#Put in such a way where there are no loopholes and no uncertainties

[reina-petrova]

You Have My Word ・❥・ Elejah

“Elena, you don’t have to just be a doppelgänger… you have to be a virgin. So, theoretically, if you lost it to someone, the ritual wouldn’t work.” “Are you serious?” “Yes, but there’s a catch…” “Of course there is. What is it, Bonnie?” “It has to be with an Original.” ↳AU where Elena discovers that Klaus’s hybrid ritual requires a virgin doppelgänger sacrifice and Elena never lost the V-card. Now her only hope is a certain Original. Set around season 3 during ripper!stefan and pining!Damon, post Elijah!haircut and post Elena's 18th birthday.

↳Warnings: Smut, virgin kink, dirty talk, light dom/sub undertones if you squint.

↳6.7k words

↳Cross-posted to AO3 here

↳Song rec: Terrible Thing by AG (A/N: this is just a silly AU fic that popped into my head, it’s only a vehicle for smut so be forewarned the canon details/timeline may be off 🤪)

・❥・

[text: 2:48pm] I found something. Call me l8tr. - Bonnie

Elena let out a shaky breath at the text in front of her. She finished putting the last of her books into her locker and slung her bag over her shoulder. She could hardly look away from the text as she shut the metal door closed, typing a quick response to Bonnie in the meantime.

[text: 2:49pm] I will. Thx B. - Elena

It almost seemed too good to be true, and as Elena returned to her car, she allowed herself a brief moment to envision a happy ending where Bonnie's new plan would actually work and they'd kill Klaus. Stefan would return to her. The Originals would be gone. Her town would be safe. She'd live.

Still, after so many run-ins with the supernatural, she'd learned to keep a healthy dose of reality mixed in with her positivity. Every plan was sure to work until it wasn't, and unfortunately, the last few indeed hadn't. It wasn't her life she was so worried about saving, it was everybody else's. With Klaus gone, they would be safe. But while Bonnie searched for any answers she could find, putting in all this time and effort, Elena had to at least try.

The moment she arrived home, she called Bonnie.

"Hey Elena,"

"Hi Bonnie, you said you found something? What's going on?" Elena sat down onto her bed with a small sigh.

"Yes and no. It's more of a loophole than anything else." Bonnie seemed a bit unsure, which gave rise to uncertainty in Elena. She prepared herself. Nothing was out of the question anymore.

"Okay, I'm ready."

"Like I said before, most of my grimoires don't go back far enough for the hybrid ritual, it's way too old. But I did find something in my oldest one, a description of it that included a word I've never seen before - virgino, in Latin."

Elena paused at that. She couldn't be hearing this correctly.

"As in...?"

"Yep. Virgin." Okay, so she had heard correctly.

"So what does that mean?"

“Elena, you don’t have to just be a doppelgänger… you have to be a virgin. So, theoretically, if you lost it, the ritual wouldn’t work.”

Elena's brows furrowed in confusion. She'd never heard that part of the ritual before. She wondered how accurate this description of the ritual could possibly be.

“Are you serious?”

“Yes, but there’s a catch…” She heard Bonnie's voice grow more dim, and she knew it was nothing good.

“Of course there is. What is it, Bonnie?”

“Well... in order to ensure total loss of purity... it has to be with an Original.”

・❥・

“Thank you for meeting with me, Elijah.”

Elena’s fingers fidgeted around the coffee mug, her nails tracing over the width of it with anxiety. Elijah inclined his head politely, sitting opposite her at the Mystic Grill. It was far from a private place to speak, but Elena chose it for that very reason. Though the conversation was awkward at best, she didn’t know how she’d react if the two of them were alone. She didn’t even know how he’d react.

Despite all his wisdom, she knew he’d never guess why she’d asked to meet here.

“To what do I owe the pleasure, Elena?”

He cut a handsome figure, wearing a perfectly tailored black suit that accentuated his shoulders with a matching black collared shirt underneath. The shirt opened at his throat and exposed the smallest peek of his clavicle. His hair was shorter now, brushed back and away from his face. A gold ring encircled one of his fingers. Noticing these details certainly wasn’t helping her nervousness. She swallowed the dryness in her throat at sound of the word pleasure.

Their “relationship” was built on shifting sands and she knew that, a tentative trust that both she and he tested the boundaries of. This would certainly cross the next three boundaries.

“Well, Bonnie was reading more into the hybrid ritual, trying to find a loophole. Trying to find our opportunity to kill Klaus.”

Elijah’s eyes searched hers but he said nothing in response, patiently waiting for her to continue. The words seem to spill out of her mouth as slowly as possible, yet her heart rammed in her rib cage. She was grateful he couldn't read her mind but doubtless he heard that at least.

What if he says no? How embarrassing would that be? And if it happened, how would she even explain to Stefan and Damon why suddenly the ritual wouldn’t work? Why it had to be Elijah?

“Yes.”

His smooth voice broke her from her reverie. She cleared her throat and tried again, taking another sip of her coffee. Matt had courteously slipped an extra something in her coffee when she’d asked, figuring even a drop of liquid courage would do her some good. It burned like a low ember in her stomach. Elijah’s tea stood in front of him, untouched.

“She found one other way that the ritual could be dismantled, apart from all the other options.” The other options being actually dying, becoming a vampire, etc. She’d gladly give her life if it meant her friends and town were safe, but killing Klaus would ensure safety forever. She had to at least try.

“Apparently, it’s not just the sacrifice of the doppelgänger… it’s the sacrifice of a virginal doppelgänger. So if the doppelgänger is no longer... you know, it won't work.”

Elijah’s brow furrowed, and she held some small victory in the fact that she was able to catch him so completely off guard. It made her feel less ridiculous in suggesting this, but also showed that not even the Originals knew all.

“But how can this be? I’ve never heard of such a requirement.”

“I guess it’s just one of the old failsafes from that era, tied in with the idea of innocence and purity in the face of…” She trailed off hesitantly.

“Evil.” He finished for her with a slow smile. She allowed herself a small smile in return.

When silence settled upon the conversation once more, Elijah took up the mantle, shifting to lean closer to her across the table. “And I assume you are a-“

“Yes.” The word was barely a whisper but she knew he heard it loud and clear.

Elijah raised his brows in some surprise, a smirk crossing his lips for the briefest of flashes. His hands quickly moved the teacup to the side of the table, the drink long forgotten. His fingers tapped slowly at the wooden table in thought, and Elena took a small breath into her lungs and held it.

“Forgive me, but with both Salvatore’s at your heels, and if I recall their history with Katerina-“ Elijah’s palm turned upwards, his eyes casting downwards for a moment.

“I am not Katherine.”

Then his gaze flickered up to hers, amusement clear in his warm brown eyes. She thought she saw a small look of admiration somewhere in those eyes.

“No. You are certainly not, Elena.”

Elena took another sip of the coffee, begging for the alcohol to provide some inspiration. As it was, her words were failing her and they hadn’t even gotten to the brunt of it. Part of her hoped he’d ascertain it himself without her even needing to say it. Though she wouldn’t be surprised if he wanted to hear he’d say it either. Elijah was a noble man, and he ensured any and all terms of a deal were clear. He was the key to their plan to kill Klaus, and innuendos would never do, not when there was so much on the line. Thankfully, he wasn’t one for vulgarity either.

“So, if I’m understanding correctly, there’s only one thing left for you to do.” The amusement still never left Elijah’s eyes and it made her squirm in her chair. His gaze was so intent and heavy on her, his presence commanding. He was a man unlike she’d ever known. “But I’m assuming there’s a reason you called me here.”

"Yes." Here goes nothing. "The only way to ensure the total-“ she cleared her throat again. “-loss of purity is for it to be with an Original.”

Realization dawned on his features in the blink of an eye. Then, ever so slowly, she watched his face darken with something else. Her eyes dropped back to her fingers, nails digging into her nail beds. She wanted to disappear, to melt right into her chair.

“And further ensure the division of the family.” Elijah murmured. “If it can only be an Original, then only Niklaus’s own family can betray him.”

A small knot of fear tied itself in Elena’s stomach. If he refused, if he changed his mind about killing Klaus, all hope was lost. She tried her best to gauge his reaction, but he was unreadable at best, a stone statue at worst. Elijah never let his hand slip, and she could no more understand him than she could an ancient language.

Suddenly, her nerves got the better of her. The caffeine outweighed the alcohol, and she felt herself standing to her feet, grabbing her bag from the back of the chair.

“I’m sorry, this was a ridiculous idea. We’ll find another way-“ She took no more than a step away from the table, prepared to flee the building when she felt his hand take hers gently.

“Elena.”

He pulled on her hand slightly, just enough that she stepped back towards him and towards the table. Even in the smallest, most delicate of gestures, she felt his strength thrumming in his fingertips. She turned to face him, and he’d stood to his full height, his broad frame dwarfing hers.

It was then that she allowed herself the opportunity to even process what she was asking. She’d been so caught up in trying to kill Klaus, prevent any more innocent lives lost, that she hadn’t thought about what this would. mean. Her and Elijah. Together.

A flash of their bodies intertwining appeared in her mind, the heat of his hand on hers suddenly feeling like a searing flame on her skin. The knot of fear began to dissolve, and something else pooled in her lower stomach.

The same feeling she saw in his eyes just then.

Four little words, and despite herself, she felt her heart flutter.

“You have my word.”

・❥・

“I can’t believe this is happening.” Bonnie repeated for the fifth time that evening. Elena shot her a half annoyed glance, to which Bonnie grinned in response.

“I know.” Elena repeated for the sixth. All too well. Though she had a feeling she had no real idea.

Elena sat down into the bed with a quiet sigh. Bonnie had brought the grimoire where she found the loophole so Elena could see it for herself. Though her Latin was nonexistent, there was no denying that word. Virgin. She'd even brought a few extras she didn't have time to go through earlier in case they had any other information to offer. So far, nothing. The books shifted slightly towards Elena in their careful piles as her weight settled into the covers.

“What about Stefan? I thought you guys were waiting.”

The reminder of Stefan struck a chord in her heart, but one that had been struck too many times lately. She believed in her and Stefan’s love, but with him firmly in Klaus’s grasp, she could hardly recognize him. As it was, she had little time to wait.

“Stefan’s lost right now, Bonnie. And if this could get him away from Klaus and save his life, I’m going to try.”

“And Damon?” Bonnie offered quietly, with some note of derision in her voice. Elena knew how she felt about him, but there was also no denying Damon's obvious feelings for her, and how protective he'd become. It was almost too much to think about. Instead, she stood up and began aimlessly tidying the room, putting things away in random drawers. What does one do to prepare for this situation?

“He doesn’t know- he can’t know. He’ll lose it. He’ll say it’s a bad plan.” Along with a few choice words for Elijah and maybe a dagger dipped in white oak ash. Then they’d have no plan.

“Well I wouldn’t say it’s a good plan.” Bonnie responded sardonically.

Elena’s mouth dropped in fake disbelief as she put her diary away.

“This was your idea!”

“You’re the one going through with it! And I mean, Elijah? He’s kind of scary.”

“As opposed to who?” Elena responded with a mirthless laugh. “And he’s not that scary. He’s just… aristocratic."

“No? Oh.” Bonnie teased coyly. “I forgot how well you’re acquainted…" She cocked a brow at Elena's pattering around the room "Are you actually cleaning right now?”

“I don’t know what I’m supposed to do.” She admitted. “How does one seduce an Original?”

Bonnie started flipped some of the grimoires closed, and Elena looked up nervously at the clock. He would arrive in 30 minutes. Anticipation buzzed through her veins at the thought. Bonnie slid off the bed once the books allowed a path and stood in front of Elena, taking her hands in hers as a show of strength.

“I'm sorry, Elena, this is a big deal. Your first time but it comes with the caveat of saving your life and everybody else's. Not to mention it's happening with a thousand year old vampire. Just be your normal, charming self. This is a common interest of killing Klaus and nothing more.”

“Right,” Elena smiled. Nothing more. Right?

“But-“ Bonnie reached behind her and pulled one of the drawers she’d just shut open and retrieved her hair brush. With a shrug, she handed it to Elena. “Couldn’t hurt.”

Elena smirked and took the hairbrush from her hands, combing it through her locks gently.

・❥・

After Bonnie left, Elena paced for another ten minutes incessantly. She'd brushed her hair, done minimal makeup, but left herself in her usual outfit of jeans and a tank top. Anything else felt like it was trying too hard.

She sat down onto edge of the bed and glanced at her phone. A few messages from Damon and Caroline. Nothing from Stefan. She dropped the phone onto the bed and waited. With each passing minute, she felt her heart beginning to race faster and faster.

This is insane. How is this my life?

The fact that it was happening in her bedroom was even stranger. Elijah had been inside of her house before but this was something else entirely. He'd been perfectly gentlemanly in allowing her to choose the location, but there weren't many options. Elijah had no permanent domicile as of yet, and a hotel room felt too seedy, even the nicest one in town; though he'd even assured her he'd take care of the cost.

Only after she ensured Ric and Jeremy wouldn't be home did she suggest her place, a small level of familiarity in this situation. She wasn't afraid per se, but the way her body reacted to his was jarring. There was something deeply forbidden about it, and she couldn't help but be drawn to it. Being home would help ground her.

His knock came, short and sweet. Elena's heart nearly jumped out of her chest as she stood up and walked down the stairs to let him in. Her fingers curling around the knob, she took one more quiet breath. No going back now.

She opened the door to Elijah standing on her porch, clad in his usual tailored suit. The black fabric looked heavy and luxurious with the way it laid on his shoulders, accentuating his broad frame. The dark shirt he was wearing that afternoon was replaced with a crisp white one, and the tie he wore was black to match the jacket. There was stubble on his jaw, she noticed with a note of appreciation. It gave him a slightly more disheveled look than usual. Her nervousness began to melt away at the sight of his handsome face and his calm demeanour.

He was wearing the same gold ring as before, and she only noticed when she spotted the crimson red rose in his fingers. With a smile, he extended it to her. "Elena."

"Elijah." Elena reached out and took the rose from his hands, giving a slight smirk. "A flower. Very symbolic of you."

Elijah let out a quiet laugh. "I assure you, I meant no such innuendo. It didn't seem right to come without a gift."

"Well, it's beautiful. Please come in."

He stepped in as invited and she shut the door behind him. Now that they were well and truly alone, her heart picked up the pace once more, but she busied her fingers with the stem of the rose so as not to betray it. The man was a thousand years old and undoubtedly had known countless women. Her experience to his could not pale more in comparison. "I'm sorry, this is a bit... overwhelming."

"Undoubtedly."

Elijah stepped towards her slowly, closing the distance between them more than they ever had before. Elena stared upwards at him, her eyes barely at the level of his lips. His gaze was compelling but warm as it fell upon her, and she felt a breath hitch in her lungs at the nearness of him. "I want to make this experience comfortable for you, Elena. Your terms."

Elena nodded slowly, swallowing back her saliva. "Should we go upstairs?"

Elijah inclined his head with a small smile to which Elena smiled back. As intimidating as he could be, he was trying to put her at ease, and she appreciated it. She led the way up the stairs and to her bedroom, Elijah trailing behind. Once upstairs, she placed the rose delicately on the top of the dresser and then turned to face him.

Elijah looked incredibly out of place in her bedroom. Finely dressed and with an air of sophistication only a thousand years on earth could garner, he was like an ancient relic pulled straight from the history books. He looked better suited to a battlefield than a modern-day bedroom. But if he was ill at ease, he certainly never showed it.

His eyes met hers again and Elena's stomach flip-flopped. He had barely even touched her yet, and she was already reacting so viscerally to the vampire in front of her. Again, snapshots of their bodies entwining flashed in her mind like a promise of what was to come. Amusement crossed his chiseled features and he raised a hand to gently place his thumb and forefinger on her chin. "I can hear your heart beating, Elena."

Beating was an understatement. It felt like it was about to pop out of her chest. His touch on her face certainly wasn't helping that matter.

"Are you nervous?"

She thought before answering, their eyes searching each other, trying to gauge the other's feelings. But despite what she'd initially thought... she wasn't. Excitement thrummed within her, her arousal beginning to simmer at the seductive way he seemed to be looking down at her. He knew exactly what kind of power he held, and he enjoyed it. It was unnerving, but it was thrilling.

"No."

"Good. I want you to enjoy yourself, Elena. To let go and give in." To me, his eyes seemed to say. Give in to me completely. She managed a nod but found that words had escaped her completely. Was he moving in closer?

His fingers never dropped from her chin and she had nowhere to look but directly at him. Warmth bloomed from inside her stomach, her body signalling just how much she wanted to give in.

Using his other hand, he lifted a single finger to trace over the curvature of her neck, beginning from her collarbone all the way up to where her jaw began. His finger pressed just so behind her jawbone where her pulse was strongest, and she felt her blood sing in response to him.

"I meant what I said. Your terms. You're in complete control."

"I know..." Closer still. Their lips were a hairsbreadth apart.

"Yes?" She could feel the smile in his lips.

"Yes."

His lips met with hers and she felt herself crumble. His kiss was as captivating as she could've imagined, without a trace of insistence. He was telling the truth; the pace was in her hands. At first, shyness won out. Elena returned the kiss slowly at first, but as her lips deepened, so did his.

His hand had fallen from her face and instead, he pressed his palm to to her mid-back. It dipped no lower. Ever the gentleman, she thought, unable to supress the smile between their kiss.

He seemed to sense her amusement because his hand fell lower not a moment later, placing itself into the small of her back. He pressed her body closer to his, her chest landing flush with his as though he were challenging her.

Something sparked within Elena as the warmth of Elijah's hand spread through her hips. A need to know, a need to discover. She found the courage to touch him back, raising her hands to slip over his shoulders, fingers delicately tracing over the back of his neck. The fabric of his suit was soft to the touch, his skin softer still.

She'd done some things with Matt and Stefan before, but with Elijah, it felt as though she knew nothing at all. In this, she wanted him to take the lead. It seemed he intended to to some degree as both of his hands came down to her waist, the large expanse of his hands burning through her shirt. Desire began to take over, and their kisses grew deeper still. She ran her fingernails along the nape of his neck, coming down to scratch over his shoulders.

His hands pressed into her hips again before he broke the kiss. Elena felt how flushed she was, cheeks pink and lips swollen from his amorousness. She saw a muscle work in his jaw and he regarded her with half-lidded eyes. He raised a graceful hand and indicated towards the bed with a half-smirk.

"Please."

Elena pulled herself away from Elijah and obeyed, sitting on the side of the bed before lying down. Not once did she look away from him as he shrugged his jacket off, then loosened the knot of his tie. Desire pooled in the deepest parts of her at the sign of him so untidy. He looked like every woman's dream as he unbuttoned the cuffs of his white shirt and rolled them up slowly, exposing tanned forearms corded with lean muscle.

He returned to her, eyes appreciatively slipping from her neck downwards to her chest and her hips. "Good girl."

Slowly, he leaned down and captured her lips in a kiss again, his arms on either side of her head. The night had fallen in earnest now, the single lamp she left on providing a faint warm glow in the room. Elijah’s body swallowed her, the broadness of his shoulders and the dimness of the room entombed her in what felt like an eternity of him.

Elena reached up and twirled her fingers around his tie, giving an experimental tug to pull him down closer to her. He chuckled against her mouth and she did it again, pleased with the way his weight settling on her felt.

"Not that good." She whispered against his mouth.

"No? Show me."

Passion reignited, his mouth was suddenly everywhere. On hers, trailing kisses along her jaw, her collarbone, between the valley of her breasts. When his mouth stopped where her shirt ended, his fingers tugged upwards at the bottom of it, and she broke the kiss to pull it over her head.

With practiced ease, he unbuttoned her jeans and began to tug them down. She sat up slightly to help pull them off, then fell back in only her bra and underwear. Just before he could continue, she reached for one of his hands and tentatively placed it between her legs. Elijah raised his brows at her but acquiesced.

One arm outstretched between her thighs, the other bent as he hovered over her, he gazed down at her with darkened eyes. "I think you'll be good for me."

Elena's breathing pitched into a soft moan as she felt Elijah's fingers press against her underwear. Moving softly but with intent, his index and middle finger rubbed upwards, careful to barely brush against her covered clit, just where she needed him most. Her hips shifted at the pleasure, lips parting as another moan escaped her lips. His fingers were trained and precise.

"Won't you?" He asked, and she could hardly piece together a sentence. His voice was deep enough it reverberated in her chest. She felt herself growing wetter and she knew he could feel it too.

"Yes, Elijah."

"Mm."

She reached for his tie again to pull him down into another kiss. In the meantime, his fingers brushed the edge of her underwear aside and as his fingers slipped against her pussy, she gasped into his mouth. Finally, after a few moments, his fingers slowly came to her clit, and she felt every nerve sizzle in her body at the feeling.

He pressed another kiss to her lips as his fingers slowly slipped inside of her, and she suppressed another moan into his mouth. They moved slowly, collecting her wetness and teasing her. Her hips bucked lightly, chasing the feeling.

"So innocent... What do you want, Elena?" His fingers paused over her clit and she let out a soft whine at the cessation.

"I want you to touch me, Elijah. Please."

His touch felt like electricity as his fingers returned to run against her clit, and her body tensed as the pleasure swam through her. She already felt spent and yet he was still fully clothed.

Her hands reached for his shirt, but his hands captured hers before she could even the score. "Not yet. Not until I think you've had enough."

Her head and shoulders fell back onto the bed as his fingers picked up their pace. He alternated between slipping inside of her and pressing his thumb against her clit, until the energy building inside of her threatened to spill over. Her hands found his shoulders and her fingernails dug into his shirt at the pleasure, brow creasing as it threatened to overtake her.

Finally, with one last roll of his fingers, she felt the wave crash into her, sending ripples of sparks down to her very fingers and toes. If he were a mortal man, the grip she had on his body would've left marks. Elijah's mouth swallowed the last of the moans escaping from Elena's lips as his fingers rode out her orgasm, his thumb occasionally brushing against her sensitive clit, causing her to jump.

"I like the sight of you like this, sweet Elena. Undone, writhing. Your pleasure in my hands."

"And yours in mine." She panted.

Elena pushed up on Elijah's shoulders and he allowed it, the positions reversing until she straddled his hips. His hands came up to her waist, gripping it as she slowly rolled them over his. His desire was evident in the bulge of his pants, and it gave her immense satisfaction to know she had the same effect that he did on her.

Her fingers made quick work of his belt, unbuttoning while pressing her hand against the outline of him. He released a quiet groan at the feeling of her touch, and she wanted to hear more. His fingers came away from her hips to divest himself of his tie properly, slipping the satin from around his neck.

She slid from off his hips and stood at the foot of the bed, leaning over to tug him towards her by the loop of his trousers. He stood, his shirt half unbuttoned and creased, and his belt hanging around his hips. Elena felt herself grow wetter as she sank to her knees in front of him, and he watched with dark eyes as she began to pull his trousers and underwear down, just low enough to release his cock.

He was long and thick in her hand, and his head fell back as she leaned forward and licked a trail from shaft to tip. Slowly, she took him into her mouth, licking and sucking his heavy length until she could take him no more.

A deep growl emanated from Elijah’s chest, his hand coming up to rest against the back of her head. He let her set the pace, but his fingers knotted themselves in her hair as she swirled her tongue around his tip, tasting every last inch of him.

“You wicked little thing.” He sighed, his jaw clenching and his muscle tensing. She could see he desperately wanted to move his hips, but stayed in full control as she pressed him deeper into her mouth.

She placed her hands on his thighs, gripping the fabric of his trousers to give herself more balance, and she felt his fingers brush the hair away from her face and behind her ear before lightly collecting it into his grip. The small gesture made her heart skip as she set a quick rhythm.

He groaned again in pleasure, allowing himself a few more moments before delicately tugging on her hair to bring her back up to standing position. In a flash, the moment she stood, he had her trapped against the wall, his chest pressing into her shoulder blades. Her fingers bent and scratched against the wall, seeking purchase as her lungs seemed to give out. His scent enveloped her. His mouth was hot against her ear.

“So innocent and yet so wicked. So ready to be defiled. Will you give into me, Elena?” Give in, her mind whispered.

She found herself pushing back against the wall to be closer to him, the outline of his body providing delicious heat against hers. She felt his strength emanating from every muscle, both hands pressed on either side of her. Using one hand, he tilted her jaw until her neck was exposed to him. For a moment, she thought he would drink from her, but instead, he placed gentle half-kiss-half-bites along the slope of her neck. His hand then dipped to her back where he quickly unhooked her bra and slipped it off her shoulders. Her underwear was tugged down until it fell. Goosebumps rose all over her skin at the thought of being fully naked in front of Elijah Mikaelson.

“I want to give in, Elijah. Give me all of you.”

Her back was pressed into the mattress before she realized, her body softly settling on the bed. Elijah undid the last of the buttons on his shirt and pulled off his trousers.

“So beautiful.” He murmured, his hand coming up to cup her breast, thumb tracing over her pebbled nipple. Elena sighed at the feeling.

Elijah’s body was just as beautiful, she thought. The expanse of his chest was strong, his abdomen and arms both lean with taut muscle. A deep V-line followed into his hips, his cock erect.

Just as their lips moved to reconnect, Elena’s eyes met his again. Suddenly, this became more than just breaking a ritual. Both were entrenched in their desire, desperate to for release in the other’s body. Nervousness bubbled up inside of her again as she realized it was time. Everything else she had done before, but not this. She knew generally what to expect of sex, but certainly not when it came to a thousand year old vampire being her first.

“I’ll be gentle.”

Elena nodded at his kind words, fingers reaching up to his shoulders again. He balanced on one arm as the other reached out to touch her slick heat, and instantly, she felt the unreleased desire come flooding back. Satisfied, Elijah slowly guided himself between her legs.

Her chest arched upwards at the feeling. Heat spread from her hips as her pussy stretched to accommodate his length. True to his word, he moved slowly as he rolled his hips towards her, sinking deeper into her with every breath. She could feel him gauging her reaction and moving only so long as she allowed it.

Elena felt as though she might burst from the feeling, her breathing devolving into moans as he settled himself to the hilt inside of her. One of her legs was bent, the other laid straight, and one of his hands gripped her thigh as he used the other to balance himself over her, watching her face.

Once the burn of the stretch passed, pleasure began to trickle in. He felt immense inside of her, overwhelming in every aspect of his body as he stilled his hips against hers.

“Are you alright?”

“Yes- yes.” Her eyes fluttered closed.

“Does it feel good, Elena?”

He slowly rolled his hips back and she let out an involuntarily moan at the feeling of him moving inside of her. When he rolled his hips forward again, pleasure erupted from within her, and her nails dug into the skin of his shoulders.

“Yes, yes!“

Elijah pressed a kiss to her lips, and obeyed. He set a slow but sensual rhythm to his hips as he moved in and out of her with deliberate care. Any discomfort long forgotten, Elena felt her own hips moving in tandem, hissing in delight at the friction their hips created.

He chuckled at her reaction. “So good for me.”

The praise was like an extra douse of kerosene to the flame.

“Please, Elijah- more.”

“More what? Hm?”

All the while, he never stopped moving, his hips picking up a faster pace. In that moment, the hand resting on her thigh slipped between their two entwined bodies. His fingers immediately located her clit, and the combination of him pumping in and out of her, and his thumb pad rolling against her clit, her moan nearly turned into a scream. She could hardly think past her own name.

“Use your words, Elena. Tell me what you want.”

But she couldn’t. Her body shook with pleasure, her nails digging crescent shaped impressions into his skin.

“I’m so close, please…”

His fingers and hips slowed down ever so slightly, and she whined at the feeling of her release slowly ebbing away.

“Do you want more?” He asked again.

“Yes.” Her voice was thick with desperation. All she could think about was the way his hips moved in between her thighs. The length of him hit all of the most inner parts, sending shockwaves of pleasure up her spine. She wanted more of anything he would give her.

He slowly pulled out of her, releasing his grip on her and flipped their positions once more. He kneeled behind her on the bed while she lay flat on her stomach, then he slowly moved until his body hovered over hers.

She pressed her thighs together, trying to gain back some friction, frustrated at the loss of him. She felt him press a kiss to her shoulder blade and in the same moment, he lifted her hips and slowly slid back into her.

She gasped at the feeling, her hips rising to meet his, and he settled back onto his knees, gripping her hips as he set a quicker pace. She felt herself dripping between her thighs, moans slipping past her lips as Elijah thrusted in and out.

She was desperate for release, and as his hips stuttered a bit, she knew he was too. He reached forward for her, pulling her back towards him until her back was pressed to his chest once more. One arm encircled her waist while the other hand reached for her clit. She nearly folded at the feeling, but his arm kept her to him, and suddenly she was right at the precipice of her release once more.

“Will you be good for me, Elena?”

She managed a nod, fingers digging into his forearm. His cock and fingers were relentless against her, and she felt like she was about to scream.

