#i loathe drawing stairs but this was for a good cause

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#the man upon the stair #:) #tma #mag 85 #my art #fanart #i loathe drawing stairs but this was for a good cause

[randombtsprincessa]

Blackthorn Creek

Author: Randombtsprincessa

Characters: Park Jimin x Reader (2nd POV)

Words: 24.1k

Genre: Beauty and the Beast AU! Fantasy, Angst, Fluff, Smut!

Rating: NC-17 ranging till 18+ during the last scene, just to be safe.

Warning: Curses, magic, violence, conspiracy for treason, heavy insecurities, imprisonment of sorts, animal attacks, description of blood and injuries, mob mentality, invasion, stabbing, falling from heights, death, marital sex, first time, kissing, fingering, unprotected sex (be careful folksies!) And a whole lotta cheese cause it’s Jimin and I love him.

A/N: The following work is part of the Twisted Fairtytales: Members in Distress for @ksmutclub​ I had the idea for this story sitting in my WIPS and thankfully, the project came at the perfect moment! I hope you all like it as much as I loved writing it! 

A major thank you and a glomping hug to @cuziloveyou7​ and my amazing best friend for all their support for the fic!

The night was chill.

Pale, gossamer links of snow knitted across the glass of the castle, the granite of the stairs seeping the cold through to the skin.

A light chatter was interrupted when the front doors thudded – once, twice and then another time.

It was late, after all; much too late for any visitors, too rude for guests to show up…

The King, a benign man, stood from his seat near the fire, guards surrounding their liege. The Queen looked up at her husband, worried but the King patted her shoulder, beckoning for the doors to be opened.

It would be rude to leave the doors barred too, of course. It could be someone in need.

He watched, curious, as his Maitre D’, Seokjin, walked slowly to the doors. His arms flung the heavy oaken doors open, a flourish to his actions.

“Welcome,” Jin spoke in his exaggerated voice, “to the Castle of Blackthorn Creek. To what do we owe the pleasure, and to whom, may I ask?”

There was silence, much too thick, much too tense to be someone in need, to be a friendly visitor.

“I am here, to see your King. Bring me to him.”

Seokjin stuttered in his vigor, an unnerved stance taking him over as he glanced back to the royal couple, a question to his eyes.

The King cast an eye to his right corner, where his trusted advisor sat, his shoulders visibly tight. Namjoon cleared his throat, a warning sound. “I will see him.” The King said instead, knowing it would be better to see what the stranger wanted.

His guards circled him, his wife remaining behind as he approached and stood behind Seokjin.

“You are in the presence of our Lord and King.” The man announced, drawing away with a stiff bow – unlike any he had performed before.

The King stepped forward, and looked at the man who stood at his doorstep. The man, in turn raised his head, allowing for the dark hood atop his head to fall back. His head was cast in shadows, the whites of the eyes visible as he spoke.

“Your Majesty, I have come from far lands for the pleasure of your company.”

“Consider the pleasure ours, please do come in. What can we do for you?” The King waved a hand, dismissing the surrounding guards as the stranger tilted his head, walking in with his head still held high. He stopped right inside the threshold, as the inmates of the house gazed with wonder and some horror at his visage.

His head was shaven, dark marks etched into the near blue-white skin of his face. His arms bore similar marks, sheathed in crimson robes that were certainly not the fashion of those times.

“Well,” The King pressed.

The stranger slowly blinked his unnerving eyes, a flash of green lighting them. “I hear tales of your kingdom, your generous reign in my homelands. I must say I am not disappointed.”

He finally turned his head to where the Queen sat. “I also hear tales of a beautiful daughter. Your little Princess,”

There was a ringing silence. Guards shifted in their positions, Namjoon and Seokjin drew closer to the Queen and the King froze. To all but the mysterious stranger’s eyes unknown, a small figure crouched at her mother’s skirts, face turned curious to the sudden tension in the air.

“What do you want?” It was the Queen who spoke. Her crown glinted in the firelight, her body clenched on her chair. The stranger didn’t look at her when he answered the question.

“I come with a proposal. I offer my hand in marriage with the Princess.”

There was another pause, albeit much less tense as movement started.

“Preposterous; she is but a child.” This came from Namjoon.

“I am willing to wait.” The stranger said coolly.

“Then you will be waiting forever. I will not give my child to any godforsaken man who happens across my door and throws around absurd ideas. You will never have my daughter.”

“I will be a good husband, and a good king.”

“My Liege; do we have permission to draw arms?” The guard closest to the King asked, his hand already drawing closer to his sheathed sword.

“Nay, no bloodshed; just throw this madman out to the snow.” The King spat, his cloak whirling as he turned to go back to his family.

Behind him, his men converged, arms raised to push the stranger out the palace gates.

Time seemed to slow as the men gathered around his form, which had straightened to as tall as he could get.

“You’ll find you’ve made something of a mistake…Your Majesties.”

A cruel smile curled his lips, hands cupping near his stomach. His large sleeves gave way, revealing the etched marks and even as they pulse green, his form erupted in green light, exploding out till it engulfed the entire estate.

The King buckled, his arms wrapping around his wife and child as the men began to shout, and darting away from whatever it was the demon man unleashed.

“Hear me, O great King; for your impudence, I place your most beloved under this curse. You will be reduced to nothing but a fixture; your entire household will be mere pawns to be used by commoners. And your daughter,” The smirk widened, finding the small girl who still hid, now visible to everyone as their horrified gazes found the young princess.

“Your daughter will be left all alone. Her beauty will now be gone, her temperament destroyed. She will be feared, loathed, a monstrosity that will live with your enchantment.”

“She is a child! You are hurting a child!” Finally, an anguished wail escaped the Queen but the wizards over spoke her, drowning her words.

“At the age of twenty and three, she will be rendered thus permanently. Not a thing but the truest of love can rescue her and break my curse. Only the one who will look past her form will win that honor.”

The light faded with the man’s silhouette, the only thing that remained in the blazing glimmer of the settling curse. Movement ceased, the fire died into its embers…

“You will soon find that I am the only man who is merciful and worthy enough.”

These last words echoes in the halls, sealing through the stone and glass until another sound replaced it.

The screams of a terrified little girl…

Time seemed to flow like water after the screams died.

Nobody took courage to go up to the Palace, find their rulers…the town forgot they even had rulers. Administration moved into common hands, spread to the citizens and the legend of the lost royal family became a ghost story.

The path to Blackthorn Creek remained abandoned, silent, and derelict.

In the town of course, the ghost story didn’t matter. Life had moved on, become busy, become full of bustle.

Park Jimin threw the doors of his father’s work room open, sticking his head in to check once on the aging man.

“Father, I’m out to the baker’s. Shall I bring back something?”

There was no answer from his father, just a distant sigh that said there was nothing that could be brought back that would satisfy him.

Jimin drew back, unable to curb his rising disappointment. There was something in the slump of his father’s shoulders, ever since they’d moved into the developing town of Blackthorn Creek that, as much as the exuberant Jimin tried, he simply couldn’t shake.

Perhaps, it was his mother’s death that took their house and worldly belongings. Perhaps it was the sinking of his father’s patent ship, causing such debt that there was no hope to pay it back with nothing to put up for interest.

The Park family had to relocate from their luxury in France to the eastern countryside, to this small place. It had taken all the merry from his father’s life.

Jimin, however, worked hard to keep his spirits up. This was a setback yes, but his father was a genius. He was sure to come up with another pitch that would work out. And even if he didn’t; well, Jimin would always be there to take care of his beloved father.

A basket in hand, Jimin cocked his hat, setting out for the day.

The town, as small as it was, was full of life around midday. The market bustled, the streets running with people and the pub was always open, till as late as it could get.

But even through the color, there were shades of grey. The cheerful Creek had one mighty legend; one of the local royals’ disappearance. There was a long winded street that was barred from the public, leading up to a small hill, behind which there was said to be the palace.

He had taken these myths with a small smile, aimed at the person trying to call for his attention with these stories.

But even he had to admit, such tales of mystique piqued his fancy in the most delightful way. France had been exciting, especially for a young man such as himself. Plucking him out and placing him in a much smaller world where things were…stagnant, did cause something of a blow to his vigor.

Jimin stopped, contemplating the bookshop that lay just at the edge of the forbidden path. He had a few books still remaining back home, left to be read – but perhaps, he could squeeze in another couple?

“My boy,” The shopkeeper chuckled at the frown on the young man’s face. “Are you done with those piles that you took already?”

“Not quite, sir,” Jimin grinned. “I might just pop by again soon enough.”

The shopkeeper gave him a toothy grin, watching the man glance in some wonder at the blocked off road. The mountains had already started to grow slick with frost – sign of another passing winter. “Here,” he said suddenly.

Jimin stuttered in his forward steps, retracing back to where the stooping elder held out a pale bound tome from the front window. “Sir,” he raised his eyes in puzzlement.

“It’s a little something special I had lying about collecting dust. It was surprising that this one hasn’t caught your eye as of yet but I’m sure you will enjoy it.”

Jimin gave the friendly man a smile, letting the soft book fall open upon his palms, sifting through the delicate pages. “What’s it about?”

“The very thing you’re so curious about; lost princesses, brave knights, curses, fairies…” The book keeper burst out laughing at the soft blush that crept along Jimin’s cheeks. “You don’t need to be coy, son. Our little legend is bound to attract someone.”

“I must thank you sir. I will return it as soon as I’m done.”

“Oh by all means, keep it. It’s better suited to your hands than the shelves in this old place.”

Jimin blinked. “That’s a generous gift. I hope I do it justice.”

“I’m sure you will. Now off with you; the market isn’t going to stay open all day.” The man waved Jimin off, returning to his shop.

Jimin found himself quickly immersed in the fantasy, the short stories of courage, chivalry, sacrifice and fire keeping his nose well buried in the musty pages as he found the daily shopping that he was required to do.

All was well, until the book was snatched out of his hands, a giggle soon to follow.

“Hello stranger.”

“Hyebin,” Jimin sighed, looking around to where the young girl had snapped the book shut decisively.

Hyebin had been the girl to whom Jimin owed most of his knowledge of the town. Raven haired, slim and tall, she was the beauty of the town, sister to one of the most renowned hunters in the nearby vicinity – Kai. He and his sister had taken over most of the social scene of the town, near to becoming the law itself.

And Hyebin had her eyes set on Jimin ever since he set foot within the pub; by proxy, leading her brother to pester him with offers of her hand.

“May I have my book back?”

Pale glimmering lips pouted at him, the book still clutched in her hands. “You never pay attention to me, Jimin. Not when you have books about,” she said.

“Of course that’s not the case.” The man said smoothly.

“It is so. What’s so special about books anyway?” Hyebin took a step further back, too quick for Jimin’s reaching fingers. She pried the book open rudely. “They don’t lead to too much around here.”

“There’s more to books than just material gain, Hyebin.” Jimin was becoming impatient – his eyes fixed on the way her nails dug into the delicate binding.

“If you say so, when we’re married; would you still pay more attention to books than me?”

Jimin dearly wanted to say that that would never happen but he settled for resignedly bouncing on his toes. “What if I read to you?”

“I’d fall asleep.”

“I see.” This time Jimin moved fast, hands grabbing the book from Hyebin’s distracted hold long enough to fall back a safe distance. “I need to go back home. Give your brother my best.”

By the time he got home, his father had put away his new working equipment, instead pacing about in the handkerchief living room.

“Father,” Jimin greeted, putting up his hat.

“Son, how…how was the day?” His father stopped marching, coming up to take the basket of shopping from him.

“Normal, had to dodge Hyebin as usual,” he muttered, making his father chuckle.

“One of these days that girl will marry you still.”

“Such a horrifying thought,”

“Then let me put you to ease.” Mr. Park put his hands on Jimin’s shoulders, making his son look him in the eyes. “There has been some development. The ship that I lost at sea, a year ago, has been heard from. I have been called to attest to it.”

Jimin took a moment to process the news, watching his father’s eyes light up with something that was fearfully hopeful. “Do you mean that --?”

“Possibly; if it is true, we can go back to our old lives again! Think of it, Jimin! Paris, France, the beautiful sprawling house that we had to give up. Your education…” The man smiled affectionately, “We’ll have to find you a lady to wed who is at par with you.”

“Father,”

“I set off tonight! It will be a day’s journey but I know you can watch over things here.”

Jimin watched as his father hurriedly moved to the door, a coat and hat finding their way on his body and his cane and horse whip clasped to his breast. “Wish well for us, my son, our lives could be soon close to change. Do you wish for me to bring you anything back?”

“No father, just you,” Jimin bid farewell to his father, watching him disappear within the small stable to gallop away.

When Mr. Park had set out for the harbor, his spirits had been up soaring in the clouds, visions of his life returning to him in his previous splendor. Now, stood at the wooden ledge, watching crestfallen as merchants, traders, moneylenders, once his friends but now…now they had gathered around his returned goods and scavenged and distributed everything among themselves.

“Your debts are clear, Park.”

“Jimin won’t have to be in debt to us anymore, sir.”

“Go back home sir,”

Just words…nothing more, no comfort found his heart when he straddled his horse again, starting the long trek home.

The horse wouldn’t gallop, possibly sensing its master’s indolence and Mr. Park was overcome with a sudden wave of gratefulness for the animal. After all, he would have to strengthen his bones; he had to deliver the news to Jimin.

The idea of disappointing his son was probably more harrowing than that of losing his wealth yet again.

At least now they were free from debt.

There was a small whinny, attracting the older man’s attention as he looked up to see which path he was on. It was long, thin, winding up a hill he had never seen before in his life.

“Hey boy, I think we took the wrong way.” He patted the horse’s head, before getting off, grabbing the reins. “Let’s find a way out.”

A few miles in, Mr. Park stopped, short of breath.

“Where in the world are we?” He growled low, ignoring the shuddering animal behind him as he trudged on when a high, pitched sound made them both freeze.

A wolf’s howl…

There were wolves around. Mr. Park was alone with no weapons and no idea of where he was. His horse let out a sound of protest again.

“Damn it all too hell,” Mr. Park quickly climbed the horse, kicking it to speed. “Take off, boy; we don’t have any time to lose.”

His ride raised back its front legs, before racing down the way they had come.

Jimin had been anxious all day, toiling in the small garden that his father had managed to build in the front of their house. Sweat had gathered his dark hair into clumps, matting his eyes so when he hear the familiar whinny of Geureum, the horse, he smiled naturally – relieved that his father was finally back home.

“Ah father, nice to –,” he turned, his smile vanishing slowly when he saw the horse alone, pawing his hooves into the dirt, snorting impatiently.

“Geureum, where is he?” Jimin grabbed for the horse’s reins, pulling it closer to soothe it. “Where is Father?”

All Geureum did was shake his head roughly, stepping back and forth.

“Can you show me where he is, huh, boy? Come on,” He slipped his foot in the stirrup, hauling himself into the saddle. “Take me to him, Geureum.”

Geureum stopped only once when he reached a huge, wrought iron gate, roses and swans intricately welded to the metal, now rusty from disuse.

Something had prickled Jimin’s hairline when Geureum had approached the blockaded hill up to the legendary Blackthorn Creek palace but the horse had circumvented it, riding up a much thinner path up.

Jimin slipped off of the horse, patting Geureum on the side. “Stay here, boy.”

And then…with a creek that echoed through the cold night, he entered the palace, walking through huge oaken double doors to find his father.

He had to admit, for a second, standing in the atrium of the castle, he was struck by how grand it must have been. The ceiling peaked, now broken in with many of the granite slabs gone, the starry night sky clearly visible. Dirt and mud had accumulated on the marble floors, muffling the clicks of his boots just a bit.

“Father,” he called loudly before cursing to himself.

What if someone heard him? He wasn’t exactly supposed to be here.

Jimin shook his head. Who would hear him? It was a deserted castle with its family long gone. There probably had never been a family; the town had probably spun a yarn to make it special to tourists.

He crept up grand staircase, sticking close to the rails.

“Father,” he called again.

“Jimin…?”

He whirled, looking around for the source of the sound. “Yes, father it’s me.” He ventured, noticing a hand slipping out from the bars of a door. “Father!” He dropped to his knees in front of the door.

“Jimin, what are you doing here? You can’t be here, you have to leave!” His father was wailing from within, his hands grasping air in search for Jimin.

“What are you saying? Of course, I had to come! Who did this to you?”

“No! Don’t you see, Jimin? It’s true, the legends, the stories, they’re true!”

“What is true? Father, tell me who did this to you?”

“The monster; there is a monster in this castle!”

Jimin paused in trying to pry the door open, widened eyes swiveling to his father’s outstretched hands. “What?”

“It’s true! Please you have to leave! It’s dangerous!”

“Father, that can’t possibly be true!” Jimin said adamantly only to be proven wrong the next second.

A roar that sent Jimin’s hair rising to its ends erupted, echoing around the cavernous halls. A heavy weight landed on his shoulder, throwing him away from the door.

“What are you doing here?”

If there was a god, Jimin had better start praying to it, he thought, cowering away from the hunkering shadow that loomed over him. All he could discern were bright yellow eyes, slanting dark pupils glaring at him and the appendage his father had left hanging out the bars.

“Jimin!” His father chose to shout at the very moment.

Jimin watched the – the – thing – rise upon its legs, prowling further in but still remaining in the dark corner. “What are you doing here?” It asked again.

Jimin blinked slowly, trying to make sense of what was happening to him. Here he was, in an allegedly cursed castle. His father was locked up, raving about monsters and now he was face to face with what appeared to be a huge animal…only, it talked like a human.

“I…I came for my father.” Jimin stuttered, trying to push himself back up.

The yellow eyes flickered, between Jimin and his father, before creeping back into the shadows. “You came in vain. The prisoner will not be released.”

“No wait!” Jimin called, shuffling to his feet as the figure began to draw back. “You can’t keep him here like this! He’s an old man, he’ll die!”

“THEN HE SHOULDN’T HAVE TRESPASSED IN MY HOME!”

Jimin froze at the sudden roar, managing to grab onto his father’s hands finally. This was real. The legend was true. The people living in the castle were monsters, cursed.

“Your…please – I’ll do anything.”

“No! He’ll stay here, locked up because he couldn’t keep his hands to himself.” The monster began to disappear.

“Take me.” Jimin took a step forward.

The figure paused.

“What, Jimin, no – no, listen, you can’t do this!” His father yelled.

“I mean it. You take me, let him go.” Every word strengthened in his throat, conviction pushing him forward till he was barely a meter away from the monster.

“You – You’d do that? You’d stay here, in exchange for him?”

Jimin met its eye. Bright yellow to Jimin’s deep brown, when it stepped finally into the small lighted part.

Coarse, shaggy fur coated a huge, lumbering form. The bright yellow eyes that seemed so unnerving were set in a canvas of a ferocious face, the fur streaked with grey and black, a huge snout for a nose and huge fangs that protruded from its mouth.

A lesser man would’ve burst a lung screaming at the horrifying sight but Jimin managed to hide his face, backing up till he could feel his father trying to clutch at the back of his shirt.

“I…I would. Let him go and you can take me.” Jimin finally said and he was proud to say that his voice remained steady.

There was a ringing moment of doubt, flickering in the golden orbs of the monster, before with a growl it raised its paw. Jimin flinched, cringing away from the blow but it never fell. Instead, he heard a dull, metallic thunk and the heavy padlock fell to his feet.

Mr. Park fell out; the door giving way under his weight and he clung to Jimin. “No, no, please, don’t take him, keep me – I have nothing to live for anymore but my son has a whole life.” His father begged to the monster but the only reply they got was a ferocious roar. “GET OUT! If you value your life and your son’s, leave; or I will kill you both!”

The monster turned on an enormous heel, stomping back into the darkness.

The tower that Jimin was pushed into had one small window, a little too high for him to reach, but he managed to hike his nimble body up till he swung from the ledge. His fingers reddened from the strain but when he finally peeked through the window, he just barely caught the end of a huge cart, led by a snorting and neighing Geureum.

He dropped from the ledge, landing squarely on his feet upon the uneven flagstone and cursed, running two hands through his ruffled hair.

“Hello sir,”

Jimin jumped, whirling around at the smooth voice that sounded nothing like the awful grate of the monster’s growl.

“Right down here.”

Jimin backed up as far as he could against the wall before casting his eyes downwards. There was nothing on the floor, soft moss growing within the cracks with one slightly buffed up candelabrum left behind.

“Hello,” the voice said again.

“Where are you? Look, I’m not scared of anything anymore so you’re doing nothing,”

“Of course not, sir, it’s me…Kim Seokjin, the…” a sigh, “the candle holder.”

Jimin took a shuddering breath, before very slowly diverting his eyes to the golden instrument on the ground.

It wasn’t very huge, just barely above average but the sweeping extensions made it seem bigger than it needed to be. Dripping wax clung to its arms where the candles stuck, the gold sheen pale yet glinting in the bare light. Just on the handle, there was an etching…just like one of a face. Even as Jimin watched, the candles lit up, making him flinch.

“Please follow me, sir.”

Jimin gulped.

“Follow you where?”

The candelabrum, to Jimin’s astonished eyes, seemed to turn on the base.

“The Mistress is installing you in a room of your own. The household doubts you want to stay in the tower.” There was something caustic about the smooth tone of the thing. It made Jimin almost bristle and refute before he looked around the tower he was put in.

It was one of the spindle shaped ones, too thin and a little rickety. The window that he had tried to peek out was the single one allowing light in and he could feel some vertigo setting in already, if the nausea was anything to go by.

“Fine – lead the way.” He said.

Jimin had already gauged that the palace had been luxuriant in its time but now, walking quietly through the long hallways with…an animate object bouncing along in front of him, he had to admit; that the ruin that now faced him didn’t seem adjacent to what the palace must have been before.

The stone, now greenish grey had gnarled carvings etched into them. The statues that stood at corners had most of their heads broken or missing and the small beam that the candles gave off only made him all the more unsettled.

“We know it’s a little…dull – around here but we hope you’ll like it.” It was as if the thing knew what was going on in Jimin’s head.

“You said ‘we’…and ‘household’ before…but except for you…and…well, the monster,” Jimin stopped talking when the candelabrum winced.

“You…might want to be careful about that. The Mistress is sensitive and none of the people in the castle will appreciate you calling her that.”

Jimin nearly tripped on his feet when he finally processed something. “That…that thing is a she?”

He was ignored. The candelabrum stopped in front of one of the doors, double door, handles of glum silver. “This is going to be your room, sir.” Jimin didn’t answer, quietly reaching for the handle and turning it, letting himself in cautiously.

The room wasn’t lighted, most of the darkness only marred by the light streaming from a glass window. He could spy a bed at best.

Jimin was about to step in further, squinting his eyes when he heard a loud creak, possibly a considerable weight upon a floorboard and then the clink of metal.

“If you don’t like the room, we can move you.” He heard but instead of the smooth, cool voice of the candelabrum, it was gruff, low and sullen.

He whirled to see a huge part of a shadow standing well back into the room. A heavy cloak wrapped up the body, concealing it further within the darkness.

Jimin didn’t speak as the form lumbered to the open door.

“Your needs will be seen to here. My servants will attend to you.” There was a pause before it took hold of the door. “And you will meet me for dinner; every night.”

The slam of the door made Jimin jump; his immediate reaction was to run to the door and look through the keyhole. There were footsteps and a murmur of conversation but aside from that, the entire palace seemed silent.

Jimin huffed, walking over to the window to open it, casting a furtive look outside and letting out a scornful laughter. He was a good way up the ground. Jumping from the window would mean certain death and even if he only escaped, it would be with broken bones and with no horse.

He doubted the ‘Mistress’ would nurse him back to health.

“My sweetest sister,” A finger brushed under the supple cheek of Hyebin, turning her attention to her brother who loomed over her at the counter of the pub. “What has you down?”

Hyebin pouted, throwing Kai’s hand off. “I went by Park Jimin’s house this evening to see if he would take a turn with me. He wasn’t there. The house was empty.”

“Maybe he went off with that father of his.”

“Why would he? There is nothing to do for him.”

Kai cast a glance at his grumpy sister, feeling the brewing of an odd emotion that he had had for her for months now. It was a mixture of pity, annoyance and yet the unyielding need to present whatever she wanted on a golden platter. He knew that Jimin did not return even half of a quarter of affection that his sister had and while he was annoyed at her overzealous devotion, he knew that she would never falter.

She got her stubbornness from him, after all.

Now, there may be better men for Hyebin than Jimin, but she wanted him and Jimin would marry her – Kai would see to it.

“Sister,” he began.

“You promised, Kai! You promised me you would make him marry me. You don’t love me. You can’t even do this much for me!”

“Now, now, dearest,”

Hyebin’s face had reddened; her hair crackling as she swelled like a bullfrog, ready to rail at her brother when the doors on the pub crashed open, with Mr. Park falling, raving against it.

“Help,” he panted, grasping at whatever was close at hand to heave himself up. “Help, my son, my son please.”

Heads turned, eyes falling to the soaked man as snow melted and pooled around his boots, the cloak wet and snug around his head. His eyes shifted from one astonished face to another, growing more restless.

“Please! I need help. My son has been taken by a monster!”

Behind him, Kai heard Hyebin’s squawk of indignation die down, releasing instead a dainty gasp. He watched the loony man walk around, trying to clutch at the sleeves of the patrons who shook him off with scoffs until he neared the siblings, finally tumbling at Kai’s elbow.

“Please, Kai, my last hope – you…have to help. My son, my only son – gone! – taken! – I can’t take this.”

Hyebin shrunk away from the delirious old man, bundling her dress to her knees even as Kai shook his arm free. “What’s the matter, Mr. Park? Be a little clear.”

“The monster of the palace took Jimin! Trapped him in the big castle on the hill…I couldn’t do anything!”

There was a pause as Kai furrowed his brow, before a patron shouted. “Leave him, Kai. He’s probably mad with the cold!”

“I am not!” Mr. Park immediately protested, wringing roughly at the coat before slumping his head and walking out the pub, defeated. They could hear wails of anguish in the cold winds outside but none were met with sympathy.

“He ran away!” Hyebin finally screeched, sinking her nails in her brother’s arms, ire flaming again.

Kai didn’t answer, letting his arm lax while his thoughtful expression slowly merged into that of a smirk. “Hyebin, my sweet; you might just get to marry Park Jimin after all.”

Jimin didn’t know when he’d dozed off. It must have been the exhaustion of the day, the pressure, the sorrow but he had curled up in one of the dusty armchairs, closed his eyes for possibly a second, only to gather his thoughts. Now he woke up to a pitch black room, stars visible from the window and he knew it was very late into the night.

His back had cramped in his position, obliging him to get off when he heard the gentle knock on the door. He took a wary stance, waiting for the doors to be barged into but to no avail. It was probably Seokjin the candle holder, Jimin decided, going to open the door.

“My now, I thought you’d wait for all the milk to go cold before you opened the door.”

Anticipating it, Jimin was already looking to the floor, only to be met by what looked like a tea set. He watched eyes boggling as the tea pot, a tall, sleek work with a rotund belly hobbled into the room, followed by a cup, and a sugar bowl.

“Um, what…who – are you now?” He asked.

“I’m the head cook, boy. Min Yoongi’s the name, also known as the best damn teapot in the kingdom. This right here,” the snout of the teapot tipped down to the cup, “is Taehyung, the assistant cook but not the best cup even in the room because he can’t keep himself on one stupid shelf.”

“Yah Hyung,” the cup opened at its seam, as if they were lips. “Don’t be mean.”

“I wasn’t going to come at all but I can’t leave you alone. Now then to business, boy; the Princess is taking a late supper so you can eat with her. You can have some milk before you go. You look like you’ve been crying and you’re just going to upset her.”

“Upset her?” Jimin glared, as the tea cup, filled with milk jumped into his reluctant hand. “I am the one trapped here.”

“Look on the bright side.” The teapot waved its spout and all the tea materials gathered in one line, heading out the door. “There’s a splendid welcome supper to be had. Come Taehyung.” He called as he exited.

“Oh but,” the tea cup sloshed some of its content onto Jimin’s hands when it jumped down, skidding across the stone before the door shut again. The sounds of the tea cup’s protests reached Jimin even through the heavy door.

Jimin wiped his hands of his trousers, grumbling at the way he made a mess when he backed against something large.

“No need to worry, young sir. Wardrobe is always here to help!”

Golden but dusty doors banged Jimin on the face, nearly tossing him onto the floor as the wardrobe advanced, rows and rows of pristine, shiny outfits ready to be worn. Jimin gasped, clutching his nose in pain as he shook his head.

“Many apologies! It’s been a while since I’ve been opened for any event at all. I am Jung Hoseok, the royal master of robes. Please do look through the selection to pick something out. I daresay you’ll want to change out of your outfit for dinner.”

“No thanks,” Wincing, Jimin managed to get to his feet. “I’m not going to dinner with Princess Monster down there.”

“Oh dear,” he heard the wardrobe as he crossed his arms, turning to the window to glare out of it.

The long dining table had been decked out for the first time in fifteen years. Silk cloths had been draped over the mahogany, candles put up, torches wiped and lit, plates and tableware sparkled in the dancing flame of the fireplace.

Yet, none of the chairs had been pulled back.

Seokjin and Yoongi, watched, anxious as the Mistress of the Castle, their Princess prowled in front of the table, each paw taking further weight from your animal bulk.

“Your highness, perhaps…you should sit and wait.” Seokjin suggested.

“No; I will wait for the man.” You said. Your voice had dipped down to a warning growl but your household items…your staff had never been very afraid of you.

Maybe they had, once, when you had first transformed and not taken to what you had become. A monster, a huge, hunkering loathsome thing which wanted to claw and destroy anything that stood in its wake…

It had taken years, but you had somewhat been ‘tamed’ since then.

“Princess, please, do consider that if we play our cards right, this man could be your salvation.”

“You think I don’t know that? I do…I know that but…how can he be if he won’t even come to dinner?”

���Perhaps also take into consideration that the boy is trapped here. He won’t see his father or his previous life again.” Jin’s statement wasn’t met with any geniality, instead the candelabrum found himself in the vice grip of his Mistress.

“Then what should I do? Do I throw him out? Let him leave so he can bring back a mob? No! I won’t do anything and if he wants to be difficult, I can be too.”

“We know that, your highness.” Yoongi said, his spout quivering. “We just have to remember to keep our tempers in check.”

The last statement was spoken pointedly and the monster blinked its huge yellow eyes, looking down to where you were almost squeezing your Maitre ‘D. You dropped the candle holder, Seokjin bouncing back a few steps when the door to the dinner room opened.

“Ah, there he is.” Yoongi’s belly turned, the porcelain splitting into a smile.

You turned, eyes trained in anticipation but what peeked in was an ornate long grandfather clock, its rose gold arms clasping the door in trepidation.

“Namjoon, where is the boy?” Seokjin asked immediately.

The royal advisor hemmed, glancing anxiously at the bunched up bulk of the Princess. “He says, he won’t be coming, your highness.”

There was a ringing silence, torn by the groans of Yoongi and Seokjin before you stood up, your clawed feet digging into the stone floor so hard it hurt.

“Fine, if he wants to be so stubborn then let him have his consequences too. Yoongi, you will bar the kitchens. He will not eat anything unless he first comes to me.”

“Princess, we can’t woo a dead man.” Namjoon said calmly but you were already dropping down from an upright position to what you were used to, on all four feet, crouching.

“I don’t care! Just…just let him starve! I don’t care if we find bones in his room.”

The three items converged, all talking together and you slammed a paw on the table, shredding the cloth. “Enough; let me go!” You roared before taking off, leaping over their heads so you could head and lock yourself in your quarters.

The silence that brushed up and closed around you as soon as the doors shut behind you and automatically locked was bliss. Yet your mind was anything but.

Hateful thoughts swirled in your mind, mostly aimed at yourself, some at the enthusiasm that your staff seemed to show for this new addition to your home and finally, venom spilling out to the man who had now entombed himself in one of your best rooms but couldn’t even show the decency to come down for dinner.

What was so difficult about dinner?

And why was he allowed to shut himself in his room when all your life you had been told to never hide yourself from the rest of the house?

Granted, all your people were now objects, magical but still just objects. Your parents had been turned to statues, forced to weather out in the overrun gardens and you had been raised by Seokjin, Yoongi, Hoseok and Namjoon mostly. Children your age; Taehyung and Jungkook had hated you in the beginning and you had never sought them out yourself.

Over time, Taehyung had forgiven you but Jungkook turned to a Duster never saw you, working quietly where you would never tread.

The rest of your household never came forward and said it; having never witnessed the event that had transformed you all but the malice was palpable. The rejection hurt, you were a child shunned and you sprouted claws much too early for anybody’s liking but you had tried.

You had tried, before giving up. You gave up because nothing happened. Fifteen years and no prince came; no fairy godmothers pointed their wands at you. The wizard never came back to see if his spell wrecked you.

All the stories that showed that Princesses would be rescued fell short at one crucial juncture.

No one told the story about the cursed princess who was ugly, who was a monster, who wasn’t the pale skinned beauty in a glass case or silk bed.

No, nobody came to save the ugly princess and over time you learned to see yourself just that.

This man – this Jimin, would be no exception.

“After all, what’s to love?” You muttered.

You vowed not to weep. Not for a man, not for the humanity that judged who was worthy of love.

Jimin had dozed off again. When he woke, it was with a start, groggy and fumbling in his movements. This was a bad habit. He needed to collect his wits about himself. Maybe it was the magic of the castle but he had to remember that he wasn’t safe in here, no matter how friendly and polite everyone…everything was being.

Somehow, in his slumber, the torches in the room had been lit, casting the place in a dazzling golden glow. The chair he had fallen asleep in again was pushed right to the edge of the room, near the window. He spied that the bed had been made with brocade bedding, surfaces had been dusted and to his surprise there was a pool at the very centre, filled with clear, almost glittering water.

Jimin’s stomach, having refused dinner with the Monster out of pride was already protesting, tossing him out of the chair in the direction of the pool. Maybe a cool drink would cheer and lift his spirits.

He sat at the engraved stone border, looking down at his haggard expression in the water, running a hand through the pool, cupping the soothing liquid up to his lips.

The minute the water passed his lips, a new sense of relief and rejuvenation passed his body, coursing through him as though adrenaline itself. Jimin got to his feet, looking about if he could ask the Wardrobe – Hoseok – where he could go to find food.

He found the spot empty, instead there stood a mannequin. On it, hung was a brand new outfit; a white spotless shirt, black trousers and blue silk coat. The mannequin stood lifeless even as Jimin stripped it, and then with apprehension brewing at his belly at accepting the gift, himself. However, unease had to wait; he was soaked, cold, and soiled. He would fall sick at that rate and then all his plans of escape would shatter. He also didn’t want to be indebted to the castle in any way.

So with a bite at his pride, he put on the outfit before pressing his ears to the door, listening for any movement. He couldn’t hear the pounds of the Princess’s paws, the clatter of any objects moving, no conversation, nothing at all.

Wary in his gait, he stepped out, keeping a light foot to lead him on when something whimpered from his side.

Jimin jumped, whirling in anticipation of roars, of overwhelming friendliness but instead a small pair of eyes beamed up at him from behind a moth eaten curtain. Running a hand over his panicking heart, Jimin’s lips tugged into a soft smile.

“Hello there,” he cooed at the pup that ventured out the curtain with three more at its tail.

“Oh, wow, puppies.” Jimin wanted to laugh at the simplicity, at the adorableness but the pups only let out soft gurgles, wrapping paws around Jimin’s legs, trying to nudge him along.

“What is it? Where are you taking me?”

Jimin allowed him to be prodded and nudged along by four small dogs, along the hallway, down the stairs and through another until he was pushing open a door, clearly the kitchen.

