing how she struggled with apparation and to make visualising the place easier for her, Theseus had conjured a patch of colourful wildflowers that, over time, had spilled out around the mossy rock she would often sit and read on.

Leta felt the soft grass under her knees which had buckled and collapsed as she was violently thrown on to the ground. She had a good enough hold on the box that it didn’t leave her arms thankfully though she put it aside carefully, so she could rest her head on the ground for a moment and let the horrible dizziness pass.

It was still a little walk to their house as Theseus had made it so. This was the closest point you could apparate to and even if one did, it was nearly impossible to locate if you didn’t know precisely how to navigate yourself through the thicket of woods.

A clabbert, dangling from a branch by its green tail, dropped on to Leta’s shoulder as she walked underneath the trees and curled up against her neck. She felt a pang of guilt at her prolonged absence. She had skirted around having creatures as pets, but she certainly couldn’t be held responsible if they all decided to take residence around their home. Leta had, not at all as sneakily as she had thought, made the conditions perfect for all manner of creatures enough so that they could be completely self-sufficient. Though she had worried she may had babied them a little too much and it was one of the reasons she had decided to escape while everyone was sleeping.

Leta walked along the path that led to the house Theseus had built out of what could nearly be described as ruins of a cottage, rather experimentally with his own hands which had seen her foot go through the porch step more than a few times. Besides the twinkle lights leftover from their wedding that she had been too short to pull down completely and left half dangling and half piled on the floor, everything was perfectly in place, suspended in time, and it was surreal to remember her life was not how it was the last time she had stood here little over two months ago.

The window frames with glimpses of cream coloured curtains, the flowering vine climbing frothily up the stone walls, a ball she used to entertain the Hippogriffs if they ever wandered out, and two pairs of muddy boots left beside a table and bench strewn with cushions and blankets. Leta sighed as she saw an empty cup and a small pile of books on the table that had clearly been rained upon and weathered in her absence.

Leta fumbled with her wand among everything she was carrying, careful not to disturb the clabbert now snoozing in between her neck and the dip of her collarbone, and tapped it against the lock. “Alohomora,” she uttered, and she heard the distinguishable click.  

“Okay, listen to me, Miss Lestrange, because I am a visionary,” Theseus said standing in the doorless doorframe, covering Leta’s eyes with his hands before releasing her.

He immediately started his pitch before she could draw a breath to comment. “Imagine sunlight flooding through the hallway because of the windows we’ll put here and here. Imagine this -” he gestured to what was a half knocked down wall that reached Leta’s waist. “– as a wall again, obviously, but painted a nice colour. Maybe yellow, your favourite. Or we can keep it as stone if you like.”

Leta went to take a step and felt the ground crunch beneath her shoes. She looked down to see the floor was simply the dirt and patches of weeds that he had blindly led her through moments ago.

“This will be floorboards soon enough – or carpet – though I think floorboards will be more conducive to all the mud you’ll inevitable track in from your adventures outside that you’ll do your best to keep from me. We’ll put a table here with flowers and letters and an umbrella stand here. We’ll hang photographs of our adorable children along this hallway here – not those horrible professional portraits we were all made to do – real photos of them doing child things.”

Leta tried not to laugh at Theseus having to resort to ‘child things’ rather than offering an example of what a child may enjoy and remembered him pretending to read the Daily Prophet thoughtfully while barely understanding the contents while her and Newt played outside, emptying Theseus’ bottles of ink to use as specimen jars.

Theseus continued with his visualisation and she tried to imagine but she was suffering from a bad cold and forgotten to take Pepper-Up Potion this morning, the leftover nausea and dizziness from carsickness was still swirling about in her stomach and her eyes were all watery and sore. Theseus caught her shoulders when she tripped over a hammer that had been clearly been thrown in frustration one day.

Leta looked at the disaster of a project and all the Muggle tools that littered the area and turned around in his arms to stare up at him lovingly with amusement and incredulity. “You’re out of your mind, Scamander.”

