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mrstaeminlee · 3 years

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Mission Complete Ch. 1

You had two goals in life. One: Complete your squad training without dying. Two: Fuck Levi Ackerman

Pairings: Levi/f!reader

Warnings: Swearing, eventual smut, lmk if I need to add anything~

You really had no idea what the fuck prompted you to join the military. Maybe it was to find some redeeming grace in the eyes of your dying mother, maybe it was because you wanted a life with as much stability as one could muster, maybe it was because you just fucking hated farming.

Whatever it was, you wished to any God that would listen that you would have buried it in the ground along with the countless friends and family members you had lost to the Titans.

The first week of the cadet corps was everything you knew you would hate and more. Between the foul smelling breath of the commandant threatening to make you puke up the bread you had managed to steal, to working your body to the point of sneaking away from one on one combat to puke behind the bushes, after seven days you had almost decided that maybe digging in the dirt for the rest of your miserable life wasn't so bad.

There was only one thing stopping you from making your own walk of shame to the wagon of regret.

Levi Ackerman.

AKA the man you fantasized about every night when you managed to find enough strength to finger yourself below the covers.

He was a couple of inches shorter, true, but you were willing to break your rule of not fucking anyone shorter than you for him.

You had only see him twice in your life by complete chance, the first had been when you happened to be by the gates in time to see the Scouts returning from what was undoubtably another failed mission, and you decided that what the hell, might as well have a look at Humanity's Strongest in the flesh. Granted, it hadn't been his best day; his green cloak was splattered with what could only have been the blood of his comrades as it didn't look as if he had a single scratch on him, but he looked like a god, albeit one that had just gotten his ass kicked out of heaven. His eyes seemed to be sunken in, and even from how far away you were you found yourself shivering from the intensity of his dead gaze. You weren't sure what possessed you to lift your hand as he eyes moved through the crowd, looking for whom, you didn't know, or what possessed him to raise those eyes to you, but you found yourself lost in haunted silver as you gave a soft wave. The way he seemed to look straight through you, not even seeing you even as you stared at each other, was enough to convince you that you needed to do whatever it took to see this man again.

You enlisted the start of the next week.

The second time was completely by chance.

Everyone was desperate for military recruits, and desperate times called for desperate calls to important people to make appearances in front of people that were well, not very important.

Erwin Smith, Dot Pixis, Nile Dawk, Levi Ackerman, Hange Zoe, Rico Brzenska, and even Darius Zackly graced the entrance ceremony of the new Cadets, and you thanked whatever bone in your body made you a teacher's pet because you had a front row seat to the man that had plagued your thoughts every single day in the past week. His appearance was brief and he didn't speak, just stared at the fresh faces, some cocky, some blank, but mostly terrified new recruits, and you could have sworn that you saw a tinge of sadness hidden in the silver, as if he could already foresee the deaths of everyone in front of him. He followed after Erwin immediately after the blond gave his speech about thanking you all for making the decision to serve humanity and you fought the urge to roll your eyes. 'I'm not doing this for humanity, I'm doing this for dick,' you thought as you signed your life away to this shit camp for the next two years.

How one man who was fucking shorter than you managed to convince you to trade the next 728 days, 14 hours, 37 minutes, and 15 seconds of your life for physical and emotional hell was beyond you, and yet here you were, standing proud and slightly hungover from the pre-graduation celebrating you did with Eren, Mikasa, and Armin the night before. They hadn't initially been your first choice in friends, but Armin was nice to you from the start and once you very quickly learned that flirting with Eren in front of Mikasa was not in your best interest, you had decided that they were alright; especially when Eren's Titan form had been revealed. If anyone was going to have to get close enough to keep an eye on Eren, it would be Captain Levi.

The very man you were thinking of walked on the stage along with Nile Dawk, Dot Pixis, and Erwin Smith as the three took turns giving their pitch. You hadn't made the top 10 but were happy for your friends that were, you were content with your place as 13th. In a class of over 500, you still considered it a win, and if your parents were still alive you knew they'd be proud. As the remaining members of the top 10 who had opted to join the elitest MP's went off to talk to Nile and the other scared fucks ran off to sign themselves to the Garrison regiment, you and around a hundred other members stayed where you were and you licked your lips, forcing your heart rate to calm itself. 'Calm down, you can't work your way up to fucking the strongest man in the world if you die of heart attack before-'

"Listen up you little shits."

Oh my God he was speaking you've never heard his voice before it's so fucking-

"Most of you are going to die. Are you prepared for that?"

Ah, so Humanity's Strongest was a sweet talker.

"Erwin is making me come up here and talk, so we're all going to pretend that I'm saying some meaningful bullshit. But here's the truth: If you aren't strong, you will die, and it will be painful. Imagine the thought of seeing your childhood friend's entrails being slurped up like spaghetti by a Titan, while the entire time he's conscious enough to reach his hand out for you, and you are able to do nothing for him because you spent exactly one second hesitating, or you were a moment too late to draw your blades, or react to the threat. If that scares you, then do us all a favor and put down that half assed salute and sell your soul to the Garrison where you'll spend your days fucking the best whores for a discount if you're in uniform and getting drunk on the clock."

After his touching speech you and your now dripping panties decided that you had indeed made the right decision in selling yourself to the Scouts.

One month later

It was moments like these, where you weren't quite trashed but definitely more than tipsy, that you had never been happier to be part of the survey corps. I mean, you were in peak physical shape (you still couldn't believe you had abs. Abs!), you were hot, you were fit, and you knew Sasha Braus, who had managed to steal a few bottles of top shelf liquor from the higher ups.

You were also horny as fuck. It had been over a year since you'd gotten laid, and you were using the dildo you'd bought on your first trip back into town as often as you brushed your teeth (twice a day, you didn't fuck with cavities). You briefly thought about enlisting the help of one of your current drinking buddies but after seeing your choices you decided to leave it to old faithful hidden in your pillowcase. There was Jean, who albeit was pretty hot even with the long face but was so in love with Mikasa it made you want to vomit. Marco, who you were almost one hundred percent sure was gay; Connie, who held the sexual appeal of a pile of horse shit, although he was super nice. Reiner almost looked promising but you knew underneath those stocky muscles was a shitload of emotional baggage you didn't want, and Bertholt was head over heels for Annie of all people. That left Armin and Eren. Eren you already knew was out, while your slut senses told you he'd be a great lay, you weren't quite ready for your life to end at the hands of Mikasa. That left Armin. You tilted your head, staring at him as you sipped on your god forsaken concoction and debated fucking him or not. He wasn't outright sexy, but he'd filled in well during the two years of training and you had seen glimpses of his surprisingly impressive muscles under his white shirt. He might actually do. He'd be shy as hell and you would have to lead everything, not to mention he'd probably cum in less than a minute, but it just might-

“Did you guys know that Captain Levi is a virgin?"

You spit the mix of vodka, rum, and whatever mixer Reiner had put in all over the face of the person you had just considered fucking.

"I'm sorry, what?" You turned your attention to Christa, apologetically handing Armin a napkin and patting his cheek.

Christa blushed at the attention and scooted closer to Ymir, who threw an arm around her shoulders and gave Reiner her customary 'If you even look at her weird, I will gut you' look. "W-Well, recently I started helping out in the infirmary because they've been short handed. You all know, it's that time of year where everyone has to get looked at and they give us that sheet of paper to fill out with all of our personal information to keep track of potential diseases. I was in charge of filing the paperwork the day they brought all of the officers in, and on the paper they ask you how many sexual partners you've had and Captain Levi wrote 0. But you guys, you have to promise not to tell anyone! This is private information, if it somehow gets out that I told you this I'll get into a lot of trouble!"

Ymir chuckled, placing a sloppy kiss at the top of the blonde's head. "Don't worry about a thing sweet cheeks, if any of these miscreants here says a word I'll kill them for ya. But we don't have to worry about that at all, now do we?" She glared at each person in the room, who all looked as if Christa were a ghost, and slowly shook their heads.

Your life was changed.

Captain Levi Ackerman.

The strongest man in the world.

Rumored former thug of the Underground.

The person responsible for killing as many Titans as a hundred soldiers.

The person whose squad every scout dreamed of being on, was a virgin.

You screeched out a laugh before you could help it, the alcohol doing nothing to try and make you quiet yourself as you fell onto your back laughing, cup long forgotten as it rolled across the floor. The person who initiated your drive to join the military in the first place, the person you literally dreamed of fucking, had never gotten his dick wet.

Clearly, you had your work cut out for you.

If you managed to live through the sight of Ymir reaching over to punch you in the face to shut you up.

#lmk if y'all like it plssssss #we're just gonna age everyone up here lol #I've been thirsting after Armin as a 30 yr old college professor who blushes when he sees you in your bra but chokes you out during sex #aot x reader #snk x reader #Levi ackerman #Levi Ackerman x reader #Levi x reader #Levi x reader smut #Levi smut #captain levi

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neptunetheplanet7 · 3 years

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𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧 - 𝐮𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐯𝐢𝐬𝐢𝐭𝐨𝐫

DM ME IF YOU WOULD LIKE TO BE PUT ON THE TAGLIST!!

;mikasa ackerman x fem!lesbian!reader

;modern au, band au

word count: 2.0k

warnings: swearing, zeke

listen to the music masterlist

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Just as you were about to say something else to Mikasa, the doorbell rang, interrupting the moment. She let go of your hair and stood at her full height.

"Are you expecting anyone?" She asked.

"No, we're not." With confusion evident on your face, you got off the stool and lightly kicked it under the counter.

Your eyebrows knitted together as you made your way to the front door.

On the other side of the glass, you saw a blond bearded man struggling to hold around five suitcases. He noticed you reaching for the door handle and grinned widely.

"Surprise!" He shouted and dropped his luggage on the marble floor when the door was fully opened. He raised his arms and tried to hug you. Scowling, you evaded his embrace.

"Zeke, what the hell are you doing here?" Your grip on the door tightened with every word.

Zeke frowned. "Do I need a reason to visit my sister?"

You rolled your eyes. "I'm not your sister. And typically, yes, you would."