“Oh my,” his eyes fell first to the teapot on a wooden table, followed by the grandfather clock and candle holder he’d seen already. “What are you doing here? How did you,”

The teapot stopped when he saw the four puppies cuddling around Jimin’s feet, something of a softness melting the intricate seam of it. “Ah, of course,”

“Forgive me, I didn’t know. I was just hungry.” Jimin shyly dipped his head, knowing he was probably trespassing on some late night gossip among the staff.

“No, no, of course you’re hungry, you did show some nerve. It must’ve made you ravenous.” Seokjin bobbed towards him, wrapping a gold arm around his coat tails, dragging him to the table.

“Don’t worry, sir. We’ve spoken with the Mistress. She’s going to show some leniency. She won’t come down to dinner the same time as you do…unless you request it.” Namjoon the clock lied smoothly.

Jimin was sat at the table by Seokjin, a napkin pressed at him by the teapot as dishes and plates of food began to dance around the length of the table, piling upon the plate presented to him to eat.

“I…thank you.” Jimin frowned, unable to think of anything more to say.

“You may also wander the castle and grounds as you wish. One of us will always be found around and the Guides,” Yoongi pointed its spout at the four pups that stood lined near the door, “will be your companions mostly.”

Jimin looked down at the hearty meal in front of him before digging in. “That will be very nice. Thank you.” He said around a mouthful of potatoes.

True to their words, the castle and grounds were left wide open for the curious Jimin. He woke up to a wonderful outfit slung on the mannequin; suits, coats, wonderful silks and soft cashmeres to drape over his body. The wardrobe – Hoseok, had returned, helping Jimin dress for the day’s adventures.

Jimin would eat breakfast in his room, sitting at the edge of the pool where – he wondered if it was his imagination – the water seemed to move to entertain him. He would climb over stiles; sniff the glowing flowers, count stars and fireflies if he stayed out too late. The castle, upon inspection was vast. Huge statues imposed upon him, Grecian, roman and baroque architecture worked itself seamlessly in the palace and he had fun listening to Namjoon talking about each was worked in or acquired.

He was very rarely alone.

The Guides, as the staff called the small pups were always with him. He had learned their names from Taehyung, the tea cup. The fluffy brown one was Holly, a pair of small Pomeranians that shaded darker was Mickey and Yeontan and then finally a pure white one named Monnie.

They led him in and out the lands, sometimes through a grotto where the only thing that nestled was a pair of entwined huge statues. He had stopped and stared up at them for quite a while. They were probably the biggest in the entire castle, both wearing a pained, sorrowed expression that bore Jimin’s own heart down. He didn’t venture in that particular grotto again. It felt too…private somehow.

Jimin was given dinner in the main dining room, the long table decked out only for him. He would sometimes cast a look upon the opposite chair, feeling lonely even if he had multiple entities to talk to.

The Princess never came upon in Jimin’s presence for days. He could sometimes hear the paws of her feet on the floor when he was roaming about, but she never once tried to impose herself on him. It was almost as if she watched him watch her home from afar.

Something in Jimin tugged when he thought about home, how he had completely left behind his straggly little town for this palatial world. He missed his father terribly yes, but here in the estate that he was free to roam, with people whose knowledge he was free to peck at, the silence had turned blissful very quickly.

Thoughts of escape never strayed further from his mind but for now, he wanted to stay cocooned in this silence.

It was almost two weeks till he was made aware of the very real presence of the mysterious Princess. He was used to her being a phantom by now so when the Guides playfully nipped at each other, chasing down a corridor, Jimin followed at ease, not feeling the pricks of unease until he reached the darker end of the corridor.

It was a whole quarter, possibly belonging to one of the royal family. He peeked into the empty bath before venturing further into the darkened opening.

The palace that had been warmed by fire for their new guest – or prisoner, however Jimin wanted to look at it had failed here. There was an odd chill running through the walls, as if someone had sucked the temperature and doused the room in ice.

The furniture was all dusty, clearly not attended to, and silver and cream paint peeled from the walls. He could almost spy the moss that collected in the cracks of the walls before he came to stand in front of the wall of paintings.

Each and every face on the walls, Jimin noted had been slashed. It was a brutal mutilation, clearly from the Princess’s claws. There was one painting that remained, of what had to be the royal couple. A tall, regal man stood at the side of an equally prim lady who sat on an armchair. One of his hands clasped her shoulders while hers held on to a young child, poised delicately upon her knee.

The child, a girl wasn’t having it though. He could tell the struggle of her flailing arms and kicking feet yet her face was void of distress. Instead he stared at the laughing, playing child, baby curls fluttering around her ears, thick fingers and chubby cheeks – the full deal. A small golden tiara nestled upon her head, crooked from her movement.

The picture was so happy; it brought a catch to Jimin’s throat, looking back up at the couple, tearing his eyes from the once human Princess. There was something hauntingly familiar about the faces yet Jimin couldn’t put his finger on it.

So engrossed he was, in staring at the pictures, moving on to where he tried to put together shredded pieces of the painting together that he failed to notice the silence. There was no yapping of the puppies to be heard and this silence was anything but comfortable.

When the door squeaked open, Jimin turned, coming face to face with the monster who had been diligently avoiding him. Half her furry face was shadowed, but he could tell from the single wide open yellow eye that he wasn’t an expected sight.

The eyes darted from his face to his hands, placed upon the paintings. Jimin had barely opened his mouth, to apologize, to explain, perhaps to snap but the Princess had already dropped to her haunches, a low growl ripping through the back of her throat.

“WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU’RE DOING? HOW DARE YOU COME HERE?”

Jimin stumbled back, pressing against the wall as the monstrous Princess leapt, scrambling towards the paintings and covering them up.

“I…I was just,”

“LEAVE! I WANT YOU OUT. GO! NOW,”

Jimin had heard enough and it presented a brilliant opportunity to him. She wanted him to leave. He could leave.

So quick he was, sidestepping the crouching girl that he had no time to see her fall to the floor, the cloak that covered and hid her body wrapped protectively around as a whimper replaced her roars. The Princess’s sobs never reached Jimin’s ears.

He didn’t wait to find any of the household staff. He knew that they would ultimately attempt to stop him, try to make sense of the Princess’s commands. So he hurried down the stairs and out the side to where he’d found the stables.

His own Geureum was gone, with his father but he yanked on the reins of a white stallion; titled Jjangu on his crest. Jimin saddled the panicking horse blindly, patting it only once to soothe it before he was mounting and taking off in the distance of the town.

Your roaring yells had reached the ears of the household, of course. Namjoon was the first to respond, sliding into the royal quarters; his wooden stand skidding as he found you curled up under the one painting that you couldn’t bring yourself to destroy.

It was your family portrait, commissioned just two years before your lives would change forever and while you had torn up every picture of your face that hung up, you couldn’t destroy your parent’s.

Namjoon could tell from the shudders that shook your form that you were just finishing crying. Propriety dictated that he wouldn’t trespass on a royal in distress but you were his charge, he had raised you, taught you, attempted to feed you since he could bring your fear and panic at being transformed into a beast to heel.

“Princess…Y/N,” He coaxed, golden bars running through the shaggy mass where your hair would be. His heart ached at the soft sniffles that sounded too loud because you…you weren’t human after all.

“I’m fine.”

“No, you’re not. And it’s okay to not be, you won’t be less of a person for your troubles.”

You raised your head with a deep scoffing laugh. “I am not a person, Namjoon. I’m a monster; a loathsome creature.”

The clock ticked angrily but didn’t prod the issue. “The boy -,”

“Left; I scared him off. That’s that then.”

Namjoon shook his head, casting a glance out to where the snow had become wilder, until only white could be seen. “Your highness, he left in a terrible condition. He’ll get lost.”

“I don’t care.”

“Princess, Namjoon,” Two heads turned to where Seokjin rushed in, candles burning on his many wicks. “The boy, Jimin, he has taken off on your horse! He’s taken Jjangu.”

“WHAT IN THE WORLD?” You screeched loudly enough for both grown men…objects to flinch. “MY HORSE…HOW COULD HE DARE, HE -,”

“Princess, the wolves, if the wolves find them, it will be too late,” Seokjin murmured softly.

There was a heavy pregnant pause in which Namjoon and Seokjin stared at their Mistress, holding her shaggy head aloft as if she was praying for pity. Finally, under the gaze of your caretakers and advisors, you slumped, admitting defeat.

“Alright, alright, I suppose we can’t leave him to die in the blizzard.”

When you had first transformed, a howl had been the first thing that had scared you. Your small hands and feet had turned into paws, huge claws protruding from the nails. Your hair seemed to grow everywhere until you were taught that it was fur, too coarse and too matted to be what had been a well taken care of head of hair.

Your first memories after the transformation had been running away, tripping and falling multiple times because you weren’t used to your new body until Namjoon and Yoongi had found you, cowering under a broken branch. Howls had pushed you into a scared ball and when they’d found you, they’d spoken. You could still remember a clock and a teapot trying to act brave as a single wolf, too big and gleaming in the moonlight curled back its lips, issuing the threat that had locked you in your castle forever.

Of course, with age and your guardian’s patience you had honed your new abilities; speed, agility, strength and keen senses.

It was easy finding your fearful horse and Jimin, running on all fours as if a wolf yourself. Your ears pricked, picking up the yells of the man and whinnying as wolves surrounded your charges on all sides.

It was stupid to charge in head first, but when you saw a wolf snap Jimin’s weapon, a single stick in two between its jaws, it was exactly what you did.

Your first powerful spring, landed you clean behind Jimin’s now buckled body. The wolves immediately halted, intelligent eyes darting from the curling boy at your feet back to you, tongues rolling perversely.

You felt rather than saw Jimin raise his head, wondering why the wolves hadn’t ended him already. When he felt the larger presence behind him, he turned, gaping up at you as you placed one paw to the front, marking a line, marking a territory.

Loud snaps surrounded you, the wolves reorganizing till they circled you now, ready to attack from every direction.

Your eyes, however, sought one wolf out, finding its way back, sitting on its hind legs, tail wrapped around them. You snarled at it, the wolf obviously smirking at you before it rose up, stalking over to the head of the pack. It gave a short yap and the wolves, in once sleek, collective move, pounced.

You only had time to jump over Jimin, drawing the attack away from the human and your precious horse before you felt the first swipe of claws at your back. You whirled around, your own paws frantically hitting and lashing out, trying to bat away as many wolves as you could with as much force as you could muster.

You knew you couldn’t kill them, of course but it wouldn’t be for the lack of trying.

The wolves landed as many blows as they could on you, punishing you, sinking in teeth around your wrist, snapping around your ankles until you could smell the warm, metal in the air, from mostly your wounds.

“Enough,” You finally heard the one wolf, it’s comrades backing away with one word until you were left, swaying, eye to eye with its imperious gaze.

“Back off.” You growled but the only reply you got was a rough snicker, animalistic and feral.

“We would, just to see you fail in this attempt, Princess. We still wait for our master, and the day he becomes King, we shall have the boy for dinner. Another time,” The wolf tipped its tail at you, before turning and trotting off.

Jimin only raised his head when the sounds he could hear was the stamps of the horse’s hoofs, the whistling of the wind through his hair. When he peeked through slatted eyes, he could see you, tall, bulky, standing up to your full height as he caught the wolf farther away, dainty steps carrying it till it melted in the snow.

Jimin’s black robes that he hadn’t changed when he rushed out where wet, dirty again and he picked himself up, trying not to make too much sound lest you turn and put him through the same assault as you had the wolves.

He had heard the heavy thuds of your paws, the throwing around of the wolves as they banged against trees and rocks. He knew you could shatter his skull with one paw but then he’d also heard your screams of pain, each singing through him as you tried to keep the wolves away from him and your horse.

He reached the reins, about to climb on when he saw the horse’s eyes for the first time. They were wide, the neck bobbing as it tried to free itself from Jimin’s holding.

Jimin frowned, turning from the horse to where you stood and for the first time, he saw the damage inflicted upon you. Your heavy cloak had been ripped to tatters, hanging off of you in ribbons that exposed him to you. You wore pants, to contain the large hind legs, a simple men’s shirt. It was now smeared in stark red, the crimson pooling from your feet and arms into the pure snow below.

He watched as you tilted to the side, your weight finally tipping extreme and you collapsed, snow and blood flying from the impact.

Jimin turned to the horse again, reading the pain in the horse’s eyes.

It loved you.

Jimin once again turned to where your body lay, shivering just so slightly.

You were just a child, a cursed little baby girl.

Jimin’s mind flooded with images of a small girl in the painting, phantom giggles in his ears.

You saved him. He couldn’t leave you to die.

Jimin dropped the reins, his feet sinking into the inches deep snow as he ran over to you, kneeling down to turn your face towards him.

Your eyes were long closed, your mouth parted just enough for him to see the fangs within but he looked past that. Your fur was wet, both from the melting snow but also from your blood and as he cupped your huge head, he knew you wouldn’t last in this cold. Already, your breathing was erratic, your chest falling further with each exhale.

He looked to the horse that trotted closer, responding to the man who was helping his owner. It took severe effort, hefting the Princess but Jjangu was unexpectedly strong. The Princess lay across the horse, feet and head dangling and swaying as Jimin took the reins again, deciding to walk as he made his way back to the Castle, your home.

If the household staff was surprised to see Jimin back again, especially with an injured Princess lobbed across her horse, they didn’t express it. Instead they swarmed, concerned around where Jimin heaved and unceremoniously dropped the Princess at the base of the stairs.

While a coat rack took a shivering Jjangu back to the stables to be fed and warmed, Jimin helped the rest of the objects drag their Mistress to the sitting room.

“Great, what’s she gotten into now?” He heard as he unbuttoned his coat, rolling up his shirt sleeves.

“Not now, Jungkook; she’s injured badly, near death. Either help, or stay out of the way as always.”

Jimin tilted his head towards the sullen reply, straining to hear. “Gladly, if I never see her face, it will be too soon. She’s the reason we’re like this, or have you forgotten?”

“Jungkook, that’s enough!” He heard the low angry rasp of Namjoon’s voice when there was a shuffle in his eyesight.

The Princess seemed to be able to tell that she was safe again, grunting and whining as she sat propped up in a huge winged armchair. Her tattered robes had been shed off, her modesty preserved by the fact that she was entirely covered in fur but Jimin kept his eyes averted respectfully anyway. Her large legs were drawn up as she clutched her wounded, slashed appendage close to her body.

As Yoongi hobbled over, full of hot water, followed by medicine bottles on a spidery tray that clattered, Jimin ripped bandages. He filled up a golden bowl with the steaming water, dipping medicine and cloths in it.

The moment he stood up, intending to nurse the Princess, she flinched, surprising Jimin as she cowered away from him. She turned her back, and he could hear a distinct whimper, as she licked at her injuries.

She’s not used to being vulnerable, Jimin realized, his slack frame pushed to movement with the fear that her licking and prodding would infect and worsen the slashes.

“Now, now, don’t do that.” He moved too fast, grabbing a hold of the Princess’s shoulder and was immediately met with a wide open maw, her ferocious roar shifting his hair back.

Jimin dropped his hand, scowling at the stubborn slump of her arm, drawn back to her tongue. “You’ll make it worse. Just let me help.”

“It hurts.” She snapped when Jimin leaned right over her, attempting to wipe at the mangled arm.

“If you hold still, maybe it won’t.” Jimin tried to keep his voice steady, not wanting to snap at the already pained girl. Her screams at the biting and slashing wolves were still too fresh in Jimin’s mind. He wanted to show some kindness but she was just so…pigheaded.

“Maybe if you hadn’t run away, I wouldn’t be hurt.”

Jimin raised his eyebrows at her petulant tone. If he wasn’t already aware, he would’ve believed the Princess to still be a child at the sullen note of her voice. Something tugged at the corners of his lips as she attempted to cross her arms; the clawed up one still dangling in his hold.

“You told me to leave, remember?”

“I didn’t mean the castle.”

Jimin dropped the bloodied cloth in a waste bowl. “I suppose the lesson here is that you should watch your temper, isn’t it?” He made an exaggerated show of dipping another cloth in the medicine bowl, ignoring the Princess as she huffed and dropped her huge head on an equally huge paw, distinctly pouting.

“Please hold still now, this is going to pinch some.” He used the same tone as he would on his father, concentrating at digging out some remaining bits of grime from the claw marks. A few of his swipes made the Princess cringe and try to pull away but not once did her strength win against his sharp glances and sudden tightening of grips as he repeated the process on her feet.

Finally as he did the bandages he spoke again.

“Thank you, for saving my life.”

The Princess was quiet for so long that Jimin had to chance a look up, catching her quickly smoothening her expression into one of nonchalance. “You’re welcome.” She growled lowly.

But Jimin had already seen the bitten lips, the downward slope of her brow and the glassiness of her eyes.

He stayed right there, on the floor at her feet for a while, until the Princess, who had been staring into the fireplace had her eyes drooping. He stood when he was sure she was asleep, snores shuffling the fur near her mouth and nose.

Jimin folded back the sleeves on his muddy shirt. He knew he needed to change his clothes if he wanted to stay well, if he was sick as well, who would take care of the Princess? He hardly thought Seokjin’s candle hands or Namjoon’s golden bars would be able to change soiled bandages and he could already feel a chill coming.

Placing a huge blanket on the sleeping Princess, he went up to his room to change.

“How is she?” Hoseok asked immediately, as he shuffled inside for something to wear.

“She’ll have a few days with that bandage. It’ll probably scar.” Jimin answered tiredly, dropping his clothes and entering the bath where Yoongi was already pouring hot water in the tub.

“Thank you,” Yoongi said as he stood by. Jimin turned his head to look at the gleaming pot in question. “For not leaving her to die,” Yoongi clarified.

“Of course not…I will admit I had the thought but, I couldn’t. Not after she’d risked hers to save mine and Jjangu.”

“Jjangu was a gift foal from her father. She loves the animal more than anything.” Jimin heard before with a click of the bathroom door, he was alone.

He sighed, laying his head back along the porcelain edge. He was desperately exhausted, aching and needed to sleep, but there was a gnawing in his chest. He knew the Princess was in good hands now; he would only be needed when she needed her bandages changed and he knew she could manage that herself but he found it difficult to not be worried for the girl that somehow seemed so small and scared in all her ferocious enormity.

“Maybe…maybe I could try to be her friend.” Jimin mumbled, more to himself than anything as he closed his eyes.

Jimin took his vow seriously.

The first thing he did when his eyes popped open and fell on the customary outfit left for him; a simple powder blue shirt and black trousers – was to jump up and get dressed even before Hoseok had opened the eyes on top of it.

Quietly, he made his way down to where the Princess was still snoozing in the chair, flinging open curtains and inching closer just in case she woke up and panicked.

“Princess,” Jimin called gently, her head moving just so. “Your highness, wake up.”

With a groggy groan, her head fell towards his direction, yellow eyes blinking open in the filtering morning light.

And to the Princess’s dawning wonder and shock, Jimin gave her a beautiful, wide grin; possibly the most beautiful sight she had ever witnessed in her life.

From then on, both Jimin and Y/N tried to make an effort.

Y/N still felt her temper flare up quick as a snake’s attack but she quelled it in fear of the look on Jimin’s face. Jimin learned that despite her age, the Princess was still just a sheltered child who knew only what had been told to her.

Jimin tried to get you to participate in various activities. He taught you a few card tricks with a very old battered set that Seokjin unearthed, he told you stories of France, his life, what the world had to offer outside of the small town that had forgotten and abandoned her, he even tried to paint with her – although that ended in a disaster that had Yoongi steaming from his spout, Taehyung quickly sent to supervise the cleaning.

You, on the other hand, took Jimin outside.

Even though, Jimin had had the Guides to lead him places, no one knew the Castle and its grounds like you did, having spent fifteen years prowling and growing in it.

You allowed him to ride Jjangu while you walked, sometimes raced him. He had to change your bandages multiple times during these rides, noting with some joy that you healed faster than a human.

With four wild puppies and Jjangu, you took him to the top of a stile where in the falling night; he could count a multitude of stars and constellations. You threw Jimin in fountains; let him sift through flowers in the crumbling greenhouse, taste the fruits from the Grottos.

“My parents,” you pointed with a clawed finger, up at the huge entwined statues that had haunted Jimin before. He looked, focused on their faces more now, recognizing them from the portrait.

“Are they…gone?”

“No, just left frozen, to watch over what happens to me,”

Jimin turned to see you staring down at your palms, the story of the curse now making him enraged for your sake rather than sad. However, he kept mum, afraid of upsetting you rather than providing comfort. Instead, he took your huge gnarled hand, leading you quietly back.

Jimin and you took meals together now, lunches and dinners. He had unintentionally grimaced when he saw you simply lower your face and devour the food directly from the bowls and plates. In time, once he saw you try for him sake, he realized that your hands were simply too big for the dainty silverware and fragile glass goblets that fitted so perfectly in his.

So the next meal, Jimin surprised you by asking Taehyung to simply not provide any at all, raising his own bowl to his lips to eat as you did.

Your smile, huge, fanged, fur creasing in the corners of your mouth yet so happy, golden hue shining in your eyes, made him make it a habit to accommodate you, rather than ask you to change for him.

“Can I open them now?”

Jimin followed the trail of your cloak, sight barred by his hands as you attempted to lead him off for a surprise. You had been excited, the morning you simply strode into his room before he was even dressed. He had rushed behind Hoseok, who laughed at the pink of his cheeks and flustered backing away from you, until you claimed that ‘it was ready’ as he hurriedly put some clothes on.

“Not yet,”

Jimin heard the creak of doors, the clangs of curtain rings and felt the warmth of the sun on his skin.

“Okay, open them.”

Jimin dropped his hands with an indulgent smile, first looking at where you stood at the window, paws clasped together, and a nervous grin on your animal face. Your ears stood on point, waiting for his reaction as Jimin’s eyes wandered…and then widened till they were ready to pop right out.

It was a library.

A wonderful, glorious library, better than the dingy bookshop in town, better than any he’d seen in Paris. This was better than anything anyone could create in the whole world. Towering till the eye could see, with ladders and actual staircases leading up, his neck strained trying to fathom just how many books there were there.

“Oh my god,”

“Do you like it?”

Jimin looked down at where you were nearly vibrating with nervous energy.

“I had it cleaned, that’s what took so long. Seokjin told me you loved reading so I thought you should have this. I don’t know if everything is alright, but I checked last night and,” You stopped rambling when Jimin said your name. It was just a soft whisper but it tore a shiver through you at the tenderness, the fondness in it.

You had never heard anyone speak to you like that – not even your caretakers.

Jimin was practically aglow. His eyes shone as if someone lit coals underneath, his teeth blinded with the power of his smile, before his eyes turned to invisible slits.

“I absolutely love it, Y/N. Thank you; no one has ever done something like this for me before. This is perfect.” He strode forwards, his hand reaching for your face where his fingers nestled within the shaggy fur on your cheeks. He kept his smile fixed, nails gently scratching as your breath caught at the affection.

Jimin stared up at you, his own eyes and face sobering at the wide eyed look on your face. His fingers slowed till they just rested there, the both of you staring at one another.

“Ahem,” Jimin finally cleared his throat, removing his hand from your face. Was that disappointment he saw across your face? He turned to the shelves. “What shall we read first?”

Something thudded in Jimin’s chest, racing his blood with adrenaline as you and he sat on the floor in the sitting room, books strewn around you and the fireplace bathing you in heat.

“…and they lived happily ever after.” Jimin finished, closing the fifth book.

He had laughed and placed his head on yours when he discovered that you loved stories as much as he did. You had demanded him to read for you with one, two and the next three books. Jimin had happily obliged, enjoying the way you now sprawled on your front, arms cradling your head, looking at him with such a rapturous expression, he could melt.

“Read…one more…?” Jimin looked down to where you slid another book in his lap. Your eyes were big, hopeful and the rush of emotion that swirled in Jimin’s stomach was nowhere polite. He thought back to Hyebin, wanting to be married to him and yet knowing that she would fall asleep at the one thing Jimin was so passionate about. He cursed himself for the comparison. There was none. Hyebin wouldn’t even occupy the shadow of who you were.

“Y/N…I’m tired. How about you read for me now?” he leaned back on his arms, nudging the book back at you.

You paused, sitting up slowly before taking the book in your huge hands.

“I…I’ll rip it.”

“I’ll fix it back for you.” Jimin said immediately.

Your face fell as you opened the book, taking some time to flip it to the first page. Jimin watched; somewhat concerned as you slowly read the first of the fairytales.

“Once…up – on, a time…”

“Y/N, love,” Jimin had no time to worry about the endearment that slipped his mouth. “What’s wrong?”

“I…I can’t,”

“Can’t…read…?” He guessed.

You nodded quickly, fearfully.

“Oh, I thought Namjoon taught you.”

“Alphabets, a little book of stories and history…but I…I can’t read big literature. I can’t even hold books.”

Jimin’s heart cracked as you glared fiercely at your hands again.

“No matter, I’ll teach you, here, come now. I’ll hold the book for you.” Jimin grabbed the book, holding it open for you as he slowly, pronounced the words, you following him.

Behind you, unbeknownst to both of you, Yoongi, Namjoon, Seokjin and Taehyung sighed dreamily.

“Think they’re in love yet?” Jungkook drawled from behind them.

“Not just yet, I suppose, but they’re getting there.” Namjoon said.

“They need one more push.” Yoongi muttered.

“And what better than…a ball,” Seokjin glanced at Taehyung, wearing identical smirks.

Hyebin lay on her front, draped along the chaise in a manner that would have most men in the town be willing to do her bidding. The one she wanted, however, hadn’t even gone past the town in ages. She was bored; dejected from the lack of attention and her brother – she cast a venomous look to where her older sibling paced in front of the fireplace – hadn’t done a thing for her.

“Don’t look at me like that, Hyebin. I’m thinking.” Kai said, catching her eye.

“Well, perhaps you could think later. Isn’t this the time for action?” Hyebin cupped her face.

“Not yet; your impulse is what ruined your chances with the boy in the first place.”

Hyebin scowled.

“But don’t you worry your pretty head, darling sister, for your brother has a wonderful plan in mind.”

“Which is…?”

“Never mind you, you will go about ruining things and Jimin won’t marry you as well. You will only blame me.”

Hyebin slammed a small fist on the chaise. “Kai…tell me!” She whined but Kai only walked to the door, opening it as he tossed her a cloak. “Come on, we’re going to play nice and talk it out with Park Jimin.”

Much to their disappointment, however, and to Hyebin’s rage, when they arrives at the cottage of the Parks, it was completely dark. Not even one candle had been lit on the porch.

Kai knocked; once, twice, thrice even yelled for both Jimin and Mr. Park but the only thing to reply was the keening silence.

“They’re not here.” He mused.

“You don’t think they…left, do you?” Hyebin whispered.

“All their things are still here.” Kai’s eyebrows creased, flickers of annoyance and true anger flaming in his own eyes. “Well, we won’t stop. They have to come back some day. We’ll be ready.” He ignored the smack of his sister’s hand at his back, striding back towards the pub.

He needed a drink.

When you entered your quarters after a day of playing in the gardens with Jimin, watching him weave a crown of roses and dandelions which he placed on your head, you weren’t expecting to see Seokjin standing there with a bunch of standees and mannequins that used to be ladies in waiting for your mother.

“Um…Seokjin,” You queried even as you were swarmed with too many ceramic hands.

“’Tis the day, your highness, it is the day of your birthday! We have to have a ball in the honor!” Seokjin exclaimed.

You were shoved in a tub full of hot water and bubbles, the soap soaking into your fur. The words were enough to shoot a tendril of doubt through your heart, snaking till it looped around and squeezed. Your breath deepened as the mannequins began to scrub at you, rubbing in the water and soap till it reached the skin underneath.

It was your birthday already? No, it couldn’t be. You would remain a monster for all eternity otherwise. You would be condemned to live like this. Loveless, because who would look at you and feel anything but disgust and terror?

“Seokjin, my birthday isn’t till one another day.” You reminded the Maitre D` from behind the screen.

“The actual day isn’t of import, Princess. Besides,” He lowered his voice, “the day of your birthday will be the last day of the curse. It is make or break for us. You have to tell Jimin of your feelings for him and he has to return it. We simply cannot leave these things till the last minute.”

You remained silent, watching the mannequins use huge metal buffers to file and shine your claws.

“You…you do – you do have feelings for him, don’t you Your Highness?” Seokjin asked, misreading your silence.

You sighed, dipping further down into the water. Of course you had feelings for Park Jimin. Only an idiot would have a man like him around and not fall for his kindness, his generosity, and his open mind. Also, the small slants of his eyes, the way his lips split to reveal a gleaming smile that could halt an army, with shiny dark hair that fell into his eyes.

He was an angel.

And you were a hideous beast…

“It’s not my feelings that are a problem, Seokjin. How can someone like him ever feel for me, unless it’s fear? Maybe I haven’t earned his affection still.”

“Ah phish-posh, you forget, dearest Princess; we have all watched you and him very closely. We have seen the way he looks at you. Only a man that loves someone will have such a beam to their face.”

You sunk down further, Seokjin’s words easing the nervous grip in your chest a little. Perhaps…you did stand a chance. You could tell him of how you felt, he would tell you what he felt, and maybe you and your people can become human again.

You held the hope close as you were ushered to your own wardrobe, gowns that you had never once had the occasion of wearing, now shoved against your body and you into them, made to twirl in front of a huge mirror to check for anything to improve.

The time had come.

The gown that both Seokjin and the lady in waiting had chosen was approved by Hoseok finally, him making you swish the skirt and twirl in front of it, while pins and needles were floating around you, just in case things needed to be loosened or tightened anywhere.

You, who for almost all your life had only donned on the left behind clothes of your father of the male staff had almost giggled at the fancy attention, enjoying the feel of silk and gossamer curling around you and pooling out from your waist.

The dress was a pale gold and silver, shimmering with crimson jewels strewn about the skirt. A heavy diamond brooch glittered to where the bodice and neckline fell in a waterfall of fabric and your hair had been lifted from the mass of fur at your neck, rolled up elegantly till it lay in a soft mass on top of your head.

“Your highness,” Seokjin said finally and you were surprised at the sniff he let out discreetly. “You look beautiful. Come, your gentleman waits.”

You followed the candelabrum, exiting the room as Seokjin led you to the ballroom, to where the stairs led up to where royals made their grand entrance. You could hear light conversations down below and if you close your eyes, you could almost imagine that it was really a ball of people come to wish you good fortune on your birthday.

Maybe, if you could put aside your doubts and the harsh truths that crushed hope in your chest, you could have it someday soon.

You heard the Maestro, now transformed into a sprawling Organ, strike up a tune and Seokjin swished a golden bracket, gesturing you to walk down.

You lifted up the enormous skirts, praying to anything divine that your claws, now shortened down and sparkling, wouldn’t rip the dress anywhere and walked down the stairs, seeing everyone gathered at the base of the staircase, smiling up.

Mostly, though, you only noticed Jimin.

It was true, you hadn’t paid much attention to what kind of clothes Hoseok had been putting on Jimin for the duration of his stay here. Before, it used to be rich fabrics and embellishments that glimmered with his movements. The moment of your friendship and he began to step out had caused for simple cloths, sans coats and cloaks unless it was snowing.

Now, Hoseok seemed to have pulled all stops.

The suit that Jimin wore was all black, form fitting with studded rubies along the lapels and buttons the same shade as yours. Gold lace wound around his neck and his hair shone with the same effort, as if he’d undergone the treatment you had as well.

He smiled widely when your eyes met his, stepping forward till he reached you.

“You’re stunning.” He said and you could only muster a shaky smile, fluttering from the sincere compliment. “Happy Birthday, Y/N,” he whispered, bowing as he extended a hand for you to take.

You let your paw rest gently on his, deliberate and careful not to let him feet the real weight of it. “Thank you,” you managed a smile as wide as his, before the rest of your household gathered around you, wishes poured out and rushed words carrying you off to the cake.

Jimin was excited to see the cake, three tiers of it. Y/N’s eyes popped open wide, gaping at the sheer size of it but even as he grabbed her hand, leading her to cut into it; she was looking down, trying to muffle a smile.

He had to commend Yoongi and the entire kitchen staff. The cake was rich, fudgy and even he was rushing after that very last crumble. Finally, he felt the nudge of Taehyung, the cup around his ankle and he moved into action.

“Could I request for the birthday girl to bestow me a dance, your highness?” He stood up from his chair, slyly winking over to where Y/N put down her plate quickly, looking almost as if she was going to laugh.

“Of course, kind sir but I should warn you – I may step on your toes.”

Jimin chuckled, pulling her onto the glittering marble dance floor. “I don’t mind; you can step on my toes anytime.”

Y/N blinked down at him, Jimin could feel her breath catch at the way he would his arm around her waist and clasped her hand and couldn’t help but smile. She tried not to, moving slowly along with the way he led her, her attention focused down mostly to keep from actually crushing his feet when he stopped moving.

“Come on, let’s go look at the stars. Tonight, they’re as much more gorgeous than ever, as if they’re shining solely for you.”

He walked back with Y/N in tow, opening the balcony doors and letting her go out first before he shut them again, turning to see her stand at the rails, looking up where the stars mirrored in her golden eyes, twinkling in the sky and on the earth alike.

“So,” Jimin cleared his throat, gaining her attention again. “Are you enjoying your early birthday festivities?”

Big eyes blinked yet again at him, something shifting beneath as they were lowered. “I am, much more than I would usually, I suppose. I haven’t had a birthday in fifteen years.”

It was Jimin’s turn to blink, only in horror. “Not one in fifteen years?” he asked.

“Well, Taehyung tried, for the first two years, but then…I had no one to share it with. I had no one.”

Jimin closed in to where she stood with her back to him. His hand ached to rest along her cheek, turn her so he could look at her face but he resisted. “You have me now.”

She still didn’t turn. “Jimin…” A breath was drawn, as if steeling her for some deep resolve. He watched as your shoulders, clad in golden shimmers he wasn’t used to seeing her in slumped finally. “Are you happy here, with me?”

Jimin’s first instinct was to blurt out a simple ‘yes’. Was he happy here? Yes, he had everything he could possibly dream of and more here. He had the library, the gardens, the long winding hallways, the grottos…the silence, oh god, the blissful silence where no one bore down on him, no one judged him for not eyeing girls, not being interested in hanging out around the pub, not being Kai’s lackeys.

Was he happy with you? Of course, he, for the first time, felt someone was completely understanding and kind to him. No matter that he was perhaps the first to show her human kindness too but she let him be when he needed, listened to him read, asked him questions and challenged him. She fulfilled him in a way no one had.

No, they were two whole people. They had just found fulfillment in each other, and he was happy to call her home as much as the castle. He was happy. He was content.

Y/N didn’t seem satisfied. Her head turned fractionally, peering at him in such a fashion as to confuse Jimin. “Wouldn’t you ask for anything else, if you could? There must be something more you could ask for.”

Jimin hesitated, once again hand hovering over her but unable to touch. “I…yes,” he sighed, dropping his hand. “I would ask to see my father again but,” he quickly rushed on, lest she be upset. “I know I can’t, so I won’t press for it.”

She turned finally, too fast for him to not be startled. “There is a way. You can see your father.”

Jimin frowned, crossing his arms, more to protect himself against the temptation than defiance. “How?”

The Princess quietly walked by him, opening the doors and carrying on, Jimin taking a moment to follow hurriedly after her, still confused and a little worried before he realized that they were tracking a familiar path to his room.