“Yes, I’ll be good for you, Elijah, I’m so- so close.”

“So good...” He murmured. “Cum for me.”

The pleasure erupted inside of her, her hips stuttering and her pussy clenching around him as she reached the brink of orgasm. Elijah groaned at the feeling of her coming undone around him, his hand falling away from her clit. He gripped her to him and thrusted inside of her a handful more times before spilling inside of her. Elena relished in the feeling of him in those last moments before he released her.

It was done.

Elena collapsed onto the bed with Elijah close by, unable to move, to think, even to breathe. He shifted himself over so as not to crush her, the pair panting deeply in the thralls of their desire.

The phrase total loss of purity echoed in her mind as she opened her eyes and looked upon Elijah. The shameless way she begged for him, the way her hips moved in search of him. She had corrupted herself entirely. Defiled by an Original.

In more ways than one, they were linked together forever.

After a minute, their breathing settled into silence.

“Do you think it’ll work?” She whispered.

Elijah looked over at her, sitting up slightly. He raised a hand to gently move one of the strands of her hair away from her face. It felt as intimate as anything they'd just done. The heat having died down between them, there was nothing left to do but face the music.

"I have long learned to keep hope at bay whenever Niklaus is involved."

Elena nodded. Of course he was right, but she tried not to look too concerned. He seemed to notice.

"I hope you don't regret this night too deeply if it does not. I recognize what a sacrifice this must've been for you."

Elena shook her head, mirroring him as she slowly sat up as well.

"I don't regret it, Elijah."

He smiled softly, and she returned it.

"Neither do I."

・❥・

The next morning after Elijah left, Damon arrived at her house. She could tell he was relieved that she was indeed alive, but simultaneously annoyed at having been ignored. He wore his usual leather jacket, black jeans and boots, with a few strands of black hair falling into his eyes. She couldn't help but compare the two men that were at her door just a few hours apart. A leather jacket and a suit.

"Oh good, you're still standing. Would've been nice to know." He raised his cellphone up as he crossed the threshold. "You know these nifty little things called cellphones? I called like three times."

She'd passed out almost immediately after Elijah had left, though she'd only been able to sleep a few hours before she couldn't ignore Damon any longer.

"Sorry, I just fell asleep. Bonnie and I were going through some old grimoires trying to find something." I hope that's convincing enough. She'd even made sure to shower and change after Elijah had left, not wanting Damon to risk sensing anything had been awry. She led him upstairs back up to her bedroom, desperate to go back to sleep.

"And? Did our witchy encyclopedia find anything?"

"She did, actually."

"Mhm. I bet."

Elena looked over at Damon with a raised brow at his suspicion and he met it with a smirk.

"You hatched a plan, didn't you?" He did the eye thing. Elena blinked and turned away, giving a noncommittal shrug.

"Not really. It was barely a plan."

"Fine, don't tell me." Damon closed the space between them with a single stride until he was looking down at Elena. He gave another smirk. "Just promise me it wasn't anything stupid."

Elena smiled. "You have my w- I mean, I promise."

Damon nodded once, then reached over her shoulder to grab something from her dresser. Elena's heart dropped when Elijah's red rose came into view. Damon twirled it between his fingers with narrowed eyes and a crooked smile.

"What's this, then?"

・❥・

Fin.

#the vampire diaries #the vampire diaries fanfiction #the vampire diaries fic #tvd fic #tvd fanfic #elijah mikaelson #elena gilbert #elejah #elena x elijah #tvd smut #elijah mikaelson x elena gilbert #elijah mikaelson smut #elena gilbert smut #tvd au #tvd au fic #tvd smut au

[sauce-ori-oftheredsand]

Naruto What Ifs #1:

What if Kakashi helped Itachi before the Uchiha Massacre happened?

Welcome to my new series in which I write about my favorite Naruto theories. I most likely have undiagnosed ADHD so I can’t promise consistency but these theories will be DAMN GOOD, so buckle in, send me your theories, and let’s get into it.

Potential TW: mentions of characters’ canonical s*icides

Where in the timeline are we?

Post Shisui’s death, pre-Uchiha massacre. Itachi is still a subordinate of Kakashi, and later still gets promoted to ANBU captain. I will explain why in this post.

How does this play out?

We see the potential for a friendship between Kakashi and Itachi when Kakashi takes Itachi under his wing in the ANBU and trains him. Kakashi shows a level of concern for Itachi (questioning Lord Third whether or not he’s too young for the ANBU), and Itachi shows a level of admiration for Kakashi as he learns under him.

After Shisui’s death, Itachi withdraws into himself and Kakashi notices. He’s very perceptive, and Itachi is usually very reticent, so when he’s contemplating Shisui’s dying wish to protect the village and the Uchiha name with his newly bequeathed eyes and asks Kakashi about his own entrusted Sharingan (given by Obito), Kakashi instantly sees through Itachi’s question and linked it to Shisui’s death instantly.

Kakashi is intelligent, and so of course he would put it together. He asks Itachi if everything is okay. When Itachi closes off and just lies and says “I’m fine”, that’s where this theory diverges from canon.

I think Kakashi left it at that because he was still very much wallowing in his own trauma, and couldn’t devote much energy to it. Understandable, no blame intended.

BUT let’s say for the sake of this theory that Kakashi understood Itachi, after losing his best friend, was most certainly not fine, and decided to take it upon himself to help him because he too had lost multiple best friends, so he understood Itachi completely. Not to mention, Shisui’s official cause of death was suicide, which is the exact way Sakumo died. Kakashi at this point in the timeline is the only person who could have understood Itachi. It’s my headcanon that had they communicated with each other more and grown closer, they would have had a very strong and unbreakable friendship. They have uncanny similarities in my opinion.

So, Kakashi follows Itachi around/snoops around for information on him.

(I also like to think that he would have known Shisui pretty well for a few years at least, they were both ANBU when Shisui died, so I believe Kakashi knew his character enough to know there was something strange about his suicide. This would have also pushed him to look into the issue more.)

He knows at this point that the Uchiha are under suspicion because of his surveillance shifts. It wouldn’t be much of a stretch to say that he could put two and two together and understand that Itachi and Shisui are at the epicenter of the conflict between the Leaf and the Uchiha. His uncertainty about Itachi’s initiation into the ANBU when he was just 11 years old is enough for me to come to the conclusion that Kakashi knew Itachi’s premature promotion was partly political.

To further this, Kakashi himself was promoted so quickly and graduated early partly because they needed more fighters for the war. Yes, he was talented, but the second Hokage created the academy to keep children out of war, yet pre-mature graduation was a loophole the Leaf used when shinobi were needed. This was the case for Itachi as well. He was promoted prematurely in a time of peace, which in my head, should have set off alarm bells in Kakashi’s head.

So, with all of that background knowledge in Kakashi’s mind, when Itachi is promoted to ANBU captain at age thirteen, not long after Shisui’s death, ding ding ding, something is very wrong.

There’s evidence that he had the feeling something was wrong. He warned Itachi not to get involved with the Leaf’s politics. He knew to some degree that Itachi was being positioned for a singular purpose.

So, what if he’d have looked into it more of his own volition? Like he did when he discovered Tenzo, the Wood Style user?

Hiruzen has him walk into the Uchiha compound, he gets mega-bad vibes, feels the need to do something about it. How does he find out?

Well, for one, if he and Itachi had opened up more to each other and formed a working kinship, Itachi could have confided in him. If this happened, I have no doubt Kakashi would have helped him. Especially since he was already aware of Danzo’s tendency to scheme and manipulate (as he’d tried to do to turn Kakashi against Hiruzen and assasinate him after Minato’s death, then also have Kakashi killed by Tenzo). He would have instantly been like “oh? Danzo says killing the clan is the only way to peace? Nope, not on my watch.” And he could have helped Itachi find a peaceful way to avoid the coup then and there. After all of his loss, Kakashi always found a better way and ignored authority when he found it necessary. Also, the second Itachi would have told Kakashi that Shisui died by Danzo’s orders, Kakashi would have no doubt been pissed off and sought justice. Absolutely. Damn that would be so cool to see in a what if episode.

If Itachi hadn’t confided in him, maybe Kakashi, after confessing worry to the Hokage about Itachi, would have learned the information through Hiruzen. Hiruzen granted Shisui autonomy to try and solve the issue, and he gave Kakashi classified information about Wood Style and Orochimaru’s experiments (establishing monumental trust in Kakashi) so I have no doubt he would have told Kakashi in hopes that he could have helped Itachi. At that point, after Kakashi’s persuasion, he could have stripped Danzo of his positions of power before he could order Itachi’s assassination mission.

Kakashi could have been present in negotiation meetings with Fugaku, Lord Third, and Itachi, and using his connection to Obito, could have pleaded the case of honoring his dying wish to protect the village. Maybe he could have even offered his Sharingan back as a way of showing Fugaku respect for the Uchiha.

This has been on my mind for a while. I’m even tempted to write a fic on this. If you made it this far, thank you, I hope you enjoyed. I’ll be back with more theories <3

#naruto #naruto shippuden #itachi #kakashi #itachi uchiha #kakashi hatake #uchiha massacre #shisui uchiha #naruto theory #naruto what if #itachi and kakashi could have really had a strong friendship #i should write another post about their potential #another relationship in the hole :(

[rosanna-writer]

we said hello and your eyes look like coming home (5/?)

Summary: A canon-divergent AU where the bond snaps for Rhys on Calanmai, Feyre unwittingly accepts it, and Fire Night magic proves to be more transformative than anyone bargained for. Feyre drags a mate she hardly knows out from Under the Mountain, then puts him back together as war with Hybern approaches. Warnings: dubious consent, canon-typical sexual violence, canon-typical violence Rating: Explicit Chapter Word Count: ~3.3k

A/N: All the typical Under the Mountain trigger warnings apply here. There isn't any weight talk in this chapter, but there is a brief mention of skipping meals. A few lines for dialogue are also lifted directly from ACOTAR book one.

Feyre goes Under the Mountain.

Read on AO3 or you can find the fifth chapter below the readmore.

ch. 1 - the altar is my hips | ch 2. - an arrowhead leading us home | ch. 3 - by the way, i just may like some explanations | ch. 4 - can't not think of all the cost | ch. 5 - honey i rose up from the dead

The next six weeks were the longest of my life—I didn't hear from Rhys again. Even with my own shields up, his feelings leaked through occasionally, none of them positive. Despair, guilt, rage, violation, pain, disgust.

At night, my dreams were glimpses through his eyes of Amarantha's cruel court Under the Mountain. When it was nothing more than heads on spikes or lashes across a back, I slept through the night. Sometimes, though, it was his hands and mouth all over Amarantha in her bedroom, and on those nights, the urge to vomit ripped me from sleep and sent me running towards the toilet. The dreams were so vivid, I could still taste her on my tongue when I woke up. I'd never thought the sick, burning taste of bile could be a mercy until it erased the evidence of what she'd been doing to Rhys.

I took to skipping dinner, just so there would be less to hurl up.

I could only hope that if it worked the opposite way for him, the sight of the city—Velaris, as I learned it was called—helped him through it. But he clearly didn't want to talk, so I couldn't be sure.

When Amarantha didn't feature in the nightmares, it was the Spring Court. Sometimes I dreamed about Andras killing me in revenge, sometimes it was Tamlin dragging me back and forcing me to kill and kill and kill. Those dreams never made me vomit, just left me with a sense of guilt that felt like a physical thing weighing me down and pinning me to the bed.

On those nights, I'd stare at the ceiling and wonder if the blame truly lay at Tamlin's feet for sending Andras to die, Amarantha's for cursing Tamlin in the first place, or mine for being so quick to shoot. I couldn't have known Andras wouldn't hurt me—and had every reason to believe he would—but maybe if I had something other than ice and hatred in my heart, I could have figured it out. The uncertainty meant I'd never be able to scrub that particular stain from my soul.

During the day, I trained. I had no hope of besting a faerie in combat, but that didn't mean it was useless to learn. Cassian ran me through drills intended to make me more nimble, harder to grab onto and winnow to another location. And after I'd mentioned chucking my hunting knife at Tamlin when he'd taken me away, Azriel found me a properly balanced set of throwing knives and taught me to use them. Even if I never landed a hit, the distraction of blades sailing through the air might buy me time to run and hide. Mor wrestled me to the ground as I practiced bargaining, making sure I could close loopholes even as she twisted my arm behind my back. Amren taught me to shield my mind, though it was slow going without an actual daemati to practice with. I didn't dare ask Rhys.

When we weren't in the training ring, I poured over maps of passageways Under the Mountain. There was always the chance that Amarantha had rearranged things in the last fifty years, but I memorized it all anyway. The four of them quizzed me on the key players in Amarantha's court and their allegiances, or at least, what we knew of it from the rumors that drifted back to Velaris. Information could also be its own sort of armor.

Amren was researching exactly what my unfinished bargain tattoo with the Night Court could mean. Every so often, she brought the books to the training ring and sat in the sun to read as we practiced and sparred. Cassian sometimes tried to goad her into joining us, but she never did. 

From what I could gather, Amren and Mor had their hands full keeping the Night Court running in Rhys's absence, and their inability to leave Velaris only complicated matters. Cassian and Azriel were often pulled away to attend to their own duties, too.

Even with so much work to distract us, we were all anxious and restless.

After a few days, I moved my things to the House of Wind, tired of feeling like an invader in someone else's house and a burden for needing to be flown to the training ring. Mor, Cassian, and Azriel were staying there too, and we had an unspoken agreement not to discuss how little we were all sleeping. I wasn't the only one who overtrained to the point of exhaustion—sometimes it was easier to be too worn out to feel or think.

Perhaps it was just because at this point, I might have been able to get used to anything, but after a week at the House of Wind, I realized I was comfortable here. There was less formality than in Spring, and even as she sipped blood, Amren was less frightening when she dropped by just to sit at the dinner table and bicker. Mor and Cassian both offered to pick up paints for me, but I declined every time. It felt selfish to sit and paint while Rhys was suffering.

And I wasn't sure I was ready to face whatever would be staring back at me from the canvas when I was done.

The four of them took to playing cards, something Cassian told me they'd done with other soldiers during the War, when everything either had been short bursts of danger or long, dull periods of waiting and dread between battles. Killing time before Tamlin's curse ran out felt like the latter. Azriel offered to teach me the rules—and some of the strategies that won him more games than the others combined—but I was content to just watch, sitting on the sofa with a blanket around my shoulders and listening to them talk. At times, I was still acutely aware that everyone there but me had centuries of shared history, but I could live with that.

In Night, I was just Feyre, not Feyre-the-human, and that made all the difference.

The night before I left, we didn't talk about what I was going to do. I didn't want to be fussed over, even if I was preparing to run straight into danger. And now I knew that they'd seen enough comrades off to war that all four of them knew how to navigate the situation. Fretting too much might just make me panic and lose my nerve.

That morning, I changed back into the clothes I'd come here wearing—it wouldn't do to let anyone conclude where I'd been. I took my bow and a few knives, ones that wouldn't have a maker's mark that could be traced back to the Night Court. Mor winnowed me to the very edge of the wards, glamoured me to hide my scent and tattoos, and gave me one last wordless hug.

I headed south for the caves.

Something akin to relief washed over me as I walked. Part of it was almost certainly the mating bond—I'd always feel a bit better when I was getting closer to Rhys. But beyond that, it felt good to be actually doing something for once. Nothing rankled me more than inaction in the face of a problem, whether that was my family's money troubles or Amarantha.

When I crossed the Night Court's border, back into the cave, my stomach flipped. I stood stock-still in the entrance for a while, just letting my eyes adjust before I pressed forward. I took a few deep breaths, willing the instinct to turn and run back to safety to subside.

I followed the path back the way I'd come after Calanmai, not sure where I was going beyond a general direction. Save the occasional drip of water in the distance, the cave was silent. This wasn't like hunting in the woods, where there was still distant birdsong or rustling leaves. This was a place devoid of life.

I lost all sense of time, but at some point, the cave walls became something unnatural, deliberately hewn out of the rock. A hall. I was close, then. A part of me wanted to tug on the bond, to send out I'm here I'm here I'm here, but that would likely prove deadly. I needed to get my bearings.

I turned another corner and found myself in a passageway lit by torches. The firelight wasn't strong, but after so much darkness, the light hurt my eyes. I pressed against a wall, trying to conceal myself in a shadow while I let them adjust again.

As I waited for the pain to fade, long, bony fingers wrapped around my arm. I bit the inside of my cheek to hold back a scream.

"Hello," a voice said, and at least it was a voice I recognized, even as I suppressed a shudder. The Attor. "What's something like you doing here?"

I let it drag me and realized we were heading towards the throne room. Or at least, that's where it was on the maps. The thought of getting closer to Amarantha ignited my anger, burning away the last of my fear. Faeries we passed leered at me, not a single familiar face among them.

As the Attor pulled me through the enormous carved stone doors, I felt the bond light up in my chest. Music played in the distance, and the throne room was crowded with fae—a party of sorts, and Rhys was among them somewhere.

The Attor hurled me forward, and I stumbled but didn't fall to my knees. I raised my head and looked at Amarantha through my own eyes for the first time. She lounged on an ebony throne, picking at her nails, the nails I'd seen scratching Rhys's skin too many times to count.

But the sound of my name pulled my attention away from her.

"Feyre?" Tamlin said from his place next to her. "You're alive?"

Even with the golden mask still covering his face, he looked rattled, almost as if he'd seen a ghost. I hadn't known how he'd react, but I hadn't expected him to go so pale.

Amarantha looked right at me and smiled like an adder. "Don't tell me this is the one and only Feyre Archeron," she said.

My blood ran cold. She was not supposed to know my name.

But I couldn't let her see the fear that was clawing at my insides—if my time in the Night Court had taught me anything, it was how to put up a front. I held my chin high and said, "So my reputation precedes me, then?"

Amarantha actually clapped at that, as if I were nothing more than a trained animal who'd just done a trick for her amusement. The crowd tittered behind me. Good. They'd hold off on killing me if I was more fun for them alive.

"Tamlin, you didn't tell me she was so mouthy. It must have made all your attempts to get her to fall in love with you so much more aggravating," Amarantha purred. Tamlin just sat in stony silence, though even from a distance I could see his jaw tighten. He must have recovered from the shock enough to realize that saying anything would just be giving her the satisfaction. Undeterred, Amarantha continued, "But that does beg the question: if Feyre is alive and well, whose corpse did you leave in Tamlin's garden, Rhysand?"

I followed her gaze over to where Rhys was sauntering through the crowd. By now, I'd thought I'd gotten used to the mating bond, but it took every ounce of self-control I had not to run and fling myself at him. And though I really should have been more concerned with who he might have murdered, all I could think about was how unfair it was for anyone to have that refined perfection of his, even when he looked at me as if I were something unpleasant he'd stepped in.

"She wasn't the only mortal out near the Wall on Calanmai, and humans all look the same. I must have mistaken the other one for her," he said.

A lie, of course. Rhys could never mistake someone else for me. I wasn't sure what he was up to, but if it made everyone else believe he'd kill me without a second thought, then we were both safer for it.

Perhaps this had been the dirty work he'd taken care of after sending me away.

Amarantha's voice went sharp as she said, "You're getting sloppy, Rhysand. Don't."

Rhys inclined his head at her, moving with the fluid grace of someone who'd been raised as courtier. "Apologies, my queen," he said, all polish.

I almost lunged for her right then. The hatred must have shown on my face, but I didn't let it go beyond that. Even if I could have killed her with my bare hands, Rhys deserved to be the one to pry her apart, not me.

Amarantha turned her attention back to me, and I stared back, waiting for her to look away first. She didn't scare me, even if she should have. "And the other question," she said, her voice now dangerously soft, "is what brought you here and why I shouldn't just kill you now."

A test, but one I was fully prepared for. Without hesitation, I said, "I'm here to claim my High Lord."

"Your High Lord?" Amarantha grinned and turned to Tamlin. A fatal mistake. I'd chosen my words carefully, practiced just so she'd wrongly assume instead of asking exactly who my High Lord was. "Oh, this is just marvelous. You actually got a human worm to love you after all. But she's here just a little too late, and isn't that a tragedy? I don't think I could come up with something more deliciously ironic if I tried."

Tamlin just continued to sit in silence, which was probably for the best.

"You tricked him and bound him unfairly," I said, all righteous anger. Never mind the fact that I was also tricking her at that very moment.

"And you think you're going to do something about it?" Amarantha said with a laugh that revealed her too-sharp teeth.

Perhaps it was reckless, but I said, "Yes."

Her laughter died, and she snarled at me like the beast she truly was. "I should kill you just for that, human. But since the curse has ended, I've been desperate for some new amusement. I'll make a bargain with you."

A familiar, sick sort of satisfaction washed over me, the same feeling I got as I watched the loop of a snare tighten around a rabbit's leg. I hadn't even had to suggest a bargain myself—she was walking into my trap all on her own.

"Complete three tasks of my choosing, and he's yours. Three little tasks. How hard could it be?" she crooned.

"If I complete all three of your tasks, you'll return his magic immediately," I said.

Perhaps it was a leap of faith, but if Rhys's power was returned to him, that was all we needed. He wouldn't let her kill me. Maybe it was the mating bond clouding my judgment, but that was the one thing I'd bet on every time. I decided to take the risk of leaving some loopholes open—if I seemed too adept at bargaining, she might suspect something.

Even that was enough for Amarantha to narrow her eyes at me. I was tempted to glance at Rhys for reassurance, but I couldn't give in to that. Instead, I did my best to look poised—not defiant enough that she'd change her mind and snap my spine, but not cowed, either.

"Lest anyone here think I'm anything but a generous queen—and just to see how smart you really are—I'll give you a faster way out. Before the third task is complete, you just have to solve a riddle to return his magic. You can answer at any time, but if you're incorrect, I'll have your dear Tamlin kill you in whatever way strikes my fancy. How does that sound?"

I turned that over in my mind and didn't find any loopholes to close, at least not with the riddle. The tasks, however, were a different story. "Tell me more about the nature of the tasks."

"One each month, at the full moon."

"And in the meantime?"

The words had left my mouth a little too quickly, and I held back a wince. Amarantha's eyes flashed, and I might have pushed too hard.

"You'll remain in your cell," she said pointedly, "or earn your keep doing whatever work I require."

I hesitated, thinking of the work Rhys had to handle that wouldn't leave him clean. She might make me a murderer again.

For Rhys, I'd do it.

It still left too many other ways for her to rig the tasks, so I said, "Running me ragged would put me at a disadvantage."

"Nothing beyond basic housework. Human filth earns its keep in my court. Are we agreed?"

As she waited for my answer, she tapped her nails on the throne impatiently. The hall had gone silent, the entire court seeming to wait with bated breath for my answer. There would be no more negotiating.

And that was fine with me because I'd gotten exactly what I needed from her, a viable path forward to return Rhys's magic. I suppressed a triumphant smile as I said, "We are agreed."

I'd won the first round, and I'd done it in true Night Court style—concealing everything so well that she didn't even know she'd been bested.

I let her sit back on her throne looking like a cat that had just caught a canary. Magic swept through the room. It left a faint trace in the air, the way the smell of lighting lingered after it struck.

To someone behind me, Amarantha said, "Give her a greeting worthy of my hall."

On instinct, I braced myself to take a hit just how Cassian had taught me—jaw clenched so it wouldn't shatter, knees bent, elbows and forearms protecting my liver and spleen. The Attor hissed. Something hard collided with the side of my face. I rolled my torso to minimize the damage, planting my feet so I wouldn't fall. I tracked the movement of leathery wings and dodged the next punch.

I took two more hits before I finally fell. My bones cracked. By then, I was in too much pain to count how many of them were beating me. All I could do was make a feeble attempt to protect soft places—my eyes, my stomach—until I passed out.

I woke in a cell, laying on my side as if someone had placed me there to ensure I didn't choke on my own vomit. My head swam, but I forced myself to my feet anyway, bracing a hand against the stone wall for balance, even as my legs trembled.

Each breath hurt, which probably meant bruised or broken ribs. I swirled my tongue along my teeth and sighed in relief when I confirmed for myself that all of them were intact despite the taste of blood in my mouth. That must have come from my swollen, split lip. The worst of it all was the throbbing pain in my nose, compounded by what were surely two black eyes. I didn't dare touch my face, but I suspected my nose was broken.

I took deep breaths and willed myself to stay calm enough to think clearly. The injuries hurt, but there was nothing that seemed to need immediate attention or threatened my life. That seemed like a deliberate choice on someone's part.

Fine. I would be fine. It was just pain, and I could white-knuckle my way through that, the way I had endured hunger for years.

Just as I felt confident enough to step away from the wall and bear my own weight, the light from the torches beyond the cell door winked out. I wasn't afraid. There was only one person here whose arrival would be heralded by darkness.

As if on cue, Rhysand appeared. It was the first—though certainly not the last—time that I saw my mate looking absolutely furious with me.

#feysand #feyre archeron #we said hello and your eyes look like coming home

[electricbluebutterflies]

Jess/Leto + unable to tackle life's tasks because they're lost in their feelings

Early-era, PG-ish, also on ao3.

That man is distracting.

None of the past two years have gone according to plan, which is to say that Jessica is not the person she thought she was at all and-

She will blame every person in any way responsible for where she has ended up and what she was when she was sent into the world, and if necessary she will blame her counterpart. Not and never herself. All she has ever done, let these someday be the last words on her lips, is adapt and survive.

It still feels like weakness, on a cold day when she cannot ignore her realities. Her partner had asked for her presence, and now here she is holding herself back from comments about how she would prefer not to be outdoors right now, there is still that programming in her and even deeper a genuine and terrifying desire to make him happy and-

She cannot bridge two worlds forever and survive. She is all too aware of this, as she does not turn away when he reaches for her hand. Sooner or later she’s going to reach a breaking point, and right now she’s not sure how that will turn out. Which part of herself she will have to deny. Which part-

No. She knows how this ends. She has known for months how this ends.

The problem is he likes her even though she did next to nothing to make that happen. Her goal, back when she’d tried to have one, had been respectful distance; leave her alone unless physically desired and she’ll keep herself out of the way and be the perfect ghost she was trained to be. That is not at all what happened, and-

Torn between two worlds, burdened with the obligations of both, drowning, too young for all of this, one person in the entire known universe she has any faith is completely on her side and that’s a bouquet of existential crises she doesn’t have any desire to untangle and-

“Did something happen that I need to know?”

She’s thrown off by the concern, even though this is normal, even though she has at least accepted that her partner worries about her. The rest of his affections are well beyond her baseline at this point, but this part she can handle; she has, as expected, become a part of his systems, and if she’s wounded then so is he by extension, and that’s not supposed to happen, and-

“Just distracted,” she replies, thinking for just a moment that she can deflect.

“That’s unlike you.”

If she felt like picking a fight, already a tendency she has become all too acquainted with, she would say something about how he doesn’t know her at all. But that would be… inaccurate, at this point. She has tried to guard herself as much as she can, but she is still human and of course a regular lover would be able to see through some things, even as often oblivious and convinced of his own perspective as this one is, even-

“You bring it out in me,” she says after a tactful silence. “It’s hard for me to…”

She’s never sure how much she can say, on the rare occasions the nature of her mind comes up. It has become abundantly clear that at least some things about her training were at the very least not normal – so many loopholes of uncertainty and plausible deniability, so many questions she doesn’t know the words for – and beyond that she was never prepared for anyone else to ever wonder. Her expectation was that outsiders would accept her affiliation for what it is and that in turn would excuse quite a bit of apparently strange behavior, but unfortunately her superiors had to go and put her here and-

If she was created for this purpose, as she suspects sometimes, someone else’s judgement was very wrong. She is not as perfect as she should be. She is not-

“Is that a problem?”

Oblivious, and somehow all the more likable for it. She ought to have at least started correcting that flaw by now, but there’s something personally desirable about the space it gives her, how small his concept of the world is compared to hers but still the stubborn refusal to accept everything she actually is and-

“It does make it harder to be useful for you,” she replies. “But I’ll be alright. Still acclimating. Shouldn’t have taken this long but-“

He does not need to know that her reports homeward have become a mixture of petty details and a growing number of outright lies. She has done almost nothing over multiple years now, at least nothing aligned with her deep purpose to the extent she’s even aware of it. It makes no sense for her to have been put into a space with so little legitimate opportunity; she’d always felt destined for carnage, not quiet, not-

“You do not always need to be useful. Not as you try to be.”

So kind to her at all the unnecessary moments. That too would’ve been such an easy alteration if she’d been so inclined, but she can’t… why would she sacrifice something that makes her so warm? How could she ever-

“It is still all I know. You have only corrupted me so much.”