"Okay, well, you're like my sister." He paused to adjust his glasses. "Have you forgotten? Eren's twenty-second is coming up. There's so much to do!" His excited facade was transparent to you.

"You didn't care about his twenty-first. Or his twentieth, for that matter. What's the sudden interest in your brother's life?" You raised an eyebrow as he visibly grew nervous.

"Well, you see, uh-" He twiddled his thumbs and your eyes narrowed. "Here's the thing-"

"Spit it out, Zeke." Mikasa cut him off when she rounded the corner. She crossed her arms as she leaned against the staircase railing.

"Mikasa! I didn't know you were back!" Zeke made rapid hand gestures toward her, eager to change the subject.

"I didn't know you were back, either. At least I gave a warning," she uttered, earning an incredulous look from the blond.

"Zeke, why are you here?" you continued.

His eyes briefly shifted to a houseplant before training back on you. "What if I told you I'm not allowed in the state of Nebraska?" He gave you a meek smile and your jaw dropped.

Mikasa snorted. "What the hell did you do in Nebraska?"

"Nothing!" he assured. "It's just that I may or may not be several million dollars in debt and on the run from the police." He looked down at his muddy boots in shame.

"You're WHAT?" You gaped at him. You'd known Zeke long enough to have it figured out that he brought trouble wherever he went but he was usually careful enough not to get banned from a state.

"It's not as bad as you think! I just got into a little quarrel with some guys. Everything is fine. Just let me stay here for a while," he said sheepishly.

"I am not letting a fugitive stay in my home!" you exclaimed.

"I'm not a fugitive! There's no need to use terms like that!"

"You're banned from Nebraska! I'll call you whatever I want!"

"What's all the commotion about?" Eren was walking down the stairs when he saw his older brother at the door. His mouth dropped open and he gripped the railing beside him. "Zeke?!"

"Why didn't you tell me your brother was in town?" You glared up at him.

"Because I didn't know!" He started to flail his arms around while simultaneously trying to make sense of the situation.

"Hey, little brother. Can I sleep in your room?"

"No!"

"Zeke's not allowed in Nebraska," Mikasa informed.

"What?!" Eren clutched the railing with one hand and his head with the other whilst continuing his descent down the stairs. "What even is Nebraska?" he mumbled with wide eyes.

"Doesn't matter. I wanna know how he managed to be banned from it." You glowered at the man in front of you.

"Y/n, will you please let me inside? It's cold even in March, you know." Zeke pleaded and pretended to shiver.

You glanced back at Eren for a sign of his approval. The house was yours, but Zeke was his brother. It wasn't like this was the first time he needed to stay over, anyway. Unlike mere seconds before, he now held a serious expression. He nodded at you and beckoned for Zeke to follow him.

He heaved a relieved sigh and nearly tackled you with a hug. "Thank you so much, Y/n! You won't regret this, I promise."

It felt like your bones were being crushed by his weight as your face was pushed up against his jacket. He reeked of an old car. "Okay, get off me, old man!" Your voice was muffled as you tried to push him away. He backed up and brushed your shoulders off before grabbing his luggage and disappeared into the basement with his younger brother.

You sighed heavily and plopped down on the stairs. "He got mud all over my floors. I just cleaned them too." Your head fell into your hands as you stressed over Zeke's sudden arrival. As if there wasn't enough on your plate already.

Mikasa laughed quietly as she draped an arm around your shoulders and sat down beside you. The sudden contact made your ears burn red. "Any particular reason for cleaning?" she hinted teasingly.

You lifted your head as you apprehensively stammered out a poor explanation.

She laughed at you again and you couldn't help but wonder if it's always been that easy to make her laugh. You thought about it for a moment and concluded to yourself that it didn't matter what made her laugh, as long as you got to hear it.

A dreamy smile spread across your face as you watched how her newly short hair fell in front of her eyes when she laughed like that.

It seemed she noticed your thoughtful gaze because she tucked the hair behind her ear and peered down at you. "What are you looking at?" she whispered.

"You."

The sound of footsteps resounded from the stairs behind you. "Woah, I hope I'm not interrupting anything," Jean smirked when he saw how close you and Mikasa were. He parted the two of you by removing Mikasa's arm so he could walk in between.

Your face grew red when you realized what you had said to her and it grew even redder when you noticed Mikasa had a similar amount of color dusting her cheeks.

"Heads up, I'm going to Marco's right now so if anyone asks that's where I'll be." He corrected the slight wrinkles in his new shirt and grabbed his keys from the key-hook.

Mikasa was quick to add to his words. "It's nice to see you and Marco are still going strong. I'm happy for you, Jean, really." She smiled up at him honestly.

Jean's tinted cheeks gave away his embarrassment. "Oh, thanks. Uh, I'm also really happy for, um, whatever you guys have going on." He grinned but quickly covered his mouth when he saw a look of distress flash across your face. "Uh, sorry, I have to go now. See you guys later." He mumbled another apology and turned sharply on his heel to make a mad dash at the front door.

Mikasa chuckled and shook her head. "He can be such a dork sometimes," she said when the door closed behind him.

"That's true," you admitted softly. You were a little displeased that she kept her arm in her lap instead of wrapping it around you again now that Jean had vanished.

"I take it Zeke's kept up with his habits since I've been gone?" she assumed.

An exasperated sigh left your lips. "He shows up at least once or twice a year wanting to stay. He always owes somebody money but, as far as I know, this is the first time he's been permanently banned from a state. I don't love letting criminals in my household but you know how Eren gets."

"I see. I do remember how angry he'd get with us when we wanted Zeke to leave," she recalled dejectedly.

"I just wish he wouldn't get his hopes up every time he asks to stay." You frowned and tapped your fingers against the wooden stair you sat on.

"I hope he can stay long enough for Eren's twenty-second. It'd be nice if he could spend his birthday with him."

"That can be arranged." You ran a shaky hand through your hair. "Will you be okay at a party for him?" you inquired timidly. Considering what happened the last time she was at a party, you felt the need to know if she'd be alright with going since Eren's birthday was rapidly approaching.

Mikasa was surprised by the question. "Of course I will be. Y/n, you know I'm over what happened. You don't have to worry about what I think. It's cute you care, though." She squeezed your shoulder gently and gave you a reassuring smile.

Before you could respond, she stood from her position next to you and started up the stairs. "I'm gonna get changed. I'll see you later."

When she was out of your sight, you gave a final weighted sigh. You had to figure out what you were going to do with Zeke. The feelings that came with Mikasa being home already clouded your mind, not to mention the stress of Hitch on your ass as well.

For Eren's sake, Zeke should stay for a little bit. Mikasa suggested he should leave once Eren's birthday passes and that made sense. However, that would mean he'd be living in your house for two weeks.

You groaned and leaned back. There was only one person who would know how to help. You spun around and scrambled up the creaky stairs.

Facing the office door, you opened it and watched Armin move hastily to turn off their monitor.

"What are you doing?" You raised an eyebrow and leaned on the doorframe.

"Important research." He swiveled the chair to face you and rested his arms in his lap.

"Yeah, right," you snickered. "Did you know Zeke is here?"

Armin nodded. "I overheard everything. It's not like you people are quiet."

"Okay, so what should I do about it?" Moving to sit on the couch, you placed your hands on the cushions under you.

They shrugged. "I don't know. What should you do about it?"

"Come on, Armin. I came in here because I need your help with this." You sent him a worried glance.

"Y/n, at the end of the day, this is your house. You decide who stays and who doesn't. If you want him here, let him stay. If you don't, kick him out."

He couldn't just ignore the obvious issue present. "But what about Eren?"

"What about him? Eren respects you more than he respects anyone else. He wouldn't want to do something if you weren't comfortable with it. The guy trusts you with his life." He spoke like the answer was so clear.

You pursed your lips and thought over what they said. "I don't want to hurt him, though."

He wore a compassionate smile. "None of us do, but the difference between us is that he would listen to you. So, with that said, how long will you let Zeke stay?"

You looked down at your hands and thought back to your conversation with Mikasa and about the conversation you just had with the man across from you. "He can stay until Eren's birthday party. When that's passed, he'll have to leave."

When you looked up, you noticed Armin was still smiling at you. "I knew you'd make a good decision."

"I always do, don't I?" You joked.

He snorted and adjusted his chair to face his computer again. "You wouldn't be able to without me."

You feigned offense and stood up. "You're too cruel."

"Sure I am. Now leave my office, peasant. I'm busy." He waved you away with a dramatic flair of his hand.

You scoffed. "I bet you don't have actual work to do and you're just being a freak on the internet, like usual."

He flipped you off. "If you don't leave I'll have to use brute force."

"Whatever, whatever, Armeen, don't be harsh." You sauntered out of the office before he could scold you about the nickname.

posted: 8/31/21

no edits, reposts, or modification to my work by anyone other than me.

#aot fanfiction #band au #mikasa ackerman #mikasa x reader #mikasa x you #modern au #snk fanfiction #attack on titan

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thejakeformerlyknownasprince · 4 years

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Can you write a follow up on your "all the yeerks suddenly die" au?

[Follows from this AU; all you have to know from that one is that all the yeerks suddenly died somewhere between the events of #19 and #20.]

Three days after a military scientist officially confirms that the strange new sinkhole beneath the California mall was put there by an extraterrestrial intelligence, and that multiple area teenagers have been leading a resistance movement, the paparazzi descends upon the high school. They’re not allowed to cross onto school grounds, but that doesn’t stop the whole flock of them from mobbing the drop-off line, hoping for any further information on the infamous child warriors.

They’re destined to be disappointed. Even armed with extensive rosters detailing the rumors about who was and was not involved in the war, there’s no footage to be had of any of the Animorphs entering or leaving the school.

“I feel like a damn drug mule,” Jordan grumbles as she dumps the contents of her backpack on the locker room floor. Two roaches skitter out from among the books and clothes, and immediately start demorphing. “I have to take my own stuff to school too, you know.”

“Sorry,” Cassie says as she finishes the morph. “And thanks for the ride.”

“You’re not the problem.” Jordan hands over Cassie’s jeans and sneakers, and then pointedly shoves the remaining pile of stuff — skirt, blouse, leggings, socks, bra, platform boots, makeup kit, hairspray — toward Rachel.