“Well, I find my mind is a rather overrated place to be,” Theseus scooped her up with a chuckle and spun her around much to her, and her stomach’s, protest.

But, to his credit (and maybe a little magical help from Leta without his knowledge), it was exactly as he had described it.

The sunlight, the cluttered hall table, the floorboards shining gold, a hat stand filled with hats and scarves. Leta hung his coat on one of the hooks on the hatstand, which the clabbert climbed into the pocket of to snooze, and placed the box down on the table. She continued down the hallway, not stopping, only touching things with a vague caressing fingertip. She glanced briefly at the framed photos, trailing her finger along the wooden frames that had accumulated some dust. Most of them were empty – he had specifically reserved certain ones for photos that would now never be taken – and she didn’t quite feel up to having to face herself beaming like a naïve idiot. She glanced up at the last frame – Newt’s ‘Wanted’ poster. Somehow it felt like his uncharacteristically gloomy scowl was specifically for her.  

“Don’t look at me like that,” she muttered as she walked into the living area. It was a lovely open space, so they could see each other from the kitchen or dining room and see out into the back garden. It had been Leta’s idea, all those years ago. She had sketched it on a napkin at the Leaky Cauldron one evening after work and held it up with a proud smile. “You’re not the only visionary around here!”  

Leta was not smiling by the time she reached their bedroom at the top of the stairs. She was hyperventilating.

She stood in the familiar bedroom looking for something – anything – that belonged to Theseus. There was no sign of him. No pile of books on his bedside table. No cylindrical columns of sickles taken from his pocket. No ties draped over the chair. Not even a lone crumpled shirt or sock that she was always reaching with stretched fingers for under furniture, eventually resorting to accio.

Leta and Theseus were both messy people despite how orderly her husband appeared. Their clothes were usually tangled together on the floor in messy embraces before washing day. No number of hatstands or clutter-specific tables were quite enough incentive to store things appropriately. Leta thought it might be the former Keeper in him, but he always felt it necessary to toss things across a room rather than walk, what would be in his large steps, a few paces instead.  

She threw open their wardrobe to find it mostly empty with heavy wooden hangers, a few containing just her clothes. She longed to see just one of Theseus shirts. Even a boring work shirt or an old Quidditch t-shirt or a large cosy knitted sweater. She would wrap its sleeves around her like his arms and bury her nose in the collar like a lovesick teenager.

As she closed and leaned against the wardrobe door and looked around the room, a feeling of panic exploded in her chest, she realised how clean it was.

Her mother-in-law.

Mrs Scamander had channelled her wave of grief into pedantic tidiness and helpfulness and in doing so, eradicated any sign of Leta’s husband’s existence from their room…

Their room? Her room.

He’s dead, Leta! You stupid girl!

She looked down at her hands to find them shaking. The glass in the bedroom window rattled and the wind of her own creating to violently lash about the room knocking everything over. Her hair became undone and whipped around her face as she sunk to the floor and wrapped her arms around her body to try and contain her feelings before she ended up blowing the house apart, knowing there wasn’t anyone to talk her down from it this time.

Her touch fell upon something cool and smooth on her finger and she was reminded, as she looked down at her wedding band, that he was real, and she was real, and she wasn’t losing her mind. She was married to Theseus Scamander. No domestic hurricane of a mother-in-law, newly appointed, paunchy Head Auror, or Grindelwald or his murderous, maniacal followers could take that at least.  

He may not be alive, but they were still married, weren’t they?

Leta let out a tiny pained gasp as a word surfaced to her mind.

Widow.

She was a widow now. It was so ridiculous she could have laughed and sobbed at the same time. Widows were blissfully old and grey and possessed decades of memories. She wasn’t old and grey (or blissful for that matter). She was twenty-nine. And although she did have many years of memories that she may one day be able to think back on without closing in on herself, she had been married for such a short time. She was still picking bits of flower confetti out of her hair, shoes, and belongings sporadically.