She turns to look at him at exactly the moment to see a flicker of horror in his eyes, an indecision of which part of that statement is worth trying to untangle. Always the effort to make her soft despite the understanding that is not her nature, always the commitment she didn’t ask for and isn’t yet sure what to do with and-

“Is that what this is to you?”

Jessica tightens her fingertips around his and takes a deep breath, steadying herself every way she can. “If I say yes, how much does that change?”

“And you think I worry about you too much now,” he murmurs as if unsure the words even come out. “I don’t… I do care deeply about you, and I don’t know how that happened but-“

“Not by my hand,” she says all too quickly, and let this be part of her defense, everything that has happened involving the nuances of human hearts has been a complete accident, witness her resulting crisis, none of this was intentional and she’s more or less-

“I believe you. I’m not sure I should, but I do believe you.”

He’ll break her heart someday, she thinks, but that will at least be proof she has one.

“You have been… more than I ever could have expected or thought to ask for,” she says after a few heartbeats. “That may be our problem, but…”

“As have you. I don’t know what I expected but you are… more than that.”

She’s not sure that’s the compliment he thinks it is, but at least there is no manipulation in this man, at least there is nothing to worry her in that way. She has come to appreciate that reality; what is seen is what is there, the same presence in public as in the quiet of night, not as adaptable as she is, not-

“I still don’t know…”

Her voice breaks, and the desire to cry is all too close, and she can’t and she won’t and she wants and-

“You are useful enough like this,” he says after a few moments, and perhaps he understands her better than she knows how to admit. “You are…”

“I’m not doing anything right now.”

“You’re here with me. Isn’t that enough?”

“You’re not talking through something or pinning me or-“

He sighs, and there’s something heartbreaking in the acceptance of it all, how many lifelong recurrent fights they’ve already cultivated and-

“You don’t know how to just be,” he murmurs, not a question like it would’ve been six months ago. “I should lower expectations a little.”

“Or I could try harder.”

“No. You are… what you are. And we have time. And you shouldn’t… compromise yourself for me.”

“But that’s what you want.”

For a moment, she’s pretty sure she’s actually broken him. The deep look spreading across his face, pain and desire and concern and the best of human capability, all because of her, all because of-

“Perhaps what I want is not the most important thing.”

“It is to me.” And with this she chooses, with this she damns herself, with this she-

He doesn’t respond. For reasons she does not ask, he lets it go. They have not finished their walk around this garden that like everything else here has been tended the same way for centuries, and… at least her partner’s ancestors have cared about the beauty of things, Jessica thinks. At least there has been life here. At least-

When their bloodlines fully cross, she thinks, and this too is damnation, at least whatever child they have will be loved.

But that is still in the future, and for now she is confused as ever but… not alone, at least. Not and never alone. Not anymore.

#ebf writes fic #leto x jessica #queue

[kitkatpancakestack]

Hey! Wanted to pick your brilliant brain about something: We're all pretty sure Eddie is going to be the one pining in season 5 (I mean all signs point to that), so what do you think they'll do with Buck this season regarding his feelings for Eddie? Eddie realizing things first changes things, so I wonder how they will write the trajectory of Buck realizing his own feelings and reciprocating Eddie's, especially since he'll be with Taylor. What do you think? How do you want to see it play out?

@ktinaj well hello there friend! I am honored a galaxy brain like yours would deign to pick my brain. Thank you for this excellent ask, it's something I most definitely think about and I do have some thoughts on the matter, predictably :3

Also, this might get long because I love delving into character psyches and motivations, so I apologize upfront but here we go:

I'll just say that I know the popular fandom treatment of Buck is him being the one who is in touch with his feelings and his emotions, the one who wears his heart on his sleeve, the one who is an open book. To be honest, I lean in the opposite direction. Buck, to me, is one of those people who is pseudo-open. You know the people who share so much superficial information (e.g. their sex life, their hobbies, their workout routine) that you just default them as being this super open person, when in reality it's just a defense mechanism to control the way others perceive them (hello not-totally-worthless psychology degree!)

This is all to say that I think Buck is going to Struggle with how to fit this revelation into the context of his engrained preconceptions toward himself. Not that he is actively trying to self-sabotage, or that he is ungrateful toward Eddie, but that he is literally facing a wall built of 20+ years worth of the damage caused by his parents, toxicity he perpetuated with one-night stands and meaningless flings and self-disparagement.

Buck's character arc is just such a realistic and important subject that I have not seen this beautiful crafted in any other show/movie. It was so well-rounded out through season 4, and I think they will continue to nurture it through the context of Eddie's (likely) burgeoning feelings toward Buck. While I'm not a fan by any means of Buck and Taylor together (he so obviously regresses when he's with her) I think it would be a pivotal way to show Buck grappling with how he feels about Eddie. I think since season 2, Taylor has been Buck's kind of "what if," which morphed into this weird idealistic version of her, which morphed into this thinking of, "If I can't make it work with her, then I won't be able to make it work with anybody, and I'm screwed." Obviously this isn't the case. But I think he needs to move through the motions of this thing with Taylor, given the knowledge of how Eddie feels about him and his place in his and Christopher's lives, to be able to draw the parallels and realize, Wait a minute, this isn't what I imagined, this isn't what I thought, maybe we really shouldn't be together, or for him to realize that nobody can give him what he needs in the way Eddie can.

Buck and Eddie both have some deep-seates abandonment issues, but Buck's is just astronomically tragic. I think once the fallout of Eddie's guardianship reveal settles, Buck will have to work through what that does to his place in the Diaz's lives. Honestly, I don't think we're done with Eddie's grand verbal gestures @ Buck, because while Buck would die for Christopher, I think the gravity of Eddie's conviction will only truly hit home when Eddie says to Buck, verbatim, "I need you here, too. We aren't a family without you."

Exquisite ask. I'll be thinking about this for awhile for sure.

#buddie #buddie meta #its angsty buddie hours #they are just so! #soulmatey! #Buck really just needs it spelled out for him which I get #Put in such a way where there are no loopholes and no uncertainties #He just wants something he can trust that can be HIS #He wants Eddie and Christopher but I really don't think he believes something that great is possible for him #I think Eddie feels the same but that's a separate post #these two jfc I cannot with them #ask #meta by me

[heartslobbf]

let’s talk about perfuma. imo, she’s one of the best characters in the show despite being underdeveloped, and i wanna explain why. she could’ve been extremely average, just some lanky flower girl that doesn’t believe in violence and loves everyone, but she is so much more than that (and it pisses me off that y’all reduce her to that).

in her introductory episode, perfuma is clearly in denial about the horde almost destroying plumeria. she doesn’t want to acknowledge the problem, wants someone else to take care of it for her. she’s scared of change, and that is because change makes you vulnerable. if things always stay the same, there’s a whole lot less danger and uncertainty, and therefore you’re safe. secure. perfuma’s kingdom is dying and she can’t bear to accept it because it is unknown to her. it’s putting her in a position where she is no longer secure. this fear of vulnerability can also be seen at the beginning of 1x10 when the princess alliance falls apart and she literally says ‘being together makes us vulnerable.’

the thing is, perfuma isn’t wrong. look at her choice of words. she says that being together makes them vulnerable, not weak. here, she kind of has the words mixed up, but we see that by s5 she has come to understand the difference. that’s what’s so great about perfuma, her motivation to do better, her hunger for self-improvement. it’s why she’s such an important part of catra’s redemption, actually, because she embodies the kind person catra is or wants to be.

let me explain: perfuma is an angry, impatient, short-tempered character. we are shown this again and again with her passive aggression to others and how easily mermista can annoy her with trivial things (sitting in her seat in the war room, for example). catra is also an angry, impatient character, but perfuma works every day to manage those emotions. she knows she needs them, she uses them as a tool (calling catra out, for example, is a time they were practically pivotal for getting her point across) but she also acknowledges they can hurt the people she loves. we know she does a meditation ritual each morning and we see in 4x02 how quickly she can unravel without it. she wants to be better. she puts the work in. that is such a valuable lesson for a character like catra who has always felt she’s just not good enough, she’s always going to be this angry and unlovable and no one can do anything about it.

so, 4x02. it’s a brilliant episode for perfuma’s character, really, and the first proper development we’ve had since 1x04. we see her anger, her impatience, but we also see her self-doubt. her belief that she’s inadequate, ‘just a flower girl.’ this is also when we get introduced to her little mantra that becomes a bit of a motif later on, ‘i can do this.’ we know perfuma doesn’t wholeheartedly believe this, but she says it anyway because she wants to. perfuma wants to be better. she will do whatever she can to be her best self, whether that be actually conquering her gripes with cacti or realising there’s a loophole with the roots (love that conflict resolution by the way, another good deconstruction of hero bs by spop).

this episode is also significant because it comes back to perfuma’s fear of change, of vulnerability. she’s thrown into a situation she doesn’t want to be in, one she feels miserably unprepared for, and she hasn’t done the one thing that puts her at her best beforehand, but she pulls through in the end because she is surrounded by people that support her, that listened to her and consoled her when she was vulnerable. 4x02 teaches perfuma the power of self-worth and the power of true, mutual, unconditional love, which can only come with vulnerability.

and this is where her character gets really interesting, in my humble opinion. ngl, one of the reasons i love perfuma so much is because she’s a pisces and i am too. i’m not gonna go astrology hoe on you rn, i’m just using this to demonstrate the part of her character that teaches others. pisces, if you don’t know, love to play therapist. we like to help the people around us with whatever strifes they may have because we think we’re fucking great at it. perfuma actually is.

you know how i said perfuma learns the importance of self-belief and vulnerability? yeah, she teaches both of those lessons to other characters in s5. like i said, perfuma is a character who values self-betterment and also happens to be a pisces, so when she sees scorpia, riddled with so much self-doubt and such low self-esteem, her immediate response is just i’m gonna teach that bitch how to love herself. and she does!

i’ve seen some people say they don’t like scorfuma because it seemed as though the writers just decided to ‘fix’ all of scorpia’s problems by giving her a girlfriend. that’s very dumb, first of all because they aren’t even together by the end of the show, they’re just interested in one another. second, the whole point of she-ra is that we’re stronger together. scorpia doesn’t go through growth in s5 because a girl likes her, she goes through growth because someone is showing her support and love for the first time in her life and that empowers her. you know, the worth that scorpia finds in herself doesn’t hinge on perfuma, like it did with catra. it’s about her as an individual, and perfuma so clearly makes it about that when her big lesson revolves around singing. scorpia loves singing. perfuma tells her she should do it because she enjoys it, a sentiment you’d never hear in the horde, and when scorpia does sing, she is actively rejecting the people who did make all her self-worth hinge on them catra. she’s doing something for herself, because she enjoys it, because it makes her happy, because she can.

it’s that same mantra: i can do this, i can do this. i really love how this was brought back from 4x02, how perfuma repurposed something that taught her such a valuable lesson for someone else. perfuma and scorpia are great foil characters actually, both constantly underestimated and thought of as weak by their groups, but some of the strongest characters in the show due to their deep value of love and self. i can do this, and i know i can because you believe in me, because i believe in myself. it’s brought back again in 5x10, when the last thing perfuma says before scorpia breaks the beam is ‘i know you can [pull through]’. she tells catra she believes in scorpia. it’s that belief, that support from other people that empowers the self to believe it too. we are stronger together, you know??

anyways, onto vulnerability. return to the fright zone is in my top ten episodes of the whole fucking show and you might think that’s a bit weird but i don’t. 5x10 encompasses so many important themes of spop so well and tells them with scorfuma and spinnetossa, our two side lesbian couples. this is significant since perfuma literally draws a parallel between her and catra at the end of the episode, and catradora and spinnetossa have always been significant to one another. i’m gonna say it, perfuma is the reason catra is finally able to confess to adora in 5x13. i’ve already talked about how important perfuma is to catra’s motivation to improve, but she literally makes catra rethink everything about strength and vulnerability, two words catra has a lot of feelings about.

catra fears vulnerability. we know this. she has such a deep love for those important to her but is never able to articulate it because she worries she’ll be taken advantage of, shot down, laughed at, whatever. all of this stems from the abuse she suffered at shadow weaver’s hands and her attachment issues, and it’s also why catra pretends to hate scorpia’s very open displays of affection and love: she sees it as weak because she has been taught to, but it’s all she ever really wanted to be.

we also know perfuma used to fear vulnerability. she doesn’t any more. the entirety of the episode leading up to her and catra’s heart-to-heart is her being vulnerable, putting herself in a position where she’s in danger but believing it’s worth it. and it is. despite what everyone said to her, perfuma is right: it was worth it. she got through to scorpia, even if it was only for a moment. she literally spells it out to us and catra with one of the best lines in the whole show: it’s hard, keeping your heart open. it makes you vulnerable, but it doesn’t make you weak, and i have to believe it’s worth it.

back in 1x10, perfuma was right: being together makes you vulnerable. horde prime tries to use people’s relationships against them, that’s literally the plot of save the cat, the point of pitting catra and adora against one another. he sees them as weak, just like shadow weaver deems adora’s feelings for catra ‘confusing’, just like light hope insisted adora was a danger to her friends as long as she was around them. they were all wrong. yes, they’re vulnerable. perfuma acknowledges that vulnerability puts you in danger, that it’s difficult to do that, but she knows it doesn’t make you weak. weakness vs strength is a big conflict in 5x10 literally introduced to us with netossa’s theories on everyone’s weaknesses in the first few minutes.

like perfuma says, friendship isn’t a weakness. it’s her greatest strength. her belief in love is literally what saves her and adora’s lives, it’s what saves everyone who got chipped, glimmer, bow. belief in love, both of others and yourself, is what saves adora in her dying moments. perfuma summarises she-ra’s entire fucking message to us repeatedly in 5x10 and she tells it to catra because catra is the one who will do the most with it. that glance at adora, it’s obvious what it means. perfuma is telling catra she should be open with adora about her feelings because you have to believe it’s worth it.

you won’t get anywhere waiting for other people to make the move. she-ra couldn’t heal plumeria’s lands, so plumeria had to fight their own battle alongside her no matter how much they felt unable to. the rebellion couldn’t move mara’s ship, so perfuma had to despite thinking she wasn’t strong enough. the reason they always win in the end is because they have each other, they have love and support and people motivating them to do better. just like perfuma motivates herself to do better.

it’s the mantra. i can do this. i can be vulnerable and still win, because i have love. and it’s hard, it’s so fucking hard to be vulnerable when you’ve feared it all your life and you’re so angry, so hurt, but you have to believe it’s worth it. and it is. it is, it is, it is, love is stronger than anything and being vulnerable for the people you love is the only way you can ever get what you want from them. perfuma as a character embodies that, having learnt it herself, and teaches the lesson to one of the characters who needs it the most.

adora is dying, and catra loves her, and she knows she does, and she just has to believe. adora is dying, and she loves catra, and she knows she does, but she doesn’t believe. not until catra teaches her too, in that moment, to realise they were all wrong, light hope, shadow weaver, horde prime. adora doesn’t need to let go, she needs to hold on and believe she will be pulled back up by the girl she loves. she needs to believe she deserves it. that it’s worth it.

and it is.

#ANYWAYS I FUCKING LOVE PERFUMA THANK U QUEEN FOR BEING THE BEST SIDE CHARACTER #sjdjeksmnf sorry this is long i tried to keep it short #I HAVE SO MUCB TO SAY ABT HER #shut up daisy #spop #perfuma #scorfuma #catra #scorpia #catradora #adora #spop meta

[bottleofspilledink]

God’s Watching, Put on a Show || Chapter XV

Now, normally a love confession would be followed by an answer. It was only rational. Declare your love and wait for a response. Either get a relationship or get rejected.

Lilith was not, however, what society by and large would actually deem ‘normal’ and neither was this confession. The word ‘love’ was not mentioned once, leaving her to wonder if Eve actually did understand her…

As the days passed, what was unspoken but clearly there blossomed, from a pinky-sized seed into a lush bouquet that filled their chest with an indescribable yearning and their conversations with heavy pauses, gazes overflowing with a tenderness that far surpassed what was appropriate between fond friends.

Soon, though, the rubber band holding the bouquet together would snap.

Soon, Lilith would come to know that Eve understood her quite well.

From the tension that sat in the five inches of space between their two chairs, something akin to electricity buzzing there, to the way Eve would eagerly ramble about the (not forbidden, she was still too shy to talk about what exactly was in the book Lilith snuck into her bag) books she’d read during lunch, to the patience Lilith would show as they ran through equations in study hall.

What was unspoken was slowly growing whether Lilith or Eve wanted it too. Like an unkillable weed that always grew back, no matter how many times you’ve pulled it out of the ground, no matter the chemical you chose to douse it with. But far more beautiful… That is, if the gardener would allow it to grow.

And everyone who was willing to see it would know it was there, what was there, even if the people feeling it were too scared to give it a name, even if the people seeing were too scared to admit it existed.

...

It was Thursday night on the same week as the incident, Lilith and Joan sat drinking cola in the shack, crickets and cicadas chirping in chorus outside, no one else with them busy with part-time jobs and family dinners and catching up on a week of homework.

“Hey.” Joan said, trying to steer the conversation away from their light-hearted chats and towards something a bit more… complicated, a tad more touchy.

“Yeah?”

“Are… Eve, I mean.” The brunette took a long sip from her can, the relaxed air between them shifting as she stalled what she needed to say. “Are you sure we can trust her?”

“What do you mean? She’s obviously gay and in denial-”

“That’s the point.” Joan fixes her with a soft stare, trying to strike the balance between firm and sympathetic. “I doubt Eve’s even admitted it to herself, and even if she has, she’s no friend of ours yet.”

“Where’s all this coming from all of a sudden?” Lilith can’t help but be defensive. After everything she’d told Joan about Eve and how she felt for her, after everything Joan had seen Eve go through just that Monday, how could she still be against the girl?

“They’re holding confession tomorrow.”

“What?”

“In the afternoon, just before club. There’s going to be confession.” Another sip from her drink, faster this time. “The holy type.”

Lilith knew exactly what Joan was implying, now considering the possibility herself having remembered what was happening tomorrow and every week after that. She wouldn’t admit it, though, refusing to doubt Eve despite the danger it may pose to trust her, to… love her.

Aster blue eyes widened, if only a fraction, in shock.

“And what’s that got to do with anything?”

“Are you sure she won’t crack?”

It hurt to think of. The chance of betrayal very real and very close, the things it may cost them all hung heavy in the air. What they’d worked for during the past year – the subject of many serious chats, full of tears and thinking and uncertainties, the cause of many sleepless nights, weighing risk and reward, planning – could vanish in an instant and make them vanish with it.

She could practically feel the ‘Godly Living’ brochures in her hand.

It was another thing she tried not to think of too much; her friends strapped into electric chairs and deadly hydrotherapy chambers, pumped full of pills that made them nauseous at the very thought of love with women or ones that didn’t let them think at all, the possibility of getting lobotomized.

“- could out us! She could out you!”

Joan’s voice pulled her from her mind before she could go too deep.

The emphasis on ‘you’ nearly made Lilith cry.

At the end of it all, even with the threat it brought to their gay little family, made up of people so vastly different yet somehow so similar, Joan was thinking about her.

And she was right to.

Tomorrow, if Eve did give her away, the others would be able to lie their way out of it, come up with alibis and excuses and cry ‘I have a boyfriend’ because Eve hadn’t spent enough time around them to gain anything as evidence because Eve had only been around Lilith.

“I don’t think she will.”

She tried not to sound scared.

“The only thing she really has against me are words anyways…” There was no reason to tell the other of the note she’d written for Eve. Painful as it was, the girl had probably thrown it out by now, especially since she knew what it meant. “And she can’t mention experience without admitting what almost happened between us a week ago.”

Joan was unconvinced.

“Are you really going to take this risk?”

She tossed Joan a few quarters. Enough for three phone calls on the payphone a mile or so away.

Maybe Lilith was going to risk herself for the sake of some girl.

But she’d be damned if she let her friends do the same thing for her.

“Call the others. Tell them to pack essentials and paperwork. Tell Colette to bring the check.”

“Only if you pack a bag too.”

It seems they would do the same for Lilith, whether she wanted them too or not.

“Joan-”

“No. If we have to leave tomorrow, you’re coming with us.”

And that was that.

...

It was a fine Friday morning in St. Agnes School For Girls. Maybe even her last.

Lilith tried to stay calm. Even as she packed her bags, even as she snuck into her grandfather’s office to retrieve her personal papers, even during the walk back to the shack, even while Paula and Joan and Julia and Colette went over what to say if they were questioned about their relationship with one another, their closeness, their relationship with Lilith, specifically.

It was agreed they would never throw each other under the bus. Agreed that, they’d deny all allegations against each other despite the proof, even if it may mean making them complicit.

After all, if they had to flee, they’d flee together.

If even one of them were found out, the plan was to run and pull a fire alarm, notifying the others.

Joan’s truck was parked just a few streets away from the school, no more than a quick sprint needed to reach it, key in her pocket, Paula carrying a duplicate, bags already in the back, fastened, Julia had forged a note for them about an after-school activity, buying them some time before a search was called if the school didn’t immediately call their guardians, and Colette carried all she needed to cash the check in on her person.

The last thing they did were practice statements, crafting sentences that left no room for interpretation and had no strange implications, absent of loopholes and additional clauses.

“What do we say if any of us are questioned about homosexual activity?”

“I know nothing about that.” They said, all in synch, drilling the words into their heads exactly as they were so there was no chance of them being taken out of context and used to spin a narrative. If the nuns wanted any of them sent to conversion therapy, they were going to have to lie through their teeth. “I’ve never taken part in such things and know no one who has.”

They sounded nothing like themselves, Lilith realized in between breaks.

Though she supposed that was the point.

“Again!” Said Joan. “What do you say if they accuse your friends of being homosexuals?”

“My friends and I are good, Christian people who would never willingly associate with homosexuals. I have personal anecdotes to prove the innocence of the girl you are accusing.”

It made them sick to their stomachs, having to say such things.

It made them safe, though.

And for now, that was all that mattered.

They were prepared.

But they didn’t want to leave. Not yet.

 ...

As the day went on, Lilith began to lose her cool, anxiety creeping deep into her bones, growing fidgety and restless. Her leg shook under the table, fingers tapping against the desk and clicking pens, eyes always shifting, looking for another sign that they needed to go.

Was this what Eve felt like every day?

The fear of being found out was in no means foreign to Lilith, nor was the fear of God, a tyrant she used to believe in and worship just like Eve did. But it had faded, her hiding of herself perfected to a science, fear turning into anger as she realized that everything she was raised on was a sham.

It had been too long since she felt this real, crushing anxiety.

She didn’t like it.

...

It was time.

Lilith and Eve sat next to each other in the small chapel on school grounds, just a bit behind the actual building but before the convent, not an inch of space between them as they were squeezed into the pews filled with those yet to receive the sacrament of confession. The seats were divided so that there were two groups of pews, one for waiting, the other for prayer, where many would do their penance. Two confessional booths were far behind them, having been placed like that so none of the girls would see who went in when or be able to hear a peep.

She knew how this was going to happen, how they could possibly get outed.

Priests were not allowed to break their vows and tell the nuns of the sins they’d heard during the confession but a penance was to be given to those who had sinned.

It could be anything from a prayer to an act of service.

It could be telling the nuns what you’ve done or know someone’s done as a way of repenting.

No doubt, if anyone confessed something of significance, they would have to tell Mother Cecilia.

And since most everyone who did this in earnest would believe their soul was on the line, if the girls in this school were truly the people they claimed to be, they would tell the nuns, friendships and loyalties and love be damned as the person they tattle on.

“Eve?” The girl whispered, finally snapping. “The note I gave you, do you still have it?”

The blonde did nothing more than look to the marble floor, hair shielding her face. There was no way for Lilith to tell if she was ashamed or guilty or planning to-

“Please answer me.”

“I still have it.”

For the first time in years, far longer than what most would consider healthy, Lilith felt herself minutes away from bursting into tears, eyes stinging from having to hold it all in.

“Where?”

“Why?”

Eve refused to meet her eyes when she ducked down to try and catch a glimpse of her face.

“With me, right now, in my pocket.”

Before the girl could answer her, a nun appeared to lead Eve into the booth, giving her a light scolding as they went.

“Time before confession should be used to reflect on your sins, Miss Peccator.”

“Yes, Sister Jane. I’m sorry.”

And with that, she was gone.

...

It was an eternity later when Lilith left the chapel, finding Eve just outside, to the right, standing amongst stone pillars that had barely started growing moss, waiting.

They were as alone as they could be, the only things watching them were the unseeing eyes of the statue saint surrounding them, whatever creature lingered in the cracks on the chapel’s stone, and God.

Perhaps what resided in the chapel was God.

“Eve…” She stepped closer to the girl, desperation potent. “What did you tell them?”

No response.

All she was given were downcast brown eyes and fidgeting fingers, guilt.

Lilith took another step forward, grabbing the other by her hands, letting Eve feel her warmth, her pulse, the softness of her flesh, of the blood that flowed through her veins, of her humanity.

“Eve, what did you tell the priest?”

Lilith had fallen to her knees, in a plea, in a prayer, the ground beneath her unforgiving and now stained with her blood, dark red and sinful. Eve’s hands clasped in hers and pressed to her sweat-soaked forehead as sobs wracked her body harder than it had in years.

She was screaming now, pulling on the other’s hands hard enough to hurt, something, anything to make the girl look up at her, unaware of the tears streaming down her own face.

“Eve? Eve?! What did you tell the priest?!”

They were the image of repentance, a holy figure, a dirty sinner; Eve towered above Lilith as she cried, immaculate and unattached as the girl wept into her skirts and her hands, a holy portrait commissioned by a long-gone pope.

If only they weren’t both sinners in His eyes.

“What did you tell the priest, Eve?!”

__________________

HAPPY HOLIDAYS HAVE A FUCKING CLIFF HANGER ψ(｀∇´)ψ

Lmao yes I know it's only the 24th but I’ll be back on actual christmas day with the next chapter tho so please don’t be mad at me and I’m very sorry for this (┬┬﹏┬┬)

Anyways, I would like some reblogs as my present this year <333

Taglist: @atahensic @anomiewrites @leahstypewriter @madame-ree @melpomenismask @littlemisscalamity @phillyinthebathroom @gaypeaches @extrabitterbrain @pirateofblood @i-wanna-be-a-rock

#Lilith and Eve #my writing #writing #writer #writers #writers of tumblr #writeblr #books #books and libraries #pride #gay pride #lesbian pride #wlw pride #lgbt #religious imagery #religion #christianity #religion tw #christianity tw #tw religion #tw christianity #religious trauma #literature #gay literature #lesbian literature #sapphic literature #wlw romance #lesbian romance #gay romance #romance

[treatian]

The Chronicles of the Dark One: Magical Loopholes

Chapter 42: House Call

He didn't particularly want to leave the shop that day. He had hardly left at all in the week since Belle had been gone. He'd made his stop at home for a shower and fresh change of clothes, but given that it was the second night of the full moon, he had no plans to be far away from the library. Night one had gone well, but he never made assumptions when it came to safety. He wanted to be close by if Belle needed him.

But then, that morning, before lunch, he received a call from Regina on his cell phone. He ignored it. He had no interest in speaking to the woman, at least not until she called back again. He sighed as he looked down at the screen of his phone, irritation and curiosity rising. Once was an inquiry. Twice was either desperation or an emergency. Damn his curiosity.

"You have one sentence to convince me this is worth my while," he threatened.

"Just hear me out…I know I'm the last person that should be asking this of you, but…I need a favor."

"A favor…those are expensive, Your Majesty."

"I'm aware," she snapped back quietly. Her voice was hushed, as if she was trying to be secretive about something, which meant that she was not, for once, hiding out alone in her home. What on earth had dragged her out into the town? "But this is for Henry."

Ah, yes…that might get her out of her house.

"Henry?"

"Listen…I'm at Mary Margaret's apartment-"

"As a guest or as an intruder?"

He heard her huff angrily on the other end. "Not that it's any of your business, but for your information, David asked me to be here," she drawled. "He had to leave early to take care of some business, Henry was still asleep, and…he's having nightmares," her voice got even quieter then. Henry must have been nearby. She must not have wanted to panic him.

"Well, if you'll forgive me, your Majesty, it sounds like you need to be calling Archie Hopper for nightmares. Not me."

"This isn't something for Dr. Hopper. David warned me about them before he left, but Henry just woke up screaming and after seeing them myself…I don't think they're nightmares. And I'd like an expert opinion."

"An expert in what, exactly?"

"Magic."

"And if I recall, you are rather exceptional in that field yourself, are you not?"

"But not as good as you, as you so keenly like to remind me," she sighed unhappily. "I need your help on this one, Rumple. It's for Henry, and if these are nightmares, then…there are side effects I've never seen in any parenting book I've ever read."