“It’s not a crime to want to look good,” Rachel sniffs, grabbing the hairspray.

A week later Rachel flings herself into the chair across from Chapman’s desk, tilting it back on two legs. “Long time, no see. What’s the damage this time?”

It seems to take an age for him to look up from the file on the desk in front of him. “Bailey Matthews is being checked for concussion,” he says at last. “No word from the nurse yet.”

Rachel blows her bangs off her face, exasperated. “Not him, me. What’ll it be? Three detentions? Four detentions? Let’s have it.”

Chapman folds his hands on the desk in front of him. “Given this is your third disciplinary action in less than a semester, it’s an automatic suspension. Effective immediately. I’ve already contacted your guardian—”

“What? My mom’s a civilian, you can’t just—”

“You attacked a fellow student. I can do what I deem necessary to keep it from happening again.”

“So you called my mommy to tell her what a bad girl I’ve been?” Rachel sneers.

“So I talked Principal Walsh down from expulsion,” he says quietly.

Rachel’s mouth falls open. “Expulsion? What the fuck.”

“You have, inarguably, ‘demonstrated a consistent pattern of violent behavior.’” Chapman reads this last off the file in front of him. “I argued that your exemplary GPA and clean disciplinary record up until this last year are evidence that this pattern arises from an undiagnosed stressor outside the school environment. I have already contacted one of the counselors in the school’s network, and recommended that you talk to Dr. Irvine twice a week at minimum.” He looks up at Rachel. “She was a controller too. It was the best I could do.”

“You think I need therapy?” Rachel demands. “You think I’m off the rails?”

“Rachel...” Chapman takes a breath, and then another. “You’ve been forced to grow up too quickly, with no guides. You’ve been asked to assume a burden that can and has killed men twice your age from the stress alone. And you’ve had to do it without any of the social or structural support that actual military personnel would have. That is, in essence, the definition of complex trauma.”

“And if I refuse your headshrinker?”

“Fine.” He makes a note in the file. “You’re suspended an additional two days. If that’s what it’ll take to cool you off.”

Bang. Rachel’s chair falls upright as she stands. “You think you scare me? Huh?”

“Sit. Down.” Chapman shoves to his feet as well.

Rachel’s chin comes up. “Or what?”

“Or we’ll continue to escalate,” Chapman snaps. “Until you morph and smear me across the linoleum. You’ll have to kill me, but you’ll find a way to cover that up. So there will be no real consequences for your actions, as usual. Is that what you want?” He’s practically shouting by the end.

Rachel stares at him. Eyes wide. Face pale.

Chapman takes a step back from her. He sits back down, breathing hard, clearly fighting his own temper. “I didn’t ask for this job,” he says quietly. “The yeerks just placed me here. But the fact remains that it is my responsibility to look out for all of the students in this school, Rachel. All of them. I want to help you, but I need to help Bailey and all the others as well. So if you’re going to continue to be a threat to the safety of my students, then you can you can either shape up or get out. Do I make myself clear?”

Without a word, Rachel whirls around and shoves out the door.

“Jaaaaake,” Tom calls down the stairs, a distinct sing-song quality to his voice, “your girlfriend’s on the phone.”

Jake runs for the phone, pulling it away from Tom. “Cassie?” he says breathlessly.

“Rachel too,” Rachel says from the other end. “Actually, you should loop Tom in. This concerns him as well.”

Jake switches on speakerphone, setting the phone on the end of the bannister. Tom gives him a questioning look; Jake shrugs.

“We just got done telling my parents about everything,” Cassie says into the phone. “Now that everyone knows about the yeerks, it seemed like time.”

“We’re off to tell my mom next,” Rachel weighs in, voice tinny. “I’m the one who suggested Cassie spill the beans. Obviously our sibs and Marco’s parents already know, so it was just a matter of time.”

Jake takes a deep breath, staring at the ceiling as if imploring it for patience. “You do remember the part where we all agreed we’d decide as a team when to tell the parents, right? And you remember before that, when we voted to wait until we got official confirmation that the yeerks were all dead before doing anything reckless? Because I seem to recall that that time you also went haring off and told Tom about us all being Animorphs.”

“Told you he wouldn’t be happy,” Cassie says quietly.

“Rach, quick question.” Tom leans close to the phone. “Actually, two questions. First, is he always this bossy? And second: if so, how did you go this long without strangling him?”

“Oh, shut up,” Jake mutters.

“See?” Tom raises his eyebrows. “Bossy.”

“Anyway, we wanted to give you a heads up,” Cassie says, too diplomatic to respond to that directly. “Because if we tell Rachel’s parents, yours are going to find out pretty soon.”

“Cool,” Tom says. “I’ve been saying we should tell from the start. Jake can take care of that.”

Jake’s mouth opens halfway in indignation. “Why just me?”

“Mom, Dad.” Tom addresses thin air. “You know how my grades have taken a nosedive this last quarter? It’s not my fault, because I was mind-controlled by aliens. Aliens that have since mysteriously disappeared.” He widens his eyes. “No, I’m not lying to get out of being grounded, and I can’t imagine why you would ever think that.” He looks at Jake. “See? I don’t even believe myself.”

“He has a point,” Rachel says.

“Whereas you...” Tom points at Jake. “Just go ‘Hey guys, look what I can do!’ And then...” He makes a gesture that is probably meant to convey morphing. Either that or that he’s attempting to give himself the heimlich maneuver. It’s a little unclear.

“Fine.” Jake rolls his eyes. “But you have to be there to back me up.”

“Bossy,” Tom whispers loudly.

“Bossy,” Rachel agrees, in an even louder whisper.

Marco goes on a date with Bethany Stevens. It ends abruptly when she asks him if he knows anything about the alien stuff that’s been all over town, and doesn’t believe him when he announces that that has nothing to do with him and even if it did he wouldn’t want to talk about it. It’s stupid, he’ll think later, to panic over being outed by a random civilian. But paranoia doesn’t disappear overnight, even if apparently yeerks do.

“Um. Hi.” Tobias stops in the door of Chapman’s office, left hand wrapped around his right elbow. “You wanted to see me?”

“Yes.” Chapman sets a slim envelope on his desk. “This isn’t how it was supposed to be delivered, but Warren DeGroot thought it best to waive...” He cuts himself off. “It’s your father’s will. I ended up with it because the yeerks read it — illegally, sorry — and immediately went looking for you.”

Tobias doesn’t step into the room. He stares at the envelope. “My father’s dead?”

“Yes.” Chapman shifts in place. “I’m sorry, I thought you knew.”

Tobias shakes his head. “I don’t know anything about him. Never even met the guy.”

“Actually...” Chapman shakes his head. He nudges the envelope closer to Tobias, who still has not made a move toward it. “Just read what he said, it’ll explain everything better than I can. It’s not much of an excuse, but I did think you already knew, given your closeness to Aximili.”

“He abandoned me before I was even born.” Tobias’s tone tries for apathy. “What’s Ax got to do with it?”

Chapman gestures at the paper. “Just read it.”

Tobias darts forward like a mouse entering an open field, snatching the envelope and retreating back to the doorway.

“Tobias!” Chapman says, stopping him in the doorway. “You’ll probably have questions. I’m not the best person to ask — I barely knew him for a few weeks, and I can’t claim we were ever friends — but if I can help at all...”

“Okay,” Tobias says. “Thanks.” And then he runs for it.

Tobias and Rachel walk each other to class. Tobias and Rachel kiss in the hall when they arrive for the day. Tobias and Rachel eat lunch together, leaning close to whisper to each other over a single shared carton of milk.

The rumor mill is appalled, of course. What’s she doing with a guy like that? Rachel’s the most popular girl in the ninth grade, and Allison heard from Brady who heard from Juan who knows for a fact that she had no less than four requests to go to Homecoming with various guys. One was even a tenth-grader.

And yet she’s not holding hands with that tenth-grader. Nope, she’s letting herself be seen in public with that new kid, the weird one. The one who hunches his shoulders when startled and actually hissed at Andy Mitchell last week. The one who’s always staring way off into middle distance, never paying attention to where he’s going. Yeah, that new kid.

It’s the scandal of the century.

“...Jake?” Ms. Hanna is leaning forward over Jake’s desk, frowning down at him. They’re alone, the rest of his History class already having left at some point. He must’ve lost time again. Crap. He hates zoning out in the middle of class.

“Sorry.” Jake drags a shaking hand over his face, grimacing at the feel of fear-sweat on his skin. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to, uh, not pay attention.” It won’t be his first detention this month, and probably not his last.

“Are you back with me?” Ms. Hanna asks. Her tone is... gentle. Her pad of detention slips is still on her desk. “It’s okay if you’re not.”

“Sorry,” Jake mutters again. “I probably missed a lot.”

“It’s just the Revolutionary War, you can catch up later.” She makes an impatient gesture. “Can I get you anything?” Her tone has softened again. “A glass of water? Do you want me to write you a pass for the nurse’s office?”

Immediately Jake shakes his head. The school nurse is a civilian. Ms. Hanna, it’s becoming obvious, is not.

“How about I get your brother, then?” she suggests. “If you need to go home, it’s no trouble to write notes for you both.” She moves to put her hand on Jake’s arm, but stops when he flinches at the motion.

“Could...” Jake breathes in, then out. The trembling will be gone soon, he knows. “Could I just sit here for a minute? Is that okay?”

“Of course.” Ms. Hanna takes several steps back, giving him space. “Of course, honey. Take all the time you need.”

«You wished to see me, Prince Alloran.» Ax stands at attention in the middle of the incongruously cheery-looking park, doing his best to ignore the gawking humans on the playground down at the other end. He can’t imagine why Alloran wanted to meet here.

«There’s no need for formality, Aximili, we both know you have far more combat experience than I do.» Alloran makes a dismissive gesture.

Slowly Ax lowers his tail. «What is this about, sir?»

«That was commendable work with the human radio telescope, Aximili. It has successfully intercepted signals from the andalite forces from as far away as the Anati homeworld.» Alloran’s tone is careful in a way Ax does not like. As they speak, circling the park, Ax can feel all eyes following them from all sides. «Including a few highly encrypted, deeply euphemistic allusions to a mission that took place two local months ago here on Earth.»