The grief she had carefully placed aside since a grave looking Auror had interrupted her and Newt chasing an injured crup in Scotland a few weeks ago, poured out and winded her in the chest like a stunning spell. It was so vicious that uncontrollable nausea hit her in the stomach with equal force. She stood up and ran to the adjoining bathroom where she was more violently sick than she’d ever been in her life.

Leta couldn’t even stop when she heard the front door slam followed by the familiar pattern of rushed, clumsy footsteps taking the stairs two at a time and then hopping over the mess of discarded items her emotions had scattered across the floor.  

“Leta!” she heard the most familiar voice in the world from the doorway, halfway between a worried gasp and a relieved sigh. Newt’s world had come crashing down rather swiftly as he fell to his knees upon hearing of his brothers’ fate and sobbed into Leta’s shoulder when she had slowly knelt beside him. The following weeks were the worst of his life and to add to it, he, and the rest of the group, had been cautiously tiptoeing around Leta, who had been acting relatively normal, and waiting assiduously for her careful composure to crack.

Newt slid down to where she lay on her side shivering with her clammy forehead pressed against the tiles. Everything she had repressed suddenly burst open in her chest, enormous weight crushing her from the inside out and escaping in a soul-wrenching wail that bore the weight of decades of trauma. The pain she had once sworn to herself to never experience ripped through her in a way that made her feel like her soul was being separated from her body. She thought this must be what being attacked by a dementor felt like or perhaps more akin to making a horcrux, either way she was certain this kind of evisceration would kill her.  

Newt wrapped his arms around her middle and she leaned back into him, absolutely wailing and sobbing irrepressibly. There was no point trying to put a stopper in the devastation now. The rattling window and mirror shattered, and Newt turned them slightly to shield her, the glass bouncing off his back and on to the tiles which had started to crack and peel away from the floor. A more rational person would have run but this was Newt who just squeezed her tighter. Newt who had very little sense of self-preservation but a huge sense of duty to broken creatures. He had tended to wounded dragons and cooed a distressed erumpents to sleep, but far more impressively, he’d done this time after time when her agony or fright took hold though not for many years now. But, just as it had worked when they were younger, he managed to calm her before any more damage could occur.  

After what seemed like hours of Newt rocking her and soothing her til his lips were dry and her crying til her throat was hoarse and she was dizzy from it, she finally went floppy against him. He leaned forward to see if she had passed out, but she was still awake, her breath shuddering and her chest still contracting erratically. The light in the room was slowly dimming as the sun slowly sunk down in the sky bathing the room in a warm, peachy orange. Leta probably would have found it extremely comforting and pretty…before. Now she just found it audacious. How dare the sun set yet again on a world without him?

Newt had propped her up against the bathtub and cast a silent spell that swept the shards of glass and broken tiles in to a corner before sitting against the opposite wall and resting his shoes against the bathtub next to her.

They sat in comfortable silence for a while until Newt noticed tiny droplets of blood on the floor beside her.

“You’ve splinched your fingers,” he croaked and leaned forward to examine her hand. Leta looked down at the bloodied fingertips and missing fingernails and then closed her first.

“I…didn’t notice.”  

“I have some dittany in my case…”

“It’s not so bad,” she reassured wearily, and Newt frowned in a displeased, determined way she hadn’t seen on him for the longest time.

“I have to take care of you.”

Leta scoffed but she smiled endearingly. “Do you, now?”

“Well, yes,” he said, the tiniest bit offended at her tone and Leta couldn’t help but bite back a chuckle at how he tried to square his shoulders. “You know, you and I are the last Scamanders, besides mother. Can’t have us dying out.”

Leta shook her head incredulously.

“You’re so dramatic. You’ll get married and have children, Newt,” she said, kicking a loose shard of tile he’d missed. She had meant to sound teasing, but it came out flat and strained. She cleared her throat and tried to continue light-heartedly. “It’s just the shame the next generation of Scamander’s are going to awkward, pale, freckly gits. We all knew it was going to be my genes that would save this family.”  