He took a deep breath as he scowled. His jaw was so tight suddenly it was giving him a headache. He didn't want to leave the shop today. He wanted to be here, ready in case something went wrong on the full moon, in case Belle needed him. But…he supposed that there was no danger until the moon came up after dark. And he was trying to be on his best behavior, knowing full well that little jobs like this might get back to Belle, that she might see he was trying to work some good in the world and take that step to come back to him. This helpful deed, in particular, could be good for that. Do something good for Henry, and word would get to David, David would tell Ruby, Ruby would tell Belle…he had more to gain from going than he did from staying. Fine.

"I'll be over," he growled before hanging up.

He summoned his black bag into his hand, appreciating for the first time just how much it looked like a doctor's bag, one that might make house calls just like this. He imagined that a doctor using this sort of bag might be a bit more thrilled at getting to use it. It wasn't that he didn't like Henry; he did. In fact, if it wasn't for Henry, he probably would have hung up the phone after Regina's first sentence. No, what had him irritated before he even knocked on the door was Regina. It was the first time he was seeing her since he'd marked her in the jail cell, since he'd gotten Belle back and tried to kill her for it. He still hadn't forgotten what she'd done to him and was more than happy to punish her for it, but not using Henry. Besides, if this was what he suspected it was, then he owed it to the boy to go.

But it was smart of Regina to send him to answer the door when he knocked.

"Morning, Henry," he smiled down at the boy who was still in his pajamas, hair messy and unkempt as if he'd just woken up. Regina, on the other hand, was dressed as if she was planning on going to work after all this was over. Odd, considering he didn't think she had a job at the moment. Last he'd heard, she'd been asked to leave as mayor.

"Hello, Mr…" Henry paused mid-sentence and glanced over at Regina, who was standing at the sink, then looked back to him. "What do I call you? Now?"

He let out a small huff and smiled at the implications of that question. Rumpelstiltskin or Mr. Gold. The only person in town at the moment who wasn't from the Enchanted Forest, and even he knew who he was. He rather liked that.

"How about you call me whatever you are comfortable with. Now, your mother mentioned that you were having Nightmares."

Henry nodded as he closed the door and went to sit down opposite the sink next to Regina. "Yeah, just one nightmare. It's a red room with fire all around it. No windows, no doors."

He glanced at Regina. That sounded familiar, very familiar. Too familiar and obvious for it to need an "expert opinion." She didn't know what this was?

"Well, nightmares are normal for a boy your age. But your mother mentioned some other side effects, perhaps something more up my alley?" he prompted.

Henry looked at Regina. She nodded. "You can show him, Henry. He's here to help."

Henry held his hand up for him to see, and there it was, stretching from his pinking finger down toward his wrist; it was a burn. Not a terrible one, probably only first or second degree, not nearly as bad as actually putting one's hand inside a flame, but bad enough. And it would get worse if not taken care of. Regina should have known what it was, what it meant, but even if she did, he doubted she was strong enough to do what needed to be done to fix it. Lucky for her, there had been a time when he'd worried about someone else potentially suffering from these "side effects" and had prepared for a potential deal. That deal had never come to fruition, but he still had what he needed in his black bag.

"Oh, yes. You were quite right to call me," he confirmed easily.

"So y-you can help?" Henry asked tentatively. "It was just a dream."

"Well, what you're describing's certainly not a dream," he informed the boy, who seemed just as scared as he'd sounded insistent. That was understandable. The unknown could have that effect on children…just as much as parents.

"Then, what was it?" Regina snapped beside him.

"A side effect," he snapped back, using her own word. She might not have known what caused this, but he had a feeling that she suspected what it was, or at least what it might have been. It wasn't the side effect of a nightmare, but rather something she had done. "You know, it's remarkable you'd cast a curse you know so little about."

"My victims are not supposed to wake up," she sneered, catching onto his train of thought so quickly that she confirmed his theory. She knew what caused this. And he turned back to his bag, so he didn't have to hear any more of her excuses for her poor choices. "That's why I certainly never cared what happened to them after…until now."

He sighed as he searched through his bag, pulling out the various items he needed and working his magic as he explained.

"When people fall under a sleeping curse…"

A fabric purse with a special necklace, a talisman, inside of it, capable of holding onto a potion. The talisman was an extraordinary enchanted object with the ability to channel whatever potion it held into the person wearing it. Quite useful.

"The soul travels to a Netherworld, where it resides until awoken…"

Conscious Awareness Potion, to help the mind retain focus, to keep it from thinking that it was in a dream and realize the reality. Once the reality was acknowledged, the fear should disappear. Henry should be able to control the reality, fight the fire…until the aftereffects of the Sleeping Curse wore off.

"Now, this world is between life and death, and it's very real."

With a dropper, he filled the empty space of the necklace with the Awareness potion.

"However, even when the curse is broken, sometimes, in sleep, the victims find their way back to that world. Victims like you."

Henry appeared at his side, watching him work, and Regina soon made her way over as well. "This other world is tormenting my son every time he sleeps. I want you to give him something that will keep him from going there," she insisted.

"Well, I'm afraid that's not possible," he answered, fighting back an irritated eye roll. It was one more reason she should have studied up on exactly what she'd created before actually creating it, but he held that particular stray thought in by sealing the necklace and putting his potion back in his bag. "I can, however, provide you with something that will allow him to control his actions whilst in that world. And once one controls something, one no longer need fear it."

He held the necklace out to Henry, whose gaze shifted from curiosity and uncertainty to boyish disgust. "A necklace?"

"You wear this while you're sleeping. Once you control the journey, fear will stop. And then, you can come and go as you please."

Henry reached out to take it, but Regina quickly stepped forward and stopped him.

"Everything comes at a price with you. What do you want for this?"

"For a house call? You couldn't afford it. But this is for Henry," he urged, looking down at the boy and offering him the pendant again. "This one's on me."

In a manner of speaking, at least. In truth, the spell was bought and paid for because he remembered his deals and honored them. No, he couldn't actually locate August Booth at the moment, the boy who could take him to his Baelfire, but before Booth had gone missing, they'd made a deal. When Booth had called Henry and told him to go see Emma, knowing full well that the boy might come out under a Sleeping Curse, he'd promised that he'd do everything he could for the boy to see that he woke up and recovered if Booth would take him to his son. The way he saw it, this fell under making sure Henry recovered. When he managed to break through whatever spell or magic Booth was using to protect him, he wanted there to be no doubt that he owed him the information he possessed.

The boy pulled it out of his hand and looked it over. There was still a bit of that boyish disgust there, but now there was also curiosity as well. Good.

"Be sure to get lots of rest, Henry. One of the side effects of this potion can be feeling a bit tired. When the mind is denied restfulness, there's always that risk."

"Thank you…Mr. Gold."

He nodded. "I'll see myself out."

"Be careful out there, Rumple!" Regina called when he stood outside the apartment. Her arm was around Henry's shoulders, the necklace already around his neck. "There's a wolf running around if you haven't heard. Wouldn't want you or someone you love to become puppy chow."

He smirked at her from the door. The words came out sinisterly, but he could hear the intended warning in them. Unfortunately for her, it wasn't enough to salvage their relationship, to make him forget what she'd tried to do to Belle.

"I'm well aware of the cycle of the moon, Your Majesty. Be sure to keep you and yours safe," he warned back.

#Rumbelle #Rumple #Rumpelstiltskin #Dark One #Mr. Gold #henry mills #Regina mills #Evil Queen #Ruby Lucas #Red Riding Hood #ouat #ouat fanfiction #fanfic

[quidfree]

That’s ok! How about #6 for James/Sirius, thanks for doing this!

this could have gone in a lot of directions but since sirius initiated the last one i’ve gone w this setting - and also alternated POVs bc i needed some sirius perspective this time around.

6: i’m sorry kiss

when he awakens in the middle of the night, a tattoo beating through his dreams, to the muffled sounds of conversation in his foyer, it’s equal parts disorienting and expected. in some way, he feels like it’s a dream; in another, he feels like he was waiting for this all night, all week, for five summers, maybe.

it’s somewhere past two in the morning when james pads downstairs, almost tripping over himself, and his parents are in their gowns by the door, faces open and welcoming, and sirius is silhouetted between them, comically out of place in the normalcy of the potter home, all sleek inky lines and barely constrained thunder. he looks to james immediately, instinctively, before james has even looked up from the stairs; it’s a dog thing, probably.

sirius doesn’t look thunderous now. sirius looks misplaced like james has seen him maybe once before, and there’s something almost- he doesn’t know. maybe fragile. something fragile to his gaze.

sirius is never fragile. sirius is not the impenetrable fortress he thinks- everyone thinks- he is, but sirius is steel under silk, inflexible beneath the theatrics. there is a fragility to his moodswings, a delicacy to his passions, but even at his most upset sirius always commits himself fully to his rages, to his sorrows. james is sure that when he left grimmauld place he was not fragile, that he was at his very best-worst, raging and contemptuous and blazing with passion. it makes this fragility somehow james’ responsibility, and he is overcome with the intense need to force it back down wherever it came from, like it’s its fault that sirius even considers james might turn him away now.

it has to be that- the uncertainty. he’s not being egotistical. sirius is afraid of nothing because nothing has power over him. james has power over him, ergo sirius can be afraid of james, sometimes, just within those infinitesimal spaces where sirius thinks they’re on uneven footing. sirius can be stupid like that, because those uneven spaces where sirius is not in control are the ones where james is utterly controlled by him. james is perfectly content to tussle for obedience with sirius at his very meanest, but for sirius unmoored he will do anything, thoughtlessly.

he doesn’t voice this, because even diluted to its purest form if he said “sirius, you are a lovely idiot” right now his parents would find it very mean. so instead he hops the last step and shoves through the space left between his parents and drags sirius physically into the realm of the living, big swooping hug that is more bone-crushing than comforting, he’s sure, but then with sirius that’s sort of the same thing. he lifts sirius off his feet, almost, even though sirius is still damnably taller than him and he’s starting to suspect he will be for the rest of their days. sirius does not sag bonelessly into him, all unfriendly sharp angles like always, but his fingers clench and unclench reflexively near his stomach and when he puts him down his gaze has refocused.

“all right?” james asks, simply, still holding onto his arms, eyes catching onto the mottled bruise under his eye and the bloody scrape down his palm, cataloguing the one bulky suitcase by his feet and the faint hum of an engine nearby.

“all right,” sirius echoes, mirror that he is, and he’s not really lying so james allows it.

they detach in unison, and james glances very briefly at both of his parents with all of his well-honed powers of persuasion, but he can tell it’s not warranted. it’s not like they’re short on money, and his parents adore sirius.

“i’ll go park my bike,” sirius says, and james, very briefly, is dizzy with the knowledge that in sirius’ mind there existed some reality where james would say no, somehow. he recovers in record time, sticks his hands into the pockets of his flannel bottoms.

“i’ll get us butterbeers,” he says, knowing no one will protest. sirius nods.

they’re still not allowed to use magic outside of hogwarts, underage as they are, but james and sirius have spent years testing loopholes for this sort of thing, so he knows he can get away with a little (or a lot, even, if you consider transfiguring yourself into an animal a lot), waves his wand so the drinks are fixed in record time. his mother hugs him to her, sighing a little, then steps back.

“i’m glad he’s here now.”

“so am i,” james says. then, feelingly: “i hate his family.”

“i know, darling.”

he really does, is the thing, genuinely hates them, and he doesn’t hate anyone, not really. maybe voldemort and his lot, but then he doesn’t know any of them, except sirius’ family, and god, he really hates them. hates them with a sort of incredulous edge, because he doesn’t understand anyone who can mistreat sirius. and he knows he’s had it easy and his parents love him more than anything but it still just doesn’t compute that there are families out there who exude cruelty in their every interaction, who nurse their babies on spite, who handle insubordination with vicious rage, and who can’t fathom that they’re in the wrong for it.

never mind them, anyways. sirius has left and sirius is fine, will be fine, now. james won’t spare them a thought again.

his father levitates sirius’ bag upstairs, and they duplicate his mattress so sirius has somewhere to sleep, but it’s more for sirius’ peace of mind than anything else. if they do manage to get sirius to sleep at all it won’t be on his own bed.

“here,” james says, when sirius reappears, handing him a change of clothes and a toothbrush. “you can use my towel.”

sirius blinks down at him, takes the offering. “this is my shirt.”

it is. james doesn’t know how it ended up in his possession, but then that’s true of most things between them.

he thinks, as he listens to sirius shower, quick and efficient and not at all the hour-long dramatics he’s used to from hogwarts, that he is maybe a terrible person, because in a way he’s almost glad sirius’ family is so horrible, so sirius can just be here, where he belongs, in james’ house with all the rest of james’ things. and that makes him sound creepy, and crazy, and he doesn’t mean it like that, but he doesn’t know how to put it otherwise.

he’s sure he never used to think about these things so much. all of this weird interpersonal introspection. that’s sirius’ influence. sirius complicates things, and paradoxally makes them easier. sirius is so odd, and so unlike him, and yet somehow they are exactly the same, and sometimes-

the shower cuts off, and james runs a hand through his hair, stops thinking so much. sirius is here now but sirius is in a state, most likely, and until that’s fixed the rest doesn’t matter.

—

when he re-enters the bedroom james is sat on his bed with a knee propped under his chin, snitch between his fingers like he’d caught it just before sirius came in, and he looks like he has on a thousand other nights, tousled and sleep-warm but alert, brown eyes and a keen gaze. home, something in sirius says, very confidently, home home home home.

something else in him, unflinching and cold and defensive, stays wary. this is almost more instinct than the other, because rationally he knows it’s fine, now; he’s at james’, james won’t turn around and kick him out like a jackass. but ever since he realised he was actually leaving his defences have been on high alert, fight or flight, and it keeps his limbs stiff with tension, his thoughts knife-sharp despite the comfort.

showering helped. the shirt helped. james staring at him helps. he wants to not need to be helped.

james pats the bed, offering silently, so sirius goes, drops into the spot next to him, curls his legs up underneath himself. his thoughts are a strident buzz and he knows he’s not spoken properly since he word-vomited all over the potters on arrival but he doesn’t like the silence, not for right now, only he doesn’t know what to say. or rather he does, can think of plenty of things to say that would make james stop looking like that, except he can’t quite say them, so he just sits there and takes the silence.

“we were going to go into london over the weekend,” james says, catching and releasing the snitch, over and over, thoughtlessly. “dad and i, i mean. buy some new quidditch stuff. i don’t suppose you want a broom.”

“i’ve told you a million times-”

“yeah, yeah,” james says, rolls his eyes, “when you fix up that piece of junk it’ll fly better than any broom, sure, live your delusions.”

sirius almost smiles at that, but: “i don’t have any money, anyways. i don’t have anything, currently. my wand and some shit i shoved into that suitcase.” it makes his lips curl, bleakly: “don’t have the money to buy my textbooks, even. reckon dumbledore’ll let me do without?”

“don’t be an idiot,” james says, firmly. “you live here, now, don’t you? my parents’ll cover it.”

“i don’t,” sirius starts, then stops, because this is so predictable, all of it, i don’t want their charity, except he does, evidently, or he can live with it, because otherwise he’d not have run straight here. he’s had time to think about this, despite the recklessness of his departure. he hates to be a burden and he hates to be dependent but in this regard it’s something he’s resigned himself to.

“they’re as good as your parents,” james continues, after a beat. which is funny because they’re better, actually, given that he has no parents- he suffers no delusions that walburga didn’t blast him off the tapestry the moment his feet hit the pavement.

“we hardly pass for brothers, prongs.”

“your in-laws, then,” james adjusts, unconcerned, and that makes sirius crack the slightest of smiles, despite himself, glance sideways to raise a brow at him.

“in that case i’ve missed something, i think.”

“you mean the marriage contract we had you sign at the door?” james asks, switching tracks seamlessly into well-humoured mockery, his expression wholly innocent. “you’re just such a catch at the moment, you know. had to sweep you up before any other blood traitor family got their bid in.”

“i have always gotten that vibe from molly weasley,” sirius throws back, and smiles again when james laughs, because molly weasley is as far from interested as it can get.

“seriously, though,” james says, sobering. “i don’t just mean money, although you will have noticed that we aren’t exactly lacking it. this is yours, now. all right? has been for a while.”

by this he means this house, and this room, and the borrowed shirt, and himself, probably, because sirius only has claim to the rest through him, and that’s- fine. that is fine. relying on james potter is something he can do.

his shoulders relax a fraction; he picks at the bedsheet (all red and gold all over, bright and proud and comfortable), lets stray strands of his hair fall into his eyes. it’s as long as it’s ever been; he’s been growing it out all summer in strident rebellion, regrowing whatever walburga cuts off, and it hands below his chin now, wildly uncombed.

he wants to say something to close this chapter, so it can be over, so they can move on, like they inevitably will, but the receding clasp of panic has left something heavy in his chest, all blood and bone and inherited poison, and he finds purging it harder than expected. if he were the crying type he expects he would cry, now, but then if he were the crying type he never would’ve ended up here.

he focuses very hard on thinking about it, runs relentlessly through his memories to remember why he hates his family so entirely. he tears down hazy memories of laughter and regulus’ little hand in his, recounts instead months of cruelty and ignorance and shouted arguments, sullen silences and bitterness, and lets it fester in his chest, lets it burn. he doesn’t want peace- he wants righteousness, and he has that in spades.

“i like your hair,” james announces, while grimmauld place crumbles to the ground in flames. sirius looks up. “reckon it’d look stupid on anyone else, but it suits you.”

“thanks,” sirius replies. he’s not quite adjusted enough for cockiness, and besides for some reason the compliment has destabilised him a little, so that he stares down at his butterbeer and then bites his lip. “there was no particular reason.”

“today?” james asks, though he knows, knew; he’s just being helpful, vocalising. sirius nods.

“i always thought there would be. after all the years. the shit i’ve heard them say. i thought at some point it would get- well, i guess it did, in a way. get worse. but not today.”

he finishes his butterbeer on reflex, sets it down. as a rule they don’t talk about these things. it’s generally because sirius doesn’t like to, because he doesn’t like to be vulnerable, mostly because he doesn’t think james can get it and doesn’t want him to. tonight, though, they’re closing a chapter, so it feels expected somehow.

“they’re supporting voldemort openly, now. i didn’t say in my letters. bellatrix and her husband joined over lent, and the malfoys over summer. they were before, i suppose, only not so fully. my parents- they’ve always been the more conservative pair. not keen on supporting any outsiders. but regulus, he...” he trails off, shakes his head. doesn’t want to say it. “he just adores him. the dark lord. fucking spineless moron. and i’ve known that all summer, but for some reason today it just- i don’t know. i saw him leave his room and i just thought to myself, like, what the fuck am i doing here? with these people? and the rest of the evening i was thinking about it, and we started arguing, and while that was happening i knew i was leaving. i couldn’t stay. if i’d stayed longer i’d have offed myself.”

the thing is he means it, but then he never would take his own life, so he’d come to james, like he was inevitably always going to. sometimes sirius has wondered about what his life might have been like, elsewhere, but life without james is an impossibility. it’s not sentimental; it’s fact, and he believes it as much as he believes anything. the two of them fundamentally exist to exist simultaneously. can’t be done otherwise.

james taps a rhythm out against his knee, leans to set his butterbeer down too. he scoots closer gracelessly, brows set and eyes serious, and sirius stills but doesn’t stiffen, lets him into his space.

“i’m sorry,” james says, calloused fingertips on the ridge of his foot. he says it gravely, but not sadly, and sirius can’t imagine what james might possibly be sorry for, opens his mouth to protest, gets cut off before he can. “i’m sorry your family is fucking awful. and i’m sorry that i’m sort of happy they are.”

“that is fucked up,” sirius remarks, undecided as to how he feels, chest tight nonetheless. james only shakes his head.

“i was thinking about it earlier and i didn’t know how to tell you, but i figure you’ll understand. it’s just-” he pauses, scrunches his nose in thought. “it’s good that you’re here now, yeah? that’s why. i’m happy you’re here. it feels right that you are.”

sometimes james is charmingly naive, if he thinks some creepy underlying statement of possession isn’t exactly the sort of thing sirius loves to hear him say. he drags his gaze away only so that he doesn’t look too obvious about it. “yeah. i understand.”

“sometimes,” james continues, thoughtful now, “i feel like you and me are the only two people that exist in the world. you know?”

sirius does. sirius does very much. he wants to clear his throat but doesn’t like to do so, nods instead, turns back. “all the time, jamie.”

“right,” james says, “course you do.”

he looks- something, relieved or enlightened or conspiratorial or guilty or some mixture of all of them, and sirius feels his lungs expand with abrupt ease, so physical a release that he actually shivers a little. this is fine. he’s fine. this is james.

“i am sorry, though,” james repeats, and this time sirius gets it, and so forgives him, even though he could never resent james for anything, even though he will always resent his family for everything.

“yeah,” he says, aloud. a little shaky. forgiveness tastes foreign. “i know you are.”

he doesn’t know how it comes out but there is something blazing in james eyes for a moment, and then his hand is threading through sirius’ hair and he’s tugging him in, not so fast that he couldn’t stop him if he liked, but fast anyways because both of them know he won’t. sirius sits still and watches james kiss him, then closes his eyes.

it tastes like the following: a baptism, divine absolution, and teenaged boy, butterbeer-sweet and somewhere between tender and boyishly rough. sirius is sure the latter is for his benefit, because james can be very pleasant if he wants, but gentleness makes sirius on edge.

it feels good. he could think himself into a stupor but he doesn’t want to, just sits there and takes it, licks his lips when james pulls back. it’s not technically the best kiss he’s ever had, or anything; it was chaste by most standards. sirius thinks he may never kiss anyone else again.

“think that’s supposed to come before the marriage contract,” he says. james’ eyes are bright and content and he’s not fine, he’s good, things are good.

“was saving it for the wedding night,” james says, a brilliant flash of white teeth, and hooks a leg around his waist to reel him in, possessive and friendly and familiar all in one. sirius goes easily, doesn’t know where, but james just wraps them up in each other and tips them over, face to face on his bed, half tangled in the covers.

i love you, he thinks, fiercely, digging his heel into james’ shin until it hurts a little.

james doesn’t shake him off, and that says it all.

#qui ecrit #prongsfoot #anon #prompt #james #sirius #lmv #my fic #good job op

[floatingpetals]

There’s History There

Pairings: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: a little bit of angst, self-worth doubt, but plenty of fluff

Word Count: 2900+

Request: “ hello! can you do a oneshot where your ex-fiance visits the tower and current fiance!Bucky sees you two hanging out and having fun and becomes insecure about himself and how happy he can make you” -Anon

A/N: I didn’t go as hard with this one as I could have, but there’s still a little bit of insecurity in there. It’s also a lot longer than I thought it be lol. I hope you enjoy! ❤

“Hey, has anyone seen Y/N?” Bucky asked the group as he stepped in the kitchen. He just finished the mountain of paperwork he put off the past few weeks and was desperate to find his fiance and unwind. Natasha and Bruce glanced up from the kitchen table where they sat eating their lunch, Bruce grinning at Bucky. Out of everyone, besides Tony or Steve, Bruce was the happiest for Bucky and Y/N, who was like a little sister to him. 

“I think she’s down in the main lobby with Tony. I think someone is here to see her. Tony curious so he tagged along.” He supplied. Bucky raised a brow, curiously wondering who could possibly be here. He nodded and went to grab a bottle of water before he waved over his shoulder and headed to the elevators.

He fiddled with the wrapper on the bottle, humming a soft song under his breath while he waited for the short elevator ride. He was going through the possible visitors in his head, but none really stood out. Y/N saw her parents just last weekend to tell them about their engagement. He went with her, one of the many reasons why his paperwork was put off for so long, and they lived in a completely different state. So it couldn’t be them. Her best friend had complete access to the compound and the few times a month she’d come to visit, she’d just walk right in the compound. So whoever this was, wasn’t someone he knew.

The ding signaled his arrival at lobby floor and he didn’t think anything of the mystery visitor. The door slid open and he took a step out, searching the lobby for his fiance and Tony. He spotted them sitting on the couches, Y/N and Tony’s back to him as they laughed with each other. He eyed the person on the other end of the couch, something about the man sparking a bit of recognition in his mind. Yet Bucky for the life of him couldn’t pinpoint exactly who the man was.

Even as he crossed the room, he couldn’t quite figure out who the man was. Bucky didn’t have time to try and place the face before Y/N spotted him coming towards the corner of her eye and reached out to him with a happy grin.

“Hey, baby.” She greeted, slipping her fingers in his hand as he reached out back. He gave her a happy grin in return and settled to sit on the armrest and set the bottle on the floor beside his feet. Absently, Bucky began playing with her shiny diamond engagement ring he spent hours and hours searching for, the pride and excitement swelling in his chest in knowing that she agreed to be his. He nodded to Tony, who raised two fingers in greeting and then turned to the man who was staring at Y/N’s hand intertwined with his. “Oh, Bucky this is Jackson. Jackson, this is Bucky.”

Ding. That’s how he knew of this man. Jackson is Y/N’s ex. Not just ex-boyfriend of two years but her fiancé of three months. This wasn’t a fling relationship between the two of them. They were high school sweethearts growing up, the class vote as the cutest couple. They intended to get married, they had plans to spend the rest of their lives together. Somewhere along the way, things didn’t work out and they broke off the engagement.

Y/N never went into detail about why they broke up and at the time it wasn’t entirely important for Bucky either. She never really mentioned him, even the few times she did there was no doubt in anyone’s mind that she was moved on and over her ex. Y/N and Bucky had been together for the past two years, and both were incredibly happy with their relationship. Clearly, since she very enthusiastically agreed to marry him.

Bucky felt his blood run cold, his stomach dropping to the pit of his stomach. Jackson smiled warmly at Bucky, completely unaware of Bucky’s realization and stuck his hand out across the table.

“Nice to finally meet you, Bucky. Y/N’s told me a lot about you. Congrats on the engagement too.” He said with cheer in his voice. Bucky had to mask a frown, uncertainty starting to bubble at the surface. This attention was a little out of left field, well more like way out of left field into the next park across town. They still talked to each other?

“Oh yeah, thanks. Nice to meet you too,” He muttered lamely. He glanced away, freezing when he locked eyes with Y/N. She had a strange look on her face as she watched them both interact, although when Bucky turned back to her, she wiped it from her expression but not fast enough for him not to catch it. The dazzling smile came back from before and she turned back to Jackson.

“So Jackson was just telling Tony and me about this gala he’s want to have here soon for his nonprofit organization.” Y/N beamed with a touch of pride. A sudden sharp pain shot through Bucky’s heart. “Tony’s thinking of hosting the event here and inviting a few of his ‘higher up friends’ to help.”

“And as I’ve said, he doesn’t have to,” Jackson argued. “It’s a kind thought, but I can figure it out myself.”

“I’m not doubting you could.” Tony injected. “Just think of this way. You let me help you by hosting the event here, I invite all the people who have more money than they know what to do with it, and you’ll get a few sponsors out of the deal.”

“And what do you get out of it?” Jackson asked, biting the inside of his lip to keep from laughing. Tony smirked and shrugged.

“I get the excuse to drink and Pepper can’t get mad at me.”

Y/N and Bucky both laughed softly, shaking their heads at their teammate who seemed rather pleased he found a loophole in the system. Jackson appeared to mull over the idea of giving in to Tony, but they all knew he was more than willing to hand the reigns over and have someone else take over. Y/N had already flat out said that planning things wasn’t exactly Jackson strong suit. He was better leading and bringing people in, not setting the meeting up.

“Well. Thank you, Mr. Stark. I really do appreciate it.”

Tony waved him off with a flick of the wrist and started to stand. He stuck out a hand for Jackson to shake before he tucked his hands in his pockets.

“The pleasures all mine. And please, Tony’s just fine.”

Y/N and Jackson stood, Bucky staying put on the air rest with his fingers still gripping Y/N’s. She turned and pressed a gentle kiss to his temple before she pulled away to walk around the coffee table to Jackson. Bucky watched on as they shared a hug, the two lingering longer than he would have liked as Y/N rubbed his back. It made his heart hurt once again his chest and he had to rip his gaze away.

“It was good to see you again Jackson. I know this wasn’t exactly how you’d thought this would end, but I’m glad I get to see you again.”

Jackson hummed and stepped back, but kept his arms resting on her hips while he looked down at her.

“Same with you. I’m bringing Devin to the gala for you to meet. I doubt I could get away with going to Tony Stark’s party without them.” He chuckled fondly. Y/N giggled and nodded.

“Can’t wait.”

Jackson said a final goodbye to Tony and Bucky, who shot him a tight-lipped smile and a gruff farewell before he headed out the door to where his car waited. Even after the door’s shut behind him, Bucky didn’t relax. Thoughts were swirling around in his mind, bothersome doubts growing in his thoughts. Y/N was still too familiar with him, too open and surprisingly happy to see him. He caught how she smiled at Jackson, the same smile she had only reserved for him. The corner of her eyes crinkled, the way she laughed openly and without her usual control. It was unnerving and the sight made the vicious little demons in the back of his head come rushing up to the top.