«Andalites?» Ax asks sharply. «Here?»

«Not a counter-invasion, of course. A small force of war criminals, not officially recognized or endorsed by any authority, all of whom were declared dead before the mission even began. A force specifically designed to keep the War Council’s hands clean.»

«A Suicide Squad?» Ax suggests.

Alloran makes a gesture that Ax interprets to mean sounds like some human nonsense I haven’t bothered to learn about, and keeps going. «All four were meant to have died, by their own tails if not in battle. That way, they could never speak a word of their mission to anyone else.»

«Their mission,» Ax repeats. He has a horrible suspicion about the nature of that mission, given the timing — mere days before the death of every yeerk on the planet.

«Aximili, I called you here to meet the architect of the yeerks’ demise. The creator of the second quantum virus we have now deployed in this war, one far more monstrous than anything even I could have devised.»

Alloran whirls faster than any human can react, tail bullwhipping through the air to stop millimeters from the throat of an ordinary-looking human girl. Several people cry out in surprise, but the girl just looks calmly up at him. “Prince Alloran,” she says.

«Estrid-Corill-Darrath,» he answers. «My brother must have been so proud.» This does not sound like a compliment.

«You must be very skilled, to have made a hybrid morph so soon,» Ax says. «But you have a lot to learn about pretending to be a human.»

Estrid begins to demorph. She never takes her eyes off Alloran, and he never moves his blade away from her throat. «I ended the war,» she says flatly. «You’re all very welcome.»

«Truly,» Alloran says, «It is an honor to be standing in the presence of the greatest mass murderer in all of history. One who lacked even the courage to die for her sins. You have surpassed me in every conceivable way, aristh.»

Estrid makes a sharp, dismissive gesture with her own tail. The closest human equivalent Ax can imagine is if she had spat upon Alloran’s shoes.

«What do you mean to do with her?» Ax asks. If she actually did what Alloran accuses — unleashed a virus deadly enough to annihilate the yeerks — then he finds himself torn between disgust and awe. But that doesn’t mean he wants her dead.

Alloran tilts his head in consideration, and then drops his tail. «She can live. If I’m to be stranded here the rest of my days by the Electorate’s ruling, then she can endure the same. Killing the architect of this massacre would be folly. If the virus mutates enough to jump hosts...»

Ax shudders from stalk-eyes to hooves at the thought.

«...then she’ll be best equipped to do something about it.» A cruel smile creases the corners of Alloran’s eyes. «Besides, I think it’s safest for all involved if she’s confined to a primitive planet like this one, kept well away from any technology she could use to incite further mischief.» With that, he turns and disappears into the trees.

Ax and Estrid stare at each other for the long, silent moment that follows. «Will it mutate?» Ax says at last.

«The odds are infinitesimal!» Estrid snaps. «Otherwise I never would have —»

«Killed an entire species?» Ax suggests. «Were you aware of the Yeerk Peace Movement?»

She snaps her tail dismissively. «A handful of token resisters does not make up for an entire empire’s worth of evil, Aximili. And the virus did the killing, not me.»

Ax stares at her for a very long time. «I will not tell the humans about you, if the virus does not mutate,» he says at last. «But I also don’t think I ever want to speak to you again, Estrid. Goodbye, and be well.»

He thinks she calls after him. He doesn’t answer, only runs faster and focuses harder on beginning to morph.

“No, leerans are the aquatic ones that read people’s minds,” Jake hears Tom say from downstairs.

“I thought you said that yeerks were aquatic and read minds,” his mom responds.

“No,” Tom says. “I mean, yeah. But yeerks swim around in kandrona or in brain juice. Leerans swim around in oceans.”

“And they shapeshift?”

“Those are andalites. Andalites are the morphers. You remember Ax? Ate an entire pie in one sitting while pretending to be Jake? Andalite.”

“So Jake became an andalite?”

“No, an andalite became Jake.”

“I thought you said that was because a yeerk became Jake.”

“No, a yeerk was inside Jake’s body. So they had an andalite pretend to be Jake.”

“While a yeerk was also pretending to be Jake?”

“I guess. Look, Mom—”

“So this yeerk morphed Jake, and then—”

“No, the yeerk was inside Jake’s brain. He had control of the original Jake. And then Ax acquired Jake’s DNA, then became a copy of Jake.”

“And he controlled it?”

“Uh. No?”

“But then... Tom, I thought you said that yeerk was controlling you. Did it make a copy of you too?”

“What? Nobody morphed me. That I know of, anyway. Yeerks can’t morph.”

“I thought you said humans can’t morph either. Does that mean Jake’s an andalite because he can morph now?”

“No, he’s just an Animorph.”

“And that’s its own species?”

“Don’t I know it. But no. Animorphs are dumb kids in spandex. Andalites are the ones with the tail blades.”

“Oh, and all the spiky horns?”

“No, those are hork-bajir.”

“Hork-bajir, like the aliens who attacked the Gardens that one time?”

“Those were yeerks that attacked the Gardens. They were using hork-bajir as hosts, but it was a yeerk attack.”

“Because the yeerks acquired hork-bajir DNA?”

“Mom...”

Jake considers going downstairs to attempt a rescue mission. Then he remembers Tom contributing almost nothing to the entire conversation where Jake explained the war to their parents, and decides against it.

When Jake and Marco walk out of school at the end of the day, Eva’s leaning casually against the hood of her car at the front of the pickup line. She scans the lines of kids with studied nonchalance, carefully ignoring the frantic whispers of the clusters of parents who stare at her from their own patches of sidewalk. Someone must have told the flock of reporters who she is, because six or seven of them are shouting questions at her from their side of the school fence. She doesn’t appear to have noticed them.

But Jake knows enough about Marco’s knack for showmanship to know that he comes by it naturally. He also knows Eva well enough to notice that she’s smirking just a little, underneath her impeccable makeup. She’s just here to pick her kid up after school, and she’ll probably swear that on her own grave... but she’s enjoying herself as well.

The My Other Car is a Blade Ship bumper sticker on the back of her minivan is new. As is her updo.

“Is she trying to embarrass me?” Marco groans.

He doesn’t fool Jake either. Mostly because he’s grinning from ear to ear, and there’s a catch in his voice. His mom is home. His mom is home.

Drake Zahn is the only one who comments directly to Marco about how apparently his mom ran off with the pool boy and had to fake her own death just to cover up the scandal. Actually, Drake gets halfway through a comment to that effect before there’s a resounding thud from three lockers down. Tom Berenson has just dropped an eighty-pound weight on the locker room floor, and now props a foot against it as he watches them both with an expression of mildest curiosity.

Behind Tom stands a red-haired kid named Bill that Marco mostly only knows from Sharing recruitment posters. Bill’s surrounded by a loose cluster of kids, some older, some younger. Together, they represent a decent subset of the clique that people have taken to calling the Sharing pack, for lack of a better explanation for how they all started hanging out together. Three months ago, Marco would’ve just referred to them as the controllers.

“Do you have a problem?” Bill asks quietly.

“What?” Drake looks from one of the Sharing kids to the other. They all look back at him, most terrifyingly blank-faced. “No, no problem.”

“So you’re just being a dick, then,” Tom comments.

“I don’t...” Again, Drake looks around at the circle of ex-hosts. “I...” He turns and leaves without another word.

After a second, so do most of the no-longer-controllers. None of them acknowledge Marco directly.

“Dude,” Tobias says later, after telling Marco about an eerily similar incident. “Did we, like, join the Sharing without meaning to?”

Marco shrugs elaborately. “Man, I think the Sharing joined us.”

Cassie startles, hastily trying to wipe her cheeks, when someone wrenches open the door of the janitor’s closet and dives inside. It’s too late; Tom has already slammed the door shut behind him and turned to see her. Tear tracks and all.

“Oh, shit,” he says. “Sorry, I didn’t realize. Sorry, I...” He rubs the back of his neck awkwardly. “Do you mind if I stay just for a second?”

Cassie wipes her eyes again. “It’s okay,” she says hoarsely. “It’s a mop closet, I think anyone can use it.”

Tom sighs in relief. “Honestly I’m sorry to intrude. I was hiding from Ms. Paloma, and I didn’t realize you even knew about this place.”

“Knew about... a closet?” Cassie’s actually glad he’s here, even if she’s a little embarrassed to be caught crying. It always helps to have someone else around, so that she doesn’t have to be alone with her own thoughts.

“Oh.” Tom steps forward and shoves aside one of the rows of shelves in demonstration. The secret door behind leads to a staircase that winds straight down into a very familiar-looking set of tunnels. “That’s what I meant. Better hiding place to cry in private than a closet. Not that you have to, because you had the closet first. But crying is healthy. Or I guess feeling things is healthy? And so if you want to go feel things, I can just... stay here.”

Cassie smiles. “I don’t mind the company,” she tells him. She accepts the awkward hand that he offers her, stepping down the first several stairs with him. Tom shuts the door behind them.

By silent agreement they sit down on the stairs well before reaching the first bend of the staircase that might bring the main Yeerk Pool cavern into view.

“Do you... want to talk about it?” Tom asks softly.

Cassie doesn’t say not to you of all people, because that’d be rude. Instead she takes a stab at getting him to understand. “I lost a friend,” she says carefully. “In... everything that happened at the end of the war.”

“A... friend. Ah.” Of course he understands that she means a yeerk. “Someone who... was helping your side?”

She’s grateful to him for trying. “She was tired of the war, just like me. She wanted out, like I did. So she gave up on having a host ever again. Because I asked it. Because Karen — her host — needed it. She, uh...” Her voice breaks. Dammit, here come the tears again.

Tom lets her cry for a while. He digs around in his pockets, coming up with a crumpled napkin that he gives her.

Cassie sniffs into the napkin, trying not to dwell too hard. “So why were you hiding from Ms. Paloma, anyway?”

Tom flushes. And then he reaches into his jacket and pulls out a silvery flask. “She saw, she’s pissed.”

“You were drinking alcohol in the middle of the school day?” Cassie knows she sounds judgmental, but honestly. Of all the stupid things her classmates do, that has always seemed to be near the top of the list for stupidest.