“Dramatic?” Newt’s eyes widened and the first smile since Theseus’ death played on the edge of his lips. “You just ripped apart a perfectly good bathroom. And the state of you…”

“I’m GRIEVING. I can do whatever I please. This is a very exciting time for us, Newton. You want to take a Beaters baton to the fountain in the Ministry of Magic? Because we could do that, you know.”

“I don’t think that’s how it works…”

“And the state of me?” she continued, folding her arms and hiccupping. “I’m an extremely pretty crier, I’ll have you know. Look how big and sparkling my eyes are at the minute. Would’ve made you weak at the knees at seventeen.”

“Extremely pretty,” he reassured playfully. “Even with the snot bubbles and vomit you’ve gurgled on to my coat.”

“Well, it’s not a disservice is it? That coat’s absurd. Blue!”

“Absurd?” he frowned. “You said you liked it!”

“Yes, well I missed you terribly, didn’t I? It was hard having to seduce you into being my best friend again now I have to compete with the baker. Its okay, We-I’ve gotten you a very similar coat in green for Christmas.”

“Your house colour, of course.”

“No, because it matches your eyes and it’s always looked nice with your hai-Why do you always assume the worst of me, Newton?”

“Um,” he gestured in an obvious sort of way. “Probably because I know you better than anyone.”

She paused with a frown. It was a fair statement.

“We need to fix that hand,” Newt reminded her and stood up, his legs numb, and offered her his hand. “And then probably get some sleep.”

Leta hesitated. “I…want to stay here, I think. Tonight at least.”

“That’s okay, I’ve brought my case with me,” Newt said. He knew leaving her was out of the question and he’d already told the others that he needed to go find her alone. She would close up around the others and she tended to lash out when she felt trapped. “Why don’t you take a bath or shower, get the wound clean and I’ll make us something to eat and go set up the spare bed?”

Leta did what he asked and wrapped her towel around herself after her shower and padded into her bedroom, her wet hair dripping into the carpet as she stood tentatively in the middle of it, staring at their perfectly made bed.

“Newt!” she called out and he nearly fell through the door.

“What’s wrong?!”

She frowned and clutched on to her towel, feeling her chest start to tighten again.

“I don’t want to stay in here,” she trembled, nearly child-like and she hated herself for it.

“Sure,” he said, unquestioning, and rummaged through the dresser to his left to find a comfortable looking pair of pyjamas which he tossed at her. “Why don’t you get dressed and come down into the case…it’s in the living room.”

Once she was done, she plaited her hair as she walked down stairs to join him. She put on her gumboots that he had placed beside the coffee table where his case lay, and she put them on before going to find him.

Leta nibbled at the pumpkin pasty he nearly shoved into her mouth whole when she declined and followed him around, absentmindedly handing him things he needed while he did his nightly rounds.

They kicked off their boots when they went into his workstation and Newt quickly tried to neaten the quilt on the bed he slept on while travelling before sitting Leta on it and going to his desk to find some dittany.

Leta glanced at a picture of Theseus he had on display and couldn’t bear it, instead letting her eyes slide over the weathered one of her sitting on his desk.

“I’ve only asked you only half a dozen times to replace that picture,” she whined distastefully, and Newt chuckled, walking back over with the dittany. “It’s horrendous, I look like I’m eating a sour lolly and my jaw hurts.”

“That’s your normal face, Leta,” he told her and wrapped up her fingers carefully. “And it’s a sweet picture. You decided to put my wanted poster up as my tribute on your little family wall.”

“It’s my favourite possession,” she admitted, taking a gulp of the tea he put in her hands, and covered her with the quilt. “It wasn’t easy to obtain. I think w-we broke some international law acquiring it from MACUSA but…” her eyes started to droop, and she felt her words becoming thick. “…it was…definitely…quite…”

Newt went back to his desk where he had some work to do and smiled at the sound of Leta mumbling incoherently, finally letting her head flop against the pillow. He hoped the Dreamless Sleep potion in her tea would give her a little reprieve for a couple of hours at least. He intended to stay sitting across from her the whole time, determined to take care of her. The memory of the confusing and short conversation he had last had with his brother, who had hugged him tighter than ever before, was what made him resurface, just a little, from his own grief. Newt had felt something was off in the way that Theseus asked him, his eyes pleading and sombre, to take care of her. Newt had assumed he was just being extremely serious about making sure they didn’t get into trouble while he was gone but now he was starting to wonder if his brother may have known what was going to happen.