Jackson appeared to have his life together. He was dressed smartly, was articulate and polite, Y/N still obviously liked talking with him, and more importantly, he didn’t come off as a complete asshole. So the question Bucky kept finding himself asking was; what happened and why did they break it off?

Y/N was watching Bucky stare off as Tony took his leave, seeing the dark clouds swirl around in his eyes and figured it was best to let the two of them deal with it alone. Something was bothering him, she figured as much when her ordinarily charming fiance clammed up after the introductions. But watching his perfectly placed mask slip from his face to show the scared and the insecure man she knew was deep down inside pulled at her heartstrings. Walking forward to stand in front of him, Y/N brushed his hair back to tuck behind his ear. Bucky jolt and tore his gaze up at Y/N.

“Where’d you go?” She asked softly. Bucky frowned, blinking rapidly while he struggled to shut the little voices in his head up. “I know something’s bothering you. You can tell me now if you want, or I’ll wait until you fall asleep and start talking in your sleep again.”

“I don’t talk in my sleep.” Bucky sulked. Y/N raised a brow, a bit amused at his denial.

“Just last week you admitted to me you were the one who stole Natasha’s chocolate stash and that you were the one who put the red sock in Sam’s whites.”

Bucky opened his mouth to protest, but heat flooded his cheek fully aware he was caught.

“Yep.” Y/N said with a pop at the end of the ‘p’. “Torture doesn’t work on you but give you a nice fluffy pillow and blankets with some cuddles and you sing like a canary. Now. The question is, which path do you want to take?”

Bucky bit the inside of his cheek and let out a heavy breath. He knew there wasn’t any way around this. He had been had. Y/N was smart enough to figure out something was wrong; not like he did a very good job at hiding it.

“It’s…” He began hesitantly and tried to school his face to not show off his discomfort. “Am I enough for you?”

“W-what?” Y/N’s face fell, stunned at his question. “Of course you are! What could have possibly made you think otherwise?”

“I-I don’t know. I’ve never seen you that happy to see someone else before, and the fact that he was your ex.” Bucky inhaled deeply, his face twisted at the bitter taste the words left in his mouth. “You have a lot of history and seeing how comfortable you are with him made me wonder.”

Despite the crestfallen expression on her fiance’s adorable face, Y/N couldn’t stop herself from giggling softly. Bucky scowled, perturbed that Y/N was finding this funnier that she should have. Here he was admitting something that was very difficult for him to get through, and Y/N was having a laugh. He didn’t appreciate it one bit. Bucky glared and sat back with his arms crossed, which only caused Y/N to laugh harder.

“Glad you find this funny.” He grumbled. Y/N struggled to control her breathing, wheezing and snorting despite her attempts. Bucky was growing increasingly agitated the longer this went on, debating on whether or not he should just get up and leaver her to it. To him, Y/N wasn’t taking his emotions seriously and he wasn’t going to put up with it. Before he could go to stand, Y/N, through her giggles and tears, gently grabbed his face and leaned in to press a loving kiss to his lips.

“Oh baby, I’m sorry. It’s not funny.” Y/N began and whipped the tear from her eyes. “Here you are, being honest and I can barely contain myself.”

“I thought we could be adults, but clearly that’s not the case.”

Y/N ignored his quip and took in a deep calming breath. She bit her her lips in an attempt to control herself before she kept on.

“Bucky, first and foremost. You are enough. You make me so deliriously happy; I can’t even begin to describe how you make me feel. I love you! Not anyone else, but you. Please don’t ever think you couldn’t ever be enough, because you are. And I can’t wait to spend the rest of my life with you.” Y/N stated confidently, gently cupping the sides of Bucky’s face to keep him from turning away. “But secondly, there’s a reason why Jackson and I aren’t together. Yes, we started to drift apart after high school, but it’s something much bigger than that.”

“Which is?” Bucky asked timidly. A number of scenarios rapidly came to Bucky’s mind. Did he cheat on Y/N? Did they just fizzle out and never get to rekindle that romance side? Was that something that would ever happen with them? God, I hope not, he thought as the pain ignited in his chest again. Y/N giggled yet again, but this time was capable of containing herself of letting it go further.

“Bucky. Jackson’s gay.”

“Ah.” Bucky blinked. Well, that wasn’t what he excepted.

“Devin is his husband.” Y/N continued. “He realized it sometime after we graduated from high school and went to our separate colleges. Jackson was able to get away from his super conservative mom and realized that he wasn’t as into women like he was raised to think. By that point, he and I had already decided that the distance was too much and we would be better off separating amicably. 

I guess I always kind of knew too with how he wouldn’t do certain things with me without feeling weird about it, but when we were dating in high school and even those brief months we were engaged, he denied it every turn of the way. His mom was furious when he came out and disowned him along with the rest of his family. I was one of his only few friends who supported his decision and was there for him when he needed the help. For the longest time, he was incredibly depressed, and I was afraid I’d lose him if I didn’t check up on him every few days.”

Relief washed over Bucky, along with a touch of embarrassment. That’s why she seemed so close with Jackson. Not because there were underlying feelings between them, but because Y/N and Jackson both had gone through an emotional ordeal. She was Jackson’s support in his time of need. Of course, she would be, Y/N’s heart was huge and she hated seeing people in pain and suffering. Especially if she was able to help in any way.

“That’s actually what his nonprofit is for. He offers support to the young teens of the LGBT community who have been kicked out of their homes because their families don’t agree with who they love. He had support from friends when he came out, but a lot of others don’t.” Y/N brushed the hair from Bucky’s face, beaming with pride as she explained her ex-boyfriend/ best friend’s career choice. “Even if Jackson wasn’t gay, we were growing apart as it was, and I think we still would have ended things before we went through with the marriage. Yes, I loved him, but we both wanted vastly different things as it was. It never would have worked out regardless. Besides, I think it was meant to be.”

“What do you mean?” Bucky cocked his head to the side.

“If I married Jackson I never would have decided to go into biochemistry, which never would have led me to meet Bruce or Fury, which in turn, would have never led me to meet you.” She grinned. “Besides that marriage would have been a shame and neither of us would have been happy.”

Bucky laughed, letting his eyes fall closed and he leaned forward to rest his forehead against Y/N’s. Y/N hummed softly and pressed a gentle kiss against his chin, lingering a moment before she wrapped her arms around his neck.

“I’m sorry if meeting him made you feel uncomfortable. I should have told you about him sooner, but I’ve always been a little protective of him.” Y/N whispered softly. Bucky sighed and pulled her against his chest.

“No, don’t feel bad. I didn’t mean to let the little bit of jealousy take over. I shouldn’t have doubted you either.” He murmured as he buried his head against the crook of her neck. Y/N giggled when his whiskers tickled her sensitive skin there, her body curling away from the beard. The corners of his lips curled up into a smile, but Bucky didn’t move to retaliate despite wanting to tease her further.

“Promise me you’ll never doubt yourself again though.” Y/N said intently. “You mean the world to me, and I won’t have you thinking otherwise!”

Bucky chuckled and nodded, warmth spreading through his chest. It was a nice change from the pain from earlier.

“I promise.”

“Good, now did you finish your paperwork?” Y/N shifted gears and stepped back. Bucky nodded and let her pull him to stand. “Even better. I didn’t get to cuddle with you this morning, so now it’s time to make up with an afternoon movie cuddle session.” 

Bucky’s heart swelled in his chest and the little voices in his mind were silent. How could he have ever doubted this amazing woman and the love she had for him? Now more than ever, Bucky felt his love for her grow tenfold. Their wedding day couldn’t come any sooner. 

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#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes #bucky x reader #reader insert #marvel fanfiction #marvel imagine #marvel fic #marvel #fanfic #winter soldier #winter soldier x reader #tiny bit of angst #fluff #all the fluff #requested story

[womanoflettersinthebunker]

"Alright, I know you worked hard on putting everything back together, but I'm not trusting them enough to eat any of it."

Sam eyed the now barely repaired jars with uncertainty. Dean stared down at them as well, winching when he saw the honey oozing out between the cracks. Glue only went so far and he did try duct tape at some point but the first few times he had tried just made them break again.

"He's not gonna make us eat that, right?" Sam asked looking up at his brother. "Cause I'm not sure if it'll kill us but it'll definitely hurt if we eat glass."

"I have no clue but if he tries, we're leaving." Dean said, poking at the jar and cursing to himself when it made another piece of glass fall to the table. "Son of a-" he grabbed the duct tape and quickly tried to put it back together. "What did he do with you?"

"Nothing really, I was just chopping the wood." Sam said. "I think he tried to mess it up or something but I caught it in time." he looked around the farm. "Wonder what's next."

"I'm wondering what the hell is the point of this." Dean grumbled, setting the jar on the table as gently as he could. "I thought that maybe he was making us do a few chores he didn't want to but breaking what we're trying to do?"

"I don't think it's his chores, I think it's a test. Or a lesson." Sam said slowly. "I think he's trying to teach us something."

"Teach us what?"

Sam let out a small breath, sliding his hands into his pockets. "He said that he believes that we are stronger than the Princes," that was a notion Dean couldn't even think of wrapping his head around. "And he believes that if we learn that and learn how to use our power, get over our fear, then we can actually...be a threat?"

"So he said, but I have no idea how much truth there is to that." Dean said, shaking his head. He slid his plaid shirt off, leaving himself in the plain white shirt, he had already taken his jacket off a while ago and he was burning.

Sam had already gone down to a single shirt as well. "Well he seems to believe in it." he said with a shrug. "So, now here we are, doing simple chores the human way. No use of our powers or anything, just our hands." he was quiet for a moment before he turned to the jars once more. "What did he say to you when he broke those?"

"He said that I wasn't paying attention so that the jars broke because of it." Dean told him. "Had nothing to do with the fact that he pushed them, obviously."

The corner of Sam's lip twitched up at that, chewing on the inside of his cheek as he thought. "Anything else?"

"Yeah, that it happened cause I wasn't paying attention." Dean said looking at the jars, realization coming slowly. "And that there were consequences because of that. Son of a bitch, this isn't a test, it's a lesson."

"So he's teaching us to be aware of everything, that every action or inaction has a consequence of some sort." Sam said. "But what's the point of this? What is the point of teaching us this?"

"I don't know but...I think it somehow all ties back to what he said before, about us potentially being stronger than the Princes." Sam said looking at his brother. "I think he's trying to train us."

Dean raised an eyebrow at that, rolling his shoulders back a few times. "Doesn't that require, like, actual training for that?"

"He said so himself, he's sworn off all violent actions." Sam said softly. "So I guess he's trying to use loopholes."

"And what does he get out of this?" That was one of the first rules they had learned in Hell, no demon ever does something out of the so-called goodness of their hearts; there is always a price to pay or be paid.

"I don't know, and that scares me more than anything else." Sam said, shaking his head. He ran his fingers through his hair. "Are we allowed to ask him?"

"He doesn't care about rankings, '' said himself," Dean shrugged. "So technically...we could."

"If you could stop quivering and whispering, then maybe you could ask."

The both of them whirled around to see Cain standing there, two bags of groceries in his arms. He raised his eyebrow at the both of them. "You have questions?"

Sam and Dean looked at one another. "Yes we do." Dean said, coming forward. Ranking or no ranking, he was the oldest, this was his job. "What is the point of this?"

"Samael already figured out part of it." Cain said, motioning with his head towards the younger demon. He held the bags out and obediently Sam came forward to take them from him. "Awareness and consequences, something you need both of in order to survive properly in Hell."

"And where is this going, everything that you're teaching us?" Dean asked, taking one of the bags from Sam. Cain turned and went back into the house, the both of them followed after him. "What are you going to do?"

"The whole reason the Princes had decided to bother me again is because they want more Knights, I stopped that a long time ago." Cain told them as they entered the kitchen. He motioned for them to start unpacking the bags. "But they want Knights, I'm going to give them Knights, two in fact."

Sam paused at that, slowly bringing his head up. "You're going to turn us into Knights of Hell?"

"Not completely, not like I used to." Cain said, leaning down to grab pots and pans from the lower cabinets. "You two can't be turned, to become a Knight of Hell one must be either a full demon or on the cusp of transitioning, that's where I came in to change them and claim them. You two, your souls, they are forever half human, I can't change that."

"So, what I can do instead, is teach you what it means to be a Knight, and then force you two to the brink." Cain straightened up and turned to look at the both of them. "You two are going to be some of my finest works."

#supernatural #supernatural fanfiction #Supernatural fanfic #spn fanfiction #366 #164/366 #366 days of writing #366 day challenge #standing between two worlds au #Sam Winchester #dean winchester #half demon!Sam #half demon!dean #cain (supernatural) #cain

[georgecrecy]

Charlie 4

"This is a fine pickle we're in now, bucko." James said as he rested on the ground against the side of a breathing, scaly mass behind him. The grizzled miner leaned against the belly of a massive, eight ton lizard-like beast that he had called compatriot and friend for several years, scratching at an almost perpetual five o'clock shadow on his chin. Charlie in turn was curled on the floor of the cargo hold, while the comparatively massive eyes looked guiltily past its snout toward James. "And all because you had to have a big romp through a public park. One'd think you'd been drunk again." Casting a sidelong glance towards the large head nearby James said, "You weren't, were ya? You didn't get into the Adroxan Ale again, right?" The only reply was a thump of the long tail that hit the metallic floor with a clang, along with a quick snort of hot air through the ribbed nostrils.

"Mhmm, sure you didn't. Don't mean I ain't gonna check their levels later." James chuckled lightly and patted the side of his scaly companion as he heard the beginnings of a slight whine forming in the vocal cords. "Agh, don't you be worryin' my ole friend, I ain't holdin' nothin' against ya. Bunch of uptight snobs anywho if'n y'ask me." His arm continued to brush against the large heaving side as he thought back to a week ago, when lawyers from the Southtech Corporation had brought a warrant of restraint and removal for Charlie because of destruction of company property at their park. Despite James’ protest, Charlie was led away by several wary members of animal control to be impounded. James immediately went with the lawyers to their headquarters, where he met a loathsome cretin - or as they called him VP of Operations. Seated at his desk as the group walked into the expansive office, he sprang lithely out of the chair to stand in front of an ornate and needlessly wide desk.

“Ah, the miner... James, is it? A pleasure.” He held out a hand which James didn’t deign to take. Rather than taking offense, the suited man smiled even wider with teeth that were too white as he put his hand back down. “I am Crassus Jaul, I understand there has been an unfortunate incident at our park including your….” Searching for the word for a moment, he snapped his fingers at one of the lawyers flanking James, a brief blaze of anger showing through the facade. The lawyer jumped and mumbled hurriedly, “A- a Tilluxian Dragon sir-” “A Tilluxian Dragon, yes.” Jaul interrupted officiously. “But naught to worry, once the Dragon is disposed of, you only need worry about the replacement costs, and then-” “Wait a goddamn minute, you’re gonna put down Charlie? Like he was some dirt beneath your shoe? He ain’t done nothin’ to deserve that!” To his credit, Jaul looked surprised at being interrupted, but he was better able to hide his anger this time. “Why, Mr. James, I’m afraid you forget what sort of pet you brought to our planet. You chose to bring a Hazard Class 1 species into a populated urban area, so be grateful you aren’t locked up as well for endangering the public.”

“Look mister, he ain’t no pet, he is a thinkin’ being who didn’t mean any serious harm to nobody, and he’s my friend. You ain’t gonna put ‘im down. Not on my watch. And, ain’t there somethin’ we can do? We’d be happy to pay ya back fer any of the minor damage he might’a caused.”

Jaul gave a calculating look at the miner before motioning to the other lawyer, who handed him a combi-pad. His manicured fingers perused through lists for a few minutes before saying, “I’m afraid it is more than minor damage. Several acres of lawn torn to shreds, an imported Japanese bridge from old Earth now on its side, its pylons needing repairs, this is a hefty sum that I doubt a man of your… station… would be able to afford.” His grey eyes brightened as if hit by a sudden thought, “However, we could come to some sort of arrangement. You have a good-sized freighter if I heard correctly? Then we might have a quick set of jobs that a man of your rough and tumble talent might be able to handle. My men will hand you all the information, and once done, you can return for your little… ahem - friend.”

James, however, was already shaking his head. “Oho no, that ain’t gonna pan out. Charlie ain’t a fan o’ bein’ caged. He’d do more damage to wherever they tried keepin’ ‘im than would be worthwhile. And I ain’t gonna let ‘im be mistreated like that. He’s comin’ with.” Jaul smile turned into a dower scowl, “We can hardly let you merely wander off never to return with your pet. But I suppose what you say might be true. In that case, we will be implanting a charge tracker.” James began to protest, but Jaul held up a hand, “No, Mr. James, I’m afraid that we at Southtech have to protect our investitures, a charge tracker will have to do. Let us say that it will add further… incentive to get back to us in good time with the tasks complete. Now, please follow these gentlemen who will give you the particulars. Goodbye now.”    

Waving them off without hardly a glance, Crassus Jaul wound his way back to his chair on the opposite side of the desk, while the lawyers none too gently escorted James out of the office. The last thing James saw as the doors shut behind him was Jaul dialing into a keypad to make a call.

From the end of the catwalk above, a control panel next to one of the doors which exited the massive cargo bay beeped insistently, which roused James from his thoughts. With a sigh and a groan, he hauled himself off the metal grating which comprised the floor, heading for the ladder leading up. Charlie’s large head rose with him and tracked his movements with cat-like grace despite the size.

"But we got a job to do now, much as we don't like it. They gotta whole bunch o' clout with the right folks, leavin' us little choice. And we gotta be there for each other." Clambering up the ladder, he punched the annoying alarm off before heading through the door towards the bridge. As he left the room, the Tilluxian Dragon snuffled mournfully and bent his head back over his monstrously taloned feet, its gaze snapping back to the door soulfully every few minutes, and scratching at a puffy incision mark behind its left ear.

“Please, you mustn't take it! What will we do when the winter comes? Our children and old will starve!” The tinny, croaking audio from the auto-translator did little to mitigate the urgency of the colony headman. James hung his head in defeat and frustration, and could only say in return, “I know, mister. I really wish it could be different.” Prior to setting down on the planet, he had poured over the documents trying to find some loophole that the Corporation’s own nitpicking accountants hadn’t already factored in, but he couldn’t find anything that would save them from their debt being collected upon.

The Yallarians had had the misfortune of a bad harvest after buying what seemed a foolproof farming package deal for their new colony from the Southtech Corporation. They were refugees to begin with, and they didn’t have any founding society to rely upon to back up their losses, so their only capital to bargain with was their future crop return, and they lost the roll. Now with nothing left to leverage, their one source of future food - the greenhouse network and it’s main processing computer, which the whole system relied upon - had been ripped out and placed on a hover dolly on its way to the hold of James’ freighter. The eyes of the headman looked desperately after the retreating computer core over James’ shoulder, but he ripped his eyes away from the agonizing sight as James continued, “You know, I got a few friends at a colony only a few jumps away, helped them with a problem a few years back, they might have some extra food for you to get through the winter with.”

The blubbery skin of the Yallarian shook side to side in their version of motioning no, the auto-translator again sounding tinny and light despite the gravity of the situation. “What would we pay them with? Even if we could pay them, what will we do at the end of the season? We have nothing left to bargain with, our colony is doomed. I do not know what will become of us.” James shook his head, “But you got yourselves, yer hard workers, I seen that in the reports.” The Yallarian’s eyestalks narrowed, and the other bystanders to the conversation all began to mutter fiercely among themselves. “You suggest we become enslaved? We left our planet because of such depravity, and are not intent on returning to it.” The miner held up his hands in what he hoped they understood to be a conciliatory gesture, “Us humans haven’t been to fond of it either, not for a few millenia now. I’m suggestin’ a mutual agreement between yourselves and them to help each other, given they accept, and I’m sure they might. They owe me big time. I only need ta get ‘em on the horn. Please Headman Ulla, I wanna help.” Through the frustration and defeat he had felt during his task, the idea had come across his mind as they were signing the paperwork. He wasn’t completely sure it would work with the interests of two colonies and their residents having to be considered on a single planet, but he had hope.

James could tell that Ulla was conflicted, as well as skeptical. First the miner had destroyed the future of their colony by repossessing their computer, and then in the same breath offered a possible salvation. The headman wasn’t sure if he wanted to attack him or hug him. The eyestalks cast about the faces of its fellow colonists, which returned his gaze with uncertainty and fear. In the distance, he watched as the strange man’s colossal friend played with the young in one of the fields, showing a gentleness and grace with them while they weaved through its legs despite the size. Finally, he made a decision.

“Call them.”

After what seemed to James as forever, he cast himself wearily onto the couch/bunk of his rather spartan crew space. A vessel even of this size was largely automated, which was what first drew him to it many years ago, given his preference to go solo at the time. It hadn’t been built with the expansive crew quarters of other comparable mining or hauling ships. Given his rather bachelor lifestyle, it was also bereft of more than basic decoration, except for two pic-files that were mounted in frames on a wall rack near the bed. One showed him from a few years ago, his grizzled frame nearly being ousted out of the shot by a massive and scaly snout with a row of dangerous teeth flashing out of the top and bottom lips, one of James’ arms curled around from underneath as he laughed. The other was a shot of a beautiful vista in twilight, and in the foreground were two figures silhouetted by the two suns they were gazing at together, one a small blue cat-like species that sat atop Charlie’s head. Both were bathed in the pink and aquamarine color that permeated the thin atmosphere.

He gazed at these reminiscently as his mind also battled the conundrum he was currently positioned with. The Yallarians were but one of several colonies he had been tasked with repo-ing something from over the last three weeks. Besides the computer core of the Yallarian colony, there had also been the entirety of a mining system from another colony of Vashas, a lab setup from a startup research firm, and the defense network from an outer rim planet that really didn’t want to give it up. Considering the amount of pirate activity in the area, he could understand why, but if the Southtech folks hadn’t also sent along the kill codes for the network, he was sure the negotiations would have been short for him indeed for the last one.

With every part of the job he had pored through the orders and the warrant information that showed the credit history of each, and all he could do was scratch his head. He was a miner, not an accountant, and while he knew his way around ore breakdown folios and asteroid surveys, he was lost elsewhere, and he didn’t risk sending the info to someone who did lest it cost him his friend if the company got wind. In frustration he hit his hand on the hard metal bulwark, and instantly regretted it, grunting from the brief stab of pain. From the cargo bay he felt the weight of the ship shift as a lizard-like muzzle poked as much as it could through the open door, its nostrils sniffing the air for trouble. Clutching his smarting hand, James got up to show his friend all was okay, and scratched the skin around Charlie’s nostril with his non-injured hand, which he knew he liked and would calm him down. From the door he watched as Charlie lifted his serpentine head and neck off of the metal catwalk, which groaned and creaked in protest from the weight now lifted off it. Once Charlie had settled back on the floor of the bay, James slowly turned and walked back through the compartment and past the bed which his body achingly called him back to.

Instead, he continued past and through another door which led to the bridge. Sitting down and ordering up another cup of coffee from the dispenser to his left, he picked up his combi-pad and scrolled through the mining returns of the Vasha colony again. He scrolled past lists of part requisition orders and breakdown logs to the return forms of all the ore they had sold. It seemed their system was a good investment if the surveys were anything to go by, but they still couldn’t put enough dough up to cover the expenses for some reason. There were a lot of breakdowns, but the company listed the majority as user error, and the Vasha were well known for being hard on equipment without caring much about maintenance, so he was left stumped.

The ding of his dispenser alerted him that his coffee was ready, and he gingerly sipped it as he gazed out the cockpit window. The many stars of the surrounding sector glistened and shot past like the fleeting thoughts in his mind. Despite being overjoyed at finally being done with this loathsome assignment, something was nagging at the back of his mind.      

Two hours later, their freighter jumped out of warp nearby the green and blue planet where all the trouble had begun. He had been cleared to land and with Charlie in tow made their way to the Southtech Corporation Building, a tall white edifice that contrasted against the dark clouds which had begun to darken the skies as they had descended, people gazing in awe or simply fast-walking by a different route once they saw the pair. Since Charlie could hardly fit through the front doors, they were instead ushered in via one of the supply docks to the side of the building. It was in the expansive warehouse section that they were met again by Crassus Jaul, flanked by several of the building security forces. He wore yet another expensive suit, his shoes clicking on the smooth quik-crete floor.

“Ah, my friend, you have returned! We have received all the shipments in good order, so we must congratulate you on a job well done. Surely it is men such as yourself that ensure all creditors are good to their word.”

James merely scowled in return. “Save it, Jaul. We’ve done your dirty work, now get that damn charge tracker out’a his neck and we’ll be on our way. Where’s the vet?”

Jaul pouted his lips in an almost mock expression of sorrow. “Ah, yes, about that arrangement of ours. I’m afraid our lawyers first glance at the law came a bit short. The charges are a bit more serious-”

James’ anger and frustration burst through the surface, “What!? What’re you talkin’ about, you bastard! We had a deal!” Charlie growled menacingly, and the guards immediately raised their rifles at the ready. Jaul quietly pulled out a small remote pad from a pocket in his jacket, and waved it suggestively in the air. James signaled to Charlie to calm down, but even with Charlie’s growls down to a low murmur, the room was tense. Jaul smiled sickeningly. “That’s better. Now, as I was saying, the charges against you and your mutt are more serious than we first realized. I’m afraid your services - while appreciated - was not enough for judges on the planet to look the other way considering. Not to mention that your little shenanigans with the Yallarians cost us a repeat client. So I am afraid the government will be taking possession of the subject and terminating it.”

James was dumbfounded. Barely keeping a bubbling fury in check, he said through clenched teeth, “How convenient. I looked into this world ya know, and your corporation owns this whole damn planet! You own the judges, you own the lackeys in the government, you practically write the damn laws! We done your laundry and you still gonna leave us dry? Why don’t you just write another new law, eh?”

Jaul barely tried to hide a crooked smile. “Why Mr. James, I haven’t the slightest clue what you are talking about. We live in quite the democratic society, and one which fines heavily for such slanderous and unsubstantiated talk, which we shall overlook considering the stress you are in at the moment. Now, we can do this quietly and it can be put down in a more civil manner tomorrow. Should you try to cause trouble, however, that charge tracker in its neck has enough explosive to send its head across the room, and you will get to clean up the mess in chains, after having been sentenced, of course.”

Inside his head he expected screaming, the sound of combi-blasters and roars, but instead it was only silence. He realized he was in shock. The only thing he could think to ask was, “Can... I say goodbye?”

Jaul shrugged unconcernedly. “Fine. Be quick. Make the thing stay quiet when it is taken if it is possible to keep such a beast in check.”

Not even bothering to look towards the loathsome prick, James shouldered past the guards and went straight for the huge head of his friend who had been with him for so long. Behind him, the guards looked surprised at each other. Most were uncomfortable being as close as they were now to such a stereotypically dangerous species, let alone go and hug the maw of one, bristling as it did with sharp teeth. James buried his face against the bridge of Charlie’s nose so Jaul and the others wouldn’t have the satisfaction to see the tears now glistening down his scrabbly cheeks. Doing his best to bite back the sobs which threatened to burst forth, James could barely put two words together to say, “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry bud. Now you gotta be quiet and nice okay, and… I’ll come see ya before… before.”

Jaul’s feet clicked impatiently on the floor. “That will be all Mr. James, the government needs to take possession of your beastie, and I’m sure there is some asteroid or godforsaken planet for you to crawl around on, or whatever it is you do. Guards, please escort them both out.”

Charlie could tell something was wrong, his human never acted like this. He was always so strong-willed, like a pup first learning how to hunt despite a lack of success. And now he felt wetness on his muzzle where the human’s not-muzzle was… also wet? He didn’t understand until he felt the rope being wrapped around his neck and flanks and begin to pull him away. He snapped at a few of them before he noticed his human sign for calm. He was confused, didn’t the human not want them to take Charlie? He obeyed, but he keened a cry of anguish low and long, as he had heard several times before on his home when his family grieved a still one. Charlie saw the human sign several more times the calm signal, more wetness cascading down the human’s not-muzzle.

James stood there and shook in silent sobs as Charlie reluctantly let the guards drag him into a different room, and as a door slid down to close, Charlie made sure to crane his neck down to follow the opening so as to not lose sight of James despite the ropes which bit at his neck. His bellowing rumbled through the large warehouse until the door sealed the sound away to a low rumble. The guards practically had to drag James as well back out the door. Once outside, however, one hesitated and looked backward briefly before sifting through his pockets and writing on a business card. Silently he handed James the card, which he discovered had a time and address scrawled on it. The guard quickly closed the door in his face as he looked at the paper in disbelief. He wanted to scream. He wanted to bash the walls down with his fists until he found his friend. Instead, after what seemed forever, he dazedly turned around and staggered out of the side alleyway. He stood there at the junction of the street and alleyway for a while before turning again and starting down the street with only one destination in mind.