“What? No.” Tom unscrews the cap and hands it to her.

Maple-and-ginger instant oatmeal. She recognizes the scent with visceral immediacy.

“Will that... make you impossible to infest?” Cassie asks. She doesn’t say stupid things like all the yeerks are dead, because she’s wearing her morphing suit under her clothes right now for exactly the same kinds of reasons.

Tom tilts a hand in the air in a so-so gesture. “It’d make me less attractive as a host, especially if I managed to down some in between...” He gives a self-conscious little laugh. “In between things going wrong and them going really wrong. Anyway, it makes me feel better, that’s all.”

“Feeling things is healthy,” Cassie says, smiling.

“Yeah, which is why I’m going to keep hiding down here until Ms. Paloma gets distracted and then...” Tom shrugs, laughing at himself again. “Move counties, change my name, and fake my own death to avoid detention?”

“Let me know how that works out for—”

The hidden door at the top of the stairs scrapes open. They both scramble to their feet, looking guiltier than they should.

Mr. Tidwell regards them both from the top of the stairs, expression very mild.

“I think I discovered the major weakness of this hiding place,” Tom whispers.

“The fact that half the faculty was controllers?” Cassie whispers back.

“Out, both of you.” Mr. Tidwell rolls his eyes. “Before the ceiling finishes collapsing and I have to fill out a novel’s worth of paperwork about your deaths. And if I ever catch you down here again, I will be forced to remember that instant oatmeal does technically fit the definition of a controlled substance by the way the School Board defines banned materials.”

“Sorry,” Cassie says, as they file back out into the closet.

“Just don’t do it again,” Mr. Tidwell says, and she could swear he’s smiling a little.

Someone from the U.S. government calls Marco’s house, looking for a defense briefing. Peter’s not sure if they want his son or his wife, but either way he politely assures the man that this is a wrong number.

“All right,” Marco calls even as he approaches Ax’s scoop. “What is this ‘regrettable purchase,’ and why are you and Tobias begging me to help with it during a perfectly good Saturday?”

«Well,» Tobias snarks, «it’s not like you had plans or anything.»

“I, for your information, was right in the middle of helping my parents install a second anti-aircraft dracon beam on the roof of our house.” Marco presses a hand over his chest. “Ergo, I do have more important things to be doing right now.”

«Wouldn’t a second dracon beam be redundant?» Ax asks.

“My mom’s only installing a second one because of the hissy fit the homeowners’ association threw over the first one,” Marco explains.

«Wow,» Tobias drawls, «I can’t imagine what their objection would’ve been.»

“Anyway, why’d you frantically call me here in the middle of the day to demand my hard-earned...”

Ax has slid the computer around so that Marco can see the screen.

“Holy shit,” Marco breathes. “Is that the real deal?”

«The picture is extremely poor quality due to the limitations of your human technology.» Ax makes a very human hand-tilty motion. «However, I can be approximately eighty-six percent certain that it is, indeed, a morphing cube.»

“And this guy ‘DavidCobraLord’ is just... selling it on Ebay. For forty bucks.” Marco sits down hard on the ground. After a second, he grabs the computer and yanks it closer to himself. “What is he, nuts?”

«Yeah,» Tobis says, «he could totally get fifty for that thing.»

«The question is, can you afford to purchase it?» Ax asks.

«We may have, slightly, placed a bid with funds we didn’t have,» Tobias says. «And now Ebay’s being a butt about asking us to actually, y’know, pay up like we said we would.»

“Yeah, sure, I got it. And just like that, we’ll have our very own morphing cube?” Marco hears his voice rising and can’t even care. “Damn. Do we have to give it back to the andalites?”

«What the War Council doesn’t know will not hurt it,» Ax says darkly.

Tobias and Marco both stare at him. He stares back at them both.

«We can keep it or dispose of it, as Prince Jake sees fit.»

«You okay, Ax-Man?» Tobias asks.

«I have been on Earth entirely too long,» Ax says. «And yet, I find I am reluctant to leave.»

“So don’t.” Marco pulls the computer close to him, setting his dad’s credit card on the keyboard to begin typing out numbers. “Our door’s always open. Go visit the folks at home, come back and visit us. Don’t choose, and if anyone tries to make you then whack ‘em with your tail.”

«Yes,» Ax says solemnly. «I believe I just might.»

“I heard about what you said to Tobias.” Rachel shoves Devon up against the row of lockers, hard. “You want to repeat it to my face, or do you want to keep being a wimpy little twerp about it?”

Devon holds up both hands, eyes wide. “Get ahold of yourself, you psycho!”

“What did you call me?” She leans in close, vision tunneling with rage. “What did you just—”

Someone grabs her on the arm. Rachel doesn’t think, just spins around and punches with all of her strength.

Cassie staggers back, clutching her nose. There’s already blood starting to seep from between her fingers.

She and Rachel stare at each other in silence for a second. When Cassie starts to say something, Rachel shoves roughly between her and Devon and storms off down the hallway.

She doesn’t even fully register the trip down the stairs and across to the main office, every muscle clenched tight like a fist. Other bodies impact hers, and she keeps charging forward anyway.

When she reaches Chapman’s office, she shoves the door open so hard it bangs against the wall.

“Rachel?” Chapman’s voice is carefully neutral. He looks up from where he’d been in quiet conversation with the principal. Registering Rachel’s expression, he moves just slightly to place himself between her and Ms. Walsh. Which only steels Rachel’s resolve.

“I...” Rachel breathes in, gathering courage. “I think I need help.”

Chapman stands. He exchanges a glance with Ms. Walsh, who steps out the side door into the front office.

“That doctor, that therapist of yours.” Rachel tries to catch her breath. She doesn’t know why this is scarier than facing down an army of yeerks, but she’s never let fear stop her. “You said that I can talk to her? That she’d understand?”

“She can try, anyway,” Chapman says. “Dr. Irvine’s been holding an appointment slot for you since last month. I can get you in this afternoon.”

Silent, throat tight, Rachel nods.

He picks up the phone.

It’s something, Rachel thinks. It’s a start.

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luna-eclipse2000 · 3 years

Text

Shingeki no Danganronpa

Chapter 1, part 1

So I started this story last year when the Danganronpa craze happened but I still wanna post it because I think it’s a pretty alright take on the game. I put a hashtag of the name of this series so the parts are easy to find. (ie. Shingeki no Danganronpa Chapter 1)

——————————————————————————

Hope’s Peak High. A school so large that it towers over all the other buildings in this bustling urban area. Some people say that the school is like it’s at the centre of the world, which I agree to. Except, it is at the centre of the entire world. Everyone knows about this school and how prestigious it is. Anybody who’s anybody dreams of getting that fateful acceptance letter from administration. They say that if you come here and manage to graduate, you’ll be set for life. I’m not the most interesting person in the world, so it was a complete shock when I got a letter saying that they want me to attend. The only award I’ve ever won was a runner’s up ribbon in a fishing tourney. My letter told me that I’m the ‘Ultimate Lucky Student’, which sounds like complete horse shit in my opinion.