“You had a way of seeing your father all the time.” Y/N spoke, stopping by the pool in the centre of the room. She bent down over it, gesturing for Jimin to join her. “You can call out for the waters to show you what you wish for. The waters even have healing abilities. The Wizard’s token, left behind to torment me with everything I can’t see but still so that I wouldn’t be able to harm myself in any way.”

Jimin heard it all; unnerved by the way someone could hurt a little child. Yet, the allure of seeing his father was way more than the urge to console the Princess. He sat at the edge as Y/N drew away to give him space.

“Please, show me my father.” Jimin said, his voice sounding desperate even to his own ears.

The water swirled clear, one turn, two turns before deepening into a whirlpool. Images swirled at the very bed of the pool, bubbling up till they hovered over the spin of the water. Jimin watched eyes tearing from horror as his father stumbled from one tree branch, to another, panting, struggling to stay on his feet.

“Oh no, father.” He nearly shouted, before remembering his father couldn’t hear him.

“Jimin, Jimin, Jimin,” his father chanted before finally dropping down into the snow, shuddering and curling up in the frigid ground.

“No!” He sprang to his feet, the illusion breaking with his movement, subsiding into the waters again, still and clear. “My father, he’s sick. He’s alone, wandering the woods, looking for me. He could be dying. Y/N, the wolves…what if the wolves find him?”

Jimin turned around to look at you, facing the window, silent as before. He wondered if you had heard him at all.

You had heard him.

Your ears pricked, flattening against the side of your head as you processed the frantic desperation to Jimin’s voice, your mind racing with a million thoughts.

You thought back to your childhood, soft smiles and misty words now fogged with time…and then all you remembered was pain. The pain of changing and growing too many sizes too big, the eruptions of the fur, claws, having to get used to them. The pain of being unable to eat and the consequent process of starvation until Namjoon figured out how to feed you – like a dog.

The fear of being hunted mingled with the uninterrupted loneliness that no matter how much your staff tried to ebb, would never cease.

You remembered back to spending hours upon hours with the statues of your parents, wailing when it got too much, with even your own people afraid to approach you.

Then you thought back to the first day you’d met Jimin; brave and strong and so sacrificing, martyring himself for his father to stay here…with you; showing you kindness, helping you, teaching you, and even saving your life.

He’d sparked companionship for you.

How were you repaying it?

By holding him captive here? You had seen the devastation on his face that first night, the same pain that had been your constant. How could you claim to feel anything for him when you were hurting him?

You had lost everything as a child, and you had grown up used to it. You couldn’t put Jimin through the fresh agony of it. He had a life to get back to, loving people to help him.

He was human. He didn’t deserve to live with a paltry princess living in a curse.

And with that came the final blow…

How could he love someone who had torn him apart from his father? How could Jimin be fond of someone who had basically subjected his father to a pitiful, lonely death?

So you quelled the cry of your heart, steeling bands of iron around it until you could nurse its break alone. You made the decision simply because it was already set in place.

“You should go. Go back to him.” You said quietly.

There was a pause.

“What did you say?” You heard him, too close to you and you flinched away from his proximity.

“I grant you your freedom. You’re no longer my prisoner.” You turned to face him, grateful for the fur that absorbed any stray tears before they were obvious.

Jimin’s eyes were shiny as well, but you knew they were tears of joy. He gaped, his breath catching before he spoke, choked up – “Thank you.”

You watched, leaning against the window as he hurried to take off the heavy coat, instead shrugging on a simple, heavier cloak. He pulled on boots, easier to wade in the snow.

You, on the other hand, went to one of the dressers, unearthing a vial and moving to the pool, dipping and collecting the water in the shimmering glass.

“I’ll be back before you know it, Y/N. I think I’ll have to bring my father along sometime – convince him that you’re actually a big softie, none of the roaring monster that you were so kind enough to act as.”

His voice was teasing; light, even jovial as he eagerly approached you. You remained silent, handing him the vial.

“Here, take this. It’ll be useful to you. If you need to be healed…or it can help you remember me.”

Jimin’s smile faltered, looking from the proffered container back up to your eyes, now obviously dripping.

“I’m not going to be very long, Y/N. At least, not long enough for me to forget you.” He laughed, still pocketing the vial when you didn’t withdraw it. Sighing, you shook your enormous head.

“No…you can’t come back. You have to stay away. Stay with your father.” You refused to meet his eyes.

“Wait, what…what are you saying? What do you mean I have to stay away?”

“It means that you shouldn’t come back to the castle.” Your voice broke. “You have to stay in the town, maybe even go back to Paris. Live your life, Jimin; you have the rest of it. You deserve much better than living in a dilapidated castle with a monster.”

“No! No, I can’t…Y/N; you’re part of my life. I can’t…I can’t just, let you think that of yourself and your home. Y/N, you’re so important to me.”

He was reaching for you, his hand going to wrap around yours but you backed away quickly, unable to let him touch you lest you break down and beg for him to come back, to stay with you. You wouldn’t do that. You couldn’t subject him to that.

You loved him too much for that.

Instead, you fled, turning on your heel and exiting the room on all fours, ignoring his rough calls of your name. You knew he wouldn’t waste time chasing you, not with his father in that state, not with the threat of the wolves hanging about his head.

When you entered your room, your whole staff was already present, with expectant beams on their faces. You even spied Jungkook in the midst, the feather duster nearly reeking of disdain.

“Well, how did it go? Did he say it back?” Seokjin nearly shook from excitement.

You dropped your head, already dreading their reaction. “I…I let him go. His father is sick. He needed to go back.”

There was a silence so deep, so disappointed; you inwardly cringed even when Jungkook broke it with a caustic snicker.

“But…but we were so close. Why would you do that, Princess?” Namjoon asked.

You walked to the window, throwing them open to see the last vestiges of hooves vanishing in the snow. “Because, I love him,”

Y/N had been right. There had been no time for Jimin to process what had just transpired in his room, not when the cries of his father echoed through his head. He mounted Jjangu and sped off in the direction he’d gleaned his father would be. He had to be single-minded for his father for now, he decided. He couldn’t take care of the old man if his thoughts were littered with questions, with confusion, with hurt as to why it was so easy for Y/N to just tell him to leave. Did she not feel the same for him as he did her?

He knew he couldn’t disrespect her by showing up with his sick father at her doorstep after she’d told him to leave. Perhaps, after his father was healthy, he would map the course again, ask for answers, and plead to stay with her. Perhaps, he’d hurt her somehow and this was her way of protecting herself…?

Jimin sighed, laying his father back before warming water, laying thick cloths soaked in hot water along his forehead to fight the cold back. It took him back to when he’d patched Y/N up after the wolf attack and he had to shake off the thought when his father stirred, looking blearily up at him. “Jimin…you’re back!” His father sat up too quickly, holding his son at arm’s rest to check him before pulling him to his breast.

“Ah, son…I never thought I would see you again. But how…how did you escape the monster?”

Something tugged in him at his father’s tone, making him pull away from the man. “She’s not a monster, father. The legend of the Castle is true. She’s the cursed Princess…” Jimin sat at the edge of the bed, his eyes taking on the sheen of reminiscence as he recounted his journey with her till he was told to go back to his father.

He hoped perhaps, that his father would encourage him to go back, but he needed him to be stronger first, so once his tale was over, his father still gaping at how Jimin made the monster who had imprisoned him and his son sound so human, he fell asleep.

Jimin, however, didn’t. He paced back and forth from the fireplace to the bed, interrupted only by a quick, sharp knock on the door.

Scowling at the late hour, Jimin opened the door, not too pleased to see who it was on the threshold.

“Jimin,” Kai beamed, almost too familiarly as Hyebin tipped her hood back, studying Jimin as if she was planning to gut him. Her nails were digging into her brother’s arm and Jimin wondered how strong Kai had to be to not wince.

“Kai,” Jimin modulated his voice coolly. “Do you know what time it is?”

“Entirely too late, my good man,” Kai turned his head to his sister. “Didn’t I tell you it would be rude to show up right now?”

Hyebin didn’t answer.

Jimin ran a hand through his hair, frustration making him further annoyed. He needed time and space to think, to process things. His father was sick, he had been a prisoner in an enchanted castle where he had found more solace and acceptance than he had in freedom, he had fallen for a cursed Princess who might or might not return his feelings but had forbade him to return to her. He needed to make plans for his future.

He couldn’t be discourteous though, not when they’d taken the trouble of coming by.

“Come in please; my father is ill and sleeping so if you could keep your voices down and be quick about this…” He let the door fall open further. Kai and Hyebin walked in as if they weren’t going to take no for an answer anyway, shedding off their cloaks and making themselves at home.

“Well Jimin, I must say it’s a relief to see you. Your father had been by the pub, you know, raving on about you being kidnapped and all by some monster and imprisoned. We dropped by a few times later to see the house empty.” Kai said. “We all thought he’d gone mad, or you’d run away and he was just lying to make us all look for you.”

Jimin didn’t look at the taller man, feeling the pinpricks of anger flare again at the accusation. “I…yes, I’ve been away. I was at the castle. My father wasn’t lying, neither is he mad,” He said coldly.

There was a silence in which unbeknownst to Jimin, Kai and Hyebin exchanged looks.

“Wait, you’re talking about the palace? The royal palace on the hill…that’s where you were and the monster is real?” Hyebin asked, bug eyed.

“Yes, the monster is your Princess and she’s not vicious or anything, Hyebin, unlike how you described her when you told me the story. She doesn’t devour children and she doesn’t make their bones into furniture.” Jimin snapped, crossing his arms before sighing as he glanced into the fireplace, eyes and voice softening. “She’s a little short-tempered, yes but she’s kind hearted and caring and intelligent and curious. She’s my friend.”

Kai watched Jimin calculatingly, while Hyebin clenched her jaw.

“It sounds like you like her.” She said finally.

“I do. Also, it’s really late. I think I should go to bed as well.” He said. His voice left no room for argument.

Kai gave him a tight smile, his too white teeth glinting almost maliciously in the firelight. “You think…it wise to harbor such feelings for a monster, Jimin? Need I remind you this…thing is cursed and is a bad omen in our town?”

“No Kai, she isn’t. Now please, I am tired.”

For a second, he thought that Hyebin would refuse flatly but even as he steeled himself to assert himself yet again, she was standing and with Kai in tow, moved out without another word.

Jimin puffed a breath of relief, moving to douse the fireplace. The swab plunged the living space in darkness and he stretched his arms above his head, arching his back, already looking forward to his bed when he heard the hushed conversation not too far from the house.

The one thing about living so far from the town and right in the middle of a disused farm was that there was nothing to absorb sounds. Each and every noise reverberated and echoed loudly in his house, enough for him to never be startled.

He went to the window, keeping back enough to see Kai, now holding his torch above him and Hyebin, talking. While Hyebin didn’t bother to lower her voice, Kai was trying to shush her, low and hissing but even his voice carried back to Jimin’s focused ears.

“…you didn’t see his eyes, Kai. He doesn’t just like this bitch. He loves her. He won’t even hear any truths about her!” Hyebin screeched.

“You sure know how to pick them, sister. A man who’s into bestiality,” Kai snidely replied, stopping when Hyebin grabbed his collars.

“This isn’t funny. You have to talk sense into him…or…I don’t…I don’t know, we have to kill this Princess of his.” Hyebin said.

“Keep your damn voice down, will you? Is that all you can think of in your pea brain? Jimin, Jimin, Jimin; all the time…it’s annoying.” Kai snatched away his coat from Hyebin. “Think of it like this, little sister. This girl is a Princess. She is our Princess, a royal. We cannot truly establish a government because a monarch is alive.”

“What the hell does that matter?”

“Darling sister, do use sense. Jimin is here, which means this Princess doesn’t have a man around right now.”

“So…?”

Jimin heard Kai snap his jaw. “So, sister, I go and I marry her. Simple, and effective; I become King, all powerful and she is out of your way. I will command Jimin to marry you and since you will be royal; he cannot hope to refuse.”

“You…you cannot be serious, Kai. I mean, are you really going to do that? She’s an animal.” Hyebin’s shock was palpable even to Jimin.

“Well, of course I don’t intend to honor the marriage wholly. I’m a hunter, aren’t I? Think of it like my greatest hunt, one that makes us the most powerful pair here. Plus, who’s to know…? Maybe the Princess meets a little accident a few days after our wedding. At least the kingdom will have a king they know and trust; they will only see it more as a sacrifice on my part.”

“You’re…despicable, brother.” Hyebin’s lips trembled before stretching into a cruel smile that looked odd on her beautiful face. “But a genius,”

“I know that. Now hurry up, we need to go to the pub and collect a mob. I cannot go alone in case the Princess tries to get aggressive. I’m going to need witnesses just in case we need to come back and convince Jimin his lovely Princess was actually a monster after all.”

Jimin was moving even before the fleck of light completely vanished from sight.

All thoughts and feelings of exhaustion melted from his body, arms and legs regaining energy as he burst into his father’s room. The old man started awake from the sound, jolting and clutching the sheets as he looked at the manic light in Jimin’s eyes.

“Son, what – what’s the matter?”

“I have to go father. I have to go back to the castle. Y/N is in danger.” Jimin rushed his words, tossing things from dressers till he found a bag, throwing some matches and a torch into it. He patted his pockets for the vial of pool water Y/N had given him, about to turn for the door when his father clasped his shoulders.

“No! I just got you back; I cannot let you go back there!”

“Father, you don’t understand. Kai…he’s taking a mob to her! They’re going to kill her, all because I opened my mouth.”

Jimin’s father wavered, his grip loosening only slightly.

“Come with me, then. See for yourself.” Jimin moved past the old man, not waiting for him to follow. However, when he reached Jjangu, who raised his head quizzically, his father, was right there, climbing on behind his son.

Praying that he wouldn’t be too late, he leaned over to Jjangu’s ear.

“Come on boy, we’re going home to our Princess.”

Jjangu whinnied, rising up on his front legs and then they were racing from the stable, in the direction of the palace.

Jjangu thankfully took the way that they were most familiar with, through the woods. Even as they surpassed the town, he could see the lit fires, domestic weapons of all sorts raised as cries and shouts filled his ears. They were breaking down the blockade; he realized when he saw the closed bookshop, going only the way they knew.

His fault…his fault…

Jimin shook his head, nudging Jjangu to go faster. He had to reach Y/N before Kai did, or he would never forgive himself.

The fire leapt high and powerful, licks of warmth flaring out against where you sat with your back to the muttering and mourning gossips of your royal staff.

You knew that the moment you’d spilled out the truth about how you’d sent Jimin away, even forbidding him to ever set foot back in the castle, you’d basically condemned your entire household and yourself to a grim fate, but could you condemn him to one as well? No, you couldn’t. Besides, you were used to this now, used to living like an animal. Jimin shouldn’t have to live in company of one for the rest of his life.

Behind you, Jungkook led most of the ranting. “I’m telling you; this was the plan all along. Get the Mistress all soft and mushy so he could get out of here first chance he could get.”

“Jungkook,” Yoongi sighed. “His father was sick.”

“So, all our families are probably dead now. We won’t ever get to see them now, or even to see their gravestones.”

You knew he was right. Maybe it was ok to live with yourself like this, but sacrificing your own people to this curse made guilt creep up your throat tenfold.

“Perhaps, we shouldn’t have gotten as attached to him as we did, even before knowing what his obligations were.” Seokjin said.

You were about to turn to snap at them all to get back to their chores when Namjoon suddenly squeaked, the clogs of his clockwork chiming anxiously.

“Wait, wait, there’s someone coming…OH lords above! Princess, Princess, it’s the townsfolk, invading the castle gates. It’s a mob!”

“Wait, what…?” You nearly fell off the chair, confused when the doors to the sitting room were flung open again, a squad of soldier armor leading a panting Jimin in.

“Y/N…mob, people are coming for you…run!” He managed to puff out before leaning his weight on his knees, drawing heavy breaths.

You blinked quickly. Didn’t you tell him not to come back? But he was here now, come to warn you about the mob…worrying for your safety.

“Jimin…” You breathed, “You came back.”

You drew closer to the wheezing man, a paw running along his smooth cheek.

“Of course, I did. I had to warn you.” Jimin looked up at you, time slowing as your gazes remained suspended. He placed his own hand on yours, squeezing it even as Jungkook broke it in his rasp.

“Well now, that’s sweet. So, are we to assume you led the mob here before promptly losing courage?”

You and Jimin both turned to look at the feather duster now propped up on a dresser, eyeing Jimin with as much disdain as you had seen him do you. Jimin gaped, flabbergasted while you were ready to rip out all his feathers.

“Jungkook, he came to warn us. Don’t be an idiot.” Namjoon said roughly.

“I can’t believe you’d lap that up, sir. He left here, went back home to tend to his ill father, so he said, and now he’s back…with encroachers on his heel. Why would you believe him? Because of the pool; the waters are also subject to imagination, Namjoon, or have you forgotten?”

“Enough, we cannot fight amongst ourselves, we have to protect the castle and our Princess.” Yoongi said. He turned to the soldiers, ordering for them to gather the rest of the household up and prepare for defenses.

“Ask him, Princess. Ask your dearest if he told them or not.”

You rolled your eyes at Jungkook, turning, however, to Jimin. It was better to put this to rest. “Tell him, then, tell him you didn’t.”

Jimin was still looking at Jungkook, a peculiar expression of conflict gathering his eyebrows together.

“Jimin…” You prompted.

“I…” He looked at you then, and just the look in his eyes – wide, pleading, had your hand slipping from him.

“See,” Jungkook said, as Namjoon, Seokjin, Yoongi and Taehyung gaped at their friend. “I told you, he told them.”

“Jimin, tell me you didn’t.” You whispered.

“I – I did, but I had no idea -,”

“That they were going to take advantage of the fact that a whole castle was left unattended and come to loot it? Or that they were going to come to kill and behead the Princess so they could mount her head upon their walls?”

“Why…how could you?”

Jimin looked at you again, away from the brewing anger and distrust of the staff. “Y/N, try and understand. I only told the truth, I told them you were harmless.”

“You’re lying.” Jungkook hissed.

You watched his hand try to reach for you, pull at you, but you drew away, cringing away from his touch. He stuttered in his steps, looking at you, beseeching.

“Princess,” Namjoon called softly, “what are your orders?”

You looked away from Jimin, reminding yourself you had duties to perform. “Keep safe the castle. My parents…they shouldn’t have to see their home seized in front of their eyes.” Your anger flared as you glared at Jimin finally. “Remind them that there still is a monster in the castle.”

Without another word, you dropped down on all fours and leaped clean over Jimin’s head, bounding for the roof from where you could see everything and lead stray invaders away from your people and home.

Your orders were followed to a tee. Thousands of household goods launched an attack on the people who were mostly comprised of men, having no idea how to operate the basic home wares.

Drawers smacked into jaws, hot water and oil were poured on head, knives and burning torches chased men around until they thought it better to just leave the castle alone and crawl away, defeated.

You stood on top of the parapets, watching your subjects nurse and curse over their bruised and burned extremities, retreating from your home. Perhaps, there would be no reason for the monster to show up after all. No legends would pass around; no one would spread talk to lure hunters and thieves to your home.

You didn’t go down though, instead, curling into yourself on the edge of the roof.

As happy as you were about the prospect of people leaving you alone, you had to contend with the fact that it was Jimin, the man you trusted, the man you loved who had ruthlessly allowed people to come hunt for you. You had mattered nothing to him. It would’ve been better to have someone draw a knife through your heart now, it might’ve hurt less than the betrayal.

“Oh Princess,”

Your ears pricked.

“There you are. You know, when I didn’t see a huge, hunkering monster down below I was worried Jimin might have lied.”

The voice was unfamiliar, nasty and it grated on your nerves so you stayed still, hoping the person would mistake you for a statue and pass by.

“Apparently, the poor boy hadn’t lied. He was so in misery you see, had to come back, leaving his little lady behind. Someone had to convince him that a princess needs a real man around for a husband.”

You frowned, feeling it draw closer.

“So I have a proposition. You marry me and we live happily enough. I’ll even throw in a wedding kiss.”

The footsteps behind you stopped, and you hoped that your silence had fooled him enough until they started again. “Now, Princess, it’s rude to not acknowledge a man talking to you. Turn around; let’s see what got Jimin so dewy eyed. I have to see if you’re worth all the talk.”

You remained still.

“Turn around now.”

You ignored him.

A sharp, plunging pain ripped through your back, making you gasp and seize up. Something pinched at the centre of your back, protruding out and you knew it was an arrow, turning to see the tall man, draw another from his quiver, placing it on his bow.

“Well now, looks like we’ve found our communication link. Are you going to be nice, now?”

You flailed, clawing behind to draw out the agonizing spike from your body.

“No use. I have perfect aim. Now, stop dancing and listen unless you want another to keep it company in your chest.”

He drew back the bow string.

“KAI, STOP!”

You stopped as well, seeing the man – Kai – turn around to look at where Jimin stood on the top most balconies, leaning almost all the way down. You took advantage of the momentary distraction of the hunter, throwing your full weight at him.

Your muscles and joints screamed at your movements, huge as they were, weighing you further down as the man turned quickly to you, trying to aim the arrow towards your body. You gripped his hand, twisting it out of the way.

“This is a nice surprise! Seems like you really are a monster, and here you were hoping for a human companion!” The Hunter laughed maniacally, shaking hair out of his eyes.

You growled, pulling the hunter close enough to snatch his bow, snapping it with a simply pinch of your fingers. “Get out of my house.” You gripped his throat, squeezing just enough for him to be able to tell. “Never come back…or I will kill you.” You flung the man away from him as the disgusting being that he was, backing away.

Adrenaline fading, the fatigue of blood loss raised its ugly head again, faltering your steps and blurring your vision.

“Y/N, here, come here, you’re hurt.”

You turned once again to where Jimin stood, his hand extended for you and stumbled towards him, shaky feet nearly throwing you over the edge more than once. You reached near him, raising your hand to grasp his and began to climb.

“You’re still here.” You choked.

“Of course, I had to clear things up.” Jimin smiled, eyeing you carefully.

You made to return the smile when another scream of pain tore through you, making Jimin jump before he saw the knife embedded deep in your side.

“NO!” He roared, feeling you slip from his fingers when he saw Kai’s added weight clinging to your cloak.

Your back curved backwards; Kai gripping the back of your cloak and hair in a tight fist. His lips split in a wide, sinister smile. “Go on Jimin, pull us up. You save her, you save me.”

Jimin snarled a curse at Kai, eyes darting from your drooping eyes to Kai’s bright ones. He couldn’t save Kai, he knew that. Left alive, he’d keep coming back again and again. You would never truly be safe with Kai alive.

“It’s okay…”

Jimin’s eyes snapped to Y/N, narrowing at the small smile tugging at your lips in puzzlement.

“It’s okay; you have to let me go…”

“What, no, I’m not going to -,”

“It’s better this way.”

“Y/N, no, Kai let her go!”

“I love you, Jimin. I’m…I suppose this is goodbye.”

Jimin opened his mouth to shout for you to hold on when all sound stopped short. You opened your paw, his own hand too weak to hold up all the weight of your body and Kai together. He watched, too slow to move, too stunned to understand as your eyes closed, still smiling while Kai’s eyes widened, almost comically, smile fading and mouth opening in a silent scream as you both fell.

There was no time for Jimin to even scream for you.

Everything was numb. Everything was silent.

Well, in all actuality, a battle had waged around him, promptly won by the small but mighty objects of Y/N’s household. Cheers of victory and joy could be heard from the lower rungs of the Castle. It was just that Jimin’s eyes could only see Y/N’s last smile, hear her last confession and feel her hand slipping from his.

All he knew was that Y/N was down here somewhere – ironically, falling right into her parent’s grotto – and he had to reach her. Nothing else mattered.

The soft grass of the grotto crushed and crumbled under Jimin’s boots, as he walked and broke into aching jogs as he spied the huge mass of fur on its side, reminiscent of when he’d seen Y/N topple over after saving him from the wolves. The memory stung his chest now.

“Y/N,” he gasped seeing Kai’s body almost completely trapped under hers, his fist still closed around her clothes.

He bent over, ripping his hand away and rolling his dead body away till it lay feet away, open eyes dead and unseeing, his laughter finally fading into nothingness.

Falling to his knees, he heaved Y/N’s head onto his arms, propping it against his shoulder. Her eyes were closed as well; smile gone and he could spot a trickle of blood running from the corner of her mouth into the fur. His hand trailed down to the knife in her side, slowly, gently easing it out and tossing far away from her as both arms came to wrap around her, rocking.

“Y/N, hey, it’s okay, come on wake up. He’s gone. Kai’s dead and every one fled. You’re safe now.” He hushed.

She lay still, too still, not even shifting a little in answer to his voice.

“Y/N,” Jimin vowed now to give up so soon. She had to be alive, she was probably just unconscious. He tapped her cheeks, ran his fingers through the mass of her hair and fur.

“Y/N, please, I’m so sorry.” He buried his head against her neck, taking in a whiff of the musk that he was so used to now. There was a change now; it smelt too metallic, too…sodden. “Please, wake up.”

She couldn’t be dead…she couldn’t leave him like this; not after saying she loved him and pulling off such a ridiculous stunt.

His body shook, feeling the chill settle in. Somehow, Y/N’s body that radiated so much warmth normally wasn’t enough to keep the cold away now. Jimin shuddered, drawing her closer before closing his eyes finally. A sob choked its way out his lips, followed by a sound that was too close to Y/N’s own agonized ones.

“Please, come back, Y/N, please, I love you too. So much, so much, please,” he rocked faster, more to keep himself moving than to shake her awake. He couldn’t stop moving, it would only mean for him to accept that Y/N wasn’t moving as well and that she was…she was.

His tears soaked through her fur.

“Now, this is quite the unfortunate situation.”

Jimin hiccupped, looking up to where someone new had joined them in the grotto. For a wild second he thought that it was Kai but no. This man was much taller, skinnier, even unhealthy looking.

A snap echoed from behind him and he jumped, looking about to see a very familiar pack of wolves surrounding him, grinning and tongues lolling. He pulled Y/N closer but the wolves didn’t seem to intent on attacking, instead collecting behind the new arrival.

Jimin squinted, wiping off the blurring tears to see the man was known to him.

“You,” He said at the bookseller who peered down at the cursed Princess with something akin to bitterness.

“Me,” The old man hummed, turning to face the wolves and Jimin was astounded to see that a wave of this man’s hand was enough to line them neatly up.

“How…I thought you never left the bookshop. Did you come with Kai?”

“Kai?” The bookseller laughed, caustic casting a cursory glance at the dead man feet away. “That pathetic excuse for a human and you think he’d have any sort of influence over me?”

Jimin watched as the man drew himself to full height before light erupted out from somewhere in his chest, blinding Jimin and making him feel colder than he did before. Once he felt the light fade from his screwed up eyelids, he peeked through, gaping in disbelief.

Long black robes swirled around the now, considerably younger man, almost as if it was sewn directly from the shadows around him. Long sleeves fell back to reveal tattoos in a language Jimin had never seen before, glowing even till the skin of his bald head and face.

“Not quite who you expected, I see.” The man said.

Jimin was still trying to put together the old bookseller who had been so friendly to him transformed into this being when with a clatter and loud clangs they were surrounded with more things – this time on Y/N’s side.

Namjoon’s clock chimed angrily, Seokjin’s fiery wick gleaming in the dark as they caught the man standing over Jimin and Y/N. “The Wizard,” They gasped, followed quickly by Yoongi and the others who skid to a halt.

“Be gone, monster! You have killed our Mistress!” Yoongi clattered.

“You’re the one who cursed Y/N.” Jimin said, realization dawning over him like a pot of cold water. However, there was no fear in his voice. After all what was the use? Y/N was dead, neither she nor he could be hurt any further.

“Now, now, calm please. Is that any way to greet the man about to grant you salvation?” The Wizard raised his palms.

“You cursed us too swine!” Namjoon yelled.

“I did. And I fully intended to come back on her birthday to remind her that she owed herself to me if she wanted to have her life and loved ones back. It seems,” He looked down at Jimin cradling her body and again there was strange bitterness to his gaze, “I have been rendered useless. She has found love…I didn’t think it would’ve been possible.”

He looked up.

“So now, here, my word means something in the world.” Light shone again, only this time it was blue.

Jimin watched the light move out from the Wizard, creeping slowly to where Y/N lay against him. The light cocooned her, moving forward till it had surrounded everyone present in the grotto and on and on till all he could see was blue.

Jimin’s proximity helped in seeing Y/N, and he clasped her protectively, worried the light was going to further cause her harm. Only, it didn’t. Instead, her weight began to ease up off of Jimin. Fur receded and fell off from her body to reveal smooth skin, wet and smeared with visible blood, fangs shrunk back, and ears flattened and became smaller.

The huge mass of a creature began to slowly shrivel, until all that remained in his arms could no longer pass off as an animal. No, this was laughably, astonishingly, human.

Jimin raised a hand inquisitively, running it through the strands of hair that were now free from the matting of fur, his hand coming back red.

“She’s…”

“Back to normal…or rather what she would’ve grown up to be; that’s about as normal as I can make her.” The Wizard snorted at his own joke.

“Is…your highness,” Jimin turned to see that there were people in the grotto, no longer just objects.

A tall tanned man stood foremost, dimples poking out as a wondrous smile lit up his face, hands running over his suit. “I…I’m a man again!”

“Or how much you were before,” Another spoke, taller than the first, golden hair falling into his eyes.

“Gentlemen, calm down!” A shorter man barked.

These were strangers to Jimin, or maybe not. He looked back up at the Wizard, ignoring the joyous reunions behind him. “She’s…still dead.”

“Yes, but then, the way to bring her back to life is with you, isn’t it?”

Jimin was about to ask what he meant when he remembered the vial. The vial full of the pool water, that Y/N had said had healing abilities.

He delved deep, bringing out the mercifully intact vial before upending it completely into Y/N’s open mouth.

He waited, with bated breath as moments passed. And then – skin knitted back together, the grey pallor of her face smoothed till a healthy glow seeped in her cheeks.

With a huge shaky breath, Y/N opened her eyes again, fumbling with her body as if it scratched at her.

“Y/N, hey, Y/N,” Jimin grabbed her hands, much smaller and claw less, fitting into his easily.

Big, wide, fearful eyes met Jimin’s. “J-Jimin?”

“Yes, it’s me.” Jimin placed his head against hers, taking in a deep inhale that wasn’t of musk but of bloodied skin, of sorrow, or uncertainty. Closing his eyes and hoping for the best, Jimin turned his head to place his lips swiftly on yours.

There was no reciprocation at first, worrying Jimin that perhaps, he’d pushed you too far too fast. However, he felt your small hand move past his neck into his hair, entwining with the strands to hold him against you.

He moved away from your face, reminding himself that you still needed time and space to learn physical love when your eyes, now bright with unshed tears landed on something behind him.

It took him a bit to register the utter silence, hushed conversation behind him and he turned to see that the huge statues that used to be the only decorations in the grotto were no longer there, instead right behind him stood a couple, too familiar.

“Mama! Daddy!”

Y/N fled Jimin’s arms, instead throwing herself into her parent’s arms. Jimin fell back from the impact; quickly picking himself up to see the pair wrap their tight arms around their daughter, tears streaking through dirty, muddied faces.

The man was tall, his wife regal as they still retained the glow of youth, having spent their lives inanimate. Their daughter may have grown in front of their eyes but there was near to no difference in ages, Jimin noticed. He turned his head, but the Wizard and his pack of wolves were long gone.

Y/N shirt and pants were also now tattered, too huge on her now smaller body. Jimin tugged off his coat, wrapping it delicately around her shoulders when a hand stopped him from moving away. He looked at the queen, small crown still perched into her mussed hair who smiled at him.

“Thank you,” she mouthed, tugging him closer till he was hugging Y/N from the back as well, and Jimin couldn’t be more grateful at the gesture.

The moments, hell, the days after the…incident, or rather your birthday had been all muddles and stumbling through time. As a cursed monster, time had seemed to stretch, with you craving love and companionship simply because you’d been told that they would break your curse. The very notion of these emotions had become a means to an end.

You had so much to learn, you realized when you stepped back into a castle that had no broken ceilings, no gaping holes, no smears of dirt and growing moss. The stones gleamed, jewels sparkled, sculptures loomed, just as they had in your distant memories.

Everyone stared, even the members of your household who had lived with you forever. You supposed you weren’t the only ones in need of reacclimatizing.

Chamber maids and maids in waiting dragged you and your mother away almost immediately. You were washed, scrubbed, hair oiled and washed and scented, similar to the ball but only this time the gown they put you in felt too big, too airy for you. Your skin, used to being protected by masses of fur and hard muscles shuddered at the gauzes and weightlessness of your new things.

Mirrors and portraits, previously smashed or torn by your claws had been reinstated and you had spent hours just staring at the unfamiliar face in the reflection. You weren’t a child anymore; you weren’t the beast you were used to seeing in cracks of glass and shards of mirrors. You had grown into a young maiden and you had no idea who you were.

The resurgence of a bustling royal palace, with many of the staff setting out to locate their families had created a buzz. Kai, the hunter had been dragged away and Hyebin, his sister as Jimin told you had been tried for conspiracy for murder.

Of course, things hadn’t become hunky dory fast. Things still needed to be sorted out, a monarchy had to be established because the so called government that had put Kai in charge in the first place was found now corrupt, seeing how easy it had been to rile up the public on the word of one man with no proof at all.

You left your father to handle these matters. Your mother had something much more stressful for you to think about.

Whether or not you wanted to marry Park Jimin…

You knew he was in the palace somewhere, along with his father. He’d come seen you but there hadn’t been much conversation. You had been too unsure of your own self, of your new or rather old body and you wondered if Jimin liked you as a human as much as he had when you were a creature.

“Don’t be silly,” Jimin had said, once on a slow walk around the garden. Your steps were much slower now, smaller feet tended to do that but none of you were in a hurry. It seemed Jimin was as eager to know the new you as you were. “I loved you when you were covered in fur and I love you now, even though I must say I was hoping to introduce a few of my friends to my beastly fiancée.” You had smacked his arm, unsettled at the joke even though he wrapped his arms around your waist.

“Don’t worry so much about this. The curse is past. No one and I mean it, will ever hurt you now. They’ll have to go through me.”

The burning sincerity in his eyes and voice left no room for you to argue or doubt.

And so, you shyly visited your parents that very evening, hand looped in your lover’s, asking for their blessing to marry him.

Your engagement to Jimin lasted longer than any a royal was supposed to have, stretching out for months as you relearned human life. You were taught to walk properly on two legs, carrying things with a tiara affixed to your hair. For days you would bat at your hair when the pins keeping it in place pinched or pulled at you.

You learned how to dress yourself, how to put on various forms of jewelry, how to take baths and resumed your studies and royal duties.

Suffice it to say, you were now missing your animalistic life at times, you were so exhausted.

However, Jimin was a constant, learning with you, talking you through the harder aspects, supportive, encouraging, and absolutely perfect. It was also getting hard to keep your hands to yourself when it came to your private moments.

Physical love was one aspect that you absolutely dreaded touching upon. You wondered if you would be good enough, if Jimin would find pleasure in you or if you would find pleasure in him. He did place chaste kisses against your skin and lips when he thought it was okay to do so and you had only found him losing control once. It had been late at night when he visited you and had read to you till you were drowsy. With only a mind to gently kiss you goodnight, he had leant in only to be trapped by your hands, trying to get as close as you could to him.

He’d gripped at you, trying to pry out of your touch but had melted fast, molding and pressing you to your mattress. You had felt him growing aroused against your pelvic bone, rutting against you, gasping when he pulled away, blinking and shaking hair out of his eyes.

“Now now, love, we have time.” He’d pecked your cheek, disentangling himself from you before almost limping out.

Soon enough, it was time for the main event of your life.