After two information kiosks and several police officers accosting him for possible vagrancy, he looked up and realized he was at the address listed to where it was to take place. What greeted him was a solemn, dismal building that matched the unforgiving purpose that lied within. Dirty sandstone columns rose up to meet with ionic capitals, all of which supported the top of the triangular roof in the fashion of a Greek temple from old Earth. The pediment inside the triangle formed by the roof showed a large sculpture of galaxies and stars, which were intertwined with a scroll with the ancient Latin words listed in a flowing script, ‘fiat justitia ruat cælum,’ which a posted info tablet told him was translated as ‘Let justice be done though the heavens fall.’ Without comment, James sat down at a nearby bench to wait the many hours that were left, which to him didn’t seem to be enough.

By the next day, news had gotten around the city that a big and dangerous Tilluxian Dragon was set to be destroyed by the state, and many arrived as the hour drew near to see the spectacle. It was a brusk morning, and dew glinted off of the street lamps that lit the area, including one that hung over a lone bench that a haggard man with dirty orange overalls and a haunted, grizzly look on his face sat on. Bystanders would be hard put to tell whether the glistening water that sat on the end of his stubble was dew or tears. He sat staring at the words etched in the granite above without moving until an hour before when the doors were unlocked and opened. People in business attire and upscale clothing alike were allowed in, but when the guard at the door saw the miner in his dirty clothing come up, he was about to turn him away. James flashed the card he had been given, and after a quick check was allowed in, though the other people looked at him with disdain. He followed the flow of people which eventually led to a dimly lit audience hall, where several tiers of seats faced a curtained plas-steel window. James found a seat near the front, barely noticing the looks cast his way, or the fact that quite a bit of clearance was given him on either side by those afraid for the sake of their clothes being stained.

The murmuring in the hall came to a standstill as the lights dimmed further, but changed to an audible gasp as the curtains were mechanically drawn apart, revealing the lighted chamber beyond. Inside stood several solemn looking people in white doctoring robes as well as several armed guards, but everyone’s attention was drawn to what was restrained in the center.

His muzzle was clamped shut, and his legs had been forced into an uncomfortable lying position on the black and white tiled floor, many lengths of titanium cord three inches in diameter wrapped around the large body before bolting to the floor. The sheer size and a glance at the muscles tight with tension added an element of wonder that the comparably minuscule restraints seemed inadequate for the job, but they held. Charlie’s head had little leeway left to move, but he could glance up as the curtain opened to see the room outside, and a deep and rumbling howl echoed through the plas-steel and quaked inside the very bodies of the bystanders watching in awe. Charlie’s eyes cast about the room frantic and confused, before finding the eyes of James. When he saw him, he lashed about in place, unable to move enough to find purchase to get back to his friend, though trying with all his prodigious might. His head did not stop looking at James though, with a puzzled and frustrated expression, his keening now coming at a feverish pitch.

The doctors and guards were startled for a moment at the sudden movement before bursting into action, the guards standing ready with rods in hand as the doctors readied their gruesome concoction. A final somber figure entered the scene from the side and stood in front of the crowd, though keeping well away from the thrashing thing to his side. “Thank you all for coming today, as we witness the destruction of a member of the vilest and most perilous species that plagues our corner of the galaxy: a Tilluxian Dragon. We have it well restrained, I can assure you all, and in one minute, it will be put down, and from there taken to the Adrax Laboratory for study and dissection to further the cause of fighting these beasts.”

James barely comprehended the words the official said, he was having more trouble ensuring that he kept to his seat instead of bursting towards the glass because he knew that even if he spent all the fury welling inside of him, the glass would barely show a scratch, and he would only make matters worse. He rocked imperceptibly back and forth as the last minute he had with his companion of several years ticked down, wishing he had the chance to hug his enormous side, or sit with him one more time in the familiar space of his freighter’s cargo hold, the memories of many adventures flashing with lightning speed through his mind.  

The doctors inserted several large needles into Charlie’s side, each connected to a different container of fluid. The official watched a clock inset onto the wall in the tiled room as Charlie stopped thrashing, his energy spent. Instead, he called out to James again and again with pitiful bleats, confused and feeling abandoned. Why didn’t his human come to his call? What kept him in place? What was going on? Finally, the official motioned towards the lead doctor, who nodded and switched the pumping mechanism on. First one fluid, then another, and then the last began to pump into Charlie’s veins, and his bleating and keening finally quieted down after several agonizing minutes, the large eyelids slowly closing over the yellow eyes. A heart monitor sat nearby which beeped with a constant, but slowing rhythm until at last, it held a continuous flat line. The official nodded again, and the curtain drew closed.

The audience chamber was awash with light again, and the burbling of chatter from the many excited people dwindled away as the room emptied out, leaving a solitary orange-clad figure sitting where he had since the beginning of the macabre event. Ever so slowly, he stood, and finally exited the room to head to a lonesome ship on a landing pad on the other side of the city. Outside, the clouds still clung dark and brooding, brushing the tops of some of the spires of buildings. Where the quiet of a single-crewed ship had once been exciting and preferable to James when he first bought it, it now seemed unbearably lonely and bleak.

Behind the curtain, shortly after it had closed, Crassus Jaul entered the room, and with a wave sent the official and most of the other staff packing, which was just as preferable to them. The lead doctor stayed per the plan, but he still nervously shifted from foot to foot. Jaul tenderly felt the now stilled side of the monstrous body before him, feeling his hand slide over layers of scale and the muscle underlying it, now lacking the tension it had had before. The doctor coughed anxiously which Jaul annoyedly acknowledged with another wave of his hand as one would do to swat away a fly. “I know.” After several more minutes of gazing, Jaul motioned the doctor to continue, and he swept into action. Inserting a large syringe into the closest vein he could discern, he wiped the sweat off his brow as Jaul stood like a hawk at a distance, surveying his work. The doctor deployed the antitoxin and after several minutes gasped in relief when the heart monitor bleeped back to a slow and steady pulse. The sides of the Dragon began to lift up and down as a regular breathing rhythm accompanied the bleep of the monitor like the lashing of waves on the shore. Jaul clapped the doctor on the shoulders who had been watching the readouts from his machines carefully, making the nervous man jump. “Relax, my friend, you have done well! I was sure your expert hands could perform this little miracle of ours. Now, you can expect remuneration shortly in your account, and we needn’t have to worry about the welfare of your wife and children if this stays between us. Understand?”

The doctor’s eyes grew wide in fear, and without speaking nodded emphatically before ducking out of the room. Jaul then turned his eyes back to his new prize and smiled fiendishly in self-satisfaction. “Now, my pretty thing, you are much more profitable to me alive. My friend will be paying a pretty penny for your smelly hide. I’ve made sure of it.”

Read the other parts of the series!

Part 1: https://georgecrecy.tumblr.com/post/183762132696/charlie-1

Part 2: https://georgecrecy.tumblr.com/post/183787102041/charlie-2

Part 3: https://georgecrecy.tumblr.com/post/183794906326/charlie-3

Part 5: https://georgecrecy.tumblr.com/post/183818824461/charlie-5

Part 6: https://georgecrecy.tumblr.com/post/183819131196/charlie-6

Part 7: https://georgecrecy.tumblr.com/post/183819391261/charlie-7

#haw #hfy #humans are weird #humans are space orcs #earth is space australia

[shireness-says]

If I Could See Your Face Once More (4/6)

Summary: This time, there’s no celebration at Granny’s when the latest crisis has been resolved. Instead, they’re left to deal with the body of Killian Jones. A 5B canon divergence where Killian dies in Camelot, never becoming a Dark One. Rated T for language. Also on AO3. ~8.3K. Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3

A/N: I’m sorry for what’s about to happen. I promise I’ll fix it.

Thanks to @snidgetsafan for beta-ing, even if she’s mad at me, and to @csmarchmadness for getting me posting this in the first place. I’ll have the 5th chapter up as soon as I finish it.

Tagging: @thejollyroger-writer, @profdanglaisstuff, @captainsjedi, @ultraluckycatnd, @superchocovian, @snowbellewells, @killianjones4ever82, @wellhellotragic, @ohmakemeahercules, @let-it-raines, @lifeinahole27. Shoot me a message if you want to be added to the list!

Thanks for reading - let me know what you think!

Seeing Hades standing in the library, threatening the boy Killian views as a son, is the stuff of nightmares. Killian so distinctly remembers every blow, every cut, every bruise inflicted upon him in the god’s cavernous lair; he remembers, despite Hades’ suave exterior, exactly how furious he got when Killian refused to beg for mercy. It makes Killian’s blood run even colder within his dead veins to see that same… demon masquerading as man anywhere near Henry.

Hades mentioned a proposition, but Killian isn’t interested. “We’re not interested in deals, tyrant,” he growls back.

The god only hums though, like he’s got a secret. It just might worry Killian even more than the deal itself. “Are you sure? You might think differently once you have all the information. Reconsider, if you will.” Hades rolls his eyes as Belle pulls Henry further behind her across the room. “Honestly, you’ve got to stop that. What, you think I’m going to smite the kid down? Not my style.”

“What aren’t you telling us?” David demands, ignoring their enemy’s flat attempt at reassurance. Killian’s wondering the same thing - Emma’s father has always just been a bit more blunt about things. Not one for banter, that one.

“I’m sure you’ve discovered my lovely gift already? The personalized headstones? I’ve always been one for that personal touch, you know.” Hades, on the other hand, prefers to yammer away, in love with theatrics and the sound of his own voice. Killian would much rather he just get to the bloody point. “As time’s gone by, though, I’ve really found myself thinking I just didn’t do quite enough. I mean, you’ve got a child with you! How rude of me not to cater to the youth!”

“You didn’t,” Regina growls, as realization slowly dawns on all of them. Oh, gods. Killian feels sick to his stomach.

“Oh, but I did,” Hades confirms, smiling that slimy grin at the collected crowd as Belle instinctively holds Henry tighter. “Like I said: I don’t need to do any of that messy smiting business. Not when I can just add dear Henry’s name to one of those monuments. Neater, don’t you think?”

“You son of a bitch,” Killian spits. Only Emma’s tight grip on his hand and Liam throwing a cautionary arm across his chest keeps him from throwing himself at Hades, and he can spot the same blazing rage in everyone’s eyes. “I’ll kill you, I swear I will, you demon.”

“Good luck with that,” Hades replies, rolling his eyes. “We can either go that route - which won’t work, by the way, in case you’ve haven’t forgotten our lovely little interlude on my home turf before - or you can listen to my proposition.”

“We’re listening,” Liam says, casting a warning look in Killian’s direction. Hear him out, he’s silently saying. Know what you’re up against.

“The way I see it, you’ve got something I want, and I’ve got something you want. So, just give me the Olympian Crystal, and I’ll be happy to wipe all those headstones clean. Hell, I’ll even throw in a portal to get you all home in, say,” he makes a great show of looking at an oversized watch, “two hours.”

It’s a good deal, Killian knows. There had always been some uncertainty around how they would escape the Underworld once they had found a way to revive him, and now that Henry has been tossed into this mess… well, that’s non-negotiable. Henry’s safety, the safety of both his children comes before anything else. Killian would gladly throttle Hades with his bare hands, but not at Henry’s expense.

Emma’s always been an all-or-nothing type of woman, however. “And Killian?” she demands.

“Well, I can’t let a soul that’s rightfully mine just waltz out of here, you know. It’s just not good for business. I think I’ve been more than generous,” the god protests.

Emma looks like she’s about to snap and turn down the deal, but Killian interrupts before she gets the chance. “Give us a moment to talk.”

“Oh, of course. Important decisions, I understand. I’ll just be over here,” Hades says, poofing himself into one of the library chairs. Showoff. With their threat sedately seated to the side, crossing his legs in a deceptively casual manner, Belle and Henry take this moment to dart across the room to where everyone else is standing. Killian draws Henry into his arms just as soon as he’s close enough. The poor lad looks pale and worried, and all Killian wants is to alleviate that concern as much as he can.

(It also might be one of the last times Killian holds his boy if they take this deal like he thinks they should, but Killian is trying not to think about that yet.)

“You can’t seriously be thinking about taking Hades’ deal,” Emma hisses. “We are not leaving without you.”

“I’m more than thinking about it; I’ve made my decision. Emma, love, we’ve got to take his deal, it’s the only way,” he begs.

“I refuse to accept that. We came down here to save you, Killian, and I don’t intend to give up.”

“Emma, please,” he begs. “I love you, and I want to come home with you more than anything, but things have changed. It’s been bad enough to have your name on one of those tombstones, but Henry’s… I can’t live with myself, knowing that he’s trapped down here when there was another way to make sure you’re all safe. Henry’s safety has to be non-negotiable.” Killian looks around for support, desperate for any backup.

He finds it in an unexpected place. “He’s right, Emma,” Snow, the queen of hope herself, says softly. “We don’t have a plan for getting out of here, not really, and we definitely don’t have a way to remove our names from the headstones. This would solve both. I know you don’t want to leave Killian behind - none of us do, sweetheart. But you have to think of Henry, and the baby, and what’s best for them.”

“If we accept this, though… we give up our chance to save Killian,” Emma whispers, tears pooling at the bottom of her eyes and starting to slip down her cheeks. Killian can’t help but reach out to catch those tears; it’d be working against every instinct he possesses to deny that impulse to try and ease her pain.

“Actually,” Belle cuts in, “that might not be strictly true.” All eyes turn her direction, by turns curious and hopeful. “Henry and I think we found another way. I don’t want to say anything with Hades right over there but… we think there’s another way.”

“And it’s doable in that 2 hour window?” Robin asks.

“I believe so.”

“There’s really no question then, my love,” Killian says, just for Emma. Privately, he’s less hopeful about this last chance, but he can’t say that now, when his love is looking for any excuse to refuse the bargain. “Accept Hades’ deal. It’ll all work out, somehow.”

“I love you,” she says with a wobbly smile.

“And I you, my Swan.”

It feels like one of the ridiculous sports games Dave once forced him to watch as they uncluster from their tight huddle again. If not for the circumstances, it might almost make Killian laugh. But the circumstances are what they are, and it’s impossible to really embrace the humor when they’re about to possibly go bargain his resurrection away.

“So if we give you the stupid Crystal, you’ll let us go?” Emma demands, grasping Killian’s hand and refusing to let go. “Names cleared, one portal, no loopholes?”

“No loopholes,” Hades promises. The bastard even has the gall to look insulted at the implication he’d play anything but fair. “I’m a deity of my word, you know. I’ll even toss in a couple extra minutes to say goodbye, free of charge, just so the expiration lands on a nice neat quarter hour. Give me the Crystal, and the portal will open at 8:15pm.”

Emma still hesitates. Killian can understand that; even if they both know what must happen, putting that officially into motion is still hard. He squeezes her hand - in solidarity, in encouragement, in love, in everything else, and with a final nod, Emma finally takes the plunge.

“We’ll take your deal, then.”

“Excellent,” Hades grins, even such a happy gesture dripping with ooze on him. “I’ll take my prize, then.”

After a last pause, Emma reluctantly hands the Crystal over. In Hades’ hands, it briefly glows as if suddenly activated before becoming just a hunk of rock again. Killian tries to comfort himself with the fact that maybe that glow means they wouldn’t have been able to use the Crystal after all, even if it was still in their possession; it doesn’t work very well. The god waves his other hand in an almost dismissive gesture once he has the crystal, and what feels like a ripple of power chases through the room. That must have been him removing the headstones; Killian sure hopes so, otherwise they’re all doubly screwed.

“Pleasure doing business with you,” quips Hades. “Your portal will open an hour before in the cemetery and close at 8:15 on the dot, no transfers, no take backs, only one small carry-on allowed, take only pictures, leave only footprints, yada yada yada. Have a nice life.” And with another hand gesture, he disappears in a puff of red-tinged smoke.

“Well that was excessive,” Regina comments dryly. That might be the understatement of the year. “Now, Henry, what did you and Belle discover?”

“We think we figured out where the ambrosia bush is!” Henry bursts out, the excitement of his accomplishment practically seeping from his pores.

“Well done, lad!” congratulates Killian, slinging an affectionate arm around his boy’s shoulders.

“Not to be the skeptical one here, because I really do hope you have, but what makes you think you’ve discovered the ambrosia bush, Henry?” Robin asks. He truly doesn’t mean it as a criticism, Killian knows; Robin is just a practical sort, a man who likes having a plan before he rushes into a situation, unlike so many of these other heroes Killian’s thrown his lot in with.

Belle smiles though, as if to reassure Robin that no offense has been taken. “Well, we started thinking about all the places here in the Underworld and back in Storybrooke that are really significant. Like how Hades’ lair and the River of Souls are beneath the library. There were places we ruled out easily, like the diner or the well or Regina’s crypt, but then —”

“The mines!” Henry interrupts, before apologizing sheepishly to Belle. “We just thought… you know, the fairy dust comes from the mines. That’s, like, one of the town’s sources of magic. So we got to thinking… what if they’re hiding some other natural magic?”

“There are some curious stories about the mines,” Liam adds thoughtfully. “People have been known to go in and not come back out. It stands to reason.”

“We looked at the maps, and found a dead-end tunnel,” Belle continues. “There was also a mention in one of the books about some odd mechanisms in one of the tunnels. We think perhaps it’s some sort of door.”

“Perhaps to a secret, fabled plant,” Killian finishes. “Brilliant, lass.” It’s a long shot, certainly, but it’s also the best lead they have - especially when they’ve got a two hour time limit and no other options.

“Okay, so Killian and I will go see about the ambrosia, while the rest of you collect our things. And, you know, the baby and Zelena. We’ll meet you in the cemetery.”

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” Emma’s father asks. “You two going off on your own like that?”

“Maybe it’s not, but someone needs to keep an eye on Henry, and I remember how tightly you stuffed those backpacks when we came down in the first place. We’ll be fine,” Emma replies.

“Are you sure?” Snow cuts in. “Your father or I would be happy to come with you —”

“It’s fine, Mom. Seriously, we’ll meet you by Regina’s crypt when we’re done.”

Somehow, she manages to convince Snow to leave and follow Regina and Robin out. Before Henry trails along after, Killian pulls him into a tight embrace.

“I’m proud of you, my boy,” he whispers into Henry’s hair. Gods willing, the ambrosia will be exactly where Henry and Belle think it is, will be the answer to all their prayers, but Killian’s not taking any chances. If worst comes to worst, and this is the last time he sees Henry, Killian wants to imprint every detail into his very soul.

“Thanks,” Henry mumbles back, before pulling back with determination glinting in his eyes. “It’s going to work, you know. It has to.”

“Ah, well of course it will if the Truest Believer decrees it so,” Killian smiles back, forcing all of his worry down to give Henry this moment. “Now, why don’t you go ask that brother of mine about the time he sent us all chasing after a sea monster?”

Henry happily leaps off to catch up to where Liam waits at the door. Catching his brother’s eye, they exchange nods. Liam will keep an eye on the lad, make sure he doesn’t run off into any foolhardy side quests.

“A sea monster?” Emma asks at his side, her tone somewhere between confusion and amusement.

“A particularly clever dolphin, as it turns out,” he explains. “At the time Liam was absolutely convinced we had discovered some mystical new creature. Blatantly abused his new power as captain to go chasing the bloody thing. You didn’t want your parents’ assistance?” he volleys back.

“I mostly wasn’t in the mood for some dramatic hope speech,” Emma admits. “Or Dad trying to, like, fight the door. Or something. I love them, but if time is of the essence or whatever you’d say…”

“I understand completely,” Killian chuckles. “We’ve always made a good team, you and I.” And they have - right from the beginning, even before the romance and the second chances and the deep, undying love, they’d always worked more effectively together than any other way. It should have been a sign, right there back on the beanstalk; Killian is only glad he embraced it before it was too late.

The trek from the library to the mine entrance is quicker than Killian expected, just down to the end of Main Street before walking down a wooded path. It’s probably overreacting to try and help Emma over and around every minor obstacle in their way - roots and stones and the like - but he does anyways, trying to infuse his love and concerned affection into every touch. If the way Emma smiles even as she rolls her eyes is any indication, she knows that already, has accepted it. Now is the time to hover, anyways; as much as Killian tries not to think about how these could be their last minutes together, it proves impossible to entirely banish that pesky little whispering voice from his head. Instead, he caters to the voice by trying to memorize every little detail of her hands - the little spots of dry skin between her fingers and the half-formed calluses where her fingers and palm meet and the odd little scar further down her palm that he knows is from a childhood tumble on rough gravel, not to mention the very specific way she likes to weave their fingers together (her pinky on the outside, always on the outside, or she’ll untangle them just to rearrange them the way she likes). He loves every part of her - every silly little detail that seems so frivolous and unimportant to anyone else but is everything to him.

(She’s everything to him. Gods, he hopes this works, because he’s tried an afterlife without her already and could barely stand it. He doesn’t know what he’ll do, if this doesn’t work.)

The mines themselves are a dark series of tunnels carved into what must have been an existing cave that mostly remind Killian of why he’s glad to be a man of the seas. Even with the electrical switch flipped to switch on a rickety, buzzing series of bulbs, the atmosphere is cloying and claustrophobic, every surface rough from where the tunnels were hewn directly from the stone.

“Careful, love,” he cautions, carefully making his way down ahead of her to test for uneven ground.

Her returning eye roll is less affectionate this time. “I’ve been down to the mines before, Killian,” she reminds him. “Remember how I slayed a dragon? I’m fine.”

The words are rather undermined by a subsequent stumble, making Killian huff in fond exasperation. Bloody stubborn woman. At least it’s an excuse to draw Emma in close against his side - for safekeeping and for comfort.

“I don’t know how you think you’ll be able to handle the map like this,” she grumbles as Killian’s fingers begin stroking gently along her side, just in that place between her bony hip and the soft curve of the Bean.

“Simple. I’ll let you hold it instead,” he replies, only half jokingly. Time is of the essence, but handling the map seems like such a waste when he could be imprinting the feel of her skin between every ridge of his fingertips.

“Smartass,” she mutters with a smile playing at the corners of her mouth.

It’s the easiest thing in the world, even facing such a terrifying uncertainty, to drop a soft kiss on the side of Emma’s head. “And you love me for it.”

“I do,” she sighs dramatically, before stretching to kiss the back ridge of his jaw in turn. It’s always been one of her favorite spots when it’s just the two of them. Killian pulls Emma even closer against his side as she does so, closing his eyes to better savor the moment.

(It’s not the last, it’s not the last, it can’t possibly be the last… but what if it is? What if he’s forced to live off the memory of her soft lips against the corner of his jaw for the rest of eternity?)

The darkness and close quarters of the mine become no less cloying the deeper they travel, and Killian finds himself clinging to Emma not just for her own safety, but to impart a sense of security to himself as well. In the cave-like environment, the only constants are her warmth against his side and the rocky path they walk along continuously sloping downwards. The map proves to be a blessing as tunnels split again and again, creating a confusion of passageways they’d never have been able to navigate without Henry and Belle’s careful charting. Eventually, the bulbs run out when they get too deep into the maze of the mine, replaced instead by torches, somewhat reminiscent of his and Emma’s little adventure to the past and to Regina’s dungeons. By some miracle, Killian finds a bar matchbook in one of his jacket’s pockets, keeping Emma from having to use her magic. She’s grown more confident again in its use, and more convinced the worst of her exhaustion spells are over, but Killian is decidedly less persuaded. He’d never forgive himself if something happened to his love and the Bean all the way down here. Emma may roll her eyes at the way he frantically starts patting at pockets until he finds the matches, but it really does make him feel better about the situation. Once one is lit, it’s just a matter of continuing to light wall torches along the rest of their way as necessary until they reach the end of their journey through the mines.

Their path finally leads to an elevator, of all things. The walls are even closer down here, barely excavated, and as they squeeze past a last outcropping before the chamber widens for the elevator doors, it’s easy for Killian to understand how this isn’t common knowledge. It’s not something anyone would stumble across on accident by any means. Curiously, he notes that the elevator itself looks an awful lot like the one in the library, both down here and up above in the real world. It’s obvious that contrary to appearances, there is some greater design to this place, even if just in the initial structure.

Killian has some mild concern about the stability of the car, but when he cautiously steps a foot in and allows his weight to shift onto the metal platform, it holds without issue, barely shifting at his weight. Reassured as to the safety of the conveyance, he can finally reach back for Emma. “Milady?” he offers with a smile as he extends a hand back in her direction. It’s such a small thing, but so worth it for the laugh Emma emits as she grasps his hand and boards the elevator car. He’ll do anything to hear that laugh.

“I hope you know how to work this thing,” she jokes, “because I sure as hell don’t.”

It’s easy enough to operate, as things turn out. Though there is a hand crank attached to one wall, the car begins its descent as soon as the cage gate is closed, eliminating the need for any effort on their part. That’s a relief, frankly - Killian’s not sure how well he would have been able to turn the crank with just his one hand, and allowing Emma to do it herself is far out of the question, at least if Killian has any say in it. It feels like the ride downwards takes forever, despite the surprisingly rapid speed, but they pass it in silence, Killian choosing to express himself in the soft rub of his thumb against the back of Emma’s hand as they descend rather than with words.

It’s damn near impossible to see more than a foot beyond their faces when the elevator opens, even with the torch held aloft, but as he and Emma begin lighting the other torches conveniently spread along the walls, he’s pleased to discover that they’re in a wide open space. The persistent feeling of dread still niggles within his empty chest, but the greater space at least helps abate the feeling that the entire world is collapsing in on him, ready to crush him and Emma deep within the earth. A massive set of doors dominates one side of the doors, covered

with intricate metalwork; the lack of evident hinges would suggest that the portal opens inwards, away from the chamber they currently inhabit, but when Killian experimentally presses against the panels, he’s met with resistance. From the feel of things, the door is barred from the opposite side. He shouldn’t be surprised, really; if the contents of the inner chamber are as powerful as they’re rumored to be, a plant with the power to restore life back to the dead,  it would stand to reason that there would be some challenge or test to acquire it.

Perhaps that’s where the other device in the room comes in - a set of scales upon a circular table, this one with words in a foreign script encircling the edge.

“Of course it can’t be in plain English,” Emma mutters, frowning ferociously at the inscription. When Killian gets closer though, something triggers in his head - half-remembered lessons from long ago.

“Only a heart filled with true love may pass,” he recites, the translation springing to his tongue more quickly than he anticipated.

“You can read… whatever that is?” Emma asks, raising a questioning eyebrow. He’s always liked to think she picked that up from him.

“Ancient Greek,” he clarifies. “You’d be surprised what they teach you in the Royal Navy.”

“Show-off,” she teases back affectionately. He hadn’t translated the words just to impress her, but as with everything in his life - afterlife? once, always, forever - it’s a lovely little side effect, the way her eyes widen in surprise and appreciation and she smiles like she’s proud of him. He loves that smile; he’d do a lot of things to see that smile. “Ok, well if that’s the case…” she trails off, before shaking out her hands and exhaling a heavy breath. He’s seen that body language before; it usually means she’s trying to ramp herself up to perform some massive feat of magic.

“Hold on a moment, love, what exactly are you doing?” he asks as gently as he can, attempting to disguise the naked alarm in his voice.

Emma just looks at him oddly. “What do you think I’m doing?”

“Honestly, darling, I’m not at all sure. Humor a man.”

“Only a heart filled with true love may pass. We need a heart. So, you know,” she waves a hand around, “I’ve got to extract mine real quick.”

“Absolutely not,” Killian protests. With the baby at stake, and Emma’s own exhaustion… absolutely not. There’s no way in hell he’ll allow it, no pun intended.

Emma just rolls her eyes in response. In other circumstances, Killian might find the gesture a little endearing in how quintessentially her it is, but this isn’t one of those moments. “Ok, well, what’s your idea, then? Because last I checked, you don’t have one right now.”

“That doesn’t mean you should just… reach in your chest and yank your own out!” he fires back. “There’s got to be another way.”

“What, with —” Emma checks the watch on her wrist, “sixty-five minutes left?” She fixes Killian with a pointed look, a what’s your brilliant idea, genius? look, until Killian finally sighs out his defeat. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

“I still don’t like it, Emma,” he replies more quietly. “I don’t want to put you in harm’s way any further than I already have, not to mention the babe. And I don’t...” He pauses, trying to collect all his worried thoughts into something resembling sense. “I believe we’re true love, and I certainly hope we are, but we can’t know that, Emma. What happens if we’re wrong? How do you know that this won’t all blow up in our faces?”