I get good grades, sure, but nothing as skyrocketing as some of the people who get in for a purpose. I still accepted the opportunity because I’m not an idiot. This is a once in a lifetime opportunity and there’s no way that I’ll give it up because I feel like I don’t belong there... which I definitely feel like. I would’ve just assumed that they got the wrong person but they don’t send acceptance letters to the wrong house, it hasn’t happened in the fifty years the school’s been running for, and I’m pretty sure that the name (f/n) (l/n) isn’t common in this area. So here I now stand, in front of the massive school. It’s even more impressive and intimidating in person. Before I arrived, I did a small Google search on who was going to be in my class and it ranges from more mundane things like the Ultimate Cleaner to the Ultimate Strategist. But, despite my uncertainty of my presence, I put on a brave face and walk through the entrance gates... only to start feeling dizzy and nauseous, like I’m in one of those crazy amusement park rides where you spin in a circle very quickly and the floor drops. No sooner do I start feeling this way, do I black out.

~~~~~

“The hell just happened?” I ask myself as I open my eyes and take a look at my surroundings. I seem to be in a classroom because of all the desks and the blackboard up front, but there’s no windows. Just big metal plates with even bigger bolts and screws holding them in place. “Huh. Weird. Maybe that just shows some new part of the school they’re building and they don’t want any one to see it until it’s finished?” I wonder as I stand up from the desk. I look around but don’t see any bags, even mine is gone. When I turned back to my desk, I notice a slightly folded piece of paper on it, so I pick it up out of curiosity.

Hey there, new kid! The next semester is about to start. Starting today, this school will be your entire world.

“Knew it was the centre of the world.” I think to myself and then place the card down. It didn’t look very professional as it was written in black and red pencil crayon, but it’s a high school so I doubt there are any kids. And if there were, I would have to report them to cops for child labour. I look up at the clock and see that’s it’s eight. “How long was I out for? An hour probably, maybe less. Wait, doesn’t this school start at eight? Where’s all the students? And the teachers? Maybe I read the time wrong on the letter.”

I then go out of the classroom and notice the weird magenta and purple look of the halls and cringe at the contrast. “Ok, what the hell is with this hallway? And, again, where are all the people? I know that eight am isn’t very early, at least not so early that it’s a ghost town. Oh, shit, maybe there’s an assembly!”

I begin to race down the hall and pass by a red door that feels too eerily out of place but I shake the feeling off and head towards the main hall. Once I arrive, I see that everyone else is already there. “Hey, look! Someone else is here!” Someone says. “So that makes fifteen of us.” Someone else points out. “So, you’re all new as well?” I ask them. “No, we’re here for shits and giggles.” A boy with black hair and sharp steel grey eyes rudely answers. I laugh awkwardly. “Who shoved a stick up your ass?”

He clicks his tongue in annoyance. “Anyways, I’m (f/n) (l/n).” I introduce myself. “Sorry I’m late. When I entered the school I just blacked out or some shit. It was really weird.”

“You too?” A short blonde girl asks. “That’s what happened to the rest of us! At first, I thought it was just nerves. But then everyone started to realize that we all blacked out.”

“Yes. This is rather a strange situation.” A boy with blond hair that’s tied back a bit and glasses says. “I’ve never heard of fifteen people blacking out at different times at the same place on the same day.”

“We were drugged!” Someone speaks up. Everyone goes quiet as we turn our attention to the person who spoke. She’s rather tall and has brown hair, and wears glasses. “Oh, come on! I was just joking to lighten the mood! And ease the tension that’s growing because it’s making me a biiiit uncomfortable.”

“So then how about we just introduce ourselves then?” A black haired boy with freckles suggests. “That way we can ease the tension without freaking everyone out.”

I immediately feel calmer after he speaks. He’s got some kind of... energy or something around him. The first person I go up to is the short blonde girl with blue eyes. “Oh, hello! I’m Krista Lenz.”

Krista Lenz. She’s the Ultimate Volunteer. She volunteers all of her free time to shelters, reading to kids, helping the city, going in to retirement/nursing homes, helping out in hospitals and keeping veterans company. She’s even gone abroad to help build homes. She’s known online as Angel, and I can totally see why. Not just because of her noble acts, but because she looks so pure and innocent. Like a little angel. “Well, it’s actually Historia Reiss but that’s hard for kids and seniors to pronounce and spell so I just came up with the fake name.” Krista explains. “No way, seriously?” I ask her. “Doesn’t it bother you that you’re popular with a name that isn’t technically yours?”

She giggles cutely. “Singers do it all the time, don’t they? Katy Perry’s last name is actually Hudson but she didn’t want to get confused for the actress, Kate Hudson.”

“Oh, right, yeah.” I say awkwardly and then move onto the next person.

I decide to go up to the the boy who suggested introductions. “Hi! I’m Marco Bodt. It’s nice to meet you!”

Ah, yes. Marco Bodt, the Ultimate Peacekeeper. He tries to help different countries bring peace to them so no more wars break out. He’s also proposed that they follow England in having a special force of officers who carry guns while the majority only carry nightsticks. He’s also won a Nobel peace prize. “So, what are you here for?” Marco asks me. “Oh, nothing special. I’m not that important.” I say. “Nonsense! You were accepted, right?” Marco says. “I got chosen by chance to be the lucky student.” I tell him. “See?” Marco says. “Out of everyone in the world that they put into chance, you got chosen! Not Diana across town. And the letter even said you were the Ultimate Lucky Student as a result, that accounts for something, right?”

I smile thankfully and go to say something else but hear shouting instead. “What the fuck did you call me, you suicidal bastard?!”

“I called you a horse face, horse face!” The other person responds just as angrily. “Oh, geez.” Marco says. “Sorry, I’m gonna go break them up so there isn’t a murder or anything.”

Marco then heads off to go calm the two boys down. I roll my eyes. “Teenage boys. Why are they like this?”

I head off to another boy, but he doesn’t have any hair. Or at least very little, short, stubby hairs. “Hi, I’m Connie Springer!”

Connie Springer is the Ultimate Prankster. He’s pulled pranks on a various number of people, none of which were very tame. He’s pranked politicians and celebrities. He’s helped talk show hosts prank their audiences and even pranked a military general. I honestly don’t know how he got away with his life for that one, especially since I heard how strict and unforgiving the general is. “It’s nice to meet you, Connie.” I say. “How’d you even escape General Shadis after putting Veet in his shampoo and then switching his toothpaste for actual sewerage?”

“Not easily, I’ll tell you that.” Connie responds with a laugh.

I then move onto the next person. A girl with black hair and grey eyes standing beside a boy with brown hair and beautiful turquoise eyes that I’m honestly jealous of. “Hi. I’m Eren Jaeger and this is Mikasa Ackerman.”

Eren Jaeger. The Ultimate Freedom Fighter. He leads various protests to allow people more rights and be more free, and he also runs different projects that aid in getting people free from their situation. Mikasa Ackerman is his adopted sister and is basically known as his knight in shining armour because of her saving Eren from all the aggressive people he’s encountered. She’s the Ultimate Protector. She protects students at school from bullies, and protects her brother, Eren, from everything. She’s been known to intimated police and SWAT teams, who are already trying to get her to join their force. Marco’s even been seen with them from time to time when he knows it could get very ugly. “What you’ve been doing is quite admirable, Eren.” I compliment him. “It’s great of you to stand up for complete strangers.”

He bashfully puts a hand on the back of his neck with a light blush and smile. “Thanks. Everyone deserves to have freedom so I just stand up for those who’s voices are drowned out by every day noise.”

I turn to Mikasa. “And you’re pretty brave to tell SWAT officers off.”

She just shrugs. “I don’t see it as brave.”

I nod and then go to the next person. Well, group. A tall boy with dark brown hair who seems to be sweating a lot, a blond boy who’s pretty buff, and a short blond girl who gives off as much warmth as an iceberg in a blizzard. “Hi. I’m (f/n) (l/n).” I introduce myself to them. They all look at me and I see the blond smirk. “Nah, cute is what you are.” He says to me. I can feel my cheeks start to burn at his pick-up line. “Oh, well, uh, thank you.”

“I’m Reiner Braun. This guy here’s Bertolt Hoover, and this is Annie Leonhart.”

Reiner Braun’s the Ultimate Blacksmith. He looks much more like a sports guy but when you see what he makes, you know that his talents lie with making armour and weapons. He makes them professionally for people who want a real replica of what medieval knights had, cosplayers, and medieval dinner shows. He’s won more than fifty competitions for blacksmithing. Bertolt Hoover is the Ultimate Deceit. He’s gotten away with a bunch of different crimes because of his shy and timid nature that makes him fade more into the background. Annie Leonhart is the Ultimate Fighter. Her father put her into boxing when she was a kid and beat the instructor on her first day so she started to train professionally. “So, what do you think about us being a thing when school really gets started, huh?” Reiner flirts. “Reiner, shut up.” Annie orders her friend. “Thanks for the offer.” I say. “It’s really tempting, but I have to decline.”

I quickly leave the trio to go introduce myself to a girl with auburn hair tied up into a ponytail. “Hi! I’m Sasha Braus!”

Sasha Braus runs a successful food critic website and tries food from all over the world including octopus, fried spiders and escamol. She’s friends with a bunch of different famous chefs like Gordon Ramsey and Rachel Ray. She’s also judged on a number of cooking shows and won every eating contest she’s competed in which is why she’s the Ultimate Foodie. “So, uh, when do you think we’ll get to eat?” Sasha asks me. I think for a second. “Not sure. We’ll probably have the orientation meeting and then be given a tour of the school, which will take a while, so probably not until at least eleven.”

She pouts. That’s when I notice a smell. “What the hell is that?”

“Oh, it’s a potato.” Sasha says and pulls out a whole baked potato from her jacket pocket. “Where the hell did you find a potato?!” I ask her. “Well when I woke up, I was really hungry. But my bag wasn’t with me that carried all my snacks. So before I came to the main hall, I decided to go find the dining hall. The potato was just kind of... there. Like it was waiting for me to eat it.” Sasha says and then breaks off a piece. “You want half?”

I look at the piece and see that it’s more like a quarter but I’m not hungry anyway so I politely decline. “More for me then!”

I laugh at her and then turn and see the black haired male with the stick up his ass. “Let’s get this over with.” I think to myself as I make my way over. “Hi.” I greet him. His cold eyes land on me and I instantly feel like I committed a felony or something. “Levi Ackerman.”

Levi Ackerman, distant cousin of Mikasa Ackerman, according to tabloids, who’s the Ultimate Cleaner. Apparently he grew up in the shittiest part of the city where the rats are almost the size of feet, which is where his obsession for cleanliness came from. He cleans up any vandalism from the streets and enforces no littering. He’s run mass city, beach and ocean clean ups. I decide that it’s best to leave him alone so I turn to the brown haired girl beside him who’s wearing glasses. “Hiii! I’m Hanji Zoë! The Ultimate Scientist! Also I’m non-binary, just so you know.”

Hanji Zoë definitely lives up to the title. They found a new element when they were ten and they had to do their science work from home so a university chemist and biologist could come tutor them. They even created a new cell that can protect the body from diseases like TB, certain cancers, and certain joint problems. She also won a Nobel prize. “It’s nice to meet you.” I say. “Great job on getting that Nobel prize for your cell creation!”