Namjoon, Seokjin, Yoongi, Hoseok, Taehyung and Jungkook returned in days time, bringing what was left or added to their families and they stayed on till after your wedding took place.

Jungkook had mellowed in the face of his parents being alive, fifteen years older of course but delighted to have him back. He’d wished you well, but not apologized for his earlier behavior – you didn’t expect him to either.

Your parents had gone above and beyond for the wedding, throwing the lavish event for the entire town and further to come attend. Your gown was created for weeks, Hoseok personally supervising the process so that when you walked down the altar finally, upon your teary eyed father’s arm; you erased all thoughts that you had been a monster for most of your life prior.

You left the palace for your honeymoon, following Jimin’s advice to leave the royal duties to your still young and hearty parents while you took some time with your husband, so you could acquaint yourself both to him and to the world that he wanted to show you.

You knew where to start the journey of course, with your groom’s lips twitching at the very first words that tumbled out during the ceremonial dance.

“Please,” you’d whispered, laying your head close to his heart.

“Anything for you, darling,” Jimin had whispered back, smile obvious in his voice. “Paris it is.”

Jimin might not ever get used to the feeling of you fitting into his arms, you thought to yourself, glancing at your now husband, ever so often.

He’d lifted you up into his arms the moment you’d stepped off the carriage, beaming about something called the threshold ceremony, carrying you through the doors of the French villa carefully.

“Satisfied?” You asked when he stood still, eyeing the windows in contemplation.

“I’m wondering if I’m missing something but I can’t think of anything as of yet. So yes, here you go.” He placed you down, letting you walk through the house while he watched over the servants who carried through your luggage.

A late meal later, you stood at the mirror in the bedroom, painstakingly pulling out the multiple pins from the up-do your hair had been twisted in, your husband peeking in with a mischievous grin.

“Having fun?”

“No,” You grumbled, your arms dropping from the strain. Jimin walked up behind you, beginning to quickly pull out the multitudes of metal from your hair that would make a magnet drool. “Why are there so many?”

“Look on the bright side,” Jimin muttered, delving deeper into your scalp, “For the rest of our honeymoon, you could be completely free from all of this, until of course we have to go back.”

You glanced up at him quickly, seeing the darkening expression brooding on your husband’s face as he dropped the final pins on to the dresser.

“I was thinking.”

“Yes,” you squeaked out embarrassingly.

“Well, we’re all alone now, so we don’t have to be worried about anyone walking in on us.”

You turned around completely, confused. “That’s what you were worried about?”

“Of course,” his smile flickered. “What else would I be worried about?”

Your eyes fell, feeling all sorts of stupid now. “I just thought…maybe you didn’t…you know, feel that way about me now.”

A finger brushed under your chin, tilting your face back up. “Love, I married you.”

“Yes but,”

“Mm, but nothing, come on; let me show you what I feel for you.”

Jimin’s arms, much stronger than you had given him credit for swooped under your thighs, lifting you up to wrap your legs around his waist swiftly. As a monster, you had never given thought to how powerful Jimin really was, but now when you were human, much more fragile than you were used to, he was blatantly flaunting his strength.

You couldn’t fault him for that.

Your husband dropped you onto the centre of the massive bed, arms balancing his weight over you. “Are you okay about this? I don’t want to force you into anything that you’re uncomfortable with.”

“No,” you reached for him, winding arms around his neck. “I’m fine, I want to feel you. I want to learn this with you.”

Your eyes closed automatically when he kissed you, sweetly but strongly, tongue laving over your lips, slipping between with less to no battle from you. Your mouth parted easily for him, letting him plunder moans from you.

“Fuck,” Jimin breathed, pulling away before his eyes were widening. “Oh, I’ve never cursed like that before.”

His cheeks were so red, you couldn’t help but laugh. “No worries, I’ve never made someone curse like that before either.”

Jimin’s fingers trailed to the ties of your night shift. “Perhaps, we’re a bad influence upon one another.”

“Perhaps,” your breath caught in agreement, Jimin’s fingers pulling at a peaking nipple while his head lowered to suckle on the other. “I hope you don’t mind.”

“Not at all, my darling wife,” his lips were curved wickedly when he resurfaced; sitting up to remove the cotton night shirt he wore and tugging off the gown from your body right after.

You lay naked under him, open for his perusal and taking. Your hand shifted up, trying to pull the sheets up to cover some of your modesty until Jimin caught up, taking your hands to place them right there.

“There,” His mouth opened, tongue rubbing over his swollen bottom lip. “Do you feel that? That’s what I feel for you. You don’t need to hide from me love, never ever. I have loved you before, I love you now and I will continue to love you more for all our days to come. Do you understand?”

You meekly nodded.

Jimin’s eyes flashed down your body, knees parting yours before his hand touched your bare core, running over the nub in circles. “Am I understood, love?”

“Yes-yes,” you gasped, neck falling back for him place kisses even as a finger slipped through inside of you, thick but gentle, stretching you just so.

“Yes, what?”

“Yes, I understand.”

“Good,” Jimin removed his hand, placing the digit in his mouth, eyes still firm between your legs. Normally the lecherous look on any man would have you burst with rage but Jimin had you nearly quivering in anticipation, especially when he finally pushed down his trousers.

You had never seen a cock before, never having any contact with a human male, but you had to say Jimin’s was an impressive specimen. Thick in girth and flushed a sensuous red, the head throbbed in need before he was guiding himself to your body.

“Ready, love, I need you to breathe with me.”

Jimin dropped low on you, lips tugging and pushing at yours, his spare hand clasping your breast to distract you as he pushed in. your knee bent, curving over his hip as you gasped, eyes watering at the sharp pinching sensation deep within you. Your husband halted, waiting for the expression of discomfort and pain to pass from your face, fingers brushing away any stray moisture from the corner of your eyes.

“I…I’m okay, please move.” You told him, Jimin studying you carefully before he drew back, thrusting in experimentally. The first drags of his hips, followed by the slow plunges still made you bite down your lips, screw up your eyelids before you found your rhythms.

Jimin ended up with his hand at your nub, rubbing it in gentle circles, lighting sparks in your nerves with the motion of his lovemaking, your nails digging into your lover’s back and shoulder, trying to get as close as possible.

The first jolt of climax nearly made you cry out, burying your face in his neck to muffle the sounds when he followed, heavy grunts falling unabashed from his lips, hands twining with the strands of your hair to seal your lips in a clumsy kiss as he spilled deep into you.

Rolling over, with your head safely clasped in the nook of his arm, Jimin sighed contentedly, warm hand against your back.

“Jimin,”

“Yes, love.”

“So…what happens now?”

Your husband turned his head to give you a sleepy grin.

“Now we’ll live happily ever after.”

#ksmutclub #notyourdamsels #btsbookclub #smutcentralnet #ficswithluv #jimin fanfic #bts fanfic #jimin smut #bts smut #jimin angst #bts angst #jimin fluff #bts fluff #jimin #bts #park jimin

[rpsocsandcanonohmy]

Through The Looking Glass

Created for @witchsambingo

Square Filled: Sam & Rowena’s Coven

Rating: General Audiences

Ship(s): None

Warnings: Cursing, Poor Decision Making, Family Drama

Additional Tags: Magic, Witchcraft, Universe Hopping, Alternate Universe Doubles, Tattoos

Summary: Stella and August experiment with a spell Rowena left for them. This opens a rift into another universe where they meet some freakily familiar characters. Eventually, they find their way back home.

Wordcount: 1938

Link to AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/35343256

A/N: This is a crossover of two other stories that can be read here and here.

--------

“Stella, are you sure about this?”

“Of course I am. Rowena gave us this book to practice with; she wouldn’t give us something dangerous,” Stella insisted.

“Are we talking about the same Rowena? Because she’s definitely given us dangerous stuff before. Remember the Book Of The Damned Incident?”

“She didn’t give us that book to practice spells with.” Stella rolled her eyes. “We were supposed to be learning about translations. It's not her fault Dad got paranoid about it."

"It's a book made of human flesh! Was he supposed to not be concerned?"

"I just think he could've waited a few minutes before he called Sam and Dean is all…."

August rolled his eyes."Anyway, I still think we shouldn't just screw around with this stuff. These spells look pretty serious. More serious than the stuff she's done with us before at least."

"Which is a good thing because it's a sign she trusts us.”

“Are we sure Rowena trusting us is a good thing? Because I’m really not.”

Stella huffed and started flipping through the book Rowena left them. “Look, we’ll just find a simple spell to practice with so we’re ready for our next lesson.”

“Oh, yeah, because picking a random spell out of an unfamiliar book worked out so well last time.”

“Hey!” She smacked his arm. “We’re more experienced this time. And it’s not gonna be random; we’re just gonna look for something simple. We know how to read spells now so it shouldn’t be too hard to find one that won’t cause the apocalypse or something.” 

She had a point. “Fine. But if something goes wrong, I’m blaming you.”

“Not if I blame you first.”

Meanwhile, in another timeline….

Cordell Walker was having a good day. He had the day off of work, he had time to do some maintenance around the house, and Stella and August didn’t have anything going on so once they finished their magic practice, they were all gonna go out riding. It had been way too long since they went out on the trail together. If they had time, he might even teach them some of the basic hunting techniques they’d both been asking about. He’d been trying to pace out their lessons; he didn’t want them to loathe them or get overwhelmed.

All thoughts of riding and hunting went out the window when he heard something tumble down the stairs accompanied by grunts of pain. “Stella? August? Everything okay?” he called, bolting out of his room to see what the damage was. His heart dropped into his stomach when he saw Stella and August laying at the bottom of the stairs...and then mildly perked up in confusion when he saw Stella and August rush in from the other room. 

“Did it work?”

“I think so?”

“Is that- I mean, are they-”

“They have to be!”

Cordell cleared his throat, drawing the attention of the version of his children that were still standing. “They have to be what, exactly?”

Stella and August looked at their feet. “Well,” his daughter started. “Rowena gave us this book to practice with and we got excited because it’s more advanced stuff than she usually lets us do…”

“And we found this spell that said it would open a window to another world and ‘see ourselves’ and it looked cool….”August trailed off.

Great. Cordell sighed and shook his head. “Alright. Okay. Well, why don’t you try and get ahold of your mentors and I’ll take care of our guests. We’ll discuss what we’re going to do about this, and whatever punishment comes of it, later.”

“Yes sir….”

As they left, Cordell moved down the stairs and carefully carried the other version of his children into the other room and gently set them on the couch. They were unconscious but didn’t appear to be seriously injured, nothing more than a mild concussion at worst. “I hope your dad knows what’s going on,” he said softly. “I’d hate for him to worry about you.”

In the normal timeline……

".....STELLA!!! AUGUST!!!!!" Why does this keep happening to me???? Cordell got out his phone and dialed an unfortunately familiar number. "Rowena! What the fuck kind of spellbook did you give them this time?"

Back to our heroes…..

"Sam, when I agreed to let Stella and August join your little coven, I also agreed to having some kind of say in their curriculum."

"I know you did Henry-"

"It's Cordell," he growled.

"Whatever. Anyway, I can only speak for August's lessons. Rowena's taken a special interest in Stella. She's really got a natural talent. August does too. As much as I respect your right as their father, I do think you're stifling him a bit. Yes, magic can be dangerous but with the right guidance it can be a wonderful thing too. You can't blame them for wanting to experiment and explore a bit."

"A bit? They opened a door to another universe!"

Sam’s eyes lit up. "I know! And they didn't even need archangel grace to do it! How cool is-" Sam stopped when he saw the thunderous look on Cordell's face. "I mean, okay, that was a little dangerous. But maybe if you let them do more-"

"I'm sorry, this stunt is supposed to convince me to let them do more?"

As Sam and Cordell continued their argument, Stella and August and... Stella and August… were sitting around the kitchen table. “So….” Stella drummed her fingers on the table. It was strange, sitting across from herself. Almost like looking in a mirror, except the other Stella had a tattoo on her wrist, some kind of occult symbol. The other August had one just like it. Ink!Stella was drumming her fingers on the table in a similar manner. “Do they have that argument a lot?”

“You have no idea,” Ink!Stella said. “Dad doesn’t like that we do magic. Says it’s a gateway to trouble.”

“He’s not exactly wrong,” Ink!August muttered. “We get in a whole lot more trouble now.”

“That’s because Dad doesn’t understand.” Ink!Stella rolled her eyes. “If he’d just listen to Uncle Sam instead of trying to limit us….”

What? “Uncle Sam?”

“Sam and Dad are twin brothers,” Ink!August explained. “‘Uncle’ is pretty recent though, since Dad always tried to keep him and Uncle Dean away from us.”

“And even when he couldn’t, he didn’t tell us who they were until after Mom died,” Ink!Stella huffed. 

“Right….” Stella fiddled with the end of her sleeve. “So, you two are part of a coven?”

“Yeah, Uncle Sam talked Dad into it after we figured out we had magic,” Ink!Stella confirmed. “Said it would be safer than us trying to figure stuff out on our own. Why do you ask? Aren’t you?”

“No,” August said. “Rowena just shows up every now and then and tutors us. With supervision.”

Ink!Stella snorted. “Sounds like what our dad wanted. Well, no, he wanted us to forget about doing magic altogether….”

“You can’t really blame him,” Ink!August murmured. “I mean, you know how he grew up.”

“No, we don’t. Because he never talks about that stuff! Ever!”

Stella was about to ask her to elaborate when they were joined by Cordell and Sam. “Okay, so, your Dad and I were talking,” Sam started, looking at Ink!Stella and August. “While what you pulled off was very impressive, you did break coven rules by stealing a book from the library and performing an advanced spell without supervision from your mentor. I’ll need to talk to Rowena about your punishment before the next coven meeting. I’m sure your dad has other punishments in mind. But for now…” Sam glanced at the other version of the siblings. “, we need to get you home. It’ll be a little more complicated to do that since we won’t have someone else in your universe doing the spell at the same time, which is part of why this even worked, but I’m sure between the five of us we can pull it off.”

Cordell rolled his eyes. “Just try not to leave the kitchen a mess this time. I’ll be...outside.”

Sam watched him leave, a frown on his face. After a slammed door and a few moments of silence, he turned to them with a bright (albeit false) smile. “Alright! Let’s get to work!”

-------------------

“Alright, going good so far. Now we just need some archangel grace….” Sam looked up from the book. “...Any chance your dad will let us have some?”

Ink!Stella shrugged. “If it gets this over with, probably. Want me to ask him?”

“No need,” Ink!August called, head buried in a cabinet. He crawled out and produced a small box. “He keeps a stockpile of the stuff in case of emergencies. How much do we need?”

“Just one vial should be enough; I don’t think they’re going far.”

This was very confusing for anyone who wasn’t privy to the knowledge of the house. Like Stella and August. “Should we...ask?” she asked her brother.

August shrugged. “I...think we’re about to leave…so...no?”

“Okay, the last thing we need to make sure you guys get back to your universe is a few strands of hair. It’ll guide the spell and make sure you don’t end up in Dark Souls world or something.” Sam offered Stella a small pair of scissors. “If you don’t mind?”

She complied; she was due for a haircut anyway.

“Alright, that should do it….” Sam finished combining the ingredients in the bowl and lit a match. As soon as he dropped it in, a squiggly beam of light appeared in the living room. “There we go! Should get you right home.”

Well. They came this far. May as well, right?

Geronimo….

----------------

Back in the normal universe…..

Dad folded his hands under his chin and leaned his elbows on the table. “So...you accidentally traveled to another universe and came across another version of this family?”

“Yep.” That was the short version anyway. Stella didn’t think Dad was ready for the possibility of him and Sam being twins. Or related at all. Or either of his kids having tattoos.

Dad sighed heavily and scrubbed his hand over his face. “Okay. I- Okay. You- I’m...so, so happy you’re...exploring this new side of your life. But what you did was incredibly risky and dangerous and...it’s not gonna happen again. Is that clear?”

“Yes sir.”

“Good.” He took the spellbook in his hands and slid it off the table. “This is going in the safe until Rowena asks for it back. You will not take it out again unless she’s around to supervise, which isn’t happening unless me or Uncle Liam or your grandparents are around to supervise. Understood?”

“Yes sir.”

“And if at any point you feel the urge to experiment on your own time, you’re going to tell someone what you’re doing so that we can be on the alert. Clear?”

“Yes sir.”

“Good.” He stood up, spellbook in hand, and walked off to his office, leaving Stella and August alone at the dining table.

There were a few moments of silence until August spoke up.“Do you think….?’

“Do I think what?”

August chewed his lower lip. “Do you think Sam and Dad are twins?”

It wasn’t the craziest idea. Sam and Dad definitely looked alike. And if it was true in an alternate universe where pretty much everything else was the same...... “...Maybe. Let’s not mention it though, okay? It’s probably better not to freak out Dad too much right now.”

“Yeah, you’re probably right.”

#witchsambingo #witch!sam #crossover #alternate universe #walker #supernatural #witchcraft #magic

[votederpycausemufins]

-Smiles widely at the camera that exists somewhere- Ah Grumbot, I’m so glad I remembered to add you in here.

@petrichormeraki

With the arrival of Mumbo and the bots, Grian and Tommy tried to introduce everyone to each other, but another message came in from Scar about doing paperwork with a mention that Iskall was there for the paperwork with Fundy. Immediately Mumbo flew off back towards the shopping district, Tommy barely getting the chance to cover Tubbo’s ears. Tubbee, who had also been brought down from the apiary floor, used Jrumbot as something to hide behind.

“Sorry about that. Iskall is just not the best at reading contracts and Scar likes to hide things in there for fun. If Mumbo hadn’t beat me to it, I would have gone instead since it’s quieter.”

“He forgot Tubbee doesn’t like fireworks.” Jrumbot spoke, petting the mob. 

“Exactly. Your dad can be very forgetful in the moment.”

Grumbot looked towards Tubbo and then took a few steps towards him. “You act like Tubbee. You must be President Tubbo. It is nice to meet the whole of you.”

Tubbo, who was trembling a little bit even though the sound had been muffled, looked down at Grumbot. “Wh-what do you mean?”

“I didn’t tell him that part yet.” Tommy quickly explained to his nephew.

“I see. It is something from what your admin did. In creating your ‘canon lives’ he made it so when you lost one, a part of your being would be broken off and cast somewhere else. I am not sure what happened to your other part as I do not have that information, but one did end up within this bee as it first spawned.”

Tubbo looked at the bee in Jrumbots arms and then smiled. “Perfect. Always wanted to be a bee.”

Jrumbot looked between Tubbo, Tommy, Tubbee and Grumbot. “Is Tubbee my uncle then?”

Grian picked Jrumbot up. Grumbot had gotten more of the smarts since he was built to be a computer to answer their questions. Took a little more after Mumbo that way. Jrumbot on the other hand had originally just been made to help sell stuff and was created on the younger side, so he wasn’t as smart. In fact, he was more like Grian if his affinity for shears, especially near his one dad’s mustache was anything to go by.

“Well, Tubbo is your uncle’s friend, maybe even an honorary uncle at that. And Tubbee isn’t quite the same. Besides, I don’t think Tubbee will mind if you don’t call him your uncle.”

Grumbot walked over to Philza. “You are Philza Minecraft. Former king of the Antarctic Empire and my dad’s father, making you my grandfather.” He then looked at Techno. “You are Technoblade, former prince of the Antarctic Empire and also seem to loathe all forms of government. We will not get along.”

Techno looked down at Grumbot with a neutral expression. “Smart kid.”

“Grumbot, how did you know that about your uncle?”

“The mayoral reservoirs of course. He would have been a danger to the mayoral campaign if he appeared.”

Grian stared his son down. “Are you telling me the entire time you knew about Techno.”

“Not his location, but I was aware of his character and other general knowledge.” Grian looked like he was about to blow a gasket. “Of course, you never asked, so I didn’t assume you wanted to know.”

“Grumbot, when we get home, only your brother is getting a diamond.”

Grumbot stared at his dad before saying a single word. “Fuck.”

Tommy smiled. He had taught his nephew well.

With a break in the conversation, Tubbo spoke up. “Well, I mean Philza has sort of been acting as my dad.”

That immediately grabbed Grian’s attention. “Why?”

“Well, I’m not sure exactly what happened. One moment I was in the car with my dad, next thing I know, I’m in a box on the side of the road.”

“Your dad abandoned you?”

“What? No! He would never!”

“Hey G, might be like what happened to you?” Tommy suggested. There was a pause where everything was quiet before suddenly Grian changed to have six purple eyes. “Grian! No!”

Grian closed them and crossed his arms as best as he could while still holding Jrumbot. “What’s the point of being a Watcher if I can’t actually be one.”

“You almost killed everyone a few hours ago.”

“Dad almost killed someone?” Jrumbot asked, looking worried. Grian shifted him to one arm so he could pat his son and comfort him.

“Yeah, things got crazy for a bit. That’s why we wanted you staying in the hobbit tunnels. Did you at least have fun there?”

The question cheered Jrumbot up. “Yeah! We made more tracks for jousting!” Jrumbot continued to talk about what he and Grumbot had been doing when a message came in on the comms “Dad, Daddy wants your help with Scar.”

Grian sighed. “Well, I guess now is as good a time as any to get that paperwork done. Hey Tommy, where’s your nether portal?”

Tommy led everyone down to the second floor and through a nether portal. Though Tubbo had already been there with Fundy, the rest hadn’t and were surprised by the builds that were in the nether.

“How did you do all of this?!” Wilbur asked, surprised. “We barely had stuff like this in the overworld!”

“It’s actually not that big compared to last season. We use the roof more and everyone has their own separate builds.” Grian’s family tried to resist the urge to shake him and or kill him at how normal he was making it sound. “I’ll have to show you the upside down later.”

Though it took a few small bridges here and there, it was rather quick getting them all back to the shopping district. As the portal was right under the town hall, the group was greeted by music as they came through back into the overworld.

“Is he wasting it on paperwork again?!” Grian asked incredulously to no one in particular. “This isn’t going to help us at all!”

“It actually makes sense this time as there is the potential consideration of people from here and the smp moving between each other.” Grumbot explained, making sure to glare down his anarchist uncle the entire time. “All the proper forms would need to be done to keep Hermitcraft safe from people willing to destroy it.”

“I’m going in there.” Tommy spoke up, quickly leaving the others behind. Just a moment later, he walked back out with papers in his hand. “I think these mean he doesn’t want to see us right now.”

“What exactly is going on?” Philza asked.

At the same time, Grian and Tommy gave an answer. “Superfast build mode.”

“What?”

“Scar uses vex magic to help speed himself up to do lots of work in a small amount of time. Usually he uses it for building, but recently he’s also been using it for all his mayor work.”

“I… see.”

“Anyway, Grumbot, can you look at the paperwork?” Grian took the papers from Tommy’s hands and gave them to his son. The robot rapidly read through all the papers at a speed that could potentially rival Scar’s own current speed.

“It’s really bad this time. Paying him diamonds, work clauses, extreme zoning laws for temporary housing. You can only grow wheat and chorus fruit, I’m assuming that’s actually a mistake.”

Tommy smiled. “You wanna go in there and fix it.”

Even if they wouldn’t all admit it, the smp members all had a shiver go down their spines as Grumbot spoke coldly and his screen face turned red. “Very much so.” And then he walked up the stairs to the town hall.

“Is he going to kill your mayor?” Wilbur asked, but Grian shook his head.

“No, he only was that serious the first time they met after we finally built his body. It’s only ever near deaths at most. I’m actually wondering if we have more elections if everyone will let Grumbot run.”

“I certainly won’t be giving him permission.” Came Mumbo’s voice as he exited town hall with Iskall and Fundy behind him. “Artificial life or not, he is still considered a child. And Tommy has given him too many ideas. Scar might be exiled for a few days.”

Techno looked like he was about to speak, but was shushed by Philza. 

“Techno, I know you don’t seem to like the government and all, but it works here. I’ve seen hundreds of worlds, so I know how it can all fall apart, but we have literally been doing this for years with not a single problem.”

“Grian.”

“With only one single problem.”

“Grian!”

“Okay, I cause the problems. Mostly. But Tommy helps me with that! But we only very minorly grief and even then it’s extremely rare. And we definitely don’t steal. It’s mainly harmless pranks like chickens everywhere or hiding something in your base that makes noises and you can’t find it.”

“Or secret base bros.” Tommy added in, making Grian look a little confused.

“Yeah, though we stopped doing that ages ago.”

“Or did we?” Tommy asked, somehow looking very racoonish.

Grian looked at his brother. “Okay, concerning, but we can talk about that later.” He turned back to the rest of his family. “In the meantime, I think we should have the discussion I think we’ve all been avoiding a little. Is it just going to be visits, or are you guys actually deciding to move here?”

“What do you mean? You’re not coming with us?” Philza asked, making Grian frown.

“No, of course not. No offense to your home, but it’s a bit of a mess and I’m not sure I could live there without losing my mind. I’m sure that eventually things will calm down, but I’m sure I couldn’t even make half a hobbit hole before it got messed with in some way. Visits are of course on the table, but I’m not going to be staying.”

“But you’ll just be by yourself again.”

“Um…” Tommy started to say, drawing attention over to him. “I’m actually going to mostly stay here. I know Dream is gone and Tubbo’s in charge now, but I just don’t think I can go back there just like that.”

Tubbo hugged Tommy and then Grian pulled the two of them into a hug with his wings. When Philza tried to take a step forward, Grian glared at him. “No. You were part of the problem. You don’t really deserve this right now.”

Mumbo went over to try and comfort Grian, but just ended up making him more agitated. Iskall pulled his fellow redstoner back then tried to change the topic. “So, Fundy, you said you’re Wilbur’s kid. That makes you Grian’s nephew, doesn’t it? That means you have cousins.”

“I do?” The fox hybrid asked before he was tackled by Jrumbot.

“Hi! I’m Jrumbot! Grian and Mumbo are my dads! My brother went in there to talk to Scar, so you may have seen him.”

“Yeah! I did! Wow! This is the best day of my life! I mean, other than the whole going to war part, but everything else was great! New family, hopefully a better server, and I got to hang out with Iskall!”

“That sounds amazing! I got to meet Tubbo! He’s just as fun as Tubbee!” Jurmbot said, happy to share about his day to a new face.

“They seem to get along just fine.” Iskall chuckled. The comment seemed to help Grian relax a bit and he reluctantly released Tommy and Tubbo from his wings.

“Look dad, I’m happy I found you after all these years. But you being my dad doesn’t change the things I saw you do. You sided with people, not ideas, and because of that you would change what you stood for on a moment's notice just to side with someone you cared about. But that hurt others you cared about at the same time. I’ve been hurt enough in my life. Tommy has too. Things here are safe and stable and even then we don’t always have the best days. I don’t normally curse, but it should get the point across. I am terrified of getting close to you right now and you finding a way to fuck up out lives.”

Mumbo and Iskall shared a look. While it might not get through to the newcomers, they had known Grian long enough to know just how serious he was being. They had both seen just how bad it could get for Grian and Tommy and how helpless they felt sometimes when trying to help the brothers.

Philza was quiet for a while before giving a simple understanding nod. “Thanks dad.”

“Well Grian, I’m sure that it’s been a long day for everyone. I’m sure people are tired and hungry and there’s plenty of paperwork to do. How about once Grumbot is finished, we head over to my Hobbit hole for some food.”

Grian smiled at Mumbo. “That sounds nice. Dinner with the whole family!”

Everyone was pleasantly surprised when they saw Mumbo’s hobbit hole. It was a much more reasonable size. They hadn’t seen Mumbo’s real base quite yet though, so they assumed this was it. It was still quite large from the bumbo baggins society expansion, but that meant plenty of room for everyone to sit at for a meal. 

While there was plenty of variety, golden carrots were the most plentiful and they were gladly eaten for their high saturation. The visitors from the SMP tried not to stare as the bot children were given bowls of nether quartz and red stone to eat. It was hard to even comprehend how they were eating at all as their heads were just computer monitors yet somehow it just worked.

A cake was placed on the table as a joke for all the birthdays everyone had missed but they ended up actually singing. Following that, the dreaded paperwork began, though it was easier to handle now that everyone had a slice of the delicious treat.

While Philza, Wilbur, Techno and Fundy signed paperwork for simply visiting Hermitcraft, Tubbo signed one for visits and for residency. “Tubbo, are you planning to stay?” Tommy asked when he noticed the papers in front of his friend. 

“Well… I would like to. This place seems so nice… but with me being admin now, I need to help the smp. But maybe I can have extended stays in the future.”

Grian looked at Tubbo sympathetically. “Tubbo, you don’t have to be the admin. I’m sure you can find someone you trust enough to move the powers to if you want to stay here.”

“But you made me admin.”

“You were nearby and I knew you probably wouldn’t do anything horrible as admin, but you don’t have to keep them. You are still a kid. You don’t need to keep that responsibility if you want something else.” When Tubbo didn’t look convinced, Grian sighed. “If you want, we can make someone else admin, and if it doesn’t work, you just call me over and I’ll take them away again.”

“Grian, there’s a good chance you could kill someone doing that.”

“And I wouldn’t regret it!”

“Yes you would.”

“Okay maybe.”

Mumbo just gave a very tired sounding sigh.

As dinner was wrapping up, Grian pulled Grumbot over to a side room. “Alright, you were able to help Tommy out with Tubbo and apparently you knew more about Techno than you were going to tell me.”

“That is true.” Grumbot answered. “But you two build me the way you did.”

“I know, and I really regret it.” Grian pulled out a diamond. “Grumbot, do you know anything about Tubbo’s dad?”

Grumbot took the diamond and then processed the question. He was silent for a few long moments, making Grian start to believe that there was nothing Grumbot could find on the man. But just as he was losing hope, Grumbot spoke again.

“He’s called The Captain.”

#hermit!tommy au #hermit!tommy #grian #grian xelqua #tubbo #grumbot #jrumbot #mumbo jumbo #philza #wilbur soot #technoblade #itsfundy #iskall85

[snarkythewoecrow]

Prompt time! I know you've taken prompts for more serious subjects and mental health related stuff and I've absolutely loved them. If you are comfortable to write it and it won't be triggering, would you write like a sequel to your rubber band/coping mechanism fic where Peter goes to Tony when he has an urge to hurt himself or afterwards for helping cleaning up? Either that or a fic unrelated to that one where Tony sees Peter's old self harm scars or finds out that Peter still does sh? Just something irondad that's related to that subject but only if you are okay with writing it! I completely understand if it's something you don't wanna write more off, I just thought I'd ask anyway if that's okay

Sorry it took me so long to write, but here it is!

Read on AO3

*Trigger Warning for Self-harm and Blood*

In the kitchen at the lake house, Peter sat at the center island, watching Tony thread macaroni onto yarn as Morgan painted the necklace she’d already made. Noodles were scattered everywhere, and when you walked, there was a good chance you’d hear pasta crunching underfoot.

Morgan had paint from her hands to her hair, and Tony wasn’t fairing much better. Morgan had already made them all necklaces and was working on her fifth. The one she’d made Peter was draped around his neck. She'd said the one she made him was extra special because it had wagon wheels laced between the macaroni.

Peter was on the end of the island on a stool, his textbook carefully placed to avoid the smears of paint and glue. Thankfully, after the glitter balloon incident, Pepper banned glitter from the house, so Peter didn’t need to worry about that.

All in all, he should have been happy, but he wasn’t, and he wasn’t sure why that was, either.

Things had been better in the months since Tony had found Peter on the back porch that night, since they’d talked about his self-harming, but that didn’t mean that sometimes, for a reason Peter didn’t understand, he still had bad days—like today.

Everyone in his life was healthy and happy, things were going well at school, but he still couldn’t get the itch to cut out of his mind. Some days were definitely worse than others, and he’d been building toward this bad day all week. The rubber band on his wrist was getting plenty of use.

Tony had told him that he could come to him whenever he needed but seeing Tony smiling as he played with Morgan, he knew he couldn’t. He couldn’t bring the mood down. He didn’t want to be the reason the worry lines in Tony’s face deepened.

It was already hard enough to use the rubber band with Tony nearby. He always got this look—somewhere between sadness and concern. Peter hated causing that look, so he’d done the only thing he could to avoid it. He stopped snapping the band when he was with Tony.

It was easier this way. What Tony didn’t know, couldn’t hurt him, or at least, that’s what Peter told himself.

The cloud over Peter’s head wasn’t lightening up, and he felt overwhelmed like his lungs were filling with water, and he was going under. He fingered the band on his wrist, wanting to snap it, just to feel something, but then Tony laughed, and Morgan giggled, the box of macaroni spilled, and Peter—Peter just couldn’t do it.

He closed his textbook and excused himself from the table, mumbling that he had a headache and needed to lay down. Before he made it out of the kitchen, Tony called after him, telling him dinner was in a few hours and he’d check on him then.

Peter forced a smile, ducking his head and scurrying up the stairs, leaving the sounds of Morgan’s laughter behind him.

When he got to his room, he shut the door, falling against it, still clutching his textbook. He didn’t have a headache like he’d told Tony, but he didn’t know what else to say at the time, though with the tension in his body, a headache was a real possibility soon.

He kicked off the door and walked over to his bed, pausing by the desk to drop his textbook with a thump. He collapsed on the bed, so his legs were still hanging off the side.

With Tony no longer able to witness it, Peter snapped the band on his wrist, but it brought no relief from the deep need to cut. The feeling was so consuming Peter thought he could taste it. The flavor reminded him of ash. He hated that he felt this way, but he didn’t know how to control it.

Tony had paid for therapy, and May made sure he went, but the coping skills only helped so much.

When it was like this, nothing else seemed like it could scratch the itch—not as well as a knife.

His therapist had suggested holding ice cubes when the urge got bad, but that would mean going to the kitchen, and Tony would notice. He would ask. Then worry lines would etch the man’s face, and Peter would feel even worse because he put them there.

Drawing on his arms was a nearly laughable suggestion. His therapist had suggested a red pen for effect. Peter didn’t have a red pen, and it never worked in the past. The only thing he knew that could make him feel better came with a healthy dose of guilt. He knew hurting himself would temporarily make it all melt away.

But the worst part—the part that made Peter feel like a failure—was he didn’t even know what had triggered it. Everything had been going well. Maybe he really did come back from the snap wrong.

Frustrated, angry, Peter sat up and scrubbed his hands over his face. The urge to just make a little cut or dig his nails just deep enough to break skin was all-consuming. The band on his wrist felt more like a reminder of his failures than a lifeline—a way to pull himself back.

He wanted to scream at the unfairness of it all.

Then it reached a point where it started to hurt in his chest, and he just needed something to focus it all back, to let him breathe, and without conscious thought, he started clawing at his arm. The little stabs of pain felt grounding, but it wasn’t enough. It wasn’t the fix he needed.

The crescent-shaped cuts and scratches oozed blood as Peter got up and went looking for a knife, for something to cut with. He’d given his utility knife to Tony, but he thought they both knew that wouldn’t stop him, not when he felt like this.

A small part of him thought he should call out to Tony, but then he remembered how happy they’d looked, and he didn’t want to spoil that. He’d deal with this on his own.

He slipped out of his room, listening to make sure no one was close, then darted to the bathroom. His chances of finding something to cut with seemed higher in a bathroom.

When he got to the bathroom, he started rifling through the cabinet but not finding much. He came across spare toothbrushes and travel-size shampoos and soaps, but nothing sharp. He looked under the sink, knowing there should be a first aid kit, and where there was a first aid kit, there might be scissors.

He found his prize with a shaky sigh. Setting the scissors on the counter, Peter stuffed the kit back under the sink, pocketed the scissors, and headed back to his room.

When he got to the hall, he heard Tony talking, telling Morgan something about a spaghetti monster. It made guilt twist in his gut, settling there and starting to fester.