Newt paused in counting his lace wing flies to glance back at his dearest friend and his brothers’ whole heart, who was passed out rather ungracefully. He smiled slightly and then picked up Theseus’ picture, who was smiling at him proudly and placed it next to Leta’s.

Chapter 9 - Friday, December 18th, 2009

Fluff galore! <3

Finals had come and gone for the freshmen girls. Today they had just finished their last final and all three of them were heading to the Brudowski home after school to hang out. The girls were pleasantly surprised with how finals had gone, as they anticipated them to be much worse. Thankfully, the three of them continued their tradition of studying together, so even if they were studying for a class the other girls didn’t have, they still stayed diligent. Now winter break had started, and the trio planned to hang out together as much as possible. They had two and a half weeks off before the spring semester started, and they were going to savor the much needed break. 

Carolyn had told Sallie all about how crazy Thanksgiving at the Brudowski home was, and Sallie got a kick out of all the drama. Carolyn of course had kept Sallie up to date on all of the Adrian happenings, including telling her when he carried her up from the basement and into her bed. Sallie said that she was going crazy with all of this buildup, and asked multiple times when Carolyn and Adrian were finally going to kiss. Carolyn blushed at Sallie’s suggestion, but then explained how impossible it would be for them to be together at all. But Sallie wouldn’t back down, she had insisted day after day that they could keep it secret. Sallie gushed about how perfect it would be, since they lived together, they could see each other all the time. Carolyn wasn’t so sure how great that part would actually be. 

She also talked to Sallie and said that she didn’t understand why this gorgeous man was so into her, especially since he had all kinds of hot senior girls around him all the time. When Carolyn had said this, Sallie damn near slapped Carolyn and said, “What are you talking about? You are absolutely gorgeous Carolyn! Adrian would be lucky to date you! And the age difference seems big now, but he’s only two and a half years older than you are, that’s really nothing if you think about it!” 

Since Sallie had pointed that out and made the relationship seem more possible, Carolyn had been thinking more and more about it. She still thought that, age gap and her own self-confidence issues aside, the relationship would be near impossible. She just couldn’t see a way it could work between issues with Vera and Janet. Not to mention, Adrian was a senior, and he was going off to college next year. Carolyn’s head always spun when she thought hard about this. There were so many things that pointed toward the relationship being a bad idea. The problem was that Carolyn just couldn’t shake her feelings, her strong feelings about this incredibly caring guy. She had tried so hard, but her feelings only grew everyday.

Sallie was coming over to the Brudowski home after school for their first winter break sleepover. The trio had worked out a schedule where hopefully, aside from holidays, they could spend every moment of the break together. Carolyn was so excited about this, but a part of her was a little disappointed, because she knew that would mean absolutely nothing could happen with Adrian. While this made her slightly sad, she was also kind of glad, because then she couldn’t stress about when or where Adrian would corner her. The three girls waited at the van with Jaret for the twins to arrive. They were shivering in the cold Illinois winter breeze for a few minutes before they saw the two tall seniors approaching. Adrian made eye contact with Carolyn and a giant smile spread across his face. Sallie noticed this interaction, then she elbowed Carolyn obviously. Carolyn shot Sallie a look that she hoped would shut her up. 

“I see we have a stray today.” Andrew commented.

“You’ll be seeing plenty of me this break, Andrew. The three of us planning on spending the whole break together!” Sallie taunted.

“Great, sounds like I’ll be beating you at Super Smash Bros. over and over again.” Andrew said confidently.

“You may have me beat there, but I’ll kick everyone’s ass at Monopoly!” Sallie basically shouted, “And don’t even get me started at Risk.” 