“Thank you, but it was nothing.” Hanji brushes my compliment off. “I don’t need an award to tell me that I helped millions of people for me to know it. Sorry, did that sound cocky?”

“No, no! It’s ok! I understand what you mean.” I tell them and then go off to the blond boy with glasses. “Hi. I’m Armin Arlert.”

Armin Arlert. The Ultimate Strategist who came up with his first strategy to get out of the orphanage he was placed in and go completely unnoticed when he was eight. After that, he started working with the military and with him on their side, there are much fewer casualties for them... but not for the other side. “So, your strategies are pretty damn good.” I say. “How on earth do you come up with them?”

“Oh, I don’t know. It just kind of happens.” Armin says awkwardly. “You get nervous about speaking about your brain, don’t you?” I ask him. He chuckles with a small blush. “Was I that obvious?”

“It’s ok. I get it. You help the military to make sure that they don’t lose as many soldiers as the other side.” I say. He nods shyly, so I move onto the next person. She has brown hair tied back into a flat ponytail. “Hi. I’m (f/n).” I introduce myself. “Ymir.” She introduces herself.

With the lack of a last name, and not hearing about her at all online, I just nod my head awkwardly and go introduce myself to the final person. He’s talking to Marco and has interesting hair. It’s ash blond with a brown undercut. “Hi, I’m (f/n) (l/n).” I introduce myself. The boy turns around and I get bit startled by his amber eyes. Eren has pretty eyes, but this guy is a full on pretty boy. He gives me a grin and I can tell he knows it, too. “Hey, Jean Kirschtein.”

Jean Kirschtein is the Ultimate Equestrian. He’s been riding horses ever since he could walk because he grew up on a farm. He entered his first equestrian competition when he was seven and has won first every year. He helps take care of horses from his own to others and even helps beginners with picking out which horse they should ride first. He even runs riding lessons at the farms for said beginners. “So, I heard that you’re the Ultimate Lucky Student, eh?” Jean asks. “Could I have some of that luck to take you horse riding?”

“Keep it PG at school, horse face!” We hear Eren mock. “I don’t have a horse face!” Jean shouts at him. “And I wasn’t implying anything!”

He’s obviously a bit embarrassed and flustered. “Alright, alright. Calm down. He’s just doing it to rile you up.” Marco says to Jean. “If it’s any consolation, I don’t think you look like a horse.” I tell him.

Just as I finish saying that, a bell goes off. “Ahem! Ahem! Testing, testing! Mic check, one, two! This is a test of the school’s broadcast system! Am I on? Can everyone hear me? Ok, well then...!” A voice speaks through the PA system. “Ahh, to all incoming students! I would like to begin the entrance ceremony at... right now! Please make your way to the gymnasium at your earliest convenience... That’s all. I’ll be waiting!”

“Is that voice not sitting well with anyone else or is my stomach feeling squirmy because of the potato I stole?” Sasha asks us. “No. It definitely feels odd.” Marco agrees with her. “We don’t have time for this, brats. Let’s just get on with this so I can clean. This place is absolutely filthy.” Levi says monotonously with a hint of disgust as he walks away from the group and towards the gym. I look at Jean and Marco and the three of us follow him, followed by everyone else. We all make it to the gym in a few short minutes. I see Hanji go towards the trophy case and look straight at this gold and purple katana. “Oo, pretty!” They exclaim and then touch the handle but immediately retract their hand. “Damn, that thing is absolutely coated in gold dust! My hand looks like El Dorado!”

“Um... anyone else find it weird that the hall’s are completely empty?” Krista asks as we enter the gym itself. “I haven’t even heard any other classes going in the classrooms.”

“Yeah, man. I’m getting weirded out, now.” Connie agrees with her. “And did anyone else notice that there were machine guns in front of the entrance which looked like a vault door?” Eren asks. “It’s probably nothing, Eren.” Mikasa says. “Why would they have machine guns in a school?”

He nods but I see him shift uncomfortably. “Hey there, howdy, hello!” The voice from earlier greets. “Is everyone here? Good! Then let’s get things rolling!”

We all look towards the stage which has a podium in the centre and the school crest above it, which are two wings; one white and one blue. As we await our headmaster to walk on stage, a black and white teddy bear pops up and lands on the podium. I hear Connie snort back a laugh. “A teddy bear?” Krista asks in confusion. “I’m not a teddy bear!” The bear says lowly. “I... am... Monokuma! And I am this school’s headmaster!”

I try to wrap my head around what’s happening. A teddy bear- er, uh, Monokuma is our headmaster who’s mouth doesn’t even move when he’s talking. I look around at all my classmates, particularly Connie, to see if this is a joke of his, but everyone looks just as confused as I am. Except Annie but she’s devoid of all of emotion. Hell, even Levi has an eyebrow quirked at the oddness. “Nice to meet you all!”

“Ok, Connie.” Reiner says. “This was hilarious, best prank you’ve ever pulled! But can you turn off the teddy bear now?”

“I’m not doing this, I swear! You guys can search me for a remote or whatever.” Connie responds. “I don’t think he has the intelligence needed to build that. No offence, Connie.” Armin says. I see Connie look slightly offended at the words. “I told you already, I’m not a teddy bear... I’m Monokuma! And I’m your headmaster!” Monokuma shouts angrily as he moves his arms up to display further emotion. “AH! It moved!” Sasha screeches. “No shit, Sherlock.” Levi mumbles. “Oh, calm down, everyone! It’s obviously just a remote controlled toy!” Hanji says. “How dare you compare me to a child’s plaything!” Monokuma says. “You’ve cut me deep. Deeper than the Mariana Trench... My remote control system is so complex, even the folks in the Military Police can’t recreate or even comprehend it! Then again, that place is full of nitwits! Now then, moving on! We really must hurry and get started... Everyone, stand at attention and bow! And... good morning!”

Marco does as he’s told. “Good morning, sir!”

“Marco, stand up.” Jean whispers and pulls the boy up from his bow. “Don’t fall for this shit.”

“Now then, let us commence with a most noteworthy and memorable entrance ceremony!” Monokuma says. “First, let’s talk a bit about what your school life here will be like. Now, ah, make no mistake- you few students, so full of potential, represent the hope of the world. And to protect such splendid hope... you will all live a communal life together solely within the confines of this school. Everyone will live in harmony together, and adhere to the school’s rules and regulations. Ah, now then... regarding the end date of this communal life... there isn’t one! In other words, you’ll all be here until the day you die! Such is the school life you’ve been assigned.”

“Until we die? What kind of fucked up bullshit is this?” Levi asks. “Oh, but fear not!” Monokuma assures us. “We have quite an abundant budget, so you won’t lack for all the common conveniences.”

“That’s still not very comforting.” I tell him. “You gotta be screwing with us!” Connie says. “I am not screwing with you!” Monokuma shouts angrily. “I am no liar, of that you can be 100% sure. Ah, and just for your information... you’re completely cut off from the outside world. So you don’t have to worry about that dirty, dirty land beyond these walls ever again!”

I feel my pockets for my phone. “They took our phones!” I announce. Everyone then starts to check themselves for theirs, too. “So, then... all those metal plates all over the school... they’re there to keep us trapped in here?” Reiner asks him. “That’s exactly what they’re there for.” Monokuma confirms. “No matter how much you may yell and scream for help... help will not come. So with all that in mind, feel free to live out your life here with reckless abandon!”

“Come on, what the hell is this? It’s not funny!” Eren asks. “You all keep saying this is a lie, or a joke.” Monokuma says. “A bunch of skeptics, all of you. But I guess you can’t help it, huh? You all grew up in an age where you’re taught to doubt your neighbour... Well, you’ll have plenty of time to find out whether or not what I say is true. And when that time comes, you’ll see with your own eyes that I speak the undeniable truth.” Monokuma answers Eren.

“I don’t want to live here forever! This is bullshit!” Jean shouts nervously. No one else looks pleased with the news. “Come, now. What’s the matter with all of you? You decided of your own free will to attend Hope’s Peak Academy, didn’t you? And now, before the entrance ceremony is even finished, you’ve already decided that you want to leave? Oh, but you know... I guess I did forget to mention one thing. There is one way for you to leave the school...” Monokuma leaves us in hopeful suspense.

“Spit it out, already.” Annie orders. “Ok, ok! Calm down!” Monokuma says. “As headmaster, I’ve crafted a special clause for those of you who would like to leave! I call it... the Graduation Clause! Now, let me tell you about this fun little rule. As I mentioned, in order to maintain an environment of harmony here, we rely on a communal lifestyle. And if someone were to disrupt that harmony, they, and they alone, would be allowed to leave the school. That, my students, is the Graduation Clause!”

“So by disrupting the peace, all we need to do is fling shit, literally, at people and we can just... go?” Levi asks with a hint of skepticism in his voice. Monokuma laughs. “No. Not exactly. But... if someone were murder another. (“Murder?!” We all repeat in shock) Stabbing, strangling, bludgeoning, crushing, hacking, drowning, igniting, how you do it doesn’t matter. You must kill someone if you want to leave. It’s as simple as that. The rest is up to you. Give it your all to achieve the best outcome in the worst way possible!”

The air goes suffocatingly thick as we all process the situation at hand. We’re trapped in here for life unless we commit murder. There’s no way to contact the outside world, all the windows are boarded up with giant plates of metal, and our headmaster is a complete psycho. No one wants to believe this. It’s something straight out of a horror movie or a TV show created by someone seriously fucked up. Monokuma’s laugh brings us all out of our stupor. “I bet that got your brain juices flowing! Beats the heck out of a human catching a salmon, huh? Like I said before, you guys are the hope of the world. But you know... taking that hope and seeing it get murdered creates a darkened shadow of despair. And I just find that so. Darn. Exciting!”

“You’re insane!” Krista exclaims as she starts to cry a bit. “You guys just don’t get it, do you?” Monokuma asks. “‘Let us go, let us go!’ You keep on saying the same thing over and over and over and over...! Listen. From this moment on, this school is your home, your life, your world. Got it? And you can kill as much as you wanna kill! So go ahead! Go on a kill-kill-killing spree!”

No one makes a move, or a sound, for a good few seconds until Mikasa walks up to the podium. She just stands there. “Eh? Well what do you want?” Monokuma asks her. When he finishes speaking, she grabs him by his little bear neck and lifts him off the ground. Monokuma waves his arms up and down. “I don’t know if you’re a toy, and, frankly, I don’t care, but you just threatened myself, Eren and everyone else here with murder. If it’s murder you want, it’s murder you’ll get.” Mikasa says and pulls out a pocketknife from her pants pocket. “Waah! Violence against the headmaster is in violation of school regulations!” Monokuma shouts. “You never said that before.” Mikasa says stoically. “And all we need to do is disturb the peace to leave, right? So all I need to do is pull out your stuffing and I’ll get to leave. And since you won’t be around, I’ll take everyone here with me.”

He doesn’t respond except for some kind of beeping. “Is he shutting down?” I question. The beeping then gets louder and more frequent. I then hear a gasp come from behind me. “Throw it!” Hanji instructs. “What?” Mikasa responds. “Throw the damn bear! He’s gonna explode!” Hanji explains. Mikasa immediately throws the bear away and then throws herself onto Eren so he doesn’t get hurt as Monokuma explodes.

I jump from the sudden sound and hear Krista squeak in surprise. “Well, shit. That really throws the reality of this situation in our faces.” Levi says with his usual emotionless voice, but there’s a hint of nervousness behind it. “Wait, guys, Mikasa still killed it!” I point out. “Yeah! The bastard bear’s destroyed!” Eren cheers. “Uh... I-I wouldn’t be so sure...” Armin speaks up as Monokuma reappears on the podium. “Nice try! But it’ll take a lot more than a silly explosion to kill me!”