He ran back to his room as quickly as he dared, then shut his door, locking it for good measure.

The feeling that washed over him as he took the scissors from his pocket was one part relief, one part anticipation, and the rest self-loathing. He knew he wasn’t just letting himself down. He was letting those who cared about him down, too.

That didn’t stop him from sitting in the desk chair, putting the blade to his arm, and cutting, though.

It happened so easily, and when he did it, he put all those bad feelings into it, turning the negative emotions and guilt into something manageable, something he could do something about. Physical pain made sense. It had a cause, a source, a purpose. And the blood that welled up from the cut made sense, too. It all made sense in a way his emotions didn’t, and he needed it.

The one cut wasn’t enough, though. It had been hesitant and not that deep. The bleeding was already stopping.

Peter felt like the world was muted and focused down to the blade and his arm. He pressed the metal harder against his skin and dragged it until he reached the underside of his arm. It bled much more freely, and Peter felt almost high from it.

Wanting to see more, needing the cause and effect of it, he cut again just below the second, pressing even harder. The skin split neatly under the blade.

He was just about to make another when the door handle jiggled, followed by a knock.

“Pete?” Tony’s voice drifted through the door. “Why’s the door locked?”

Peter’s high came crashing down, and reality wasn’t gentle. It hit suddenly how stupid he’d been. It was like realization hit him all at once. One thing had so easily turned into another. And Peter had taken each step without truly acknowledging the direction he was heading. And the place it brought him wasn’t great. He was locked in his room with a bleeding arm, having used Tony’s scissors, and ignored every chance he’d had to reach out for help. Tony had only been a shout away.

His body felt like it had locked up as the emotions swirled within him. He dropped the scissors on the floor, clattering against the wood, and he looked down at his arm, really seeing the damage for the first time outside of the warped lens of need.

It was bad. It was really bad. He might not need stitches, but it would be close, and the blood was everywhere. There were droplets on his jeans and on the floor, rivulets running down his arm.

He didn’t know what to do or what to say. His voice had been stolen by the grief he was feeling. He wasn’t just mourning himself. He was mourning the loss of trust he knew he’d just caused. He wasn’t ready to face the music.

The door handle jiggled again, and there was another round of knocking, even louder. “Peter, open the door.”

His heart kept hitting his ribs so hard he thought it would bruise.

He didn’t want to lie, but he didn’t know how to tell the truth. He hated himself for not just telling Tony how he’d been feeling. With more clarity than before, he realized now that Tony would probably have been proud.

He wouldn’t be proud now.

He would be sad or angry or worse—disappointed.

If Peter were honest, he was pretty disappointed in himself, enough for the both of them, enough for the world. He felt like a failure.

He didn’t want to be a liar, though, but he didn’t know what to do, so he called out to Tony, “Just a minute.”

He grabbed some tissues from his desk and tried to dab some of the blood up, but it just smeared it around, making his arm look like part of a crime scene. He’d really done it this time. Once Tony saw, there would be no going back. He’d see how broken Peter was and not want him anymore. No one wanted to deal with this, no matter how much they said they cared.

Tears started to well in his eyes, frowning so hard his face hurt. He kept a tissue pressed to the deepest cut and stood. He looked to the window, considering escaping the only way he could. He knew it wasn’t an option, though, and would only make things worse.

Accepting his fate, his body and mind feeling weighted, Peter shuffled to the door and unlocked it. He stepped back so it could swing open, closing his eyes and waiting for Tony to realize.

There were footsteps and Tony saying, “You know you’re not supposed to lock the door.”

Then Peter heard it. The air sucking into Tony’s lungs.

Peter’s shoulders fell, and the tears in his eyes broke free, rolling down his cheeks.

“Jesus Christ.” Then a hand grabbed his arm, and Peter opened his eyes, his eyelashes clumped together by tears. The devastation was clear on Tony’s face.

“I’m sorry,” Peter said. The apology wasn’t nearly enough, though. Nothing really would be. There weren’t words for times like these.

Tony’s expression was pinched. He shook his head, letting out a breath, then saying, “I’m not mad.”

And Peter wondered who he was trying to convince.

Peter nodded, his face twisting into some ugly and raw. “I don’t know what happened. I know I shouldn’t have—I didn’t mean it. You gotta believe me.”

Tony’s expression softened, and when he swallowed, it looked painful. “We can talk about it later. Let’s get you cleaned up first.”

Then he was guiding Peter to his bed, sitting him down. He grabbed some extra tissues and pressed them to the wounds.

“Hold those there. Keep pressure. I’ll go get the first aid kit.” Then Tony’s foot hit the scissors, and he looked down, his head shaking a little. He bent down and picked the scissors up. Licking his lips, he said, “Will you be okay for a second?”

Peter wasn’t sure he’d ever be okay again, but he nodded anyway, not trusting his voice.

With a nod, Tony turned and dipped out of the room. Thankfully, or maybe not, he was back before Peter could think too much about what he’d done.

Tony pulled the chair closer and sat, the first aid kit on the desk. He dug out the supplies he needed and lined them up, opening the packets of gauze. Then he lifted Peter’s hand and the tissues from the cuts, assessing the damage. The bleeding had stopped.

No one said anything, and Peter wasn’t sure if that was better or worse.

With methodical movements, Tony cleaned the cuts, and a few times, Peter thought Tony had been close to saying something, but each time, he’d just shaken his head and gone back to tending his wounds.

As Tony taped the gauze in place, he finally asked, “Was there something I could have done? Something I didn’t do? I just—” He cut himself off with a sigh, then straightened. “You know you can come to me, right?”

Peter couldn’t meet Tony’s gaze, so he stared at his shoulder. “You seemed so happy today. I didn’t want to spoil it. You and Morgan—” He shook his head. “I didn’t want to ruin the mood. Sometimes it feels like that’s all I do, you know?”

Tony sighed, scrubbing a hand over his mouth. “I know you think—let’s just say I’d rather you told me than finding you like this. I know I’m not an expert, but I could’ve helped distract you if I’d known. It might not have been easy, but I want the chance to help you—no matter what mood you think you’re ruining.”

Peter nodded, the tears back in his eyes. He felt all-encompassing guilt for what he’d done. “I don’t know what to do—how to fix this.”

“We take it one step at a time. Relapses happen, and when they do happen, it doesn’t make you a failure.” He squeezed Peter’s knee. “Recovery isn’t linear. It might feel like it’s all over, and you can’t fix it, but it’s really just a little bump in the road, a little hitch in the graph. The line is still moving forward and up.”

He wanted to believe Tony, but it was hard. He didn’t feel like he deserved the kind of understanding Tony gave him. He felt sick for what he’d done, and it would be so much easier if Tony were angry. He could deal with that.

His arms wound themselves around his middle without his consent as he tried to hold himself together. The cuts on his arms barely stung any more, which he was thankful for. The pain wasn’t a good feeling now. It didn’t settle him like it had. Instead, it reminded him how badly he’d screwed up.

“Oh, kiddo,” Tony said as he got up and moved to sit beside Peter. Then his arm wrapped around Peter’s shoulders and tugged him closer.

Peter sank into his side, his breath hitching as he fought a sob.

Tony pressed his lips to Peter’s hair, his breath warm against his scalp. “We’re gonna get through this. Just you watch.”

Then Peter broke, and it was an ugly sound. He choked on the sobs as they erupted from him, tears dripping from his chin, snot clogging his nose. His shoulders shook as he fell apart, or maybe not really, as Tony was doing a pretty good job of holding him together.

And wasn’t that the meat of it.

Because Peter realized amidst the tears that no matter what, Tony and the others in his life, they weren’t giving up on him—no matter how badly he screwed things up.

Tony held him until he could breathe again, then he cleaned himself up and changed out of the bloody jeans, and he and Tony went to finish making dinner. Morgan was at the table with Pepper, both wearing macaroni necklaces and big smiles.

If either of them noticed the bandages, they didn’t say a word, and when Tony patted his shoulder and told him to grab a chair, it felt something like forgiveness or understanding.

Things weren’t always great, and the line of the graph might hitch, but Peter could see that it was still moving up, still moving forward, and he thought that just might mean he’d be okay.

#tw: self harm #irondad #peter parker #tony stark #depression #snark writes #LittleMissAgrafina

[killianmesmalls]

Claire would have had such a problem with Jack at first. A case comes up and Sam, Dean, Jody, and Donna can't help out, so she hesitates as she calls Cas. A small part of her still hates him, hates what he did to her and her family, hates how much he looks like her dad and how much she just wants to see him again....

Rambling meta turns mostly fic under the cut.

Cas thinks the case is perfect for some practice runs with Jack when he's powered down but still so eager to hunt. She's heard of Jack in passing and is mildly aware of his place in that odd group of Old Spice-smelling, flannel-wearing, beer-drinking men and that angel that still brings comfort and grief all at once. It isn't until she lays eyes on him and hears the first stern but, somehow, still soft order from Cas to the nephilim that something rises in her.

There isn't quite jealousy, though she knows that's twisted in there too. A coldness develops and she regrets making that damn phone call. She could have handled this on her own. Hell, waiting for someone else would have been better than seeing this...being. She can't summon up the idea of calling him a man, since she at least knows Jack is a toddler in a teenage body, but calling him a boy or assigning anything other than just plain "him" feels wrong.

And, damn it, he looks just like...

She's gruff with Jack and rolls her eyes at Cas. Jack annoyingly remains polite and, as her rebukes become more and more volatile, his shyness increases but she loathes so much how kind he stays. Can he just not? Can he just not have manners, not be so understanding and so saccharine sweet? He even pulls out a candybar at a point, half for comfort she registers, and she wants to just take it and throw it at him.

To make matters worse, they're assigned together on the case at Cas's firm insistence. Claire had figured she could be the lead on this since she could still pass as a high school student, at least a senior, and a rise in suspicious deaths at a local Catholic school had seemed perfect for her special skills mixed with her appearance. Except, instead of taking the lead with one of the adults that didn't look so damn like her not-father, she's forced to work with him.

And he's terrible.

She'd been suspended more times than she could count back when she went to public school. Her detention record, she was sure, still had yet to be beaten. Still, she knew what she was doing. Keep your head down and lay low on a hunt. Drawing suspicion only made matters so much worse.

So why the hell did this idiot get three detentions in a day? She'd be entertained if she weren't so damn pissed off. Moron is on a case with a fake name and a fake history and thinks it's okay to correct his teachers on religious texts and history? Her tirade home was one for the books. On top of that, Cas lays into him about the same things which almost has her feeling bad for Jack if it weren't for Cas also lecturing in such a dad way.

Later that night, she hears him whispering to Cas. "She hates me." "She doesn't want our help." "She's just like—"

Only she doesn't hear who she's just like. Her feet carry her to the next room before she can register she's moving at all and all her emotions she felt, doesn't feel, doesn't even know how to feel come up all at once.

"Of course I don't want your help!" And she's angry, they can tell, but Cas senses something else. Something so very buried that's rising quick and dangerous, like the dead in those silly horror films Jack is so obsessed with.

Jack looks like he's concerned about whether he should apologize or grab something to protect himself. The air in the room is so tense, Cas isn't even sure an angel blade could cut, but Clare keeps going.

"It's not fair! It's not fair that you get to have someone who looks just like my dad, who took my dad, and you even look more like him than I ever did! It's not fair that you get to play a family while I—"

All at once she catches herself. Whether it was the tears on her face that cooled her cheeks and brought her back or something else, no one was sure. She pauses, takes a deep breath, and pushes herself back into the other room and out the door entirely.

How dare he? How dare he even look so much like him? So very much like him? That was supposed to belong to her. Those moments of affection to someone who looked like her dad? Those were supposed to be hers. And, damn it, even the affection from Cas who she had felt in her head in his stubborn soldier glory then saw later in his new-found "doof" ways? She wanted them to be hers. She didn't want them to be hers. God, she didn't even know what she wanted, and it was all their fault she couldn't make sense of it.

She had debated on storming off entirely and ditching the hunt. Hell, she had debated on going to a bar and drowning her sorrows in a whiskey line-up, but she sat on the stairs of their trashy motel and finished shedding the tears she didn't know she still had in her. Then, another deep breath, and she took out her phone to stare at her contacts list, thinking about venting to Jody or Donna. Maybe even Alex. Someone.

But, this wasn't on them. And, as Alex would tell her, she'd had her own experiences of being the unwelcome younger sibling in an all-too-complicated setup.

She makes sure once then once again that it definitely doesn't look like she had been crying. Then, with all the courage she'd summoned on her early hunts, she picks herself back up and wanders back into the room.

Cas is sitting at the small dining table and he looks every bit of his billions of years. Claire somewhat resents how much she feels the urge to apologize and hug him. Before she can even fathom the second wave of new emotions rising in her, she sees a folder in front of him.

"What's this?"

"Uh, Jack grabbed it. Apparently in one of his trips to the principal's office, he was able to obtain some insightful student records that may shed light on the case."

She turns to see Jack sitting on the bed, stiff as a board and, she now realizes with a pang, terrified. Guilty? Something.

Something he had no control over.

Something she caused.

Something they'd need to talk about. All of them.

Not now. Not tonight. She just nods and grabs the file before throwing a quick, "Good work."

His gaze jolts up and for the first time since seeing those eyes that match her dad's so damn much, she doesn't hate him looking back at her. "Really?"

"Yeah, really. How about, since you're suspended and I feel a sick day coming on for tomorrow, we'll go over it then?" She then turns her focus on Cas and adds a gentle, "All of us."

Though he still looks exhausted, Cas smiles and nods. "How about we discuss what's been found, order a pizza, and either talk or not talk?"

"Pizza sounds good. No talking for today, though. Tomorrow. Let's talk tomorrow. Promise."

#castiel #claire novak #jack kline #supernatural #idk i just rambled #this really was just a big ole ramble

[hale-13]

Scare Tactics

By Hale13

For the Summer of Whump Day 19 Prompt - Fear

“And just to show you we mean business…” Peter flinched when his index finger was grabbed and sharply snapped in half, leaving him breathless. He didn’t scream though. He wasn’t going to give them the satisfaction. “Tough kid,” the leader mused, petting Peter on the head. “I’m going to let my men work him over,” he said to the camera lightly. “You pay me within the next four hours and I won’t start cutting off things he’ll miss. Sure would be a shame… he’s got his whole life ahead of him you know.”

Words: 2407, Chapters: 1/1 (Complete), Language: English

Fandoms: Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)

Rating: Gen

Relationships: Peter Parker & May Parker, Peter Parker & Tony Stark

Character: Peter Parker, May Parker, Tony Stark, Happy Hogan

TW: Canon Typical Violence, Kidnapping, Implied/Referenced Torture

Read on AO3 or below the line break.

“One more hour! C’mon, just one more hour please,” Peter begged, hands twitching and sweating as he looked around frantically. He could do it. He just had to do it.

“Whatcha doing Pete?” Tony asked right in his ear causing Peter to let out a high pitched scream and rip the VR headset off his head, nearly tossing it into the wall and only barely catching himself at the last second.

“What the fuck!” He exclaimed, panting and placing a hand over his racing heart – it was galloping under his fingertips. Tony, standing next to him with his hand extend like he was reaching out to touch Peter, had his face pinched up like he was trying not to laugh and failing spectacularly.

“What was that?” The man questioned, pulling the headset from Peter’s twitching fingers to set it down on the bed and safely out of reach lest Peter almost throw it again. “You okay?”

“You scared the shit out of me!” Peter told his mentor dramatically as his heart rate slowed to a more manageable rhythm. Damn he was so close to winning!

Tony quirked an eyebrow. “Thought you had a tingle or something,” he said with a teasing tone and that was it, Peter was never letting Tony and May have lunch together again. Tingle… seriously? “What were you doing anyway?” Tony asked, picking the headset back up and turning it around curiously in dexterous fingers.

“Playing FNAF,” Peter said with a shrug. “I had nearly won too!”

“Beg pardon?” Tony asked with a head tilt. “Did you just have a stroke? I don’t speak teenager.”

“It’s a game Mr. Stark,” Peter grumbled, grabbing the headset back to turn it off. “A horror game. You’re a security guard and you have to live through the night without a bunch of animatronic animals killing you.”

“Sounds exhausting,” Tony commented, passing Peter his untouched book bag – he was supposed to be doing homework while Mr. Stark was in a meeting but oh well. He could always do it later, it was the weekend after all. “Happy’s pulling the car around. You sure you don’t want to stay? It’s getting a bit late.”

“I’m good,” Peter insisted, throwing the bag over his back and tightening the straps a little to sit more comfortably. “Besides, May and I are supposed to marathon the new season of Lucifer tonight.”

“Ah yes,” Tony said with a smile. “Do tell aunt hottie I said hello would you? I’m looking forward to our monthly co-parenting coffee date next week – can’t wait to tell her about this!”

Peter groaned and blushed. “Please don’t,” he muttered, skirting around his mentor to get to the door. “See you next week?” He asked as he paused in the doorway, turning back to look at the man and smiling.

“Yeah I’ll see you next week kiddo. Don’t have too much fun this weekend!”

“Bye Mr. Stark!” Peter called as he raced to the elevator, bouncing impatiently on his toes as it descended to the garage where Happy was waiting in one of the many black town cars Stark Industries owned.

“Took you long enough,” he groused good naturedly as Peter hopped into the back, dropping his book bag into the foot well and buckling his seatbelt with a bright ‘hey Happy!’ before pulling out his battered copy of The Collected Works of Shakespeare. He was supposed to finish MacBeth before class on Monday morning and he had been putting it off for a while (re: the last two weeks). Thank god for SparkNotes!

He read in the peaceful silence of the car as Happy navigated the busy Manhattan roads into the more quiet streets of Queens, finally pulling to a stop in front of Peter’s building and unlocking the doors. “See you Monday kid,” he called as Peter jumped out of the car.

“Thanks for the ride Happy!” Peter answered as he shut the door and waved the car off before letting out a sigh. It had been a long week and he was looking forward to just hanging out with May and decompressing. He felt like he barely saw her these days since she moved to working nights – it had been way too long since their last Netflix binge sesh. Peter took the stairs two at a time, forgoing the ancient and slow elevator, and was soon standing outside his door, fumbling for his keys.

As he went to slip the correct key into the lock, Peter felt every hair on his body stand on end as a shiver tore through him. He paused and looked up and down his hallway. Everything was quiet and peaceful, nothing out of place, so why was his Spidey sense tingling? With a gulp, Peter looked at his door and felt his heart freeze in his chest. May!

Peter swiftly unlocked the door and threw it open only to pause just over the threshold.

May was seated in one of their kitchen chairs, pulled into eye line of the door to the apartment, and looking pale but utterly pissed as the masked man behind her jammed the muzzle of his gun further into her temple. Peter, his heart nearly beating out of his chest and his adrenaline spiking to leave a metallic taste in his mouth, held his hands up immediately in surrender. As if it would ever be a question with May involved.

“Close the door,” the man said firmly, jutting his chin and Peter felt it snap closed behind him, paying no mind to the other invaders that were scattered around the room, his eyes stuck only on May.

“What do you want?” He asked, surprised that his voice was steady – he could tell that his body was still and sure but inside he felt like he was about to shake apart; like he was standing in the epicenter of an earthquake.

“Your cooperation mostly,” the man with the gun answered, passing the weapon off to one of his underlings and approaching where Peter stood motionless, hands still raised, just inside the door. His eyes were a pale blue and they scraped over Peter’s form quickly before he held out his hand. “Phone, watch, bag. Give me anything that Stark might have chipped and don’t try anything funny. I’d hate for anything… untoward to happen to your Aunt.”

“Okay,” Peter agreed, slowly pulling his bag off his shoulders and letting it drop to the floor with a thump. One of the men behind him picked it up and started riffling through it as Peter unlatched his watch and passed it over along with his phone. He was grateful that he hadn’t brought his suit with him to school today or he’d have a much bigger problem – assuming they didn’t already know he was Spider-Man of course.

“Search him,” the man called out as he dropped Peter’s phone and watch to the floor before pointedly stomping on them until they broke. Peter fought to hold still as he was patted down, making eye contact with May. She gave a minute shake of her head and Peter bit his tongue hard enough to draw blood. He knew she didn’t want him to compromise his identity for her but he would do whatever he could to keep her safe – Spider-Man be damned.

“He’s clean,” one of the goons called out, nudging Peter forward and forcing him to sit down opposite May.

“Peter Parker,” the leader mused, walking over until he took up all of Peter’s sight leaving May out of view and ratcheting Peter’s already frantic heart rate up more. “Tony Stark’s personal intern. How does one get that job eh?” He looked at Peter expectantly and Peter grit his teeth together.

“Right place right time,” Peter grunted, his eye contact never wavering. The leader frowned behind his mask and smacked Peter sharply, causing his head to whip to the side. It was more surprising than painful and Peter glared back in obvious loathing.

“That will be your only warning,” the leader grunted, leaning down so he was eye level with Peter. “Next time it’ll be your aunt. Do I make myself clear?”

“Crystal,” Peter confirmed, gripping the arms of his chair tightly and trying to control his strength. By his count there were five men in their apartment. If he were alone or in the suit it wouldn’t be a problem but with May involved…

“Now let’s try again,” the man continued, pacing a circle around Peter’s chair like a shark circling prey and thus giving him the briefest chance to make eye contact with May again. The skin of her forehead was red and dented where the gun mashed into her face. But he eyes were full of fear and anger for Peter – her sight was locked on the cheek he could feel burning and already swelling. “How did you get your internship?”

“September Foundation,” Peter answered. “I submitted some of my work on clean energy and Mr. Stark was impressed enough to offer me the internship.”

The man hummed, stopping his circling and placed both hands on Peter’s shoulders, squeezing them. “But it’s not just an internship anymore now is it?” He questioned, tone light. “I doubt any normal intern gets access to Stark’s personal lab or stays overnight. For a while I thought you might be his bastard but, no, it doesn’t seem you are.” Peter tensed at the words and bit down hard on the inside of his cheek, tasting blood. “However you are important enough for him to pay handsomely for I’d wager.”

“He won’t,” Peter insisted, not breaking eye contact with May – she looked terrified now and he wasn’t sure who she was scared for most. “He doesn’t negotiate with kidnappers.”

“We’ll see,” the man said lightly, unconcerned. “Here’s the deal Parker. You’re going to come with us, quietly, and I won’t put a bullet through your aunt’s skull. I hear that you watched your uncle bleed out from something similar – wouldn’t want another death on your conscience now would you?” Peter flinched violently, unable to hold it back and felt tears prick at his eyes. He couldn’t cry now. Not in front of these assholes. “You’re going to come with us and, once we get you back to base, I’ll call in the order to let your aunt go. If they don’t hear from me within the next six hours… well I’m sure you can figure it out.”

Peter nodded slowly and tried to silently apologize to May – she was watching him with tears now cascading down her cheeks and shaking her head, begging him not to give in. “I’ll do whatever you want,” Peter agreed, sealing his fate.

His Spidey-sense screamed at him and he forced himself to hold still as the gun clocked him across the temple, knocking him out instantly.

—————————————

When Peter finally woke up some indeterminate amount of time later it was to a throbbing head and aching neck from sitting slumped over and tied to the most uncomfortable chair he had ever had the displeasure of sitting in. He opened his eyes with a groan to look around the room. It was darkened, of course because why wouldn’t it be, and empty, also not a surprise. The door in front of him was made of a dark metal the same as the chair he was sitting in which was bolted to the floor.

He tested the cuffs that were binding his wrists to each arm of the chair and found that they weren’t reinforced and should break easily with his strength. So they didn’t know he was Spider-Man then – that was a plus. Peter could work with that.

Before he could look around much more or even try to formulate a plan, the door in front of him flew open to admit multiple people, all in masks, and a camera set up that had Peter’s blood running cold.

“I have to thank you for your cooperation,” the man from earlier said gaily as he entered the room last. “You made this much easier than anticipated.”

“My aunt?” Peter asked, voice wobbling a little but his eye contact unwavering.

“Fine. As we agreed,” the man confirmed, kneeling down a little to look directly into Peter’s eyes. “Now we’re going to make Stark a little video, a one-sided video chat if you will, to ask him for a little… monetary gift. All you have to do is sit here and look pretty while we do all the work okay?” He said condescendingly, running a hand through Peter’s hair before patting his cheek mockingly.

It took all of Peter’s willpower not to head butt him directly in the nose.

The set up was done fairly quickly, the camera pointed directly at Peter and the red light blinking. His captor came to stand right behind him, hands resting on Peter’s shoulders again.

“Oh looks like he’s tuned it! Hello Stark, I think I found something that belongs to you,” the leader said, squeezing Peter’s shoulders. “You shouldn’t just leave your things lying around you know. Don’t want them to get displaced.” Peter grit his teeth in irritation and humiliation – he couldn’t believe he had let himself get kidnapped – that he had put Mr. Stark in this position! “Anyway,” he continued lightly, “I have a little request. A trade if you will. I’ll give you back your intern and you give me twenty million dollars and a clean way out of the country. Shouldn’t be too hard for you right?”

Don’t do it Peter tapped out on the arm of the chair in hasty Morse code. Don’t give them anything. I’ve got this Peter tried to say with his eyes. Trust me.

“And just to show you we mean business…” Peter flinched when his index finger was grabbed and sharply snapped in half, leaving him breathless. He didn’t scream though. He wasn’t going to give them the satisfaction. “Tough kid,” the leader mused, petting Peter on the head. “I’m going to let my men work him over,” he said to the camera lightly. “You pay me within the next four hours and I won’t start cutting off things he’ll miss. Sure would be a shame… he’s got his whole life ahead of him you know.”

Later, his jaw hanging loose and his body aching with breaks and bruises, Peter will let a single tear fall.

The door knob turns and his adrenaline spikes.

#summerofwhump #summerofwhump19 #Prompt: Fear #irondad #spider man #Summer of Whump 2021

[four-loose-screws]

FE8 Novelization Translation - Chapter 13, Section 1

If you would like to start from the beginning, read a missed part, etc., click here!

FE Game Script Translations - FE Novel Translations - Original FE Support Conversations

If you are interested in donating to support my work, please check out my Ko-fi here. Thank you!

———————————

I call this a “section” because it is not a separate part of the chapter in the book, but divided from the rest of the chapter by a scene break.

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Chapter 13: The Desert Palace

Jehanna was known as the Country of White Dunes. Just as that name implied, the capital city was chosen to be built upon a tiny patch of green land in the middle of a giant desert.

The rainy season was very short, and the air was dry almost the entire year round. Skeletons of animals that had collapsed from exhaustion dotted the desert. However, despite being suffocated by such harsh nature, Jehanna was also beautiful.

The country was ruled by Queen Ismaire. Her husband had passed long ago, and after overcoming countless hardships, she’d come to be a fine ruler for the country. The palace towered majestically over the white desert, and was a symbol of how the queen lived her life.

Eirika’s army traveled along the narrow main road built throughout the desert and towards the capital city. The palace looked so very far away.

What was going on inside that beautiful palace now? Just thinking about it lowered their spirits. Eirika was lost in thought as she swayed gently atop her horse, but noticed a small flower that had bloomed on the side of the road, and stopped.

When she jumped off her horse and went to pick the flower, she smelled a refreshing aroma. 

Tana saw what she was doing, and peered over at her. “It’s so cute! Wow, flowers can even bloom in a dry climate like this!”

“This is a medicinal plant. I forgot its name, but… it’s supposed to be very effective at relieving the pain of wounds. It only grows in dry climates, so it is a valuable plant.”

“Wow… you really know a lot about it! I'm surprised that you know something like that!"

Eirika smiled and stared down at the beautiful flower in her hand.

The person who had taught her all about it was Lyon. He had his very own medicinal plant garden in a corner of Grado Castle’s garden, where he grew a wide variety of plants. He’d even worked very hard to recreate a desert environment and tried to raise plants that only grew in that climate.

Ephraim showed no interest in medicinal plants, and did not come near them, but Eirika often visited the garden with Lyon. Even Lyon, who’d been shy at first, opened up and answered all of Eirika’s various questions on the subject, telling her all the plants’ names, effects, and how to care for them.

“Those without money cannot buy expensive medicine, right? But there are plants everywhere that can become effective medicines. I’m studying medicinal plants, and want to teach the people about them, because it should make life much easier for those suffering from illnesses…”

Eirika was impressed by all the things Lyon passionately shared with her. She still had much to learn about the world at the time, and hadn’t thought yet about the lives of the people.

“You’re so admirable, Lyon! You think as hard as you can to find a way to make everyone happy, don’t you?”

“Oh, I’m not admirable at all… This is the only sort of thing I can do… I’m terrible at sword fighting. I lose even to you.”

When Lyon said that, he seemed embarrassed, so much so that when Eirika looked at him, she felt sorry for him. She couldn’t keep herself from frowning.

‘Why can’t he realize what his own amazing strengths are? It doesn’t matter if he’s bad at sword fighting, because he posesses kindness and intelligence that is unlike anyone else’s.’

This was the same Lyon that had led the Grado Army and conquered Jehanna. Eirika still couldn’t believe it. 

Of course, a commanding officer didn’t need to be an exceptional soldier. It was also conceivable that Lyon was just being used as decoration, and someone else was really leading the army. However, Eirika was still not convinced.

“I’ve heard that Prince Lyon has a gentle personality, and loathes fighting.” Innes whispered, as if he could read Eirika’s wavering heart. He had come up beside her at some point, and was now walking alongside her horse.

“Seems like it was all an act. Perhaps he deceived you and Ephraim to get you two to let your guards down.”

“...That’s...” Eirika wanted to disagree, but she couldn’t find any strength to put into her voice.

Innes had never actually met Lyon, so he was suspicious of him. Eirika could assert that the many different ways he'd shown kindness could not have been false, but it would only be her insisting that her memories were the truth with no proof at all against the fact that they knew for certain that he had conquered Jehanna. 

“I’ve heard that he can use dark magic. Do you know how skilled he is in it, Eirika?”

“...Yes. The bishop that taught him always praised him highly because of his intelligence and passion for studying. He seemed to read difficult books a lot.”

"Then he is very dangerous.” Innes furrowed his brow.

Though he may know dark magic, Lyon never studied it with bad intentions. Darkness was important for bringing peace to people’s hearts. Lyon’s passion for learning magic was always for the sake of others.

L’Arachel was listening to their conversation, and added, “We have no reason to fear the power of darkness, for we have received the gods’ blessing! We shall retake the palace in one fell swoop!”

“No, we do not know if the queen is safe yet. She’s been taken as a hostage, so we must tread carefully.” Innes said.

“You’re right…” All of the energy drained from within L’Arachel, and she sighed deeply.

ー

Eirika’s army set up camp outside the city and decided to finalize their strategy.

There were hardly any people in the capital, and it had become very quiet. At first, Jehanna Palace looked like a beautiful mirage, but from this closer distance, they could see that it was guarded by a sturdy wall. Now that it had fallen into the hands of the enemy, the strength of that wall had backfired.

“The only way to minimize the damage we cause as we attack the palace is to swiftly tear down the front gate. The armored knights should rush in with the cavalry, then the infantry should follow in right after them. Still, we must prepare to damage the palace if need be…” Seth’s expression was dark. 

Innes asked, “Were we able to acquire any knowledge about the palace’s inner structure?”

“No. It is very complex, and we do not know the details of it.”

“That’s not good. We have no idea what kind of traps the enemy has laid out...”

“Rather than tear down the front gate, we should go around the side.”

Eirika and the others all looked up towards the source of the voice that had suddenly cut in from the side.

Those attending the meeting should have been only the army’s leaders. However, at some point, Joshua had entered the tent.

Innes huffed and ordered, “We’re in the middle of an important meeting right now. Please leave.”

“You want to know the inner structure of the palace, right? I’ll tell you.”

“What? Why would you know…?”

“Please wait, Innes!” Eirika stopped him.

Joshua had many years of experience as a mercenary. He might have had an opportunity to obtain a map of the palace at some point. It was unfortunate, but they didn’t have time to question him about it. If they did not hurry, then the queen would be in trouble.

“Please tell us everything you know, Joshua. Are there any other methods of getting inside the palace besides breaking down the front gate?”

“The layout of the palace is very complex. The front gate is not the only way inside. There is also a small passageway that merchants use to get in and out. It is likely that the enemy has not realized it is there.”

“...Can you lead us to it?”

“Yes.” Joshua nodded lightly. 

Innes narrowed his eyes in suspicion.

But Eirika decided to trust him. She had been suspicious of his true motives once in the past, but up until now, he had always fought as another member of her army with all his strength. She did not want to question that sincerity any longer.

Joshua pulled out a piece of paper that had a quick sketch of the palace drawn on it. Though the drawing only consisted of simple lines, it was surprisingly detailed. It had everything they would need written on it, from the placement of the hallways and rooms, to where the stairs and even pillars were. 

“The throne room is inside here. Prince Lyon is most likely leading the army from in there. And in the basement, there is an altar. If they are keeping the queen confined, then it is likely that they are using this room down there to do so.” Joshua pointed at the map and explained. 

Seth and Innes stared at the map with very serious looks on their faces.

“We’ll designate a large enough force to rush the gate and feint an attack on it. They will be a diversion and draw in the enemy, and should attack and retreat repeatedly so that no one is injured. Using that gap in the enemy’s defenses, a small elite force will attack from the merchant’s entrance on the east side. The enemy's guard there will probably be light, so we should be able to attack and defeat them in one swoop. After we establish that area as a base, we will head for the throne room.”

“...Alright.” Innes seemed to agree with that strategy. He raised his head up with confidence and looked at Joshua. “I shall lead the diversion team. At the very least, we will make a scene, and keep them in one area. Eirika, I want you to lead the elite force. Joshua, you will of course guide Eirika down the merchant’s entrance.”

Eirika nodded and looked at Joshua.

He had the same thin smile on his face as always, but his expression looked a bit more stiff than usual.

It wasn’t just a strange feeling. Something about the way Joshua was acting was undoubtedly strange. A dark color shaded his eyes. He seemed to have noticed that Eirika was staring at him, as he quickly turned his head away, and rushed out of the tent.

#fire emblem #fe #fe8 #sacred stones #eirika #game boy advance #gba #japan #japanese #translation #novel #light novel #fe8 novelization translation

[halothenthehorns]

A Lesson in Tactics

An Excerpt from my Marauders prequal; We Were-  Chapter 5: Free

James whistled once more in appreciation as they got a good look at their new teacher this year Monday afternoon. Professor Leasimperaturek had short spikey orange hair, more freckles than was countable, and a button nose. Sirius was already muttering about this being his favorite class and he couldn't blame him, she was a looker, but as usual his eyes diverted to Evans' darker, long red hair on the fringe of the class. What he'd give to draw her to his table, offer her the good company she so clearly needed. She was so smart, already having all her notes in order and a fiery challenge lighting her eyes as their teacher started off by going over their coming OWLs at the end of the year.

"You can call me Professor Liz," she finally caught his attention back, though James had no idea who had butchered the pronunciation of her name bad enough to prompt that.

"Thanks Professor Liz," Bless cheerfully repeated, "and it's Homenum Revelio, yes?"

"Correct, five points for Gryffindor," she smiled as she leaned against the desk planting her perk buttocks on it, crossing her arms over her ample chest. "Now, can anyone else tell me some practical uses for that?"

Sirius raised his hand eagerly, and beamed as he was called on this time. "Telling you how many people could be nearby, always good to know your surroundings."

"Correct again, five more points for Gryffindor," the pink of her lips did stand out in the lighting and Sirius' stupid smirk was deserved, but James still frowned for Evans lowering her hand in disappointment.

She didn't even give them homework their first class, she would definitely be missed next year, he already decided as he eagerly went over to his still favorite redhead.