“Mmm, sounds like we need to have a game night competition!” Vera chimed in as everyone piled into the van. Carolyn and Sallie both cheered. 

That evening was spent largely playing Super Smash Bros. Andrew was correct when he said he would be beating Sallie, as he won almost every game. The ones he didn’t win, either Adrian or Jaret squeaked out. Down in the basement, the main couch was a large sectional couch that fit all six of the teens cosily. Sallie made sure that when they sat on the couch, Carolyn sat next to Adrian. They barely said anything to each other, but Carolyn was definitely enjoying the contact. 

“Damn it Carolyn, you need to be a new character next time. You can’t keep just playing Kirby and float away from everyone! It makes you so hard to kill.” Jaret exclaimed, speaking for the first time that night, as it always took a little bit for him to come out of his shell when Sallie was around. 

“That’s all part of my strategy!” Carolyn said defensively. 

“Ooh I have an idea! Next round, everyone has to play their least favorite character.” Vera thought. She was always into making the competition one step harder. Everyone seemed to agree with Vera’s idea. Soon enough, everyone chose their least favorite character and the round basically turned into a cussing match, as everyone hated who they were playing. The round then fell apart and turned basically into everyone making their characters go crazy. By the end of the round, everyone was cracking up. Soon enough, the girls had enough of the game.

“Okay guys, we’re going to head upstairs. Have fun!” Vera told her brothers. They all said goodnight. The girls went upstairs and plopped down on Vera’s bed, ready for their famous girl talk. 

“Okay guys, I have some news to tell you!” Sallie practically bounced up and down on the bed with excitement.

“No wonder you’ve been so giddy all night, I knew something was up.” Vera challenged.

“What is it?” Carolyn asked.

“Well there’s this guy Henry that I have had a major crush on.” Vera and Carolyn waited for the news, as Sallie had a new crush every week. “He’s in band, and he is so cute! Last weekend, I messaged him on facebook and we talked back and forth for almost two hours!” 

“Whoa! Let me see a picture! What did you guys talk about?” Carolyn was excited for her friend. Vera watched the spectacle contently. Sallie grabbed her phone and pulled his Facebook page up.

“Ooh he’s so cute! What grade is he in?” Carolyn squealed.

“He’s a sophomore. We talked about pretty much everything, I can’t really remember.” Sallie said. “BUT! I haven’t told you the best part!” Carolyn was completely captivated, and Vera sat up more, listening intently. 

“He asked me out on a DATE!” Sallie hopped up onto her feet and jumped up and down when she said this. None of the girls had ever been on a date before, so this development was huge. Carolyn and Vera both got up onto their feet as well and started jumping. They were so excited. This excitement turned into the girls getting really hyper and starting the pillow fight to end all pillow fights. They were screaming and smacking each other down for a good half hour. Eventually, the girls collapsed into a giggling pile.

“Okay, you have to tell us all the details! When is it?” Carolyn asked, out of breath. 

“It’s tomorrow night! We’re going to take the Metra down to the Museum of Science and Industry.” Sallie gushed.

“That’s awesome! Oh that’ll be so fun! You have to tell us everything. Come straight back here!” Carolyn said, with Vera nodding in agreement.

“Okay I will! We’re going tomorrow at noon.” Sallie smiled in anticipation. Carolyn wrapped her arms around her friend. Carolyn was very excited, but also a little jealous. She desperately wanted to be in Sallie’s shoes, about to go on her first date with Adrian. 

After the girls calmed down from all the excitement, Vera put the movie Avatar on, and they watched the movie, with Sallie and Vera falling asleep as the end credits rolled. Carolyn sat up in Vera’s bed, unable to sleep. She kept thinking of Adrian’s beautiful face. Suddenly, she felt her phone buzz.

-Are you up? Carolyn read the text over and over again from Adrian, not believing that he had sent that. Carolyn paused and thought about how she should reply.

-Yes. Carolyn didn’t add why; she wanted to remain neutral about the situation, trying hard not to seem too eager or desperate. Carolyn stared at her phone for the next couple of minutes, willing Adrian to text back. 