“I don’t,” she replies simply. “I just have to have faith that it will be fine,” Emma explains, turning to face Killian and grasping his hand. “See?” And without any further ado, she plunges her other hand into her own chest, wincing slightly as her hand disappears to the wrist. It’s all of Killian’s worst nightmares come to life, watching the woman he loves wince in pain as her heart is dislodged from its home beneath her breastbone. Even if he knows, consciously, that Emma’s in no real peril, that she’s removing such a vital organ herself, it brings back horrible memories of Milah’s death and sends panic rippling through his veins. Desperately, Killian tries to remind himself of the gentleness with which she held his own heart after the debacle with Gold and the Spell of Shattered Sight; surely, she’d treat her own heart with the same gentleness she’d granted his.

(Then again, she did also all but slam his heart back into his chest immediately afterwards. ‘Like a bandaid’, his arse; he’s still positive that the gesture was Emma’s own little revenge for all the worry he put her through, not that he can argue if it’s true.)

Emma seems blissfully unaware of the way the ghost of his heart has climbed into Killian’s throat, extracting her hand again with her jewel-red organ beating within her grasp. “See? Fine.”

He has to give her that, honestly; Emma isn’t even winded, and as nervous as it makes Killian to see his love’s heart outside of where it belongs in her chest, he has to say that it’s beautiful. Unlike his own heart, streaked through with dark wisps of all the terrible things he’s done in his long life, Emma’s is a brilliant crimson, mesmerizing to watch. He can just see the way it gently pulses within her palm, visibly calmer than anything he can muster at the moment.

Emma must notice the fascination with which he watches the beating muscle within her hands, as she holds her heart out to him. What symbolism. “Here, you take it,” she offers, practically shocking Killian out of his boots.

“Oh no, I couldn’t —” he tries to protest, but Emma’s always been a stubborn one, and before he knows it she’s grabbing his hand and tipping the pumping muscle into it. He cradles it against his chest on instinct, making sure to keep his hook arm far, far away; the last thing they need is for him to accidentally nick her heart as he tries to hold it. It’s precious, after all, and so small and fragile; as Killian cradles the organ to his body, there’s a passing, hysterical thought that if he actually makes it out of the Underworld, this kind of careful handling might be good practice for the Bean. He’s sure there’s panic in his eyes as he meets Emma’s gaze, but she just smiles back as if to calm him back down.

“I trust you,” she says simply, as if they’re not the biggest words in the world. Sure, he’s known on a certain level that she does indeed trust him, between the Wicked Witch and Camelot and I’m going to choose to see the best in you, but it’s another thing to hear the words. She loves him, too, and the thought of that alone is enough to make Killian giddy, but love and trust are so often wildly different things, especially where his love is concerned; it leaves him a little bit in awe, knowing that he’s somehow earned it.

Maybe he’s overthinking things, though, as Emma just stands there expectantly as he’s bowled over by emotion. “You gonna put it on the scales?” she asks, jolting Killian into motion.

“As you wish.” He hadn’t known the significance of those words when he’d first told her that what feels like an eternity ago in Neverland, but after several movie nights in those blissful six weeks of peace, he does now. Now, when he says the words, he means them most emphatically: I love you, I love you, I love you. She knows it, too, if the way she smiles just that little bit wider as he passes is any indication. That’s just as it should be; his Swan deserves to hear every iteration of those words, every day.

At the scales themselves, he tips her heart onto the unweighted side ever so carefully before standing back to watch and wait - for what, he’s not sure. For the doors to open, he supposes. It all seems so simple, though, and as the doors stay stubbornly closed, Killian wonders if this is the other shoe dropping, or if that’s yet to come.

Emma’s brows furrow in confusion. Killian can just see on her face that she’s already decided it’s impossible their love isn’t true, even as his own stomach plummets with the proof in front of them. “What the hell?” she mutters, stepping back towards the scales herself.

And that’s when it all really goes to hell.

Emma’s barely taken a step when she suddenly cries out in pain, hunching over and clutching at her chest as she gasps desperately for breath.

“Emma, what’s wrong?” he asks helplessly. “What’s wrong? Are you alright? Love, tell me.” She’s obviously not alright, and they’re such stupid words, but they’re all he can come up with in the moment, too worried to pay much attention to sense.

“My… heart…” she manages to gasp out, reaching for the organ only to cry out again, seemingly struck by another attack.

Even in his panic, it’s easy enough to connect the dots that the scale is somehow doing this to Emma, putting her in indescribably pain - Gods, maybe even killing her if he doesn’t do something right this moment. He doesn’t think twice before moving to snatch her heart back to the relative safety of his grasp - Emma, at least, seems to think it’s safe there, even if Killian is less sure of that. He’s hasn’t even finished taking his first step in that direction, however, when he’s stopped by a column of fire, the flames surrounding him and trapping him within their hold. If he feels the flames on his extremities, it’s easily dwarfed by the burning pain that feel like it’s engulfing him from the inside, eating into his soul and heart and everything that makes him him. He should be strong, suffer through it so Emma doesn’t have to add concern for him onto her own pain, but he can’t help the cry that slips out.

“Killian!” she gasps, her eyes widening with an even greater panic than before.

“Get your heart, Emma,” he pleads. There’s something in those same eyes that makes him think she’ll do something drastic to save him at her own expense, and that just can’t stand. She may not think so, but he’s the expendable one here - it’s crucial that she live, that their babe live, even if he’s charred to a crisp right here where he stands. “Emma, get your heart! Your heart!”

He can see her shifting her gaze back and forth between the scales and himself, even as the flames leap higher and send another burst of unbearable pain through his entire being. Killian preoccupies himself praying to any god that will take pity on him that Emma will dive for her heart, save herself. It’s just two steps; at this point, he doesn’t even care if they never open the doors and reach the fabled ambrosia, as long as Emma’s okay. That’s all that matters - all that’s ever mattered, and if she’ll just take those steps, it’ll all be okay —

Instead, another body plows into him, knocking them both over. By some miracle, Killian manages to cushion her fall with his entire body. He could just shake her for choosing him over herself, his stubborn lass, but somehow the fact remains that the flames have disappeared and Emma’s chest only heaves with the exertion, not a slow suffocation.

“Are you alright, love?” he asks again, holding her tight to his body with his hooked arm as his hand combs gently through her hair.

“I’m okay. What about you?”

He laughs a little at that, Emma’s inability to focus on the danger she herself was in for her worry over him. “Aye, love, I’m alright. I’m just fine.” Killian takes a moment just to smile at her, awed by everything she is, before he turns more serious. “You saved me.” He shouldn’t be surprised by that really; she’s been saving him in every conceivable way, ever since that very first moment when she pulled him from beneath a pile of corpses and showed him there were still things in the world worth believing in. Still, the knowledge that she saved him, the unworthy pirate, continues to take his breath away.

“Of course I did,” Emma replies, her voice mildly chiding even as he can see her eyes sweep over his face as if she’s reassuring herself that he’s there.

“You shouldn’t have.”

“But I did,” she reminds him. “I love you.” Simple as that. Like that’s all the explanation needed, and maybe it is.

“And I you,” he echoes, the truth pulled from deep within his soul. “More than I’ll ever have the words to express.” As he draws her into a gentle kiss, something to reassure them both that they’re both still here, still fighting, they almost miss the heavy noise of the doors opening.

Almost.

Emma twists her head to the sign at the sound. “Was that…” she trails off, like she’s afraid to jinx it.

“Aye,” Killian breathes out in response. The proof is right in front of them, after all, the doors having opened to reveal a curved hallway already lit by torches.

“But how…”

“Only a heart filled with true love may pass,” Killian recites back. The meaning of those words is only now starting to really sink in; the doors opened for them, so that means they’re true love, something he hadn’t even dared dream might be true. It nearly brings tears to his eyes, and he can’t help but let the awe leak into his voice. “You did it, love.”

“I guess so,” she agrees, still staring at the door in mild bewilderment. “But… how?”

“You chose me. That was the test.” Killian is kind of reasoning through it as he speaks, but that has to be it. That’s what makes sense. “You could have gone for your heart - should have, probably, but… you chose me. You chose me.” The words will never stop amazing him. Gods, true love.

Emma’s smile is a tender as he’s ever seen it as she strokes along his cheek. “Of course I did, babe,” she says once again. “There was never any question. We’re a team, remember? You and me. Giving up or leaving you like that was never an option.”

Killian sits up suddenly, unable to wait any longer to kiss Emma, his love, his true love. There’s a sweetness to the way their lips meet that’s almost reminiscent of the kiss that started this all, out on Granny’s patio after their time travel adventure. There’s no time to deepen it and turn this into a longer or more passionate encounter - not that this is the place for it, anyways, here on the dusty and rocky floor - but it had just proved impossible not to seal this moment with a kiss.

When they finally separate again, it’s only to rest their foreheads together, still breathing in the same air. Unfortunately, there’s no more time to spare. “Are you ready, my love?” He asks, still somewhat breathless.

“Anything with you,” Emma promises right back, gripping onto his lapels for just a moment longer before they both move to stand up.

It’s hard not to set off down the hewn passageway with something approaching giddiness when Emma’s hand is enveloped within his own and a hope he had almost given up on bouncing around in his still-stopped heart. No matter how many times he’d sworn not to get his hopes up, tried to remind himself this was likely the end of everything, he can’t help it. They’re true love, a fact that bears repeating over and over again. their child will be another product of true love, and it nearly makes him giggle like a child to think about how he or she will be a baby born of true love to a mother that’s herself born of her parents true love. It’s the most delightful and ridiculous statement he’s ever contemplated.

All that hope and wonder, unfortunately, only makes the great fall all the harsher when they both turn the corner to see nothing but an obviously dead bush.

“No,” Emma whispers, her voice the auditory equivalent of whatever this sinking feeling in Killian’s stomach is. “No, there must be something.”

There’s not, though. The bush is just a gnarled mess of branches, no leaves, no flowers, no fruit, even if it’s surrounded by a prettier little golden fence than Killian’s seen in even the most ornate palace gardens. No, the ambrosia plant is clearly, unmistakably dead.

His Emma is a stubborn one, though, and has some of her mother’s unshakable hope - even if she doesn’t like admitting to it. She’s already pulled away from Killian, releasing his hand to stride over to the plant and start rooting around the edges of its soil bed, looking for Gods-only-know-what.

“There’s got to be something left,” she mutters, not quite under her breath in her desperation as she frantically searches. “Leaves or seeds or… something. Why aren’t you looking?” she demands abruptly, that panic back in her eyes again.

“There’s nothing to find, love,” Killian tries to tell her gently, even as his own heart is breaking. This is it; this is how their great search ends.

“Ok, well, if there’s nothing on this plant, there’s got to be another one, right?” she asks, more of that frenzy creeping into her voice as she stands back up and brushes her soil-covered hands off on her jeans. “There’s another plant, we’ve just got to find it.”

“Where, love?” he all but begs, voice breaking on the endearment. “Look around you. There’s nowhere else another ambrosia bush would be hiding.” That much is painfully obvious to him. The chamber surrounding the bush, their last great hope, is perfectly circular and perfectly stone and gravel, the only other organic matter the dried straw fueling the ensorcelled torches. It’s only by a feat of magic, he’s sure, that the perfect circle of soil exists for the plant in the first place; there’s simply no other spot in the cavern that could support life. Emma may look all she likes, but as much as Killian wishes otherwise, she’ll never find anything. It’s just not possible.

Emma huffs in frustration, but it’s so easy for him to see the panic underneath it, especially with the way her eyes dart back and forth as if searching for another answer. “Ok, then, we try the heart split again. Now that my name isn’t on one of those fucking headstones anymore, there shouldn’t be a problem. It could still work.” Even as her hand starts moving towards her chest in a motion Killian hopes never to see again in his life - or afterlife, as it were - she sounds doubtful. And for good reason, too.

“No, love, it won’t,” he says as gently as he can.

“Why the hell not? It worked for my parents. You’ve seen David, he’s totally fine. We didn’t even know anything during the whole Wicked Witch debacle until they got their memories back.”

“Yes, but your father was dead for… not even two minutes. Barely longer than the time it took to split your mother’s heart. It’s been months since I died, love, almost four of them,” Killian reminds her, sending his own dead heart plummeting into his boots in the process.

“There’s a preservation spell over your body, though,” she argues right back, picking up momentum. “It’s not like you’re… rotting away, or something.” The very idea of that is enough to make both of them wince.

“That doesn’t mean anything, unfortunately. You and I have both read the storybook, love; we’ve both seen what happened to Regina’s love, how poorly that turned out. He almost hurt Henry, and I won’t put any of you in danger, especially not from my hand. I won’t, love.”

“But we’re true love,” she insists. “Shouldn’t that make all the difference?”

Before Killian can even contemplate his response, the chamber around them starts rumbling, bits of sediment and small pebbles dislodging and raining down on both their heads. Hades must have opened the portal; the disturbance is too similar to what happened when Zelena arrived in the underworld for it to be anything else. The force up above shakes this whole realm to its very foundations, and Killian’s suddenly even more desperate to get Emma as far away from all this as possible - preferably out of this accursed in-between world all together. It’ll break his heart to say goodbye, but her safety, and that of Henry and the baby, is more important than any pain he might be feeling.

“We’ve got to get out of here, back to the surface, love,” he urges, half a plan forming in his mind as he ushers her reluctantly back towards the stone hallway. If he can just get her to the elevator… “It’s not safe.”

Emma casts a look back around the empty, dead chamber, but there’s no denying that he’s right, as larger chunks of stone start dislodging from the ceiling and tumbling down.

The shaking had settled somewhat by the time they reach the elevator, but Killian still hurries Emma on board. There’s not much time left, after all - a few minutes less than an hour, if his timepiece is correct - and Emma will need every second she can get to make her way back through the tunnels, up to the surface, and over to the cemetery before the portal closes. Emma thankfully goes without complaint, even leading at turns, sensing the urgency of this all.

That is, she goes without complaint until Killian steps back off the metal conveyance.

Her eyebrows furrow in confusion at that. “What are you doing, babe? You said it yourself, we’ve got to go. No time to dawdle, or however you’d phrase it.” The corners of her lips even twitch upwards for moment; she clearly has no idea what he’s planning to do, and it sends another stab of guilt through his body.

Killian swallows heavily in a last effort to muster the courage to follow through on this. “I’m not coming with you, love,” he reveals softly, sadly.

That brings the frown back to her face and the panic back to her eyes. “No, that’s not right,” she argues. “You said —”

“I know what I said darling, that we were both getting out of here, but I lied.” He shakes his head in shame. “I’m sorry. I know I said I’d never do that to you, but I had to get you out of that chamber somehow. You’ve got to get to that portal.”

“Not without you,” she declares, stepping back towards Killian with fire in her eyes. There’s tears forming there too, though. “There’s still time, we can still figure something out—”

“No, we can’t. We’ve tried everything, love. This was our last last chance. And if we have to say goodbye… well, I’d rather it was down here, just the two of us. More privacy,” he tries to joke. It doesn’t work.

“But I’m not ready,” Emma pleads. “It’s not enough time.”

“It’s more time than you and I were ever meant to have,” he reminds her. “And I’m so grateful for that. If you hadn’t come down to try and rescue me, I would have never known about our child. I would have never seen you again. Even if your efforts didn’t work to resurrect me, how can I regret a single moment of that borrowed time? Even if we have to part?”

“But I want you there. I want you to meet the baby, and be a father to Henry, and grow old with me.”

“That’s just not in the cards for us, my love,” he replies, voice breaking in the middle. Damn it all, he’s crying too, and he was supposed to hold himself together to try and make this easier. “But I have faith that you and Henry will remember me, and tell our son or daughter all about their father. Especially how much I’ve loved them, from the moment I knew they existed.”

Emma nods, ducking her head for a moment as if to collect herself. “I don’t know how to say goodbye,” she admits.

“Then don’t,” he suggests. “This won’t be forever, just for now. Just for the moment.” A very long now and a very long moment, without any guarantee that he’s done enough to await Emma in a better place, he doesn’t say. “Promise me, though, that you won’t let my death keep you from a happy ending. You’ve still got so much life ahead of you, love. Let yourself be happy in it. I’ve been so proud to see you break down some of your walls; don’t build them back up just because I’m gone. Promise me that.”

“I promise,” she vows with tears in her eyes. “But you have to swear to me that you’ll move on with Liam, that you won’t wait here for me. Don’t let us be your unfinished business.”

“I promise.” He’s not sure it’s one he can keep, but he’ll try his very best.

There’s no more excuses to wait any longer, and Killian carefully helps Emma back into the elevator, reaching up for the gate. Emma stops him before he can close it though, reaching through the bars to frame his face with both her hands.

“I love you, Killian Jones,” she declares, one last time, with tears streaming down her face.

“And I love you, my Swan.”

Their final kiss is slow and gentle, a kiss meant to soak into his very bones and linger with him for all the many years to come. Killian makes sure to stroke along her cheek and through her hair, hoping to engrain the sensations into his brain so he may never forget. This is their one last time, their final goodbye, and it seems crucial that he catalog every moment.

All too soon, the kiss has so end, though, and with one last moment spend resting his forehead against her own, he draws the gate to clang shut. The elevator car lurches to life as soon as he does, slowly making its way upwards, and Killian quickly moves to tangle his fingers with Emma’s own. He doesn’t intend to let go until he absolutely has to. Seeing Emma shake with quiet sobs as the car pulls away, he moves on instinct, drawing her hand to his mouth for a kiss - one, two, three times before she’s carried out of his reach, in a last ditch effort to show his love exactly how precious she is.

And then she’s gone, leaving Killian to his misery at the bottom of the mine.

———

Liam comes to collect him some indeterminate amount of time later, after the shaking finally subsides.

It doesn’t matter though. Nothing does anymore.

She’s gone.

#cs ff #captain swan #cs angst #my writing #If I Could See Your Face Once More #chapter 4 #ouat s5b #canon divergence #I really am sorry

[comicgeekscomicgeek]

Their Hero Academia – Chapter 25: Toshi Midoriya—Boyfriend, Student, Personal Trainer, Wingman

Presenting the latest raw and unedited chapter of my ongoing, next gen, My Hero Academia fan fic, Their Hero Academia!

All previous chapters (and an infrequently updated sub-series devoted to the past of the universe) can be found https://archiveofourown.org/users/zylly/works

Toshi’s hair was still slightly damp as he entered the Common Room.  He’d started the morning early, as he always did, gone for his morning run with Katsumi and Kana Tetsutetsu, then returned to the dorm for a shower and then breakfast.  Tetsutetsu had been asking a lot of questions about Haimawari, which he’d answered as best he could, though he really wasn’t sure what was up with that.   Ah well, if it was important, he’d probably figure it out.

The TV was on and he could see that Izumi and Askuka were watching it.   He could hear a little of it.  “…truck driver found dead this morning, appears to have been murdered sometime last night with no sign of his truck.  Local police are being tight lipped and have not yet named any suspects.  However, the driver did work for a shipping company with numerous government contracts…”

Well, that was a little weird.  But before he could think any more about it, he was interrupted by arms wrapping around him from behind and the feeling of something—no, two somethings—very large, very soft, and very warm pressing into his back.  “Good morning, Toshi!”

We’re sorry, Toshi dot exe has failed and cannot respond at this time. Please try again later.

It had only been a week, but he still couldn’t believe that Sora Iida liked him.  Liked him liked him.   Enough that last Sunday she’d accosted him when he’d gotten back from his morning run to confess.  And, well, she was pretty and excitable and all kinds of amazing things and he was pretty sure he liked her too.   They were young and figuring this kind of stuff out was what life was all about.  

He didn’t know if she was getting advice from Mika Mineta or if this was just her usual lack of regard for personal space amped up now that they were dating, but he was pretty sure only an idiot would complain about it.  Even if she seemed to be moving kind of fast.  Sora was… really physically demonstrative.  And he wasn’t sure he should be complaining about that, but still, fast.

…He really needed relationship advice, but he was also pretty sure, based on the stories of them in school, that Mom and Dad were not the ones to give it, nor Uncle Shoto and Aunt Momo, or Uncles Kacchan and Eijiro.

Aunt Mina had always said that any of them could come to her with relationship advice too, but he was pretty sure that was a really bad idea.  Maybe Aunt Tsu?  She was definitely the most sensible person in his parents’ class that he knew…

Sora gave him another squeeze.  He gave her hand a squeeze, before she relaxed her grip and let him turn around. She was taller than him by several inches, shorter only than Shoji and Koda.  It puts him at an… interesting level in comparison to her.

Toshi grined.  “Good morning, Sora.”  He frowned, though, when he saw the bags under her eyes, in spite of seemingly brimming with energy.  “How much coffee have you had?”

“Just three…ish cups?” she tried, hesitating as she sees his eyes narrow.  “…From the big mug.”

“Sora,” he said, “we talked about this.  Coffee isn’t a substitute for sleep.”

She crossed her arms and huffed.  “And I’m just supposed to let all my good ideas go to waste!?”

“If it’s a good idea at 2300, it’ll be a good idea at 0800.”

“Now you sound like Father,” Sora said.  “That is not proper boyfriend soundings!”

Toshi held up both hands in a pacifying gesture.  “Okay, okay, okay,” he said.  “No dad-ing. I promise.  Just… maybe ease off the coffee, okay?  I can’t boyfriend if you’re so exhausted you can’t think.”

“…Your statement is not without logic,” Sora admitted.  “I will have to incorporate these new variables!”

How did Uncle Tenya handle Aunt Mei?!   Toshi was in way over his head here!

***

“All right,” Mister Aizawa said, “settle down.  Before we begin today’s lessons, we have something important to discuss.  The Sports Festival and the work-study week that follows.”

Toshi stole a moment to glance at the back row of the classroom, where Haimawari sat.  He’d been talking his friend up to his dad fairly frequently now, telling him about his drive and his amazing Quirk.  With no heroic background and so many second (or greater) generation students in this year’s crop of first years, Toshi knew that most eyes would be on people with proven legacies and now newcomers to the field. Haimawari was a good guy and deserved whatever kind of leg up he could get.  It didn’t hurt that he was exactly the kind of person Dad almost always picked.

Toshi just hoped the shock didn’t kill him when it happened.

“We’ve had heroic legacies in the Sports Festival before,” Aizawa went on.  “But this is the first year where we have classes primarily composed of the children of active Pro-Heroes, including the majority of the Top Ten.  Combined with the uncertainty surrounding the Quirk Virus situation… needless to say, the eyes of the world will be on this Sports Festival more than any other.”

He fixed the class with an icy glare.  “I am certain your parents are planning something.  I’ve already forbidden them from extending offers to their own children, so don’t think you’re going to coast by.  But knowing them, they’ve already made arrangements to exploit the loophole in that.  However, as your teacher, I have final veto power over whatever offers you may receive.”

His eyes narrowed. “If I catch any of you at the Sports Festival performing at anything less than your best, I will see all offers extended to you declared null and void.  Am I understood?”

“Yes, Mister Aizawa,” Toshi mouthed, along with the rest of the class.

Aizawa seemed satisfied with that, nodding slightly.  He briefly looked down at the lectern to consult a piece of paper.  “Doc Clock has also asked me to pass on the message that if any of you try anything like what Deku or Shoto did at your parents’ first Sports Festival, she will refuse to use her Quirk on you and instead leave you to Recovery Girl’s care.”

A small grin of paternal pride traced its way across his face.

As for the Festival itself, Toshi wasn’t worried.  He was good with his Quirk, though he knew he could be better.  But that pretty much applied to everybody in the class.  Of course, the variable nature of the middle round made things a little more complicated and there was always the possibility of something new…  But there was no sense in getting worked up about it.

No, if anything, it was the Tournament Round that concerned him the most.  What if he had to fight somebody in from the class?  So many of them were his friends, practically his family. He wasn’t sure he could really go all out fighting them.  

What if he had to fight Sora?!

***

Two weeks.  That’s what they had to get ready for the Sports Festival.  And Toshi was bound and determined to make the most of it.  With Heroics Class replaced by free-training periods for those two weeks, they had plenty of opportunity.  The chance to show his parents, show the world, just how good he could be.

Despite having a dad who was the Number One Hero and a mom who usually ranked somewhere in the low thirties, Toshi did not consider himself having to escape from their shadow. He’d known, almost from the moment he’d decided to be a Hero, that there would be plenty of people who’d think of him as nothing more than Deku’s kid.  And Dad, as the Symbol of Hope, was a standard no one could hope to match up to. They could only do like he did, and follow Dad’s example, and give it his best.

Toshi probably wasn’t going to be the next Number One Hero… but he was going to be the best Hero that he could.  And he was going to help his friends be the best that they could be too.

Which was why he’d taken some time to help Haimawari and Shota, in one of the dojo-style training gyms. Both of them had great Quirks… but neither was the best physical fighter in the world.  Haimawari relied on speed and zooming around, while Shota tended to rely on the raw power of his Quirk when fighting.  Nejire had also managed to take Haimawari out rather quickly when she and the Laughing Man had attacked them during training, though that might have been from the speed and surprise as much as anything else.

Toshi got that.  He was used to using his Quirk to bounce around, rapidly shifting from low to high gravity to bounce around and then hit like a freight train.  But he also knew how to fight without it.  Straight up brawling techniques from Dad, Gunhead-Style martial arts moves from Mom.

He brought up a hand, palm up, and moved his fingers in a “come and get me” gesture.  “Okay, guys,” he said.  “Two of you against one of me.  No Quirks.  Let’s do this.”

Haimawari rubbed the back of his head awkwardly.  “If you say so, Midoriya…”

“Kaaaai-yaah!”  Shota let out a non-supersonic scream and rushed him. Toshi easily sidestepped his purple-haired friend and gave him a small shove, knocking him down to the mats.

Haimawari was slightly more cautious, throwing a few careful punches that seemed more designed to test him that to actually connect.  With his long arms and legs, Haimawari actually had pretty decent range.  If he could get a little power going behind them, he’d be pretty effective.

Toshi tossed off a jab of his own, probing Haimawari’s defenses.  He missed and Haimawari actually managed to take him, striking him in the face with a blow.

He instantly pulled back, even as Toshi was seeing stars.  “Oh, oh, no, Midoriya, I didn’t mean…”

Toshi just laughed.  His opinion of Haimawari as a fighter obviously needed revising.  “Why didn’t you tell me you could hit like that?”

“That was awesome!” Shota piped in, none the worse for wear in body or spirit from his tumble.  “Only people I’ve seen hit Toshi like that are Kirishima-Bakugo and Tetsutetsu!”

Haimawari looked a bit embarrassed, chuckling nervously.  “It’s nothing, just something my dad taught me, that his mentor taught him. From, ah, from when he was doing a neighborhood watch kind of thing.”

Something about the way he said that made Toshi think there was more to the story, but he didn’t really want to press it.  It wasn’t like he wasn’t privy to secrets that he wasn’t allowed to share.

“Seriously, though,” Toshi said.  “I thought you said you didn’t know how to fight without your Quirk.”

Haimawari laughed nervously again.  “More like… I don’t want to?  I don’t like the idea of hurting people, especially for something just like showing off like the Sports Festival.  Guess what I really need is psyching up.”

Toshi punched the palm of his other hand.  “Okay, mental conditioning.  We can work on that.”

He looked over at Shota. “You… on the other hand…”

Shota looked a little embarrassed.  “Yeah… I might need a little more help.  Dad says it wasn’t until Uncle Shota started mentoring him that he really got any kind of good at fighting.”

“Well,” Toshi said, “I’m no Eraserhead, but I’ll do my best…”

***

Fortunately, it got better from there.  Haimawari was better than he’d expected going in, even after that first punch.  There was a lot of wildness to his punches and kicks, but even without his Quirk, he was fast and had plenty of reach.  If he combined that with his Quirk, getting in a few hits and then getting away, and repeating that, he’d do great against anyone with a short range Quirk.

Getting Shota to actually think about his moves before going all in was really the hard part, and once he got past that, it wasn’t too bad.  He wasn’t going to be as good a fighter as Uncle Hitoshi was, but at least he wouldn’t be breaking his hand if he punched somebody at the Sports Festival. And they still had two weeks.

Shota was bent over, hands on his legs, struggling to breathe.  “I’m okay…  I’m okay…   I’m pretty sure I’m okay…  The room was always spinning, right?”

“Take it easy, dude,” Haimawari said, guiding him over to one of the benches and helping him sit down. He got Shota’s water bottle and handed it to him.

“Small sips, Shota,” Toshi told him.  “Don’t overdo it.  You’ll just throw up.”

Shota reluctantly complied; Toshi could tell he’d been ready to guzzle it.  “This… gets… easier, right?” he gasped.

Toshi nodded. “Eventually.  We’ll try and do a little endurance work too.”

“Don’t know if I’ve said it, but I really do appreciate this, Midoriya,” Haimawari said, taking a drink of his water.  He was sweating and breathing hard, but not nearly as badly as Shota.  He was actually in pretty decent shape, probably because his Quirk was more of a physical one.  But he was built like a runner, not a brawler, so what he could do was a little different.

“Happy to help,” Toshi replied.  “We’re all in this together, after all.”