"I'm sure you'll impress her next class Evans," he offered winningly. He loved when she actually looked at him with that scowl, always better than when she just ignored him. Her green eyes blazed. "You've already impressed me more than enough," he promised, but she sauntered away.

Classes were out for the day though, and she didn't seem to be heading down to dinner as his stomach desperately demanded, but he kept at it for now, following along and ruffling up his hair, trying to say anything that would get her to look at him again. "So how was your summer then? I like to think you live near a pool you know, my parents have an enormous one, and even if you don't know how to swim, maybe you could still come over some time, they keep it warm year around-"

She did finally whirl around to face him, and the look on his face terrified him. She was smiling. "Why thank you Potter, would you like to know the exact shade of my swimwear as well?"

She reached her hand out and placed it on his shoulder, felt the heat of it through the strap of his bag, two layers of clothes, and right through every skin, muscle and bone.

As if she'd placed the stupefy spell on him, he had no idea how to respond now that she'd actually answered him for once. It shouldn't have surprised him then that she turned and walked off, and he tried to keep following in a kind of daze as he tried to understand that spark of light he'd seen in her eye-

There was a great ripping noise, and his bag fell from his shoulder.

His friends rounded in time to see his things a mess in all directions, the back of his bag somehow hooked on an oil lamp holder.

She made it to the stairs and kept going without even glancing back, but he'd swear her shoulders were shaking.

"Bold of her to do that right in front of a Prefect," Sirius laughed as he reached up to unhook him.

"Remus would never take away house points from her, or give detention!" James said at once in a sort of drunken stuper, he'd take all the pranks in the world from her if she'd reward him with a grace of her fingers again.

"I might give you one though," Remus chuckled, "give the poor woman one peaceful night."

"Only if I deserve it, which I can't imagine doing something for," James told him with wide eyed sincerity.

Peter had already run around collecting his things, and he took them and shoved the mess back in his bag with one last longing look back as they went down to dinner.

"Figured out a way to get out of patrols yet?" Sirius asked of Remus as he had to do the horrible deed tomorrow night. There may not be a full moon this week, but they doubted he'd be lucky to get out of it the first week of every month the next three years like he'd been assigned.

"My usual shtick I guess," Remus sighed, "just have Madam Pomfrey write me a note from the Hospital Wing. I'm just praying none of them figure out the pattern, I don't know why McGonagall did this to me!"

"For the laugh I suppose," Sirius snorted. "It's not like she could pick any of us."

"I doubt they will, it won't be nearly consistent enough, you worry too much." Peter absently assured Remus, but huffed as he frowned at Sirius. "Why couldn't I have-"

"Do you think Evans would like it if I offered to share my homework with her again?" James suddenly butted in, clearly not having been listening to a word of anything else. "I know she burnt it last time, but that was nearly two years ago now, maybe it wouldn't hurt to try some old things."

None of the others bothered to respond, it was a lost cause regardless.

5

"You did what?" Severus looked scandalized as she finished with a mirthless laugh outside his Charms class.

"It was brilliant, you should have seen his face," she insisted, "and nobody got hurt," she finished firmly though when his mouth just kept thinning. "There's a way to deal with those idiots that doesn't involve those ruthless spells you all use."

"What a Muggle perspective on things," a cold voice said from behind her. "Really Severus, it's no wonder you keep her around for such insights."

She turned slowly to see Mulciber and Avery watching with a look of such pure loathing at her, she instinctively went for her own wand with one hand, while the other clenched into a fist.

"Let's all go down to dinner," Sev said quickly now, eyes darting guiltily into the classroom behind. She frowned and tried to peer around, only just now thinking to ask why they were being held late at all in class- but he took her hand and pulled her away before she got a peek inside.

"It's the first week, what on Earth are you up to?" She asked more in exasperated amusement than anything. Mulciber and Avery were a bit ahead, not quite out of ear shot, but generally ignoring the pair lagging behind, so she did the same in kind as always.

"Was just asking him for a reference book, I don't think I did as well on my severing charm as you did," he shrugged.

Ahead, Avery leaned up to whisper something in his friends ear, and the two began sniggering in a very ear grating way.

"You could have asked me?" She pointed out a tad louder than needed. "I barely had to glance at the book, you know I've been doing really well in that class."

Their laughing increased, and she turned furious eyes on the idiots. Sev squeezed her fingers though and said quietly just for her, "I would have later, I know there's no one better."

She grinned and squeezed his fingers back before dropping his hand while they still laughed. If only he'd tell them to shut up every once in a while, not whisper behind their back like their friendship always seemed, maybe she'd hold his hand all the way down to lunch one of these days.

#The Marauders #Lily Evans #Severus Snape #James Potter #Sirius Black #Remus Lupin #Peter Pettigrew #Harry Potter #fanfiction #Jilly

[sweetestlamb]

Make Me Crescendo

Summary: Song-ah ponders if there is truly any space left in Joon Young's life for her. Joon Young shows her exactly where her place is.

Author's Note: I didn't expect to enjoy this show as much as I do honestly, I love the dynamic and chemistry between the leads. Most of the other characters could choke for all I care, but I love Song-ah and Joonie, they are goals and they deserve to just run away and be happy. Anyway, I was inspired so this happened. (Please don't leave comments asking about when I'll write more, I'll do it when I can and when I'm inspired for all of my stories. If you are going to leave a comment, you can tell me what you liked or what I could do better, appreciate that more!) Happy reading, please ignore all my lame music puns! 😂😈 

Music filters through the doors as she watches on her heart thumping erratically, a metronome expelling the staccatos of her fear. The gaggle of female students outside the door white noise in the background, their coos and awes stabbing her paper thin heart that is wavering in her chest.

They sound so good together!

Omg, don't they look perfect?

I think they would be a much better couple!

Taking a step back her violin bangs into the wall suddenly alerting them to her presence, her eyes dart wildly like a cornered animal as they look at her with pity and sneering apologetic eyes as if saying: you brought this on yourself, how could you ever think you could have him?

With a wet gasp, she scurries off avoiding their looks clutching her hands tightly as she bursts through the doors. The cool Spring air whips her hair around her face temporarily blocking her face from onlookers, the moisture on her cheeks causes strands to stick before she pushes them back.

Seeing them play in such perfect harmony has only cemented the doubts that already fill her mind, how can see ever measure how to Jung-kyung? A woman that he has not only loved for years but who also plays her instrument far better than she ever will? If she is meant to be a replacement, she stands no chance; they are worlds apart maybe it's time she accepted that.

I'll cherish our moments today, it was an honor.

She knows what she has to do, her heart whines but she blinks away her tears. He deserves better.

His missed calls and messages taunt her as she peers down despondently at her phone, she hasn't been able to bring herself to sever their bond. Every time she starts to type out a message to set him free, his smile flashes in her mind and she's rendered comatose. Instead flinging the cursed object far away and punishing her fingers as shrill notes screech from her violin.

Avoiding him isn't as simple as she'd hoped with everyone knowing about their ill-fated relationship and constantly inquiring about his whereabouts, it becomes sickening obvious that most "friends" who approach her with their shrieking calls of "unnie" could care less about her and are instead hoping to catch a glimpse of him.

As soon as they realized he was absent and had no plans of suddenly materializing, they bombarded her with excuses of why they needed to take their leave, immediately. She vaguely wondered if they cared at all about how little they made her feel, their treatment further emphasizing how insignificant others viewed her.

She was always disposable to others. She didn't even have a best friend to turn to for advice, someone else who has decided that she simply wasn't worth the trouble of staying and fighting.

Nobody had ever deigned her worthy of fighting for.

With a forlorn sigh, she grips her purse tighter better climbing the stairs to the school entrance. She only has one class to get through today, before she could escape to her room and ruminate on how to inform Joon-young that she couldn't do this anymore.

Arriving a few minutes early to class, she takes her seat closer to her front away from the gossiping girls who had been waving her over. She had no desire to listen to their backhanded comments on her lack of talent or unbelievable relationship, their words only added fuel to the vicious thoughts already cycling in her brain.

Pretending not to hear them beckoning her over, she looks at the professor with more focus than she's currently capable of, turning a blind eye to her surroundings.

Time crawls by like molasses poured from a jar, before the professor dismisses the class causing students to bolt from their seats, she being one of the first. He typically waits for her after this class and she has very little time to flee without him catching her, ignoring the calls of her name once more she takes her leave, violin thumping a dull pain on her back.

Cracking the door open she peeks outside, a sliver of her head breaching the opening, a sigh of relief falling from her lips when she meets a vacant spot. Stepping out further she glances around, but he is nowhere to be seen, the hallways empty besides students trekking to their next classes.

Her chest aches traitorously but she internally berates herself, this is good I don't want to see him, her heart ripples at the lie, refusing to engage in this façade that she's forcing. Clutching at her chest she takes one trembling step, then another before finding her resolve and racing to the door.

So close, almost there, come on.

Hand reaching for the handle, she twists it pushing it open seconds away from freedom.

"Song-ah!" Her skin prickles from his deep baritone, his tone wrapping her in a honeyed cocoon. She hesitates, fingers twitching on the cold smooth metal.

"Song-ah, wait!" The desperation in his voice halts her escape, unable to abandon him when his voice reveals so much about how he's feeling. She loathes the mere concept of being someone who hurts him.

Reinforcing her now wavering resolve she slowly spins around, their eyes meeting in a clash, his own shining brightly as he peers into her soul. Her breath hitches as she watches him step closer to her, suddenly there isn't enough oxygen in the room, her lungs wheeze at the atmospheric change.

His beautiful hands gradually elevate, millimeters from her skin, as he begs for permission with his smoldering dark eyes.

She almost accepts defeat, before Jung-kyung's smug sour face flashes in her mind. Dousing her with icy cold realization, they just aren't meant to be.

She draws away from his searching fingers, stepping just out of his reach.

Hurt blazes across his handsome face, hardening in his eyes.

"Why have you been ignoring my calls and messages?"

He goes straight for the jugular, not pussyfooting around the elephant in the room.

"I've been busy practicing." She responds weakly, recoiling under his hard glint.

He steps forward once more, instinctively she retreats, the demure mouse to his assertive cat.

He sighs, stepping back his shoulder sagging in disappointment.

"What's wrong? Why won't you even let me come close to you? Why are you ignoring me?"

This is the moment, the one she's been yearning and waiting for, the perfect opportunity to put this sham to an end. Her mouth opens and closes as she pushes herself to be courageous for once, do the right thing and put both of them out of their misery.

You look better with her. I don't deserve you. I'm not good enough. Not strong enough. Leave. Leave me.

Please.

But, she can't. Can't get her mouth to say any of those truths. Fear and heartbreak render her immobile and cowardice takes center stage instead, ready for its solo.

"I...I...." He looks at her with warm eyes, pleading with her to finish her sentence, hope settled in the lines of his skin.

"I have to go."

"Song-ah!"

Her breath doesn't return until she's shaking on her seat at the bus stop. He hadn't chased her. Maybe he had just learned that she wasn't worthy the trouble.

Her days lapse by as she moves through life resembling a zombie, obsessively looking at her phone only to feel her heart fracture each time no notifications await her hungry eyes.

She goes to class as normal, no longer having to avoid her classmates as they have moved on to something more entertaining than her relationship. Their piteous looks make her skin crawl, her fight with Joon-young the talk of the town. Now they can freely gossip about her and how they knew it would never last, the pure glee on their faces is grotesque.

She sees him in passing in the hallway but he keeps his distance, never maintaining eye contact for too long. She's getting exactly what she wanted. Yet she feels sick to her stomach, her skin clammy and cool.

The irony isn't lost on her, how appropriate that this would be the one thing she's able to do successfully. Ruin her own life and sabotage her own happiness.

There are nights when her control falters and she stares at the illuminated screen of her phone, writing a message only to erase it with a sigh before crashing into her mattress. Her limps are heavy and uncoordinated as she flails upon the surface.

"Why does this have to be so hard?" Her question goes unanswered in the stillness of the night, as she ultimately falls into a fitful slumber.

Finally pulling herself together after days of quiet anguish, she goes back to her mission to find an accompanist.

She closes her phone as she says her final good byes to the team leader, thanking her for allowing her to use the rehearsal room in the Kyungoo building.

The winds blows the wispy ends of her skirt, dragging the material across the smooth skin of her knee. Subconsciously she tugs at the material, its a bit shorter than her usual ensemble she'd ordered it online not expecting it to hit inches above her knee. It seemed longer in the photos. 

A voice shouting her name drags her from her self-conscious inklings, as she spins around to see her potential accompanist.

A welcoming smile tugs her lips up, dimples sinking into her skin with familiarity.

Raising her hand in a small wave, bowing while calling out, "Hello! Nice to meet you, I'm Chae Song-ah, chae not choi, like the vegetable." Explaining before the inevitable questioning and confusion can sour their interaction with awkwardness. 

The sheepish grin informs her that she did the right thing, a hand is extended into her space and she grasps it in her own.

"Nice to meet you, I'm Park Min-jae." His warm smiles immediately puts her at ease. Together they enter the building amicable conversation flowing easily.

Hours pass as the music ricochets around the room, her bow light in her hands as she drags it across the strings, flabbergasted as harmonious sounds permeate the air. His fingers move in a flurry across black and white keys, shoulders bouncing in rhythmically as the song nears it end. Their last notes swirling around each other in a perfect crescendo.

"Wow, that was fun! You did great!" He breaks the silence, and his words leave her breathless.

She's been prepared for insults and sharpened words, his praise disorient her.

His wide grin leaves little room for argument so she merely nods, not quite believing him.

He starts to gather his belongings before turning to her, "I have to head out but I mean it, I think we sounded pretty good together. What do you think? Was I good enough for you?"

His innocent question plummets her into a sea of memories, his face at the forefront of her thoughts.

Shaking herself free she quietly replies, "Yes, it was good. You were good."

He lifts an eyebrow but says nothing else at her words.

"Okay, I'm free this weekend. Give me a call if you want to practice some more."

She nods finally collecting her own belongings, then turning off the lights and exiting the room.

The air is charged as the walk side by side and it's doesn't make sense until she turns the corner. Park Min-jae's excited voice never falters as she stands still, eyes locked on the new arrival.

Joon-young stands before her, eyes scouring her face before darting to the unknown man standing beside her. She watches his Adam's apple bob distractedly, as his eyes darken minutely.

"And I think we should..." Park Min-jae's voice peters off as he notices her unmoving figure before noticing that there is someone new. 

All three of them stand there wordlessly before park Min-jae cracks the uncomfortable silence.

"Hi, I'm Park Min-jae. A friend of Song-ah, nice to meet you." The and you are? lingers in the air.

Her brain stutters at the possibilities and she rushes to provide an answer.

"Oh! This is Joon-young, he's just a fri-"

"Her boyfriend." He extends a hand but his eyes never leave her face, she feels as if she's being challenged and she doesn't know how to respond.

"Nice to meet you! I didn't know you had a boyfriend, you should have let me know before flashing those pretty dimples at me." Park Min-jae's teasing smile unsettles her causing her to shift under his gaze, unbeknownst to her Joon-young's grip tightens ever so slightly in their handshake.

Suddenly her potential accompanist winces and jumps, apologetic look on his face before he retracts his hand to put them up in acquiesce.

"Sorry."

Joon-young looks at him, the seconds dragging before he nods looking away from again. Eyes for her only.

"Um..so I'll talk to you later? It was nice to meet you." Park Min-jae bows once more, glancing between them both before shaking his head and all but running away.

She feels pinned under his look and rubs her own arm simply to have something else to focus on. Feigning distraction, she looks at the ground; heart clattering frantically at his sudden appearance.

Mumbling under her breathe she finally speaks, "What are you doing here?"

She's completely unprepared for his hands to slide into hers with ease, her fingers curling around his before her brain can register what is occurring.

"Come with me." The please is unsaid but loud as a high C and she nods, helplessly following his lead as he drags her back into the rehearsal room.

The click of the door closing is harsh in the quiet of the room, as he stops in the center of the room. Large hand still wrapped around her own, his warmth drift into her brittle bones.

"Who was that?"

Glancing up at him from under dark lashes she swallows, "Park Min-jae, a pianist. I wanted to see if we could play together. My teacher recommended him."

Humming in response he stares her dead in her eyes, it takes every fiber of her being to maintain the contact.

"Why were you going to tell him I was just a friend?"

Sputtering, she chokes on nothing pulling her hand away to cover her mouth as small coughs escape.

Concern flashes on his face before it's driven away with anger.

She quivers under his hard stare, "I thought....I didn't know...we haven't spoken in days."

Pressing forward he invades her space, jaw tight.

"Do you think it's that easy?"

Mouth falling open in a perfect o, she looks at him in confusion. Lost at his meaning and wondering what is going through his mind, it's difficult to read his body language.

"What?"

"Do you think our relationship is that... trivial? Do you think a few days without conversing is all it takes to end it?"

Anger and hurt color the words as they fall from his lips and land like daggers in her stomach.

But he's not finished, not by a long shot.

"You can't just push me away and replace me with someone else!"

His cry echoes around the room and she stands in shock, contemplating picking her jaw up off the ground. When he says nothing more, simply pushes out harsh breaths and squeezes his fists by his side she finds her voice.

"What are you talking about? I'm not doing...that."

"Then what are you doing? You don't answer my calls or call me for days and now you're here with someone else, who flirts with you right in my face." She collapses guiltily. "How can you not have time for me? I'm your boyfriend, why can't you make space for me?"

Is there any room for me?

Like a wave, all her emotions and pain and insecurities and fears come surging out, his question the blow that broke the dam.

"You're the one who has no space for me. I saw you two that day, you looked like you fit. Two musical prodigies, it made sense. More sense than you and I. I can't do it, I can't pretend that I don't see everyone looking at us. Nobody understands why you'd want me. You should be with someone like her, she's from a good family and she plays the violin better than I'll ever--"

His hands latch onto her shaking shoulders, pushing her backwards until her violin collides with a click into the piano.

She whimpers as he gazes down at her, frustration streaming off him in waves.

"You don't understand how I could want you? I'll explain it, in detail. Listen closely because I don’t want to ever need to this again"

She gulps.

He swaggers closer, arms reaching over her shoulders to rest on the smooth surface of the piano. Brushing against her shoulder before gently gripping the straps of her violin, he removes them before placing the instrument carefully on the ground. Taking the weight from her shoulders.

His warm breath caresses her skin before he cups her face, hands tender on her hot cheeks. Air catches in her throat as she shyly looks up at him.

Almost instantly he smiles in return, dimples greeting her as his smile warms her to her core.

"I like how you make me smile, whenever I see you my heart feels at ease and I feel like everything will be okay. I like how you smile at me, you look prettiest when smiling at me."

Her cheeks flush from his compliments and she turns away embarrassed only to feel his sure fingers on the point of her chin, dragging her back into the penetrating line of his eyes; refusing to let her push him away again.

"I like how hard you work to be better, I like how you never stoop to others level you're kind to everyone despite how they treat you. I like your dimples, I always want to touch then. I like how you listen to me and want to hear about my life. I like that you don't treat me like I'm breakable and you tell me when you don't like something."

Then the air crackles as his hands smooth down her skin before settling on her neck, tugging her closer, she reaches out to grab his waist for balance.

"I like kissing you, I like how your lips feel on mine. I like how you open up for me. I like the little sounds you make."

Like a manifestation, a small shocked gasps tumbles from her lips and his eyes meander down to look at them in response. His own cheeks are scorching, red and flushed too but he doesn't seem like he has any intentions of stopping. Fearlessly pushing past his comfort zones.

Pulling her against his body now, his fingers twisted in the dark material of his button down shirt, he gazes at her adoration pouring from his eyes.

"I like you Song-ah. I like you so much. I don't want anyone else, there's space for you. In my heart there's so much space just for you."

He brushes her hair out of her face, his face open and vulnerable.

"Do you want it?"

Do you want me?

She looks at him as he awaits her answer and wonders what she ever did to deserve this? It seems too good to be true, she has never won anything in her life coming in last at everything that has counted. So how can this be true, how can she possibly deserve something has precious and valuable as his heart?

Smiling in defeat she nods at him, "I want you."

His joy is contagious as he grabs her, strong arms wrapping her in a warm embrace. She returns the hug, face smashed into the soft cotton of his shirt.

Slowly they draw away from each other, smiles not fading and then she catches his incessant gaze on her lips.

"Can I?"

Blushing she bites her lip nervously, tingling under his close appraisal. At the merest nod of her head he's on her, his lips crashing into her own as his hands tighten on their new location on her hips.

Tilting onto the tips of her toes she presses back, moaning as his tongue teases the seams of her closed mouth, her arms reaching up to wrap around his neck.

His taste explodes on her buds as his slick muscle swipes around her moist cavern, he delicately sucks on her tongue enticing her to join him in his explorations. She trips as she attempts to press even closer to him, breaking their deep embrace.

Embarrassed at her lack of grace and coordination she opens her mouth, apology on the tip of her tongue. Before his next move steals her breath.

Easy as pie, he grips tightens on her waist as he hoists her up until she's sitting on the edge of the grand piano.

Her blush is now painful as it rages on her exhausted cheeks.

He smiles at her, disarming her before he steps forward her new position bringing their lips in perfect proximity.

"You looks pretty when you blush too." He teases and she slaps his chest in reprimand but he catches the appendages, trapping them between their body as he descends on her mouth again.

Kisses deeper and slower this time, largo as their tongues roll and plunder. His hands stroke her hair, his fingers traipsing across the soft skin of neck. He suddenly grabs her hips dragging her across the smooth surface until their groins collide and she gasps loudly at the hardness that jabs into her.

They both bolt back, frenzied eyes meeting as they take in this moment.

She's never gone this far before, never even kissed anyone. He is the owner of so many of her first, it's terrifying.

Looking down she sees his straining erection, a long line tenting the satin smoothness of his dress paints. Blushing she forces her eyes from the tempting sight, to look at his face. Momentarily frozen under his look, first time seeing them set ablaze with desire. All for her. 

"Are you okay?" His voice rumbles making her skin pebble with anticipation.

Is she okay? She can't quite answer such a big question, her head spinning from everything that has happened. She feels like her skin is going to burst apart and he's the only thing keeping her together, both her destruction and her resurrection.

Wrapping her legs around his waist she boldly yanks him back into her orbit, kissing the question off his mouth. He stills for a moment before responding, devouring her mouth as she opens up for him, slick noises loud to her ears.

Her lips are raw and tender as they kiss making up for all their time apart, then she feels her world tilting as he presses her back onto the piano, lips still swallowing her own until her back meets the cool material and their lips disengage.

He looks at her, her body spread across the instrument like an offering. She feels naked under his gaze.

Then his eyes shift to her skirt, high on her thigh from her sprawled position and she starts to sit up but he's faster to react, catching the edge of her skirt and fingering the material that trails across her thigh.

After thick moments of silence, he gazes up at her slowly drawing her skirt up her thighs, the cool air rushes across her hot skin and she gasps and squirms under his steady hands.

He stops at her movement glancing at her, she bites her lip, opening her legs ever so slightly and that's all the answer that he needs. Tugging the material slowly, slowly, adagio up her skin pushing it over her hips and his groan causes wetness to pool between her legs, she looks away in shame.

He fingers at her stark white panties, she jumps at his first touch on the skin above her undergarment. Peering down to watch his eyes locked on her in awe, his long fingers running across her skin before he stops to tug at the cute little bow on the top of her underwear.

Eyes never leaving hers, he drags the thin material down pausing to give her a chance to stop him, one word from her and this will all come to an end she has no doubts.

Tacet.

He pulls the material down, down before dragging it off her feet and folding it neatly in a square before placing it on a chair to the side.

"Beautiful."

His eyes are smoldering on her skin as she eagerly awaiting his next move, equal parts excitement and anxiety.

Clutching her eyes shut she grips futilely for purchase, before he knocks the breath from her lungs with his first slow drag on her opening, his tongue swiping through the moisture dripping from her. A gasp is punched from her chest, as he licks at her again, deeper the second time almost slurping at her and she cries out from the foreign sensation, pleasure ravaging her body.

"Ah! Joon-young ah!"

He surges at her cry and subsequent proclamation of his name, nimble fingers soon joining his tongue and pushing knuckle deep into her wet bud playing her as expertly as his beloved piano, her whines and whimpers serving as music to his ears.

Using two fingers he pries her lips open, exposing her further to his hungry eyes and mouth. His tongue stiffen into a point he jabs into her drenched hole, collecting her sweet nectar as he swipes across her walls.

She pants loudly, grabbing his hair in warning as she feels a ball tightening in the pits of her stomach, another first as he thrusts into her over and over, her skin puckering up in anticipation.

"Please, I, I...."

As her body nears its crescendo, release blinding her as pleasure flashes blinding white, suddenly he pulls away, she whines from the emptiness crying out for him.

When she opens her eyes in a weak glare, she finds him bent over the piano his bangs sweaty as they stick to his forehead. Gathering herself she sits up, eyes widening in surprise and arousal when she sees his erection jutting from his own fly and his fist wrapped around the rigid ruddy flesh.

He'd been touching himself while tasting her. That had been enough to hurl him dangerously close to the edge. Something like pride bubbles in her chest.

Clamoring off the piano, her heels clicks when she lands on the floor and that catches his attention.

He looks up at her with dazed eyes, looking younger with his bangs skewed and messy, his lips shiny with her condensation.

Taking the lead she grasps his hands tugging him until he snaps out of his stupor, within two steps they reach the piano bench and he looks at it and then her, puzzled before she gently presses his shoulders and seats him on the bench.

It's his turn to gasp as she climbs into his lap, her face scarlet red as his erection brushes against her sacred flower.

"Are you sure?" He asks, using every last bit of control to keep his hips still even as his body aches to plunge into her wet hole, mere inches away the heat wafting off all too tempting.

"Yes." She watches as he grips himself by the base, rubbing the head through her juices and her head falls back from the sensation and then his tip is at her entrance and she holds her breath.

He reaches up to hold her face, forcing her to meet his eye, "Breathe." He commands and as she inhales he slides into her, breaching her tight opening with one long smooth thrust upwards.

Her arms tighten around the wide stretch of his shoulders as gravity drags her further down his impressive length, pain and pleasure warring for dominance.

"Just a minute." She pleads and instantly he stops, rubbing soothing circles on her back as she loosens around him. When she can breathe again, she lifts herself up before sliding back down pleasure knocking pain back on its ass.

Immediately she needs more, lifting up again before slamming down onto his hard cock, wet sounds echoing off the walls and at first he is motionless, simply letting himself be used by her. But then he grips her tight cheeks, using them as leverage as he plants his feet and viciously pistons into her, her shriek deafening in this room made for acoustics.

They crash into each other, as they chase their release, his fingers easily unbuttoning her shirt and pushing it off her skin before catching her pebbled nipples through the thin lace of her bra. Her soft breasts jiggle as she bounces in his lap, his hard length driving into her, over and over and over.

At a particularly brutal thrust of his hips, she loses her precarious balance and falls back, instantly he grips her waist slowing her descent and lessening the blow, her back crashes into the piano keys and jarring dissonance filling the air.

They both glance at each other before smiling, recalling their last mishap with the piano after their first kiss.

Her sprawled position on the piano opens her wider and without pause he thrusts up into her again, tugging her back to meet his movement.

Light flashes behind her eyelids as he fucks into her, the piano crying out underneath their onslaught. She's too close to care and his frenzied thrusts make it clear he's not far behind.

He pries her eyes open once more, before kissing her. The gentle press of his lips in complete opposition to the hard hits of his hips. 

"Please, come." He whispers, begging her and simultaneously informing her of his plans.

She feels every molecule in her body burst apart as she vibrates on the piano, walls tightening around his length as he struggles to thrust through the vicelike grip she has on him before a hot stream fills her up, sticky and leaking, and he melts under her his head falling onto her belly.

It feels..... weird. Not nearly as sexy as it's depicted in videos. But a piece of her is giddy to be so full of him, her blush permanently stained on her cheek at this point.

Gently he drags himself out of her, she shudders as she feels his release leaking out without him there to keep it in. When she glances down pearly white substance is smeared across the keys of the piano.

She immediately feels filthy, complete disbelief at what exactly they'd done and where they'd done it. She covers her face in shame.

Something brushes against her sensitive skin and her eyes pop openly only to shriek as she watches in horror as Joon-young, cleans up the mess between her legs and the piano keys with a handkerchief.

Her handkerchief to be exact.

Grinning bashfully at her he shrugs, shoulders now light as his hair flops on his face.

"I'll wash it later."

Too embarrassed to answer she merely stands up, small smile tugging at her lips as she picks up her neatly folder panty before stepping back into it.

"Do you see now?" Do you see how much I want you? How much space there is, just for you?"

She's fighting losing battle. The irony isn't lost on her, the one time she loses it's the best thing that's ever happened to her.

In the hallway Jung-kyung pounds her fist into the wall, arriving minutes ago to practice with Joon-young for her recital only to hear the loud crashes of a piano keys. She'd been worried about him, was he angry because she was late? Missing her terribly?

She'd rushed to open the door only to stop frozen as she heard moans following the clash of the piano, soft feminine moans followed by a voice she knew all too well. Jealous and rage consumed her at the thought of that...nobody touching her Joon-young.

Taking as deep breath she turns around walking away, she will not give up on him but staying right now is impossible she can't bear the thought of seeing him glowing from being with someone else. This was probably how he felt watching her all these years.

She will be patient and wait for him.

They are destined and his time with Song-ah is fleeting, she knows he wants her. There isn't space for anyone else.

#do you like brahms? #do you like smut #lee young joon #chae song ah #joon young x song ah #piano smut #smut in c major #sourface is delusional #lucky handkerchiefs #cheesy music analogies and terms #I have no regrets

[alirhi]

guys... idefk lol

Title: Winter's Frost Chapter: 3/? Fandom: MCU Rating: R to be on the safe side Pairing: Loki/Bucky Summary: Loki never told anyone the real reason he became so obsessed with Midgard. Much better to let them think he wanted to hurt his brother than draw their attention to the one thing in the universe that makes the God of Mischief truly vulnerable.

WARNINGS: m/m, in case that wasn't obvious. probably some swearing. I rarely do explicit sex but it might get to that point, depending on if the mood strikes me. If you're under 18, just go away XD Notes: I'm sorry I keep skipping around in the timeline. I'm kinda just letting my brain do whatever the hell it wants right now lol Also, I am aware that the conversation with Thor in the SHIELD camp happened before Loki tried to pick up Mjolnir. Given that it happening the other way around suited my purposes, I've elected to ignore that fact XD

He'd never used his powers for an offensive before. Over a thousand bloody years of life, of training with the most skilled witch in Asgard (his mother, naturally), and he'd never thought to weaponize any of his abilities! Impotent rage was really the most obnoxious feeling. Bucky was trapped, was being forced to kill for the organization he'd fought so hard to take down, and Loki had promised – he'd promised! - to save him, but he couldn't. Not yet.

Thor was an oaf, but he was a warrior. The hothead loved nothing more than conquest. Perhaps the Trickster should start spending time with his brother again. They could hardly stand each other, but there was nothing Loki wouldn't do or endure to rescue Bucky, now that he knew he was alive.

He had time, thankfully. He knew from Bucky's cloudy, fragmented memories that HYDRA froze him between missions to keep him disoriented and compliant. Likely it was also to keep their assassin around longer. He loathed to leave him in their clutches, but he didn't see another option. It wouldn't be much of a rescue nor revenge if Loki's mostly passive abilities only got them both killed. It wasn't easy for a human to kill an Asgardian, but it could be done. Better not to risk it.

So he trained, and he fought, and he accompanied his idiotic brother into every ridiculous skirmish he caused. Every once in a while, if he felt things weren't progressing quickly enough, he caused a little mayhem, himself, just to get Thor's little squad of squabbling dorks to get off their asses and back into action... and to bring Loki along as the voice of reason, of course. It was all taking too long for his liking, years were passing during which he couldn't even imagine the suffering his love was enduring at the hands of his captors, but he was on track.

Until a minor, regularly scheduled scuffle on Jotunheim imploded his reality.

"I-I-I'm the monster parents tell their children of at night?" This... This was why no one loved him? Why Thor looked down on him, why nothing he did could ever make Odin proud, why Heimdall watched him with such suspicion? Did everyone know but him?

He didn't have time for this! The thought snapped him out of his bitter, angry meltdown and he realized that the man he'd looked up to and loved as a father all his life was prone on the steps before him.

"Guards! Guards, come quickly!" Father, don't die! I'm sorry!

He backed down a few steps when the guards came, to let them take the All-Father to the relative safety of his bed. What was he going to do? Odin was unconscious and Thor was banished-

To Midgard.

Of course! Going to visit his exiled brother would give him a pretext to go to Midgard without arousing suspicion. As long as Odin remained unconscious and the Warriors Three focused on the grave injustice of their friend and leader being banished, the only one he really had to worry about was bloody Heimdall.

He glanced back at the casket and sighed. There was too much going on, too much to figure out. Even his thirst for vengeance was beginning to cool. All he wanted in all this confusion and turmoil was his precious Bucky back in his arms. He'd let Bucky know him, more completely and intimately than anyone else in his life. From their first meeting, Loki had hidden nothing from him, and somehow that extraordinary man, who couldn't fathom loving another man that way, had loved him. The briefest of flings, especially to a being who would live for thousands of years, but significant for all that. There was nothing Loki wouldn't do to preserve that love.

But he still had to figure out what the hell was going on with his own life. Good grief. That Jotun couldn't have waited until after Loki saved Bucky to grab his arm and turn his whole world upside down?

Think. Think. Think! Figure this out, you fool!

Odin was incapacitated. Thor was gone. The Jotuns wanted war. Frigga likely wouldn't leave Odin's side, and Thor's absurd friends didn't have the sense to see past his exile. Loki was a Frost Giant, albeit apparently a small, wimpy one.

Bloody hell...

He wanted Bucky. Bucky had a knack for making everything make sense... except for homophobia, but nobody was perfect. Honestly, there was no making sense of that utter nonsense.

Focus, damn it!

To Midgard, then. Perhaps he could wake Bucky up for a moment, as he had last time, and they could talk this problem through. Or perhaps the mindless soldier would find a way to kill him and end his confusion and misery another way.

Oh, don't be dramatic! Get up and do something or he'll die there!

He wasn't entirely sure when he'd sat down, but he didn't bother thinking too deeply on it as he stood and started marching back up the stairs.

I told him not to get killed! Well, I suppose technically he obeyed. He's not dead yet. Damn it, James, why couldn't you just come home with me? Stupid, stubborn, macho, painfully attractive idiot!

Somehow the word 'idiot' jogged his memory, and Loki stopped in his tracks at the landing.

The idiot's bloody hammer!

Of course! Finally, he had the beginnings of a plan! Thor was stripped of his powers and utterly useless – not the biggest change there, really – but Odin had sent the hammer to Midgard with him! Just because Thor couldn't use it didn't mean Loki couldn't. He'd take Mjolnir and use it to wipe HYDRA off the map. It was perfect!

Except he couldn't lift it. Seething, he stared at the thing for a moment, willing it to lift when he pulled. Nothing. It didn't so much as shift. So much for that idea.

Well, he'd might as well go and visit Thor, then. At least taunting him a bit might cheer Loki up. If he had to be miserable and humiliated, at least he could share the pain a little. The Mjolnir plan was rather half-baked, anyway, he had to admit. Perhaps something better would come to him while he stripped his adoptive brother of all hope.

That silly Midgardian saying suddenly made so much sense: Misery loves company.