-Come to the sitting room? Adrian replied. Carolyn’s heart jumped out of her chest. She assessed her position in Vera’s bed. Thankfully, Sallie was in the middle of the bed, and Vera was on the far side of her. They were both breathing heavily, a signal that they were asleep. Carolyn gingerly slid herself out of Vera’s bed and tiptoed across the room. She slowly opened Vera’s bedroom door, slid out as soon as there was enough room, and closed the door with as much care. She continued to tiptoe down the hallway and down the stairs, then she turned and quietly walked into the sitting room. She found Adrian sitting on a couch facing the doorway, rather than the couch facing the windows. His face brightened when he saw Carolyn walk into the room. Carolyn walked over to Adrian hesitantly after he waved her over. She sat on the couch next to Adrian, but sat far enough away that their thighs were not touching.

“I didn’t know if you would come.” Adrian whispered. His deep voice was quiet and flowed like velvet. Carolyn felt a chill run through her. Adrian leaned over and whispered into Carolyn’s ear, “You take my breath away every time you walk into a room.” This made Carolyn blush deeply, so she was very grateful that the lights were off.

“That can’t be true.” Carolyn whispered back bashfully, looking down at her hands.

“It absolutely is. I have never met anyone as beautiful as you.” Adrian whispered sweetly, still in Carolyn’s ear. Carolyn could feel his eyes on her face. 

“I don’t know what to say when you compliment me like this.” Carolyn said in a small voice. 

“I’m sorry, I know I can get ahead of myself. I think about you all the time, so when I finally get to talk to you I just can’t help myself.” Adrian confessed.

Carolyn paused, then she turned her head and locked eyes with Adrian, “I think about you all the time too.” This made Adrian smile, which in turn made Carolyn smile.

“You do?” Adrian whispered with hope.

“Yeah. I can’t stop thinking about you actually.” Carolyn whispered. 

“Me too. I want to be with you all the time, just be near you and feel your presence.” Adrian slowly raised his hand up, leaning on the other hand, then he gently caressed Carolyn’s cheek. Carolyn froze, as she was sure her rapidly pounding heart would give her away. Adrian pulled her chin so that her head was tilted toward his, then he leaned closer and Carolyn could feel Adrian’s breath on her lips. Carolyn held her breath, she knew Adrian was about to kiss her. She then moved her head very slightly towards Adrian’s, signalling to him that she was okay with this. In reality, Carolyn had imagined this exact moment over and over again, and she couldn’t believe it was finally happening. 

Adrian then closed the gap between the two budding lovers and softly placed his lips on Carolyn’s. Carolyn closed her eyes and kissed Adrian back. All the tension that had been building up between them for the last three months melted away. In that moment, Carolyn knew in her heart that she couldn’t stop this from happening. They kissed two or three more times, then they parted. Their faces remained close, and they listened to each other’s rapid breathing. After what felt like a lifetime, Carolyn pulled her head back a little and smiled. 

“That was wonderful.” Adrian whispered, then sat back a little. Carolyn nodded in agreement, speechless. Carolyn couldn’t believe that she just had her first kiss.

“I, umm, want you to know that that was my first kiss.” Carolyn quietly confessed. She wanted to be honest with the more experienced boy.

“I know. I hope you were okay with it.” Adrian smiled and rested his hand on Carolyn’s hand.

“I absolutely was. I’ve wanted to kiss you for a really long time.” 

“Me too.” Adrian agreed. After a couple moments of silence, Carolyn felt a wave of fatigue come over her.

“I’m going to head to bed.” Carolyn said reluctantly. She was enjoying this stolen moment with Adrian, but she couldn’t keep her eyes open. 

“Yeah, I think I’ll join you.” Adrian added. Carolyn blushed deeply at the double entendre. “Umm, I mean, I will also go to bed. In my room.” Adrian stammered slightly when he realized this slip.

Tags: @the-mockingbird-of-neverland