“Not worried I’ll take your spot at the Festival?  Me and Dad watch it every year… it gets pretty competitive.”

Toshi waved it off. “Nah.  I’m gonna do my best, you’re gonna do your best, that’s all that really matters.”

“How do you think it’s gonna go, Toshi?” Shota asked, no longer panting.  He looked a healthier color too.  “I bet you’re gonna win it!  I mean, Uncle Deku did his second year and third year, and he’s your dad, so he probably taught you everything, even if your Quirks are kinda different, and…”

“I really don’t know, Shota,” Toshi said, a little bit quickly.  Sometimes, you had to fight to get a word in edgewise with Shota. “Everybody’s got really great Quirks, not just us, but in the other classes too.  And there’s always a surprise or two in the General Studies classes. Especially since we don’t know what the first two events will be.”

The first event was usually something that required covering distance and the second was always one that required teams, but that was about the only parameters that could be guessed. Toshi had seen everything from obstacle courses in the first to Quirk-backed games of dodgeball in the second and there wasn’t much predictable pattern to it.  

He held out his hand, pam to the ground.  “But when it does, we’re gonna be ready for it, right?”

Haimawari put his hand over Toshi’s.  “Right.”

Shota did the same. “Right!”

“You three done nerding it up yet?” a voice from behind asked.  Toshi turned to see Katsumi and Kana Tetsutetsu.  

“I have yet to reach maximum nerd,” Toshi said, smirking.  There’d been no malice in what she’d said.  Katsumi just had to get everyone a hard time.  It was just who she was.  “Hey Tetsutetsu.”

“Hey yourself, Midoriya,” Tetsutetsu said.  

“Yeah, yeah,” Katsumi said. “Well, make yourself useful and come show me some of those moves Aunt Ochaco taught you.  Bring the Loud Kid too.”

“Shota.  My name is Shota.  You know that, Kirishima-Bakugo!”

“Sure it is,” Katsumi said. “C’mon.”

Okay, something was clearly up.  He and Katsumi sparred sometimes, but she never just flat out asked him to show her any moves.  Did this have anything to do with what Tetsutetsu been asking about this morning? Was… was Katsumi being her wingwoman? For Haimawari?

This was a day for the record books.  

“Yeah, sure, I can do that,” he said.  “C’mon, Shota.”

Shota, however, clearly wasn’t picking up on the subtext.  “I don’t think I can fight anymore, Toshi,” he said, stifling a yawn.

“Then watch and learn, Loud Kid!”  Katsumi shouted.

“Why don’t you come along,” Toshi said.  He might as well play along with this.  If only to get Katsumi out of having to play wingwoman any further.  “Tetsutetsu, don’t think you’ve met Haimawari?  You could probably show him some moves I can’t.”

“’Probably’?” Tetsutetsu asked.  “You know I can, Midoriya.  Nice to meet you, Haimawari.”

“Likewise,” Haimawari said, smiling.  He looked like he knew something was up, but couldn’t figure it out.  He offered Tetsutetsu a hand and she shook it, leaving him massaging his fingers afterwards.

Just a couple weeks into school and everybody was jumping into relationships.  He was hardly one to talk, of course, but it still amazed him. Especially for all of them that had known each other for most of their lives.  But here, away from their parents for the first time, maybe they were just figuring out who they wanted to be.

***

“Watch and learn, Loud Kid,” Katsumi said.  She bounced lightly on the balls of her feet, hands up in a fighting position, before launching a powerful right hook.  It was her signature move and she always telegraphed it.  Toshi’d also been on the receiving end of it many times when sparring with her.  Even when you could see it coming, Katsumi was fast.

Fortunately, he had time to dodge, and return fire, coming at Katsumi with a few quick jabs.  She got her guard up though, deflecting his blows easily.  “Gonna have to do better than that, Toshi,” she said, with a wicked grin.

Toshi dropped low, sweeping his leg.  He knocked Katsumi down, but she was right back up before he could capitalize on it. He dodged her return strikes, shifting left and right rapidly.  “Didn’t take you for the type to play wingwoman,” he said.

He blocked her next strike and even that stung like hell.  “All I did was get you two out of the way,” she replied.  “I wanted to spar with you anyway.  If I can help out a friend, I can put up with a little lovey-dovey nonsense.”

Toshi knew she’d been turned down by Izumi after confessing her long buried feeling.  That had to have hurt some, but she seemed to be plowing through it in her usual fashion.  Which was not dealing with her more complicated emotions.  Which probably wasn’t healthy.  But all he could do was be there for his friend.

His friend who’d nearly taken his head off with her follow-up punch!   He got his head out of the way, but she connected solidly with his shoulder.  He grunted, firing off rapid fire punches in return that she deflected, until he altered his pattern, two right hand blows one after the other instead of a left and a right and felt his fist connect solidly with her chest.

Katsumi winced and backed off, keeping herself light on her feet.  Laughing, she said, “Did you just bunch me in the boob, Toshi?  What would your girlfriend say?”

Toshi’s eyes went wide for a second, before he recovered.  “Very funny,” he said.  Typical Katsumi, always trying to get a rise out of him.

They exchanged more blows, hammering away, deflecting, retreating, and coming back at each other. But without Quirks, they were just too evenly matched with each other for there to be a clear victor.  Katsumi was probably stronger, but he was just lighter enough on his feet to make up for it.   With both of them realizing that, they took a step back and exchanged boys.

Shota broke into applause. “That.  Was.  AWESOME!  You gotta show me how to do that!”

Katsumi just laughed. It wasn’t a cruel laugh, but he could tell she didn’t really believe Shota had much of a chance in a physical contest.  “Stick to what you’re good at, Loud Kid.  Scream your way through.”

An idea occurred to Toshi and he had to turn away for a moment to hide his grin.  “I don’t know, Katsumi, I was going to get Shota up to speed anyway, but if you don’t think you can train him good enough, I guess I’ll have to do it…”

The glare she shot him was worth it.  “Oh, hell no. I didn’t say I didn’t think I could.” She snapped her fingers, then pointed at Shota.  “I’m gonna train you until your arms fall off, Loud Kid!  That’ll show you, Toshi!”

Toshi had to hide his grin again.  Shota would get the training he needed and Katsumi would have a goal she could work on to keep from dwelling on things.  If you knew what you were doing, helping your friends wasn’t too hard.

And he was going to do his best to make sure every one of his friends had a chance to shine.

#my hero academia #their hero academia #fan fiction #fan fic #my writing #toshi midoriya

[sairenharia]

Queen of Secrets pt. 3

Part 2

AO3

Nino would admit he's not the most observant of people. He missed Marinette's crush. He missed Alya was Rena Rouge. He often misses announcements for homework and tests. He could admit that he needed to work on that.

But he wasn't blind.

Especially when it came to Adrien. The dude had a horrible tendency to bottle things up, keep them to himself without asking. So he notices when things...shift between him and Chloe.

The thing was, Nino knows Chloe. He's been in school with her for years and ended up in her class more than once. She's always been a self entitled brat. Bragging about this expensive thing, threatening that with her dad's power, insulting and bringing people down. He had honestly been surprised at just how nice Adrien was despite being friends with her since childhood. He had figured out that he wasn't a bully like Chloe fairly quickly, just maybe afraid to be alone. He didn't expect the kind of guy who was genuinely optimistic, believing in people and always eager to help and give and not in the seeking approval way Sabrina did. He couldn't understand how someone like that would still be friends with Chloe even after he had won over their classmates.

Adrien said that Chloe wasn't always like that, she could be cool sometimes. Nino had thought maybe that was just him being too nice for his own good.

Until Adrien got pulled out of school for losing that book. He knows Chloe's crocodile tears. Everyone knows Chloe's crocodile tears except Kim. Even the teachers know and only 'fall' for it because if they don't, it moves to threats.

Those hadn't been crocodile tears. After meeting Gabriel Agreste, Nino could see why Adrien held such loyalty for her. She was a horrible bully, a complete brat, but at least she was willing to show she actually cared about him. Even if she bragged about knowing him, flirted with him even though he didn't seem interested, she would at least be upset for his misfortune. So much so when she asked him to DJ her party in her efforts to be 'nice,' he agreed. If she was trying for Adrien, he could at least do what he loved for her benefit.

Not that it lasted, though she DID cause less Akumas, so there's that. And then....

Then it gets a little weird.

Because the thing was, Nino saw Chloe in a way no one else besides Alya could. How she was as Queen Bee, up close and personal. He's been in school with her for years, but he's never seen her lift a finger for a school project, never offer a helping hand, never put in a bit of effort for anyone else besides herself unless she could turn the effort into a way for why she should be loved. And sure, she bragged about being Queen Bee, of course she did, but he also fought WITH her.

She had been good. Confident and bold which was more of a comfort while fighting bad guys then the annoyance of school life. She had been quick to act, pick up slack and save people, and when Rena had been hit, she had watched their back until her parents showed up, but to be fair, they were gunning for her hard. Nino knows what it's like to be a superhero. The more he did it, the more he recognized it was scary, it was hard. The rush of superpowers helped face it, but there was a very real risk. It was why Alya and him were practicing parkour, to get better when they were recruited. And the times Chloe was Queen Bee was when things were hardest, the scariest. Her own father, Heroes Day, Miraculer and Mayura. The time where things were the most dangerous and she still wanted to be a hero and she put in the actual effort.

He's not sure what to make of her honestly, because she is absolutely still a horrible brat even if she's gone down from an eleven to more a seven. He thinks whatever Adrien saw in her might actually be there, just buried real, real, reaaaaaaal deep.

And now there was this shift.

For as long as Adrien's been in school, most conversations between him and Chloe had mostly been Chloe bragging about something or flirting up a storm with Adrien. Or it's when Adrien is trying to get Chloe to lay off in his very gentle way of his. It was rare he ever see them just talk like the friends they both claimed they were. Adrien often treated her with the same distance he did with most of their classmates, something he's learned to recognize as uncertainty on how much he could let go of 'the perfect golden boy of Gabriel Agreste' persona. Adrien had slowly dropped it as they bonded, opened up about things piece by piece and Nino can see the stark difference when they hang out with people, and when it's just them. He's starting to relax around Alya and Marinette, thankfully, but it's a slow thing.

Then one day, Chloe had sat on the edge of his desk and showed him her phone, talking about a show she thinks he should watch. Never mentioned the name, Nino only learned it was a magical girl anime when he leaned over to look at the picture and Chloe gave him a pretty nasty glare in turn.

And he learned that one, Chloe was apparently a complete weeb which does explain the Ladybug cosplay, and two, the 'do not talk about weebitude' rule also applies to her. And three, he is trusted enough to keep silent on it? Well, he IS, he hasn't outed Adrien yet. Or the fact he was a complete nerd in a lot of ways.

It continued on like this, Chloe talking to Adrien about things other than riches and bragging, normal, everyday things, usually in terms where it's vague unless someone is paying attention and she doesn't feel the need to exclude him. Or didn't care he knew? She barely acknowledged him, he wasn't sure what it meant. But he does know Adrien was starting to relax more and more around her at school.

He asked Adrien about it once. Who had just shrugged and said they had gotten stuck together during that Akuma that had been after him shortly before the Shift and reconnected. When he asked further, Adrien shook his head and said that it was private and Nino let it go. If Adrien wants to talk about it, he will when he's ready. He knows he's here if he ever needs to.

And Nino was willing to just leave it at that. Adrien seemed happier, Chloe had less time to be rude to people, it was a win all around.

Then when he was meeting Adrien at a bookstore, a surprise hang out session, he showed up with Chloe.

"Uh, dude, why is she here?" Nino asked.

Chloe gave him a withering look. "I'm Adrien's friend. Why wouldn't I be here?" She asked.

"It was her idea," Adrien said, as Chloe made an offended noise and smacked his arm, causing him to laugh. "She knows father has to be in a really good mood to 'approve' of us hanging out. But he'll approve me hanging out with her, and if you just happen to be there..." He shrugged.

Chloe scowled, crossing her arms. "You always let me lead our hang outs. I already do that with Sabrina, I wanted a break. I thought at least he might have a suggestion," she said, earning another laugh from Adrien. "After we check out the new manga releases. There's a PreCure manga adaption out," she said, heading into the store.

"PreCure?" Nino asked as he followed after them.

"Pretty Cure. It's a magical girl series," Adrien said.

"The best magical girl series! So many fall into just the feelings and beam magic, Cure girls get real physical! They have a lot of good tips for a superheroine who relies more on martial arts," Chloe said, an excited smile on her face.

Nino honestly worried about her level of denial about no longer being Queen Bee.

"It does have pretty good fight scenes," Adrien said and nudged Nino's side. "You might like it."

"You can decide where we go next, though we've only got Adrikins for an hour and a half," Chloe said with a dismissive wave before turning into the graphic novel section.

Without the rest of their classmates, Adrien and Chloe are far more willing to show their excitement, talking about the new volume, and even trying to explain it to Nino. Well, Adrien started, then Chloe had to show how Adrien had it wrong and it was the most surreal experience in Nino's life because Chloe was actually kind of pleasant to be around? It was hard to not be pulled into their excitement even if he was incredibly confused.

They stopped in an overly fancy cafe for snacks, after a brief argument where Chloe refused to go into a normal convenience store. They compromised with Chloe and Adrien buying for Nino. He could afford normal snacks, not fifteen euros for a chocolate bar!

Then they ended up at a music store, with Nino showing Adrien samples of more underground music, and Chloe keeping mostly quiet. Only speaking up when she found piano sheet music of more modern music. But really, the fact she didn't complain about his taste in music was just another thing to add to the list of her being weird. And nearly giving him a heart attack when she asked to hear the improved mix from her party.

But eventually Adrien's schedule reared it's head and he had to go, with Chloe and Nino waving him off and he just...he had to ask.

"Dude, what has been with you?" Nino asked, fully expecting some kind of defensive snap.

"Oh shut up, I wanted to talk to you anyway and you wouldn't agree to meet me alone." Is what he gets instead.

"What?" Nino said in confusion.

She looked around, almost bored, and pulling out her phone and gestured for him to walk with her. He followed, feeling his annoyance mounting. She wanted to talk, but then went on her phone? What the heck?

"We're going to have more outings like this," Chloe said, eyes not straying up from the phone. "It is true. It's a lot easier for Adrien to get approval if he's supposedly hanging out with me. As long as I'm there, the Gorilla is technically bringing him where he's supposed to be, and if there's others, he's willing to let it slide if Adrien's having fun. As long as he's doing his job, whatever extras there are don't matter."

"And you're sure about that?" Nino asked.

Chloe scoffed. "I've spent over ten years learning the loopholes of the Agreste Overprotection Tendencies. Of course I'm sure," she said, shifting her phone and it's then Nino realized she wasn't reading anything. Her camera was on, and it was looking at the street behind them. What...? "Don't ask about it," she said, voice lowered.

"...why are you doing this now? Wait, is this why you showed up to those group gatherings near the beginning of the year?" Nino asked, still curious about what she was doing with her phone, but not asking. For now, at least.

"No, that was me wanting to spend time with Adrikins and making sure he was okay," she said. "And I'm doing this now because I love him and I want him to have a better quality of life."

Nino glared at her. "....are you doing this to try and get him to date you?" He asked, feeling a flare of anger. If Chloe was actually trying to trick Adrien-

She looked up with a nasty glare. "Romantic love and friend love are not mutually exclusive things, Lahiffe. Adrien and I just schooled you in magical girl tropes, you should understand that," she snarled.

"I don't know. You've been weird all day, it'd make sense if you were trying to trick him," Nino shot back, unwilling to be easily cowed when it was his best friend on the line.

"The only reason you met him is because of my love for him," Chloe hissed.

"What?" Nino said, taken aback.

"His father didn't approve of him going to school. How do you think he registered?" Chloe asked, raising an eyebrow.

It takes a moment. Because that's a good point. How did Adrien get in if his father didn't approve? People can't just join a class without paperwork. So how...

"Dude. Did Adrien ask...?" Nino asked, suddenly worried he read Adrien all wrong.

"Of course not. I just told him he was registered and he didn't ask how I did it," she said with a dismissive wave, looking down at her phone, moving the camera to look up near the rooftops behind them.

....okay, that made more sense. Adrien did have a tendency to just not ask if he knew he wasn't going to like the answer. "Why? You've never made it a secret you don't like anything about our school," Nino said.

"Because of people like you," Chloe said.

"....you keep losing me, dudette," Nino said.

Chloe sighed, rolling her eyes. "Seriously, you're so...you've MET his father. And Nathalie. His bodyguard. The help? He doesn't interact. They're hired to be discrete and professional. They don't talk unless spoken to. The only ones Adrien has a personal relationship are those who are directly responsible for him instead of the house," she said.

Nino frowned at that. Yeah, he knew it was pretty lonely. Cold. Adrien didn't talk about it a lot, but what little he's said combined with what Nino has seen, he knows it's not an ideal way to live. Especially with someone as lonely as Adrien had seemed to be.

"And as amazing as I am, I'm not...the best when it comes to emotions," Chloe said and Nino repressed a snort. That was one way to put it. Chloe wasn't good with most emotions or empathy in general. Nino though, he was a bit better and after the momentary moment of humor, he could see the look on her face. It was too blank, too carefully made to look unaffected. "Adrien didn't have a lot of people in his life. Nathalie and the Gorilla who barely count. His parents. And me. Then he lost his mother, his father lost whatever warmth he'd usually show, and the help was to be even more strict. I was the only emotional support Adrien had," she said, voice calm, and even.

And it clicked in Nino's head just how rough his bro must have had it before he showed up in school. It's hard to imagine the dork he met his first day was really stuck with that mourning and only having CHLOE to help. Suddenly his running off at Christmas made a lot more sense. Just going out for air his foot.

"And it became obvious that I wasn't enough. But Adrien has always wanted to go to school, wanted to be around other kids. I figured that at worst, it was a distraction. At best..." She looked his face, gaze more impartial then anything. Familiar.

The moment she handed over the Miraculous before she got arrogant and declared she'd be Queen Bee again.

"At best, he'd find people like you."

She exited out of the camera, turning off the screen before pocketing it. "I know Adrien doesn't love me romantically. I'm not an idiot. But we do love each other, and if I had to, if I thought it'd help, I'd burn the world for that boy. Those feelings aren't going to change. And if that means encouraging his relationships with people I don't like, spending time around them, and being....nice." Only Chloe Bourgeois could say that word like it was the worst thing in the world. "Then that's what I'll do. And I think he's suffering more than he let's on and that's the only way I can see helping him right now."

"Wait, what? What do you mean suffering more?" Nino said. He's not sure how to take the rest of all that, the proof that Chloe Bourgeois can indeed care very deeply about another person, but the thought of his bro suffering? That was easy to react too.

"I have reason to believe he's more stressed out than he let's on. There's no way of convincing him to cut back on all the things he has to do, so it's important to make sure he's actually unwinding in what time he has off. So if you have something he seems like he'd want to go to, contact me. Lord knows he won't ask me for a favor on his own, I think being nice is the first real favor he's asked of me in years. So you do it and I'll do what I can to make it happen," she said and held out a hand to him. "And we'll tolerate each other to make sure he's happy. Agreed?"

Nino paused, trying to think if there was any way this was some kind of trick or ploy. But as he looked at Chloe, he didn't see Chloe the bully. There wasn't any nastiness or smugness to her expression, none of the arrogance. She looked far more like Queen Bee, confident and sure she'd do a good job.

He huffed and adjusted his cap. "Well, if it's for my bro, I can't really say no," he said, taking her hand and shaking it.

"Excellent," she said, pulling her hand away and pulling out a handkerchief to wipe her hand, earning an unimpressed look from Nino. "You have my number still?" When he nodded, and turned and started walking, towards a car at the corner. "Then talk to you later, Lahiffe."

"Yeah, later dude," Nino said, shaking his head. Of all the things he thought to come out of magic and monsters being real, he never thought Chloe showing she had a heart would be one of them.

#ML: Queen of Secrets #miraculous ladybug #Chloe Bourgeois #Adrien Agreste #Nino Lahiffe #miraculer spoilers

[louthegreatfurrry]

The Same Eyes, pt1

The plan is to use Ariel to get to Triton - but then Ariel enters Ursula's cave with Athena's hair and Ursula's determination and her heart set on a human man.

Ursula has never seen herself in someone more clearly than she does in Ariel. With a heavy heart and an even heavier past she decides to get Ariel to her Heart as soon as possible - no matter the cost.

Ariel, beloved daughter of Triton, is Ursula’s ticket to power. The naïve little princess just needs to be manipulated in the right way… a twist here, a shudder there, the right word at the right time, and she’ll walk right into Ursula’s hands.

That’s the plan, anyway. Lure Ariel in, write her a terrible contract, use her as blackmail, and take over the kingdom. It’s all revenge.

But then Flotsam and Jetsam pull a terrified girl into her cave, and Ariel’s cheeks are streaked with tears, her eyes bloodshot, and her hair the exact same coral red as Athena’s.

“I – I shouldn’t be here,” she whispers, and her voice is trembling, her hands shaking, eyes wide and worried. Yet she is determined to see it through.

Flotsam had assured Ursula the desperation was born because Ariel had fallen in love with a man – a Prince, in fact – and that she wanted, terribly so, to be with him.

Seeing her now, though, breaking and stubborn and determined, Ursula struggles.

Her eyes are not the eyes of a mermaid hopelessly in love. No, the frightened eyes blinking back at her are the eyes of someone with something to prove. Something to find.

The words die on Ursula’s lips. “Oh, sweet child,” she says, and the eyes are not Ariel’s, they are Ursula’s. “Of course I will help.”

Hope flickers across Ariel’s face. Ursula turns swiftly – it pains her too much to see that – and runs through her mental library of spells. There are none that will work without backfiring or taking something from Ariel in return – especially not with how bruised her heart is.

She tells Ariel as much, and the girl needs to learn to hide her emotions, for the desperation and hurt that burns on her face is so obvious even Jetsam takes note.

“Give me a few weeks,” Ursula says, an olive branch through all the pain. “I’ll have something for you, then.” And there it is again, that terrible, honest hope. “Take her home, Flotsam, Jetsam.”

The eels nod, circling around Ariel once, twice, three times before leading her towards the entrance once more.

“Oh, and Ariel?” Ursula calls after them – on a whim, as a half-formed thought, a buried wish. “If you need a listening ear… you know where to find me.”

Surprise. Confusion. They shine on Ariel’s face.

It echoes in Ursula’s chest.

*

Ursula gets to work immediately. Leafing through recorded spells, double- and triple checking her stores, time and time again looking through and making sure she’s fully aware of what she has to work with.

It’s after she’s been at it for almost two hours that she finally admits defeat.

That’s how her children find her, sunken together in a heap of tentacles and open books, eyes open and unseeing. They squeak and rush over, complimenting and fussing and worrying among each other, and Ursula says nothing as she takes them into her arms and closes her eyes.

She’s used magic as long as she can remember. And still… every single spell she knows of is Dark to its very core. Not a single one of them can be done without a major sacrifice from someone involved.

Slowly, Flotsam and Jetsam calm down in her arms, wriggling around until they’re settled comfortably around her shoulders and torso, tight, tight, tight –

Well, Ursula thinks to herself, she’ll just have to learn, then.

*

She gets to work the very next day. It’s hard to make a spell from scratch – she’s only done it twice before, and she was powerless and a shell of her usual self for weeks afterwards. It’s far easier to combine already existing ones. Ursula has some experience in combining spells, but none quite as delicate or complicated as the transformation Ariel needs. On top of it all, the spell is going to become terribly taxing. It asks for a permanent sacrifice, and it needs to be important – the hard part is to find something that is important, but not terribly so. Perhaps some of Ariel’s years to live, or her chance to bear children – but no, that is all too much, too expensive…

and so it continues, a desperate hunt for spells that will dull the sacrifice but still work.

*

“Urrrsulaaaa…”

Ursula looks up from the various books strewn around her – notebooks and grimoires and textbooks and half-done sketches and blueprints. She realizes too late that of course she’s not going to be able to pinpoint Jetsam’s voice, she built these caves to let voices drift everywhere if desired –

“You have a visitor,” Flotsam chimes in, interrupting her thoughts with the same hiss their voice takes on when they speak through the pipes.

Ursula grimaces down at the scribbles she’d been jotting down. Needy merfolk – she’d just managed to find something that made sense after nearly a full hour of stumbling around looking for clues. “Tell them I’m busy!” she calls.

She goes back to scribbling.

“It’s the young princess,” Flotsam says, and to the untrained ear they might sound indifferent, but Ursula knows better.

She stops. “Ariel?”

A confirming hiss from Jetsam.

“Send her in,” Ursula says, rushing to put away the blueprints, sketches, and textbooks in common. They are secrets the princess of the kingdom should not know.

It doesn’t take long before the familiar girl swims in, trailed by Flotsam and Jetsam on either side, blood-red hair in the water behind her. She looks nervous, just as uncertain as last time Ursula saw her, and even more determined.

“Someone found their courage,” Ursula mutters, putting her hands on her hips. “What is it? I said to give me some weeks, I have – ”

“Do you have a way I can see him?” Ariel blurts, after which she immediately slaps her hands to her mouth. She looks just as horrified as Ursula is surprised.

They stare at each other for a moment, Ariel trembling and Ursula still as a statue. “Flotsam, Jetsam,” she says, and though her heart is aching her voice remains the same. “My cauldron. If you will.” The two eels whisk away as soon as the order has been given, and Ursula and Ariel are alone.

It’s Ursula’s home, she’s the master of these seas, and she has never felt smaller than she does now.

She clears her throat. “It has been some time since I watched the surface,” she says, an excuse to turn to her bookshelves, jumping up high and staying there for some time. Her fingers, dancing along the backs of her older grimoires, jolt algae from their places and sends it drifting through the room. “I know the incantations, of course, only need to check to be sure.”

The silence that fills the room is awkward, but she is Ursula, she is the Sea Witch, and she bites her tongue and refuses to acknowledge it.

It’s a very simple spell that requires little. The sacrifice is merely some of Ursula’s energy, and it’s given back to her once the spell is lifted. The incantation is simple as well.

Ursula floats down to the floor again, a now-open book in her hands. She skims through the cautions she wrote in, her handwriting shaky with uncertainty and fear after her then-cauldron had blown up in her face.

She notes, absently, that Ariel is hovering over her shoulder, trying – and failing – to subtly read the page. It matters little – if she’s able to read the letters soaked in magic, then she deserves to see them. Besides, it’s just a little spell – one she will be participating in. Ursula will never discourage a thirst for knowledge.

Ah, so much like Athena…

Flotsam and Jetsam arrives, then, pushing Ursula’s cauldron before them.

“Thank you, dears,” Ursula says, clapping the book shut and giving it to Jetsam to replace before floating over to the cauldron. She waves Ariel over, and she hurries after Ursula, though she still looks nervous.

Ursula performs the spell calmly, as quietly as she can. She could be fancy and intricate and loud, with flashing lights and smoke and dancing colors, but Ariel is shaken enough from just being here. Ursula has no desire to terrify the poor girl.

“There,” Ursula says, ignoring the way her heart yearns for something to be reflected in the water. Nothing has been there for years, and never will there be again. “In this you see who holds your heart. Your prince should be there.”

Ariel turns wide eyes on her. Her fingers hover over the edge of the cauldron. “I – how long do I have?”

“However long you may need,” Ursula says. She turns back to her notes before Ariel can answer.

And like this they spend some time, Ariel leaning over Ursula’s cauldron, losing her heart more with each image she sees. She cannot hear what happens on the surface, only see, but it seems to be enough for her.

“Your request is peculiar,” Ursula says after a Poseidon knows how long silence. She feels, more than sees, that Ariel spins around. The water is disturbed, sending one of her notes flying. She snatches it back with a lazy tentacle.

“But you will do it?” Ariel asks, desperately, voice high-pitched and worried. When Ursula casts her a glance her knuckles have gone white on the edge of the cauldron.

Ursula does not say that she had forgotten who Ariel’s mother was until she stepped into her cave. She does not say that she would do anything for someone with that hair. She does not say that she will not rest until Ariel has her love in her arms.

“Yes,” she says, and that is all she has to say.

She begins to talk about the spell after another few minutes of silence. How she has to combine other spells to make a new one, how she has to be careful about what sacrifices the spell asks for, how a spell will never allow a loophole…

she gets lost in foggy memories, re-living a past she will never again have, and almost forgets who she talks to.

And then Ariel pipes up with a question and the pretense shatters.

Ursula answers as well as she can, and then the torch switches hands. Ariel starts talking about Eric, and if her voice drifts towards his surroundings more than he himself, then Ursula isn’t going to comment.

The shell upon her collarbone is heavy.  

#the little mermaid #ursula #ariel #fanfiction #ursula/queen athena #meg og mitt #my writing #the same eyes