_____________________________________________________

Next Masterlist

#fanfiction #loki #bucky barnes #mcu #avengers #captain america #winter soldier #loki/bucky #m/m #not my best work #kinda having fun though #sebastian stan #tom hiddleston #winter's frost

[solynaceawrites]

End of Sanctuary

Fandom: Nanatsu no Taizai | The Seven Deadly Sins           Characters: Mael, Meliodas Tags: Post-Canon, Character Study, Canon Character Death, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Emotional Hurt/Comfort written for @nntzine​​ Summary: After the defeat of the Demon King, Mael returns to the only home he knows and engages in a festival to honor the ones who were lost.Originally written for Nanatsu no Taizine: Volume II and published in celebration of autumn.

»»————-　⚜　————-««

The sun is low in the sky when he reaches his home. Former home, he supposes, landing lightly in what was once the grand courtyard: the immaculate marble has cracked and fallen, the flowers overgrown by thistles and weeds. Mael tilts his head back, taking in the ruins of the spires of the Supreme Deity’s palace, listening to the wind whistle forlornly through the shattered windows and holes in the walls, and wonders if this is their punishment for their hubris. Dead leaves whisper through the grass, like the voices of so many ghosts; with a sigh, he kneels, sweeping dirt away from the walk. This is the place of his birth, and he remembers with a fond sort of ache the feasts and festivals that were held here, one in particular which was always dear to him.

The Feast of All Souls began as a prayer. To remember those who’d come before, goddesses lit candles within their homes and laid offerings of food and wine on their doorsteps. Eventually, with the war looming over their clan, the Supreme Deity had made it a public event, one which all were encouraged to attend. Private offerings were still left, yet the majority of the evening was spent in the city streets, buying masks and scraps of finest parchment upon which to write hopes, dreams, or words of remembrance. And, once the sun had set and the world was cool and quiet, in the grand courtyard a chosen member of their race would light the torches and dance, and those little bits of people’s lives would be fed to the bonfire, to reach the next life. Mael rubs a dandelion between his thumb and forefinger thoughtfully. There is no one here, and yet . . .

He has no place in Britannia, nor a reason to return there. Too much suffering is on his shoulders, too much grief for him to express his own. And with the role he played in Escanor’s passing — how foolish he had been to believe that Elizabeth could heal the damage inflicted by Sunshine, how naive to trust in Escanor’s words over his own understanding of the man’s life — he would no doubt face scathing ire from the Sins, who loved Escanor as a comrade and a friend. And the Celestial Realm is in ruins, hardly fit to live in. Mael is well and truly alone in this world, and he presses himself to his feet and lifts his gaze to study the first blooming stars. He does not know where he will go from here, but he decides that, before he meets whatever fate is in store for him, he will honor those who lost their lives in this senseless war. 

He will reignite the flames of the Feast.

»»————-　⚜　————-««

Mael stands in the center of the courtyard, watching as the sun begins its slow trek below the horizon. It is cold now, the seasons caught between autumn and winter, and the ivy that climbs the stone pillars is a vibrant, otherworldly green against the tawny hues of the rest of the world, and his breath condenses on the inside of the mask he wears. Only the Grace that had returned to him keeps him from truly feeling the chill; he is shirtless, his feet bare, and without Sunshine he would be trembling. Surrounding him are torches, burning brightly against the oncoming gloom, plates of food and wine at their bases, and a pile of dead branches waits for him to set it alight. His mind is as clear as it can be, his limbs tense for the dance he will perform. When the sun kisses the edge of the sky, he leans over and presses one of his own torches to the kindling, and the bonfire, soaked in oil, roars to life.

Then Mael begins to dance.

It is Ludoshel he thinks of first, the brother he had all but worshipped in his youth. He remembers his first flight—more of a glide, really, his wings too small and his feathers too new to hold him aloft for more than a few moments—how Ludoshel beamed with pride as he landed awkwardly on his feet and ruffled the hair that never laid as prettily as his own. Nights passed with stories, his brother tracing the constellations in the sky and telling them how they came to be: the Warrior, forever chasing the Queen he loved; the clever Fox that marked the beginning of autumn, the Saint and the King and the Dove, until Mael’s head was full of starlight and dreams. Ludoshel’s comfort when he was injured, his hands calloused yet soothing as he bandaged scrapes. Ludoshel, his voice hoarse with held-back tears as he clapped Mael on the shoulder and congratulated him on becoming an Archangel. His brother, and confidante, who had his flaws yet was always good to him. 

Mael flicks out an arm, the torch in that hand dangling by his fingertips. To my brother, without whom I would not be. I thank you.

Escanor comes next. Though they had barely known each other at all, the man had been full of kindness and love, the type of person Mael wished he had been three thousand years ago. Their meeting had been violent, to be sure, but even then, even as Estarossa, he had felt a genuine respect for the one who stood against his decree, and knows now that Sunshine did not aid him in that feat. Escanor had not been capable of hatred; his heart was too pure, his capacity for understanding too great. Even in his grief, he had not been cruel, each action meant to end Mael’s life as quickly and cleanly as possible. Well, perhaps that is too generous, but whether or not Escanor knew that Cruel Sun would cause a slow death, Mael does not know. They had been bound by Sunshine and Mael had found him, and Escanor had pleaded with him, not once but twice, refusing to accept the self-loathing brewing within Mael’s chest. 

He crouches, twisting the torches over his head in a shower of sparks. To Escanor, who was all that I hoped to be and more. I thank you. 

Sariel, who taught him to read the affection that lurked beneath abrasive words, and Tarmiel, the one who had never given up his hope that Mael was good, both dead by his hands. Sariel’s tongue had always been like sandpaper, yet he had been the one to teach him how to be agile, how to stay moving in the air so no one enemy could get close enough to do him harm. Tarmiel, gentle and sweet, had encouraged him, shown him the proper way to grip a sword and how he could use his size to make his opponents think he was slower than he was to keep the upper hand. Monspeet, an unwilling victim of the illness that had festered within Mael as the decree at away at his sanity; Derieri, who sacrificed herself in an attempt to save him; Oslo, who was Rou, a loyal companion that devoured Mael’s magic so that the Fairy King could live. 

Without that, without them, he would not have survived, and he lets the fire lick his shoulders as he draws the torches along his chest. To those who gave themselves so that I would be free. I thank you.

In one fluid movement, he lunges forward and places the torches atop the fire, his magic working to heal his hands even as they burn. Then he steps back, removing the mask he had carved from silver aspen and the ceremonial trousers woven from red-dyed wool before placing them within the pile as well, the flames devouring the hopes and prayers held within the objects, turning them into smoke that will hopefully reach the souls they are meant for. The sun is long gone now, the moon at the apex of its journey, and the sweat that had formed as he danced grows cold along his legs and back. Mael picks up the flask of wine he’d brought for himself and opens it to drink, uncaring of his nudity. He must watch until the fire dies, and then he can rest until dawn. Checking the offerings will come in the morning; so he sits and drinks and fasts till only embers remain, smoldering against the shattered stone.

»»————-　⚜　————-««

The next morning, he exits his makeshift home, exhausted and more than a little hungover. A quick Invigorate cures him of the latter, but his bones ache as he treks by to the courtyard to clean up the remnants from the Feast. It is an unusually bright day, the sky clear and free of clouds, and the sun warms his back as he kneels down to inspect the first of the offerings, finding it nearly gone. With a faint smile, he moves to the next, and the next, and the last, and each of them has been disturbed more than the birds are capable of, the gifts picked thoroughly and more than half-missing. The sign of a good Feast and answered prayers lifts a weight Mael hadn’t realized he was carrying from his shoulders. He knows that he is by no means forgiven for the atrocities he committed, yet the sight of empty baskets puts him at ease; perhaps now those left behind can begin their healing. He pauses next to the remains of the bonfire to tilt his head back, studying the clear blue stretching endlessly above his head. 

“Autumn,” Ludoshel says, placing a hand on his shoulder with a smile, “is a time of rest so that we can be reborn anew, like all that the Supreme Deity’s light touches.”

“I miss you,” Mael replies.

His voice echoes flatly in the air, and he closes his eyes against the grief that swells within him. Rest to be reborn anew. 

Footsteps crunch over the dirt, drawing Mael’s attention to the ruined stairs. To his surprise, Meliodas is standing there, his hands in his pockets as he surveys their surroundings, his brows furrowed with what can only be contemplation. Then his green eyes cut across the theater to Mael, and his usual grin slides into place. “I thought I’d find you here,” he says cheerfully, crossing to him. “Or hoped, actually, but Elizabeth said this is where you were most likely to go.”

Mael can only stare at him while his mind tries to comprehend Meliodas being in the Celestial Realm. “Why?” he asks.

He supposes it could have meant why are you looking for me, or why did Elizabeth send you, and Meliodas chooses to answer the former. “I have a proposition for you.” He scratches the back of his head. “Well, the Sins do. With Escanor gone, we’re short one, and all of us are used to fighting with Sunshine around. So we want you to join us. There probably won’t be much fighting,” Meliodas adds when Mael stiffens, “since the war is over, which means you’ll mostly be helping run the Boar’s Hat and keeping the peace when we have to.”

He isn’t sure what to make of the offer. “I’m not sure I’m suited to becoming his legacy.”

Meliodas waves his hand dismissively. “No one’s asking for that, or for you to become the Sin of Pride. We’re offering a home, and a chance to do something other than stay here, alone.” His gaze is calculating now as he looks at Mael, almost as though he is daring him to refuse, and he nearly smiles as the old, Estarossa-like desire to meet the challenge swells within him.

“Alright,” Mael agrees. “I’ll go with you. On one condition.”

“Name it.”

“Buy me a drink.”

Meliodas grins, holding out a hand that Mael clasps warmly within his own, and there’s a rush of fear, longing and hope that makes him tremble. Be reborn, he thinks. I’ll try my best, brother.

#nnt #nanatsu no taizai #mael #nnt mael #nnt fanfic #nnt fanfiction #my writing #myfic #oneshot #zine work

[zecretsanta]

FIC: Never Have to Say Goodbye

to: @juricha-art

from: @interabangs

Happy Holidays, juricha-art! I chose your Sigma/Diana prompt because they deserve so much happiness together after everything they’ve been through! Just to let you know, there is some angst in here, and a couple mentions of Diana’s ex and Delta. but I made sure to give the lovebirds the happy ending they deserve! Bonus D-Team family feels at the end, too. Hope you enjoy!

Sleep had become more of a passing acquaintance to Diana in the past few years. Between her duties at the hospital – and her fitful tossing and turning before heading to DCOM – she hadn’t been getting much of it.  She would’ve been surprised at how quickly she slips into dreamland, if she weren’t so exhausted. She vaguely registers Sigma gently lowering her into bed, and lifting the thick, cozy comforter over her as he tells her, “Everything is going to be all right.”

When her eyes open, slowly taking in the small, dark room she’s in, she blinks a few times, and rubs at her lids.

The first thing she can tell is that she’s alone. She’s in a single queen-sized bed, and in what she gradually remembers is a motel room.

Her attention turns to its layout: door and window facing her with the curtains spread out, tiny television resting on a small cabinet just shy of five feet away from the foot of the bed.

Lifting her head from the soft downy pillow, Diana half turns around, still waking up as she looks at the bathroom and closet behind her.

It all comes rushing back to her as she sits up in bed, clutching at the collar of her red sweater.

After Carlos had shot Delta, Diana fainted right there in the desert. She’d known Delta had imprisoned her, imprisoned all of them. She didn’t blame Carlos for making the hard decision. But she couldn’t fully process her son’s death, and she had barely felt Sigma picking her up as the others argued what their next step was.

The rest of the day is a blur as Diana tries to recall it, sifting through her memories like holding a pan and trying to look for gold. She pulls her legs out from under the motel bed’s comforter and draws her knees up to her chest, breathing deeply like Rebecca had advised her, what felt like several lifetimes ago. And technically, it was true.

One breath in through the nose, hold it for five seconds, then exhaling through the mouth. It’s a technique that had helped calm Diana when she stayed with Rebecca, trying to find her footing and escape from the man who had caused her so much pain.

Try to look at the positives, she tells herself, continuing her breathing exercise in her large motel bed. And she walks through each of them: she’s alive. She’d found her daughter and love of her life, who are both also still alive. All the Decision Game participants, except for Delta, made it out alive. There is no Radical-6 in this timeline. Diana would never have to worry about that, or… him, again. She hadn’t been able to stop Delta from achieving his twisted plan with the Decision Game, and even though she had felt some instinctual maternal instinct toward the elderly man, she knows, as much as it pains her to admit it, that Carlos had made the best and safest decision for the group.

The fact that Diana, and the others, had all lived, is a miracle. They’d formed a shared goal in the aftermath of Delta’s death: stop the terrorist in this timeline. Diana knows she can begin her new life with her family, the family she remembers losing in a timeline she doesn’t want to dwell on right now.

She brushes her hair behind her ears, wondering where Sigma and Phi are. Searching through her murky memories of the previous day, she senses the bumpy ride of the van from DCOM, out in the middle of the desert, to civilization.

Diana recalls snatches of conversations in the van ride: some heated words from Eric to Akane, Junpei snapping right back at Eric, Sean’s questions from the middle seat, and Carlos’s calm, measured tone from the driver’s seat.

Diana remembers Sigma holding her hand as the van speeds over sand first, then pavement, and how warm his touch was, how his sturdy frame supported her as she sank against his side, half-awake, wondering where they were going.

“We need to hole up somewhere for a bit,” Phi had assured Diana when she could hear other cars driving next to the van, the occasional honk, and more conversation from up front as Mira tells Eric and Junpei, “Oh, knock it off already.”

“That’s going to be fun to deal with,” Diana remembers hearing Sigma mutter to Phi, and Junpei had said, “Hey, I heard that, back there!”

Diana laughs a little in bed, interrupting her own breathing exercise as she realizes the absurdity of their situation.  She takes in another breath, and finds the last piece of gold, the last memory of the previous night.

Sigma had carried her from the van to her room, whispering to Phi, “We’ll explain everything to her in the morning, okay? Right now, she needs to get some sleep.”

“Are you really going to sleep with her tonight? Don’t you think that’s a little… forward?”

Sigma had paused in the middle of the hallway, and his stance changed, his shoulders slumping a bit. Diana had stirred then, opening her eyes, and Sigma said, “Sorry, Diana. We’ll let you get some rest.”

The last thing Diana remembers is Sigma tucking her into bed and closing the door quietly behind him. Phi had said something outside the room, but Diana can’t quite remember it.

She chews on her lower lip, chasing down the memory and trying to uncover it before she goes looking for Sigma and Phi.

Just as she’s still trying to remember, she notices something on the floor in front of her door, that hadn’t been in the motel room when she’d woken up.

Her eyes now adjusted to the dim light, she peers at the object half illuminated through the crack by the exterior hallway lights.

It’s a piece of paper.

Then, all at once, Diana remembers what Phi had said when Sigma closed the door:

“Do you really think things will work out between you two?”

Diana swings her legs out from under her, and she takes the six steps to the note under the door.  She’d been so preoccupied with trying to calm herself down and remember how she got from the desert to the motel room, that she wasn’t even aware of anyone stopping by her room and sliding the note under her door.

With slightly trembling hands, Diana opens the folded note. She flips on the room light, blinking rapidly and wincing before peering down at the note.

Diana,

I’m sorry for everything that has happened to you. I wish I could take it all back, somehow, even though part of me will forever be grateful to have met you. If only it had happened under better circumstances.

Please understand I want all the best for you. Take care of Phi (she needs it.) I’m sure you both have a lot to catch up on.

Lo All the best,

S.

When she finishes reading it, Diana steels herself to take another calming breath or two.

Then she slips on her shoes – Sigma must have taken them off before tucking her in – and she wrenches the heavy motel door open, dashing out into the cool night air.

Her skirt is wrinkled all over, one of her flower clips is halfway down the back of her hair, her shoes are back in the room lined up neatly next to the door – Sigma had probably taken them off before laying her in bed –

– And she realizes that she doesn’t have the keycard to her room just as the door slams shut behind her.

But Diana doesn’t care about any of that.

She races down the hall, around a corner, and then, all the way down the end of the longer hall, she sees Sigma standing in front of an elevator.

She calls out his name, but her voice is nearly unrecognizable from recent lack of us.

Then, after clearing her parched throat, she tries again, “Sigma!”

He turns, and his eyes widen.

“Wait!” Diana cries out, and runs over to him as he stares at her, completely shocked. “Where are you going?”

He blinks once, then again before saying, “Diana! I didn’t wake you up, did I?”

“No, I was already awake. And then I saw this.” She hold up the note. “What does it mean? Are you… are you leaving me? Are you leaving Phi?”

Sigma looks away at her question, glancing up at the floor the elevator is on. They’re on the fourth floor, and the elevator is still on the first one. “Should’ve taken the stairs,” he says, as if talking to himself. “So that’s what I get for being lazy, huh?”

“Answer the question,” she says, a little more harshly than she meant to, so she adds, “please. Where are you off to?”

He stares at her for a few more seconds before he schools his stunned expression into an indiscernible one, looking up at the elevator numbers on the top of its metal frame. “I can’t tell you that.”

“Why not? Are you leaving for forever?” Tears spring to Diana’s eyes, and a pit forms in the bottom of her stomach. “I thought maybe we could…” she trails off, then, not really certain how she wants to finish the sentence.

He shakes his head. “I’m sorry Diana, but I don’t think that would be a good idea right now.”

“What? Why?”

He sighs, pushing the button for the elevator again. “I thought I’d be the type of person who could never yell at you the way I did, when we were in the decontamination room. I…” His voice drops to a decibel just above a whisper as he shuts his eyes. “I thought I would never be the kind of person that could hurt you.”

“But I hurt you too!” she protests. “And I had less of a reason to.”

Sigma rakes a hand through his hair. “I was just as bad for you as… he was.”

“No!” Diana takes a step forward, raising her free hand to put it on Sigma’s arm, maybe in some desperate attempt to anchor him to the floor. But she stops, when she looks at his face, at the combined mixture of guilt and self-loathing twisted in his usually handsome features.

She puts her hand down. “That’s not true, Sigma. I remember what happened too. We were both so scared, and confused… And I remember you said you were sorry, and then you comforted me when I needed it the most.”

Sigma doesn’t answer, but Diana notices that the elevator is still stuck on the first floor, so she keeps going.

“Do you remember how patient you were when we found out that I was… expecting? You gave up half your rations for me, for months. You were so stubborn about giving up your portions that I had to feed you a couple times so you wouldn’t pass out. You gave me footrubs when I complained about walking, you let me have my own time in the healing room when I said I needed space.” Tears streak down her cheeks at the memory of his kindness.  “And you did… so much for me when I couldn’t think about anything else but touching you. I couldn’t have survived in there without you, Sigma. You did more than I could ever ask for, you did everything you could for Phi and…” Diana’s eyes burn a little as she shut them, unable to say Delta’s name. “For them.”

When she looks up at Sigma, she can see his own eyes watering.

“That doesn’t make my actions right,” he says, lowering his head. “You’ve already been through too much pain. I don’t want to risk the chance of putting you through any more of it.“

The elevator arrives on their floor with a rapid ding! that makes Diana crush the note even more.

Then, before she can stop to think, she dashes into the elevator, and turns to face Sigma before he can enter.

His hard, resolute stare softens into curiosity. “What are you doing?”

“I don’t want you to go!” she protests. “After everything we’ve been through, you can’t just leave like this!”

His mouth curves up into a half-smile, and that gives Diana a bit of hope. “Technically, I can,” he says, thumbing the elevator button before the door can close between them. “It doesn’t mean I want to leave. But if this is what it takes to help you recover from everything you’ve been through, then so be it.”

“Do you remember what I said, about you being a coward?” she asks, and Sigma’s smile vanishes, instantly answering her question with his haunted expression. “I was completely wasted when I called you that,” she continues, stepping forward. “I wanted to hurt you. See? I wish I didn’t say those things either, or treated you horribly when you were just trying to make sure I was eating. But I did. And now we’re here. Now we can fix it, Sigma. We can put that all behind us, and move forward, together.”

She takes a step toward him, standing between the elevator doors.

He takes her free hand, the one not crushing the note, and pulls her out into the hall without hesitation.

More tears roll down her flushed cheeks as she squeezes his hand, letting the elevator doors close behind her.

“I don’t know what to do if you leave,” she says. “Phi’s here, and I’m so grateful for that. I’m glad that we found our daughter. But I still want to be with you. Do you… do you not want to be with me anymore?”

He looks at her for a long moment, that stretches as far down as the motel hallway, and Diana’s heart sinks into her stomach as she begins to think that he -

“Of course I want to be with you, Diana,” he says, enveloping her with his arms as she sobs out of relief. “I’d love nothing more than getting to spend the rest of my life with you.”

“I feel the same way,” she says, sniffling, her voice muffled by his chest. “We can work through this, all our crazy time traveling problems, together.”

Even though she can’t see his face, she knows he’s smiling again, and they sway on the spot in front of the elevator, crying as they tighten their embrace.

“I’m glad you didn’t take the stairs,” Diana whispers to him, clutching his back.

“Me too. Apparently, laziness and outdated wiring does pay off sometimes.”

She laughs, then looks up at him. “Um, Sigma?”

“Yeah?”

“Did you get a room tonight too? I kinda… locked myself out of mine.”

“Oh.” His eyes widen in realization. “Oh! Well, uh…” His face flushes a little, exactly how she remembers it did when she kissed him in DCom, and he clears his throat. “Uh, yeah, I got a room, though I wasn’t planning on stay in it for long. Akane has your keycard, since she figured you would be sleeping all night. But since she’s with Junpei now, we probably shouldn’t bother them.”

Diana laughs a little at Sigma’s bashfulness, despite them having spent many nights together themselves in another timeline. “Don’t worry, I don’t have any funny business in mind. Not tonight, anyway.”

“Not tonight,” he agrees. “But it would be good for us both to get some rest. Is that all right?”

Diana sighs happily as she hugs Sigma once more, then lets him lead the way to his room. “Most definitely.”

—————————

When Diana wakes, she’s delighted to feel Sigma pressed up behind her,  his strong arms embracing her around the side. Not too tight to give her enough space, but in a comforting way, and much more secure than the blanket in her previous room when she’d woken up alone.

She shifts eventually, turning over to see him as he begins to wake up himself. “Hi,” she says.”

He leans forward, pressing gentle kisses into her hair. "Hi.”

“Wanna go downstairs?”

“Yeah, I just need another minute.” He stretches, and she laughs at the sight of his large form nearly taking up the other half of the bed. He relaxes, and hugs her to his chest again, enveloping her in his warmth as she breathes in his scent. “This is everything I’ve ever wanted.”

She buries her face in his chest. “Me too.”

“I’m not so sure I can get up now,” Sigma tells her.

“Ew, perv.”

“Ahhh!” Sigma yells, and Diana sits right up.

“Phi?”

Their daughter shuts the small cabinet under the TV at the foot of the bed, rolling her eyes. “Knew I should’ve waited until you both came down for breakfast,” she grumbles.

“What are you – are you trying to look for my wallet?” Sigma asks.

“Actually, it’s not your wallet I’m looking for,” Phi says with a smirk. “Akane got it for you yesterday with her Crash Keys funds, remember?”

“Well, yeah,” Sigma says, sitting up in bed along with Diana, “but didn’t she give you some money too?”

“I’m afraid not,” Phi says, shaking her head as she crosses her arms over her chest. “Akane said that the cash she gave you last night should be enough to cover all three of us, and I wanted to get a soda from the vending machine. So where is the wallet, old man?”

“Oh, so this is where it starts, huh? Now you’re asking me for allowance?” Sigma asks, reaching behind him to fumble around in the bedside table drawer. He pulls out a brand new wallet, takes out a twenty dollar bill from the thick wad of cash, and holds it up.

Phi groans, “Please don’t tell me I have to go over there and get it. Not if you’re both naked under there.”

“We’re not naked, Phi!” Diana says, flipping the comforter off her and Sigma.

“No, my eyes!” Phi cries, holding her arm up to shield her vision.

“Don’t worry, Phi – look, we’re wearing clothes!” Sigma says, and Phi slowly lowers her arm.

“Okay,” she says, trying to pretend she hadn’t lost her cool and collected demeanor. Diana can’t help but stifle a giggle as Phi rolls her eyes and stomps over to Sigma’s side of the bed, snatching the money out of his hand as he grins at her smugly.

“This means you’ll be mowing the lawn, right?”

“Hah hah. Last I checked, you don’t even have a lawn to mow.”

“Oh, we’ll have one eventually,” Sigma says, turning to Diana with a soft smile, his eyes filled with hope for the future. 

When Diana returns his smile, there’s a moment of silence before Phi asks her quietly. “So, um… does that mean you want us to be a family?”

Diana turns to look at Phi, and, seeing her daughter’s face, the mixture of guarded longing and incredulity, she can’t help but jump off the bed, rushing to join her and giving her a hug.

“Oh, Phi,” she says, her voice breaking, “of course I do!”

Phi stiffens for a second, then relaxes into her embrace. “Good,” she says. “I’m glad you do too.”

“I thought you didn’t want us to be a family,” Sigma says to Phi from the bed.

“Well, of course I did, but I wasn’t sure if you wanted to!” Phi says as she hugs Diana back.

“But the way you were talking last night,” Sigma says, stumbling over his words, “I just figured you wanted me to leave.”

“What?” Phi blinks at him, and laughs. “No, I didn’t want you to leave, you old geezer. I just wanted you to make sure you know that this is what you really want. I don’t… I don’t want either of you to end up getting hurt. Not again, not after everything we’ve been through.”

“You don’t have to worry about us, Phi,” Diana says. “We’ll be fine. But I don’t think we’ll all be able to settle down until we stop the terrorist and save everyone.”

“She’s right,” Sigma says, getting up off the bed and joining Diana and Phi. “I don’t know if we’ll ever be anything resembling a ‘normal’ family. But maybe that’s okay. Maybe we don’t need ‘normal.’ Maybe we can just be… us.“

Diana clasps her hands together, tearing up. Sigma puts his arms around her and Phi, and Diana’s chest swells with all the love she has for him and their daughter..

“Okay,” Phi agrees, sounding as relieved as Diana has felt since Sigma decided not to leave. Then, Phi adds hurriedly, “Let’s just… try to keep it to the three of us for now, all right?”

Diana laughs as Sigma hugs both her and Phi closer to him. “Promise.”

#zero escape #zero time dilemma #diana/sigma #juricha-art #interabangs #zecret santa 2020 #submission

[barrysjumpsuit]

the dark side (jj maybank x shoupe’s daughter) ch. 4

word count: 3.6k (oops)

warnings: underage drinking, cannabis use, vomit, physical violence, unedited

summary:  catherine shoupe has the perfect life. when she gets hired by heyward to run groceries, she has a new coworker - jj maybank. as the deputy’s daughter, she can’t help but hate him. but when jj decides to bring her to the dark side and woo her over, cat not only has to hide her activities from her father, but learn who her father really is.

a/n: hi i wrote this in two days and it’s unedited but i’m living for this (also v important for plot)

please consider reblogging this if you enjoyed it, a lot of my tags still aren’t working!!!

get caught up on other chapters here! or check out my masterlist!

---

Being drunk was weird. On one hand, it was what Cat thought it would be like: she could see how so many people she knew would get plastered at parties with their friends. The world seemed a lot more beautiful to her, her happiness amplified. On the other, it was scary. She caught herself thinking things she would have never even considered. Maybe I’ll have another drink, she had thought when she was in the water with the Pogues. She liked the feeling of being free, and perhaps a little defiant.

She also liked the feeling of JJ’s hand on hers.

When John B pulled the boat up to the dock, Cat stood to help tie it off, but JJ pushed her back down. “Let us,” he said, and she pouted while JJ and Pope jumped off, tying the boat, while Kiara gathered the empty cans littering the floor of the boat.

“You good, Cat?” John B asked, holding out a hand, which she took graciously.

“M’fine,” she replied. 

“JJ, get over here,” she heard John B call, and John B helped Cat to the side of the boat. “Up on this ledge here,” he said, and Cat carefully stepped up onto the side of the boat, John B behind her, holding onto her by her hips.

“It’s like the Titanic!” she exclaimed. JJ was suddenly in front of her, reaching out for her.

“Alright Rose, come here,” he teased, helping her off the boat. Her bare feet hit the soft wood of the dock.

“My shoes-” she started, but was cut off by John B.

“I’ve got your stuff, don’t worry,” he said. He dropped the shoes onto the dock before handing her clothes to JJ, and she drunkenly shoved her feet into the flip flops. John B whispered something into JJ’s ear before following Kiara and Pope up to the house.

“You think you can make it to the house?” he asked. “You can stay and sober up for a bit, until you’re okay to drive home.”

“I’m good,” she said, lurching forward, JJ’s grip tightening on her arm. “M’ dad’s gonna kill me.”

“You’ll be okay, Cat,” JJ was saying as she took careful steps.

They didn’t make it far until Cat was bent over the railing, vomiting. It was sickly sweet yet burned. JJ held her hair, and when it was all out, her body was shaking. 

“Over here and sit down,” JJ was saying, and before she knew it, she was sitting on the wood of the dock, her knees up and her head between them.

She was still shaking, her head foggy, everything around her not seeming real. Was she really here, drunk, puke covering her bare stomach, with JJ Maybank? 

The thoughts running through her head caused her to break down. A sob wracked her body. 

“We’ll have to work on your tolerance,” JJ said beside her, jokingly, trying to ease the tension.

“I’m sorry,” was all Cat managed to choke out.

“Don’t apologize, it happens to the best of us,” he replied quietly from beside her. 

“God, I can’t go home like this. My dad will kill me.”

The sinking realization of what she had done was almost enough to make her puke again. It warranted her shaking and her tears. She was smelly and drunk. She couldn’t even drive home. She had a curfew she couldn’t make and didn’t know what she was going to do.

“You’ll sober up soon, did puking make you feel better?” he asked, and Cat nodded slightly. “A cold shower always helps me. Do you want to go up to the house?”

Cat nodded again, and JJ carefully helped her up. She noticed her clothes draped over one of his shoulders. “Where’s my phone?” she asked, spinning towards him, panicked.

“I’ve got it in my pocket, kitty Cat, it’s okay.”

The nickname. Usually, she loathed it, but now, she loved it. She laughed softly before turning back around, slowly making her way up the dock and to John B’s house.

Going up the back stairs was almost too much. JJ practically had to carry her up them, and balanced her on his chest as he pushed open the screen door that led inside.

The house was warm and cozy. Everyone was waiting up, strewn about the living room watching Aladdin. It flipped a switch inside her, easily drawing her brain from the situation she had put herself in.

“I love this movie!” Cat exclaimed, earning laughs from everyone else.

“Don’t mind us,” JJ called, guiding Cat across the room and into a bedroom. “Nothing to see here.”

“Is she okay?” Kiara asked, and Cat threw a thumbs up towards her as JJ pushed her into the bedroom.

She wanted to collapse onto the bed, but JJ rerouted her into the bathroom. “Get in,” he said, holding back the shower curtain for her. 

“What a gentleman,” Cat praised as she climbed in, sitting down on the floor of the tub.

“Holler if you need anything,” JJ said, turning the showerhead on, closing the shower curtain, and leaving.

Cat sat in the cold rain. JJ was right - it worked to sober her up quickly. She became more and more aware of her headache, and the feeling in her stomach was toned down to a constant slight nausea. It made her realize how tired she was, and that got her to thinking about how screwed she was.

JJ came back after half an hour, turning off the water and throwing her a towel. “You feeling better?” he asked, and Cat just nodded, her hair disheveled from drying it off.

“What time is it?” she asked from her spot on the toilet, her head in her hands.

“About ten,” JJ answered, and Cat groaned. “You need to be home?”

“I can’t drive,” she sighed, pressing the butt of her palms to her eyes. 

“I’ll drive you and walk back. Does that work?”

“I just need a few more minutes here,” Cat said, not looking up.

“I’ll go get you some water,” she heard JJ say. He let out a soft grunt as he stood, closing the bathroom door gently behind him. 

When he got back, he found her on her knees on the floor, vomiting into the toilet again. Cat instantly felt better; she sat and took sips of the water JJ gave her. She was vaguely aware of JJ slipping the scrunchie off her wrist, the fabric still wet, and gently tying up her hair so it was out of her face. 

“Okay. I’m good,” she decided eventually, and wordlessly, JJ helped her stand. “Do you have my keys?”

A jingling sound was JJ’s only response as he opened the door. Cat was aware of the others watching them, eyebrows raised, eyes begging for information. “You alive?” Kiara asked from her spot on the couch.

“Yeah. Barely,” Cat replied, and she heard JJ chuckle, his hand resting on the small of her back, guiding her towards the stairs. She stopped and turned to the group before they exited the house. “Thanks for letting me come out with you guys tonight. I had a lot of fun.”

“Well, you’ll have to come again sometime,” Pope said, grinning. She noticed John B wink, but didn’t know who it was directed towards.

“Homeward bound, let’s go,” JJ said, and they stepped into the warm, muggy air. A mostly full moon lit up the sky as the two walked to Cat’s car. “This is a nice car, kitty Cat.”

“Don’t get any ideas, JJ,” she replied, climbing into the passenger seat and putting on her seat belt. She noticed JJ made no move to secure his. “JJ, you’re driving to a cop’s house, put your goddamn seatbelt on.”

“Oooh, where’d that come from?” he asked, and Cat could see his grin in the dim light. “Someone’s bossy.”

“Just shut up and drive.” Cat slouched against the window, her headache returning in full force as the car started moving. 

“Do you have a good excuse thought up?” JJ asked, nodding at the clock on the dash. It was 10:39.

“No,” she grumbled, reaching for a pack of gum, hoping it would mask the smell of the sickly sweet alcohol-laced vomit her mouth tasted like. “I’ll probably just say I bumped into an old friend and we went out for desserts to catch up.”

“Where’d you two go? It’s late, not much is open.”

She realized he was right. “The dairy bar.”

“They close at 8 on weeknights, kitty Cat.”

“McDonald’s then, I don’t know. You have any better ideas?”

“Hmm,” she heard him muse, noticing him look over at her. “Say that you went to their house and went swimming, and you didn’t have your phone on you so you lost track of time?”

“That works too,” Cat responded quietly. Her mind was too muddled to think of any better excuse than that.

“It’s mostly true, anyway. So it’s technically not a lie.”

“But what if my dad asks questions?”

“Then put a spin on them. If he accuses you of something, you know what you should do?” he asked, and Cat shook her head. “If he accuses you of something, then you deny it, okay?” Cat nodded and the conversation died.

Luckily, the driveway was dark and the living room lights were off. They sat in silence before JJ made the first move, getting out of Cat’s car. Cat followed suit, meeting JJ in front of her car, and they stopped as they met each other.

“Thanks for taking care of me when I overdid it,” she said quietly, not able to meet his icy gaze.

JJ chuckled. “You handled it well. A hell of a lot better than JB handles going overboard some nights.”

“Really?” she asked, looking up, and he nodded.

“I’ll see you at work in a few days?” It was Cat’s turn to nod, and JJ smiled slightly. “Cool.”

“Be sure to drink some water before you go to bed and have water for when you wake up, okay?” JJ’s tone was soft in a way she had never heard before. Nodding, and found herself wrapping her arms around his waist, gently leaning her cheek against his shoulder.

“Thanks, JJ.”

There was a slight hesitation from JJ until he returned her hug. They pulled away after a couple seconds, and JJ stepped to the opposite side of Cat, beginning to disappear into the shadows.

“Sleep tight, kitty Cat,” was the last thing he said before he vanished.

---

“How you feel yesterday, kitty Cat?”

JJ’s voice made her jump as she was unlocking the cabin of the boat. He was strutting down the dock towards her, wearing only his cargo shorts and his black boots. His work shirt was thrown over his shoulder. 

“Not that bad after about ten in the morning,” she answered, opening the door and throwing the key ring onto the table inside. 

“Ah, well you got most of it out of you the night before then.” He easily jumped onto the boat, looking over the clipboard that detailed the day’s deliveries. “Pretty quiet day today, huh?”

 “Looks like it. Pope said he’d get here with the first round of groceries in five.”

 JJ busied himself with topping off the boat’s gas, while Cat met Pope and started loading up the groceries. “JJ, put your damn shirt on, boy!” Heyward had yelled at one point, packaging fish for their first customer.

 “I’m working on my tan,” JJ claimed, posing with the nozzle of the gas pump. “How else am I supposed to get the ladies?”

 “You don’t got much going for you,” Cat heard Heyward grumble.

 She couldn’t help but feel like JJ’s last comment was directed towards her. Even Pope looked from JJ to Cat then back to JJ, but the blond had quickly brushed the whole encounter off and was carrying the gas cans back towards the boat.

 Cat took both of them and placed them on the boat before JJ climbed up and began hooking up the gas line.

 “We ready?” JJ called, and Cat yelled back a response and started the boat. Pope untied them and pushed them off as Cat brought the boat out into the water.

 They had an uneventful day. JJ kept his shirt off until they hit land, basking on the bow of the boat in the sun for most of the day. Cat couldn’t help but notice he hadn’t done that before; something had definitely changed between them. She remembered the way that he put his hand on hers and held her while he was sick, and how he drove her home and his hands lingered just a little too long while they hugged.

 She didn’t know JJ well, but based on what she had heard about him, he was a different person around her.

 How did she feel about it? That question had been nagging at her. She liked this new, strange JJ. She liked knowing that he trusted her with at least some secrets, that he went out of his way to invite her to be with him and his friends. Was corruption the right word?

 They docked at the Cameron residence for their second to last delivery. There was a note left with their order, that Ward nor Rose would be home, so they left a temporary code to the keypad that led into the house from the back door of none of their children were around to help.

 As usual, they unloaded the groceries from the boat, opting to skip the carts since they didn’t have that long of a walk. It would only take two trips back and forth.

 “Well this is a sight,” a voice called out, making Cat instantly roll her eyes. She looked over to see Rafe Cameron sitting on the patio, alongside Topper. Barry was there, too; the guy was treated almost like an urban legend in the Shoupe household, her father talking about him in a similar way he did about JJ. Rafe continued, leaning back in his chair. “Catherine Shoupe and JJ Maybank?”

 “Some people don’t hold grudges. You should try it sometime,” JJ said, continuing towards the hose. Cat could hear the animosity in his voice and see the tenseness in his body. “Hey Rafe, how about you help us put these groceries away? Daddy’s orders.”

 Rafe started laughing, and Cat was close enough to see two lines on the table, a plastic baggie nearby, held down with a cigarette lighter. Barry was grinning at the obvious tension within the group.

 “Catherine, your daddy know you’re workin’ with Maybank?” Barry asked, his words slightly slurred but midly enthused. 

 “Oh, you’re one to talk, Barry,” JJ scoffed, setting the bags of groceries down by the back door. He gave Cat a look, and she did the same. 

 “It’s called ‘mutualism’. You ever learn that in biology?”

 “Yes, Barry, I know what ‘mutualism’ means. Don’t act so surprised at us working together, Barry.”

 “Ah, so you’re using her?” Topper was standing now. His voice sent chills down her spine; she had loved him, once. Two years ago. Topper was her first boyfriend, her first kiss, her first love, until he got caught up with Rafe and his illicit activities.

 It had ended badly, and it was Cat who left him. She had threatened to tell her dad about what he was doing. He panicked, lashed out, and Cat ended it then and there.

 At Topper’s comment, JJ had moved in front of Cat. “That’s not what it is!” he yelled, and Cat took a step back. Topper shook his head; he and Barry were standing now, Rafe still sitting back and enjoying the show. 

 “Cat, don’t let him-”

 JJ punched Topper before he could finish his sentence. Cat was motionless, not knowing what to do, only springing into motion when Barry and Rafe jumped forward to pull Topper off of JJ. A flailing limb knocked Cat to the ground as she went in to grab JJ, and she winced as she felt her knee bust open on the hard rocks of the patio. 

 “That’s enough!” Barry yelled, shoving Topper into Rafe. 

 JJ had started back to the boat, leaving Cat alone with the three of them. Barry was staring at her, almost like he was urging her to ask questions.

 “Cat…” Topper started, taking a step towards her, but Barry shoved him back into Rafe.

 At that, she turned following JJ back to the boat, where he was dropping bags of groceries onto the dock. “They can get their own goddamn groceries,” he muttered. “We’re leaving.”

 Cat untied the boat before climbing on. JJ was manning the controls, and she noticed he wasn’t heading back towards Heyward’s. Sitting down on the bow, Cat sat and closed her eyes, trying to ignore the words that came out of Topper’s mouth. 

 JJ soon pulled the boat into a quiet cove and dropped the anchor before climbing up onto the bow, his vape between his lips. 

 “Are you using me?” she asked him suddenly, looking up at him. 

 He slowly exhaled a thin cloud before answering. “I don’t think I am, no.”

 “What kind of answer is that?” 

 JJ sighed. “There’s a lot of things you don’t know, kitty Cat.”

 “Then tell me.”

 Now it was JJ who looked up. Cat was aware of her shaky breaths, the tears threatening to spill from her eyes ever since she first saw Topper sitting at the table. “You’re not going to like what I have to say.”

 “I thought you wanted to get me out of my bubble?” she countered, and JJ smiled softly.

 “Well… it’s about what Barry said. About mutualism.”

 “Okay…” Cat said, thinking it over. Two species benefiting each other. It started to make sense in her head. “Explain.”

 JJ took another hit before responding. He spoke quietly, as if he didn’t want anyone else to hear, even though they were alone in the cove. “Your dad, he’s… not really a good cop.”

 Of course you would say that, she thought.

 “But hear me out. I know he doesn’t have the best opinion of me. That’s okay. But Barry, he sells coke to my dad. Other people too.”

 “Like Topper?” she grumbled, and JJ nodded before continuing.

 “Your dad knows about his whole operation. Nobody on the island moves more product than Barry does. Shoupe agreed to let it slide for a 25% cut of everything Barry makes.”

 Cat’s heart stopped. “He would never do that,” she said quietly. The tears were threatening to spill over. “He hates Barry.”

 “Has he ever surprised you with anything? A vacation, gifts?” JJ pressed. Cat nodded, remembering the trip to Hawaii. Her car. Her brother’s purebred dog. “That’s drug money, Cat. Or stolen money.”

 “Stolen?” she echoed.

 “I’ve seen him pocket money from a hotel safe, a crime scene. About a year ago, it was fifty grand.”

 If it wasn’t for the fact that her father had bought Cat her car, costing somewhere around fifty thousand dollars about a year before, she wouldn’t have believed a word JJ said. 

 “He spends the cash as quickly as possible,” he continued, trailing off as he saw Cat’s expression. “Hey, you good?”

 Cat could only shake her head as tears dripped down her cheeks. She was too shocked to break down into sobs. These were angry tears, angry that this was being kept from her, angry that it even happened.

 She was suddenly in JJ’s arms. He smelled faintly of weed, his juul laying abandoned opposite of her on the bow. Shaking, she buried her face into his shirt, forcing herself to take deep breaths. 

 “Are you using me too?” she couldn’t help but ask again. JJ shook with a chuckle.

 “No, kitty Cat, I’m not. Hey, is your knee okay?”

 She pulled away from him to look at her knee, which was bloodied and still slightly oozing from when she intervened in the fight. “It’s fine,” Cat quietly answered, but JJ already got up to fill a towel with ice from the cooler. He hopped back onto the bow and sat down next to her, gently putting the ice on her knee.

 Cat shivered. The bubble she had lived in for so long had been popped, thanks to JJ. Her easy, simple life disrupted. She would have to go home after work and see her dad, knowing what she learned that day. She would have to drive her car and feed her brother’s dog, knowing why they were there. 

 She hated it.

 After half an hour, when JJ got up to drive them back to Heywards, she tried to thinking about the good things that came out of all this. Remembering the feeling of the other night, how she got one final f-you to Topper, and the new friends she made the other night.

 The low-lying sun outlined JJ dramatically as he brought the boat into the marina. He caught her staring and tossed a wink her way before easing off on the throttle, drifting to the dock and the awaiting Heywards.

 Cat had JJ to thank for all this new knowledge and experiences. 

 Whether he was a blessing or a curse, she didn’t know.

-- 

taglist @letsgofullkook​ @stargazingstarkey​ @sortagaysortahigh​ @jjsmentalpolaroids @ims0golden @jjmaybcnks @shawnssongs​ @queenk00k​ @broken-jj  @danielle-yeah @wicked-laugh @obxhoe @talksoprettyjjx​ @kt219567 @abrunettefangirlnerd @apoguecalledjj  @rollinsstuff

#jj maybank #outer banks #obx #outer banks fanfiction #jj maybank fanfiction

[jimmymcgools]

I’ll bite. The scene where Jimmy is all in his head at the Christmas party and storms out to the parking garage, where he kicks the crap out of the garbage can.

❤️❤️❤️ahh thank you!! 🎄🗑🎄🗑

i thought a lot about the conversation with vernon in this scene, because i wanted jimmy and kim to both leave this party angry, and each have their own reasons. i tried to figure out what might anger them both most -- for jimmy, it’s being looked down on and sneered at, and for kim, it’s the thoughtless (almost cruel) privilege on display. 

jimmy doesn’t really notice kim getting angry because he’s so much in his own head, but vernon suggesting that she just take a couple of months off study for the bar exam -- and hey, just skip a couple of parties, kim! -- is pure wexler rage fuel. 

this anger + vernon stonewalling/insulting jimmy is what has kim being more openly affectionate with jimmy than usual here. touching him, calling him her good luck charm. it’s a defence of jimmy, but it’s also defending herself, in a way, or at least making her position clear as the class lines fall down between everyone -- i’m not with your lot, i’m not like you, i’m with him.  

kim thinks about this party a lot for the next few months, just like jimmy, for her own reasons. “the only time they looked any different was when they were looking at you”. i think kim both really wants to be part of that world AND can’t stomach the thought of it. 

and then jimmy. being dismissed by howard, being insulted and talked down to by vernon, being on the outside of these law conversations he can’t follow -- like his memory of watching the shadows of grown-ups from the top of the stairs and wishing he could join them. 

And whatever’s been bubbling inside Jimmy finally boils over  throughout the party i wanted to set up this like, countdown/build up of physical sensation, starting with the conversation with howard in the stairwell. 

and he thinks: I could get you. It would be so easy. It would be as easy as blinking, as easy as opening my eyes.  i don’t use first person thoughts like this very often in my writing, but they pack a punch. part of me likes saving them for big moments, but i should also remember to use them more.  

It’s an old mood, a well-worn mood, and he’s a little out of practice with it, but it settles over him like a second skin. Or like a shedded skin, found again.  something creepy and snake-like about this that spoke to me.

And he can feel Slippin’ Jimmy coming back—the real Slippin’ Jimmy, not the grinning clown who dances coins over his fingers or bends cigarettes in half, but the guy who fractured his knee in front of an elderly woman’s porch just for a chance at a few hundred bucks; the guy who screamed at his own brother so loudly he couldn’t bear to look at him again for five years; the guy whose wife ran out on him—Slippin’ Jimmy, dumb and drunk and angry, always angry— i really wanted to draw a line between slippin’ jimmy in cicero and the dark, angry jimmy we see sometimes in bcs. in pinata, in the bar scene in expenses, in how he coldly kicks out that kevin costner girl. the guy who can become saul goodman. even just in the guy in uno who leaves a meeting and kicks the shit out of a trashcan, or in bingo kicks the shit out of an office door. i think there’s real anger in there.

He imagines the fireworks the shattered shards would make beneath the thousands of Christmas lights.  earlier in the chapter, jimmy tells kim about the christmas tradition of throwing old bottles at the brick wall out back of arno’s, and compares them to fireworks. no doubt some years slippin’ jimmy was picturing specific faces as he threw them

And the burning, unstoppable feeling rises, angering Jimmy more than anything else, angering him just for feeling it; angering him like seeing Howard reflected in the glass of the lobby, a kid pretending to be a king; angering him like Kim’s hand on his elbow—Kim, who hasn’t fucked him again since White Sands, and he doesn’t know why, and he thinks—he thinks— —what the fuck is wrong with these people, standing here dying in this room.  i wanted to capture that feeling of becoming so angry that all your little justifications and compromises shatter. he certainly hasn’t spent the last few months hating kim, but this thought has always been there, just outweighed by all the things he still gains from the relationship, and boxed up by careful rationale. but now it’s like every thing jimmy has cause to be angry about is crashing to the surface.

and the howard thing -- i think jimmy fights against feeling small by trying to put himself above the people who make him feel that way. “i’m a god in human clothing!”

He steps in just as they’re shutting so that by the time he turns around they’ve closed, and it’s just himself staring back: mirrored and warped.  thinking about chapter 1 here, where jimmy rehearses his greeting in front of his reflection in these elevator doors. 

He pauses, breathing heavily—but there he is again, his red-patterned tie flashing on the curve of a trashcan—so he slams his foot into the reflection,  self loathing set to MAX! 

“I talked to Howard,” he says, gaze trained on hers, his voice harsh and thin. Kim looks down at the trashcan beside him. “It went that well, huh?” “Yeah,” Jimmy says acidly. “Yeah, it went that well.”  i’m always trying to have these two communicate in as few words as possible. jimmy just offers the most dry and simplistic explanation here. she can tell it’s not everything.

and then kim, again, angry in her own way -- she’s gentle with jimmy here, almost treating him with kid gloves. still and quiet, not touching him again, just walking away and letting him follow. 

and a little wary of him, maybe, but wanting to give him what he needs -- and give herself what she needs, too. i think kim leaving the party and going home with jimmy is also more of that affirmation i talked about earlier -- as much as she wants to be in the HHM world, part of her can’t stand it up there, and she wants to prove it to herself that she’s not completely up there yet. she can be down here, with jimmy, too.

#asks #commentary ask meme #simple-potates #a controlled burn

[fleckcmscott]

Comfort & Joy

Summary: Arthur & Y/N celebrate their first Christmas together. Not everything goes as planned.

Warnings: Swearing, Angst

Words: 4,645

A/N: A request from the mind of dear, sweet @ithinkimawriter​. Special thanks to @sweet-nothings04​ for being the wonderful beta she is!

If you have any thoughts or questions, please comment, feel free to message me, or send me an ask. Requests for Arthur and WWH are open!

If you’ve sent me a request and I haven’t responded, it’s because I am working on it and will once it’s posted! 

Arthur was on his way to Y/N's apartment when the storefront's window captured his attention. Batting covered the floor, imitating fake snow. A plastic fireplace, painted yellow, orange, and red, was angled against the left wall. The artificial tree, bedecked with multi-color lights and a plethora of wrapped gifts underneath, shone prettily. To the right, a cardboard cutout of a couple wearing Santa hats and embracing stood in front of a brand new refrigerator. The large sign suspended from the ceiling, tied in a red bow, advertised low-interest store credit: "Make all your Christmas wishes reality!"

There was a sweetness to the display. A festive cheerfulness. And it induced in him an ache borne of dejection. With Penny in her parallel universe and their lack of resources, his life had never had a place for holidays. Seven or eight years ago, he'd made his last attempt at doing something special. They'd shared the turkey dinner he'd sprung for at a nearby greasy spoon. She'd been mildly cognizant of the make-up compact he'd given her, one he'd gotten off the clearance rack. Then she'd gone to bed, leaving him alone to watch the television special he'd picked out. It had been one of the rare nights he'd poured himself a drink in an attempt to sleep.

Smoke swirled in Gotham's cold, night air as he exhaled around his cigarette. The heaviness in his stomach, his hint of indignation perplexed him. Why on earth did he feel shitty when he had a chance to have the type of Christmas people wrote about? That Sinatra, Cole, and Martin sang about? The type he'd dreamed of, despite knowing he'd never have it? He frowned as he trudged down the street, hoping he wouldn't fuck it all up.

Y/N's greeting was warm as always; the refuge of her arms, the smile she reserved just for him dulled his sharpest edges. He tried to take pleasure in her simple courtesies. How she hung his tan jacket next to her coat, all the while insisting he get a hat and mittens. The hot mug she handed him, the way it thawed his slender fingers. The taste of cocoa on her silken lips as they kissed and she declared she'd missed him.

There was quiet conversation. She did most of the talking; he did his best to pay attention through the distraction of his anxiety. The cards had to be finished, she said. Just for her colleagues, a couple of family and friends, and, if he didn't mind, Penny. He didn't react to that last name, letting Y/N draw her own conclusions. She moved to sit side-saddle on the floor to work, next to her coffee table. As her hand crossed the cream cardstock, he noticed she was signing both their names. He gaped slightly in shock, delight spiking through him. But then delight twisted into unworthiness, and he averted his gaze to his hot chocolate.

He'd believed he was doing okay, though he still didn't have his medication. Especially since Penny had been transferred from Gotham General to the nursing home he'd chosen two weeks ago, and it had clicked that he'd never have to see her again. There were days he woke up (if he was fortunate enough to sleep) energized and confident. He had slipped into delusion once or twice. A call to Y/N or the feel of her hand had helped ground him and bring him back to lucidity. But his negative thoughts were bearing down on him. It was getting harder to separate what was intrusive and what was Arthur. If only he could find it within himself to be better.

Once she finished addressing the envelopes, Y/N extended a hand his way and smirked. Unsure if she wanted him to help her up or join her, he sat on the plush, cream color carpet. "I can hear you thinking. I'm surprised smoke isn't coming out of your ears," she said, laying a palm on his thigh. "You haven't told me what you want to do for Christmas."

He picked up one of the cards, traced his fingertips along the corners. He was bereft of his own traditions to draw from; all his points of reference were from popular culture. It was difficult to know what he'd actually like doing. He gave it a go, anyway. "I dunno. A tree? Listening to music? Being together?"

Chuckling, she put her head on his shoulder. "Of course we'll be together. And we can do the other stuff, too." Her voice lowered as she continued. The caress on his leg became a massage. "I get out early Thursday - Christmas Eve. How'd you feel about me being your guest for three days?"

"Hm." He loathed the possibility of exposing her to what was going on in his brain, his darker notions and malaise. He wanted to hold on for her. To be the gentle person she claimed he was, the man she claimed made her happy.

The man she was mistakenly convinced deserved her.

A kiss on the sensitive skin of his neck. "I'll bring dinner and everything."

Fuck. She thought he didn't want her, that she had to sell him on the idea of her company. He had to put a stop to that assumption. Didn't she know she'd become a brick, a building block in his unstable foundation? He couldn't deny her - he didn't wanted to deny her. Taking a deep breath, he turned to her. The warmth in her eyes buoyed him enough to use what little confidence he could muster. He took her hand, ran his thumb over the back of it, and he forced the corner of his lips up. "I'd love that."

~~~~~

There wasn't normally a spring in Y/N's step, but Arthur had a habit of causing one. She was smiling like a fool, too, walking with her suitcase and canvas bag. The happiest woman in Gotham. It couldn't be helped, even as she struggled to climb those damned concrete stairs to finally reach his block. This would be the best Christmas in ages.

The holiday had been her childhood favorite. But it had become taxing as her father's dementia had worsened, and her sister and she had grown apart. Not being able to leave her father unattended had forced them to celebrate at his house, which Y/N shared with him. A couple of slow cooker dishes would be made, ones her niece and nephews liked. She would do her best to make the large dining table festive, using a red tablecloth and making a centerpiece out of a wreath. Once everyone had sat around it, she'd alternate between taking a bite herself and trying to feed her father, trying to convince him to eat.

The final year had been the hardest. Distress had been clear in her sister and brother-in-law's faces, in their stilted conversation. The middle child had asked why grandpa wasn't talking. Y/N had never learned to communicate on a child's level, and had waited for her sister to take the lead. That hadn't happened. So she'd tried to explain the most painful, complicated situation she'd ever been in in terms a four year old could understand. When her father had started spitting out his mashed potatoes and crying, everyone had packed up and left.

It was understandable. Handling him was exhausting and she didn't want the kids to be traumatized. But it had left her resentful and grief-stricken. She'd cleaned him up and changed him. Then she'd sipped the nice wine she'd bought for the occasion and taken down the tree, tearing up with each bauble she'd put away while her father stared at the television in his wheelchair.

After dropping off a card at Ms. McPhee's, she hurried around the corner to Arthur's building. He was waiting for her at his door, dressed in the red sweater he knew she loved on him. She pecked his sharp cheekbone as he bent to take her luggage, and watched as he made a show of putting it beside the sofa. "Did you pack your whole apartment?"

"Almost," she said, already digging out the food she'd brought and placing it on the kitchen counter. The ham and pineapple casserole had to be popped in the oven for forty-five minutes. The two pieces of pie were from the diner near her office. Lastly, there were a carton of eggnog and a small bottle of whiskey.

He didn't say a lot, but she had a pretty good notion of what he was thinking: a variation on the refrain that she'd done too much. "Arthur, this is for me, too. Besides, you got the tree." Then she pulled him in for a kiss. Though his lips were soft and returned her affections, she could sense the apprehension in his shoulders, her palms sweeping across them. He was probably excited, she figured. And a little nervous, too. This was a milestone for them, after all. She smiled up at him encouragingly. "We're going to have a great time," she said. His nod was gentle.

Dinner went by quickly, which was a blessing because it was terrible. ("I swear, I followed my mother's recipe.") The apple pie was a good substitute for her favorite, blueberry. There wasn't any nutmeg to add to the eggnog. And Arthur covered the top of his mug when she wanted to spike it. He appeared to like it, anyway, and was soon pouring himself a second serving. GCR was playing Christmas music non-stop instead of news, so she turned on the radio. She led him to the living room and admired the tree he'd gotten.

The fir was maybe four inches taller than he was, probably six feet. There were plenty of branches, but it was slim enough to fit into the rear corner of the room, by the windows. The sharp, fresh scent of pine was wonderful. "You picked a great one." As she got into her luggage and dug out the white mini-lights, Arthur searched for an extension cord. Once the bulbs were in place, she knelt before the tree and handed him one of the tins of ornaments she'd packed.

Arthur tackled the upper half while she took care of the bottom. Her gaze turned up to him and she grew fuzzy all over. Concentration was plain in his squint, his handling of the glass-blown, red bulbs cautious. His fingertips carefully closed the hooks over each bough. How long had it been since he'd last done this? She reached out, giving his leg a reassuring squeeze before going through her own box of baubles. A soft sound stuck in her throat as she discovered what was inside.

"What is it?" he asked quietly.

The shellacked, round cookie was in surprisingly good shape, its ribbon firmly attached. "My sister made this for me when we were little. I'd forgotten about it." She cradled it in her palm, a peal of laughter bubbling up. "One year I got a toy oven. Set the smoke alarms off, scared my mother half to death." Sipping her drink, she shook her head. "Mabel - who's younger than me, remember - decided to show me how it was done. She was always better at that stuff."

The memory prompted Y/N to continue. She mentioned her parents taking them to a department store a few towns over to visit Santa. How she'd been completely boring and asked for a typewriter and doll, which she'd gotten. The milkshake she'd had at the restaurant on the top floor. She felt uncharacteristically wistful. "That was a lifetime ago."

Most of the tree was adorned when she noticed he'd stopped responding. It was as though he was frozen in place, his face turned towards the floor. Y/N stood, taking in the clenching of his fists at his sides, the quiver of his frame, the twitch of his cheek. "Arthur?" She reached out to take his hand.

His arm yanked back as if she'd hit him. Then he marched around the sofa, past the television, and went straight into the bathroom. The locks slid into place as soon as he closed the door.

She was stunned. And, if she was honest, disappointed. All she'd wanted was to share more of herself with him. Gingerly, she walked to the door. No light shone from beneath it. The picture of him sitting alone in the dark on Christmas Eve pained her. She knocked.

Laughter broke up the strain in his voice. "I need a few minutes." After a pause, a hushed plea. "Please don't go."

"I won't."

Her lips pursed. The last few times she'd visited, she'd made a note to check his usual spots for prescription bottles. There hadn't been any. And there'd been no indication he'd used any of the doctor appointments she'd paid for. They'd have to discuss it. But not now. New Years was next weekend. She'd mention it then, as well as her hopes they'd be living together soon, treating it as something positive.

Beyond his laughing, he hadn't yet gone into any level of detail about his afflictions, his diagnoses. Since his appearance on Murray Franklin, she'd read almost the entire "Loving Someone With" series to learn how to handle problems when they arose. It had advised kindness, calm, and providing regularity. Discussion of normal things, plans for the future. That was what she had been trying to do. Why had Arthur reacted so poorly?

Then it dawned on her: the experiences that were normal to her, to most people, hadn't ever been so for him. Her thoughts went to the terrible details in the Arkham file he'd brought over. The unspecified categories of abuse he'd suffered. His severe head injury and its permanent effects. The radiator...

She recalled his reaction to the journal she'd given him for his birthday. He'd tried, in vain, to hide how affected he'd been by it. And it was only a few weeks ago he'd meekly asked if she'd ever stop loving him, as if it was a chore for her instead of bliss. It was tough, knowing how hard he had to work to accept her kindnesses.

Rubbing her eyes, she concluded she'd been an idiot. Well-intentioned, but an idiot regardless. She'd so looked forward to making new memories with Arthur, to being able to spend the holiday with someone who could enjoy it, she'd overwhelmed him. Set him off.

He needed space and, so far, she'd always paid the respect of giving that to him. It wouldn't be easy tonight, however. Every fiber of her wanted to rush in there, hold him, and tell him to confide in her. To allow her to support him. But she needed to listen to her brain instead of her heart (which Arthur made hard to do, being the one who'd helped her unlock it). She checked her watch. Fifteen minutes would be a good compromise. She could give him that.

The music had become deafening. After turning it down, she made her way to the kitchen and put away the rest of the food. Every scrub of the dishcloth on the beige plates they'd used, every wipe as she dried the cutlery, expressed her concern. Ornaments still littered the living room floor. A few more were hung before she put their boxes in her suitcase. She worried her lip when she came across the presents she'd gotten him, wrapped in luscious greens and golds. He'd like them, she was certain. If he was up to receiving them. She placed them under the tree, adjusting the tags so he could clearly read "Arthur," written in her looping cursive.

The clink of the bathroom door being unlocked was barely audible. Not wanting him to think she'd been hovering the entire time, she waited before approaching. Then she stepped forward and slowly opened it.

The light from the hall spilled into the room, sufficient to see Arthur sitting on the pink, tiled end of the bathtub. She took in the slump of his shoulders, his arms slack and folded in his lap. He spoke and his miserable rasp split her heart. "I'm- I'm sorry. I'm ruining everything."

"You're not." She turned on the floor lamp in the corner, then sat down on the closed toilet. "It wasn't fair of me to babble on and on like that. I didn't think abou-"

"Don't." It was clear the harshness of his tone was directed at himself. His dark brows creased in the middle as he wiped his nose, embarrassment clear in every gesture. "I just... I wanna be able to enjoy this like everyone else."

The skin of his hands was pink, likely from wringing. And his nails had been freshly chewed. Her chest tightened. "May I touch you?" she asked. At his curt nod, she smoothed his sleeve up to stroke his forearm. The grimace he wore was tight enough to show his dimples.

She'd learned it was vital to speak to his virtues in these moments. That was an easy thing to do - he had many. The compliments she paid him were true, and reflected what he valued in others. "You're so caring, Arthur." Her fingertips drifted down his laugh line to his thin lips. "And good. And funny." She blinked away the tears that threatened, the news articles from his mother's file fresh in her mind. "And strong. Stronger than anyone should have to be."

A dry, hitched sob left him and he shook his head. "You don't need to tell me lies."

"I'm not. I never will." Her kiss brushed the shallow wrinkles on his trembling chin, and she took his hand between her own. "You don't have to talk about it. But I'm here if you want to." A long silence followed, interrupted only by their soft breathing. Eventually, he trailed lines down her thigh, to her knee, caressing her as if she were gossamer.

She considered how he could have gone through such brutality, yet be the gentlest person she'd ever known.

Releasing a long sigh, he leaned his forehead to hers. "I can't," he whispered, lifting one shoulder.

"It's all right." Her grasp slid up and down his sides comfortingly. "I love you. It's okay."

It was awhile before he stood, pulling her with him and against his chest. She nestled into him and soaked up his heat, carding her fingers through his loose curls. "I- I picked out a movie. I think it starts soon." He held her hand as he walked towards the living room.

The analog TV sounded with bells and strings as Y/N got a blanket from the bed. She scurried to him and saw the names Bing Crosby and Fred Astaire flash on the screen. Of course, she thought. He'd picked a romantic musical. After turning off the lamp, she situated herself next to Arthur and draped the cover over them. The opening credits were rolling, but she could feel him watching her instead of the film. Then his touch grazed her bare ankle. She shifted towards him, a smile spreading across her face at the softness of his features. "What?"

His gaze dropped. "I wish I knew how to say how much I love you. Show you somehow."

The lights from the tree were giving his skin a warm glow, and reflected beautifully in his green eyes. She tipped his chin up and kissed him deeply, until they both had to pull away for air. Pink dusted his cheeks and he grinned bashfully, crooked tooth on display. "I know, Arthur." They snuggled closer under the cover and he entwined their hands. "I know."

~~~~~

Since she'd returned to him after Murray, they'd spent an increasing number of nights together. Arthur usually let Y/N sleep as long as she needed. Insisting she wake up with him wouldn't have been fair. She worked hard and the extra hour or two was helpful. But he couldn't hold back Christmas morning.

He made a valiant attempt to pass the time. Really. He'd already shaven, smoked a couple of cigarettes, retrieved her presents, and plugged in the tree. He noticed she'd placed gifts under it, labelled "Arthur" and elegantly wrapped in paper nicer than what he'd been able to pick-up at the drug store. He glided his fingers over them. The corner of his mouth lifted. Written in her script, his name was beautiful.

Thankfully, he was in better sorts than the night before. Enthusiasm for her gripped him. He tip-toed to the bedroom and watched her sleeping form from the doorway. It was still dark - the sun wouldn't be up for another hour - but he could picture what she looked like. Her wet breathing and slight snore meant her pillow had a spot of drool near her mouth. There was a fifty-fifty chance her nightgown had twisted up just beneath her breasts. The blanket may have slipped below her waist, leaving her hip exposed. He knelt next to the bed and palmed the side of her neck, planting kisses to her face until she groaned.

"Your hair tickles," she mumbled. Her arm went around his back and brought him closer. "What time is it?"

"Early." Before standing, he gave her one last peck on the mouth. "But I couldn't wait any longer." He padded to the kitchen to start the french toast they'd decided on.

He was in the middle of cracking eggs when she sat across from him on the other side of the breakfast bar. "It's nice to have someone to celebrate with again," she said, leaning up and forward to peek in his bowl. "I'm happy it's you." He cocked his head at that. She'd had a family before, a sister and brother-in-law. Nieces and nephews. A father. He asked her to elaborate but she shrugged it off. "Just a few rough years. That's all. Don't waste your time on it."

Learning about her was one of the things he liked about having a girlfriend. As sappy as it sounded, even to himself, it made him feel like she was a part of him, and he a part of her. Dr. Sally said open communication was important. If he was going to be a good boyfriend, Y/N should be able to talk to him without fearing he couldn't handle it. He grasped her hand and borrowed her phrase from last night. "You can talk to me." Their gazes met as he ran the pad of his thumb over her knuckles. "I'm okay today."

A wry grin appeared. "Let's just say we've both experienced difficult family situations." She took his fork and finished beating the eggs for him as he turned on the stove. "This is a big step in putting that awfulness behind me."

The way she seemed to understand him, even if she was talking about herself, prompted him to clear his throat. "Me, too." He dipped the bread in the bowl, then placed it in the frying pan.

When they were finished eating (it'd been so much better than the casserole she'd made, and he'd never had real maple syrup before), Y/N poured them both more coffee and made her way to the living room. Arthur offered to turn on the news, aware she was still waiting for coverage on the Wayne Foundation case, but she waved dismissively. "I don't want to think about that today. God knows I already think about it too much."

They took turns opening gifts, sitting on the floor by the tree, close enough for him to feel the heat she was emanating. Y/N immediately opened her chocolate Santa and broke off a piece for him. The musk oil perfume he'd picked up for her at Helm's Pharmacy had been on sale for $1.79, and he was grateful he'd remembered to remove the price tag before wrapping it. She dabbed it on her wrist. It was different on her than it was in the bottle, a bit stronger than expected. But she was wearing something he'd given her, so it was lovely nonetheless. Her favorite of the three presents seemed to be the old, tapered, white vase he'd found. She needed it, he explained. That time he'd given her a rose, she'd stuck it in a drinking glass.

What he'd given her were simple trinkets, born out of a vague idea of what women were supposed to like. Despite her apparent delight and the kisses she'd bestowed on him after opening each one, they felt inadequate compared to what she gave him. There was a teal sweater, one she claimed would bring out (in her words) his "beautiful eyes." He pulled it on over his thermal shirt, tags and all. She'd gotten him a book on comedy writing. He wasn't sure how to take that - had she decided his jokes weren't very good? But then she told him she expected more material for his next stand-up show.

Picking up the last gift, he studied it with mock seriousness. Its shape and weight gave away it was a record, but he had no idea which one. They often enjoyed quiet evenings with his collection of older standards, but she preferred more modern songs. Maybe it was an attempt to introduce him to what she liked. He'd gladly listen to it, at least once. He peeled the pretty paper back and exhaled sharply. The LP was old, the cover worn. It was the soundtrack to Modern Times, a film he'd caught once or twice and loved the music of. Holding it to his chest, he murmured a quiet, "Thank you." Eagerly, he got up and put it on, letting the orchestra and his love for her wash over him, soothe his battered soul.

Y/N followed and splayed a hand on the small of his back. "Gotham Pops played this at the Wayne benefit last month." Giggling, she tousled his hair. "I spent the evening wishing you were next to me. It would have been nice to show you off, all dressed up and handsome." He stiffened for a second, wondering if he should tell her he had been there. If he should practice the honesty he'd been working on since Murray. Perhaps knowing he'd accompanied her, in his own way, would please her. But she interrupted his thoughts before he could speak. "The Christmas parade starts in an hour. We should go now if you still want to see it. Neither of us are very tall - we need a good spot." Her lips brushed his ear. "I brought an extra hat and mittens for you."

He spun to face her as he nodded, and she nuzzled at his nose and sighed. The wide smile she wore halted his breath. It would have been nice if this hadn't been his only real Christmas. If his first thirty-five years hadn't been a cruel joke, a tragedy. But he was glad to have this taste of happiness with her.

He hadn't longed for a paralegal from another part of the country, a woman who couldn't dance well and never guessed the punchlines of his jokes. But what he was about to say was true all the same. He cupped her face and kissed her firmly. "You're the one I always wanted," he whispered against her. "Merry Christmas, Y/N." The words felt unnatural - he was unsure when he had last said them.

The love in her look let him know he'd done all right. "You're the man I never knew I needed. And I do, Arthur." He closed his eyes at her embrace, laying his cheek against her temple as she cuddled into him. "Merry Christmas, Mr. Fleck." Her next sentence and the touch of her mouth to his jaw made him shiver. "Maybe next year we won't have to choose whose apartment will have the tree."

~~~~~

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