“Oh, come on! What the hell is this?!” Reiner shouts. “So I was almost killed for nothing?” Mikasa asks. “Of course! You violated one of the school regulations, after all. I’ll let you off with a warning this time, but you’d better be careful from now on. Any naughty boy or girl who violates my rules won’t get off with just a little swat on the butt.” Monokuma threatens. I swear I see a vein on his forehead pop out from the anger. “Wait... if you exploded... and you’re back... does that mean that there are more of you?” Hanji asks him. “Mhm! Yup! There’s also surveillance cameras installed everywhere so I’ll be able to see if you break the rules. Then it’s bye-bye birdie! Now that that’s out of the way, to commemorate your joyous entry into our school, I have a little something for you...” Monokuma says and then flat tablets appear before each of us from the ground. “This is your official student handbook! Pretty cool, huh? As you can see, it’s fully digital. So naturally, we called it... the E-Handbook!”

“Wow... I wonder how many brain cells it took to come up with that?” Hanji says sarcastically. “Ignoring that rude comment, this handbook is absolutely vital to a healthy school life, so don’t lose it! When you start it up, it will display your name. Always make sure you have the right one! Now, this is not your everyday notebook. It has so many more uses than that! Also, it’s completely waterproof. Splash it, wash it, drown it, it’ll keep ticking! And thanks to its space-age design, it can withstand an impact force of up to ten tons. It’s very resistant! It contains all of our school regulations, so make sure you review them thoroughly! You’ll hear me say this a lot, but any violation of school regulations will not be tolerated.”

“This is gonna get pretty fucking annoying.” Ymir groans. “Well, then, don’t violate the rules and you won’t hear it often, sweets. (“Sweets?! Why you-!” Ymir growls but refuses to move so nothing else happens.) Rules restrict, yes, but they also protect. Society, for example, would be utter chaos without laws. (“It’s got a point...” Annie agrees with Monokuma). The same thing applies here! Which is why it’s crucial that we have strict punishments in place for violators. Ok, well... that brings our entrance ceremony to a close! Please enjoy your abundantly dreary school life! See ya!” Monokuma says before disappearing.

With him now gone, we all have time to properly process what we were all just told. I can feel the fear lingering in the air. This school is wrongfully named after Hope. Like he said, the opposite of hope is despair... which is the state that all of us are currently in.

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atopearth · 3 years

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Piofiore: Fated Memories Part 6 - Finale

It's kinda funny how when it came to defaming the Mafia bosses, Dante's one was the most ridiculous with him handling brothels hahaha. Was he so "clean" that they had to make stuff up?🤣 On the other hand, loll at Fei thinking the newspaper wasn't lying about the stuff Yang did hahaha, not sure if we should rejoice that he doesn't actually abuse women daily, but that he does kill his own men lol. Anyway, the mystery guy seems adamant on hating on the Mafia. He's not as verbal about it as Roberto, but his hatred for them seems to run deep. Personally, I'm on Lili's side. She understands that crime is wrong but she also understands the limits of her powers and what she can do by herself, so instead of completely disregarding the Mafia as evil, she instead hopes that she can do her own little part to support this town she loves because she believes that in the current circumstances, helping the Mafia right now means helping Burlone. I wonder what is his importance though~

Is Henri the previous Key Maiden's brother or something and that's why he hates the Mafia and doesn't think Lili will be safe with them? Oooh, or is the Direttore the brother? Chloe sounds... interestingly crazy lol. Anyway, Dante is so cute to insist on drinking espresso even though it's too bitter for him🤣 Gotta salute Lili for eating Lan and Fei's jian dui lmao, it does look pretty bad even though it apparently tastes good. Tbh, it's kinda funny how even though they say they're pretty good at it, they still can't make the shape right lol. Anyway, it's kinda funny how much of a 180 Rosberg does after kinda realising his position I guess. It's like as if he's become the nice and wise church guy lol. I still find it so random how Orlok is his son though, like I legit thought it was a lie back in Orlok's route because he knew saying it would make him go crazier and kill Gil etc so he could at least get his revenge on them that way but apparently it's true haha. I mean, regardless, it doesn't really change the fact that he's literally raised his child to become a killer with no emotions and never really cared about that all these years so I don't know how I'm supposed to view him when he's obviously trash but the story wants him redeemed? Honestly though, at this point, I wouldn't be surprised if the Direttore and Henri are the same person. Anyway, Henri being Riton was expected after seeing the flashbacks for a while, especially with all the stuff he says but yeah, it's kinda sad to see him obstinate on seeking revenge influenced by all the rumours surrounding Chloe's death and how the Falzone might have killed her etc, but I guess even without the rumours he would eventually blame them, since if they never went to the Falzone, maybe she wouldn't have died like that. I wonder if there's a reason why Chloe went kinda insane though, like a Key Maiden thing, or was it just her? I guess she was just so consumed with the Key Maiden thing and didn’t realise that she could have her own life too. Honestly, I'm pretty disappointed with the finale, other than hearing the story of Henri/Direttore, everything ended not much differently from Gil's happy ending, hopefully the after story pieces the rest better. Like, why didn't we get to interact more with Henri/Direttore if this is supposed to revolve around him? Anyway, it is kinda fitting to welcome the new year with them though because I'm playing this on the last day of 2020 haha!

Anyway, it's kinda saddening to know that Roberto and Nicola were actually kinda friendly when Roberto first came to Burlone and they didn't know each other's identities. I guess it kinda shows why Roberto is so obsessed with Nicola and hates him so much in Nicola's route, since Nicola was also the first one to push Roberto away after realising he was a part of the police. Nicola's attitude also doesn't help to pacify things. I think it would have been nice to know this in Nicola's route though, since Roberto is the villain for it. I thought it was really nice that Roberto was the one to remind Marco (when he was doubting the Mafia system because he couldn't save Chloe back then) that the most important thing as the police will always be to protect the people, so yeah even though the Mafia may not be the best way to run this place, there are things outside their control, but protecting the people will always be something they can do. Anyway, I find it funny how in the Henri ending, the guys blame Nicola for leaving the heroine and coming back himself, but when she runs back into the burning casino to find Henri, no one stopped her?! Like, I know it's for story romantic purposes but really, Orlok who is the quickest could have definitely stopped her. It's pretty terrible that Henri got treated badly because his sister tried to kill Beatrice when she was pregnant😔 Even the girl who "saved" him from the parents beating him played him like a toy... It would be hard for him to let go of his hatred when all these things happened after Chloe died, and essentially it's all because of the Falzone even if Silvio and Dante didn't want that. I feel so sorry for the real Sebastiano Gallier... Henri befriended him, killed him and his whole family just to get his identity..that's pretty cruel. Lili's right that Henri dying won't resolve anything, and living is technically a punishment for him in a sense, so I think it would be nice if they could both find a reason for him to live together. Anyway, Henri probably needs a therapist but I guess they aren't in a good situation to look for one. It's kinda funny how in every kind of happy ending where the heroine runs away or disappears, she ends up taking care of kids lol but I guess that's what she can do. Although I don't really care for Henri personally (he is cute though), I do think it's nice to live in a countryside in peace. One thing that really annoys me is Emilio's existence, he never really does anything, causes more trouble than he does providing "important information" because a lot of the time he gives that info, I'm not sure if it's even useful anymore and he only makes some kind of move when chaos has erupted to a point that there's not much point anymore. And the finale after the finale didn't really do much, but I guess I'll look forward to the fandisk if it gets translated!

Overall, I definitely enjoyed Piofiore. I'll say the overarching plot is definitely a miss for me because every time they mentioned stuff about the Key Maiden and everything, I honestly thought it was boring and the relic was silly too imo, and I also think Henri/Direttore's story lacked the impact it could have created. Even though there was a Henri ending, I don't feel like Lili got to interact with him to the extent that could have made me care more for him, so it was saddening in that aspect. Yang was definitely my favourite character-wise and VA-wise because he was everything I wanted in this Mafia game - dangerous, sexy and ruthless. But I did also enjoy the other guys, it's just that Yang outshined them imo (if you can get over how "evil" he is I guess). The individual routes weren't bad, but I don't think they were particularly interesting since I felt like counterfeit money and other stuff like Lee going against Yang weren't very appealing plot points, so the characters are definitely the highlight for me in this game. If I had to choose my favourite Mafia family, I'd probably choose the Falzone for the overall warmth from Giulia and Leo, but honestly the twins and Yang in the Lao-Shu wins over everyone in the end hahaha. Oh and the art is absolutely beautiful in this game, definitely 10/10 for that. Otherwise, I'd say I would give the game a 7.5/10, good and I liked it but I don't think it had anything or anyone in it to make it memorable for me (aside from Yang). I would recommend it though because it was fun and Lili was an okay heroine, I loved how beautiful she was in all the CGs hahaha.

#piofiore fated memories #Piofiore no Banshou

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silwenworld · 3 years

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Until The Last Petal Falls (Part 2 in the War Roses Series)

Summary: He could see the flowers floating before his eyes. A Bouquet. A single flower. Every time in different configuration but one thing was constant - the petals were falling away. Each time there were fewer and fewer petals attached to the stalk. And each time that happened, he could feel himself slipping further and further away.

Or: Captain Gold has a son to find and woman to come back to, and nothing short of dying will keep him from doing just that.

A continuation of the Rumbelle Showdown 2020 fic “The Dried Rose”

Category: M CHAPTER 8 [AO3] [First Chapter]

Gold had tried to live up to the promise he had given Belle. It wasn't an easy task, but he set his mind to fulfil it as best as possible. It was hard to wrap his mind around the fact that their talk on the balcony had happened only recently and not a lifetime ago. Gold had more or less accepted the way he looked now and that his life would never go back to the way it had been before. Of course, there were bad days that he grew to despise - the nightmares were still the worst, and he had found himself in a poorer mood for the following day every single time, almost ready to snap anybody's head off for getting too close to him. But he was getting used to it, even if he wished for it to just go away. The thing that was lightening his days, though, was the fact that Belle looked better these days too, and it made him happy that she could enjoy her free time with not only him but also her friends. And seeing Belle more lively made him want more too.

It was almost back to normal.

Almost.

The streets now were almost deserted. Many people rushed past him without so much as a glance, which suited him just fine. Some might have shot him some weird glances, but he tried to pay them no mind - he would have stared too if some bloke was simply standing there doing nothing. Gold looked at the pawnshop's door for the better part of ten minutes, glaring at the sign above. It took him long enough to get his head around the idea of coming here in the first place, but it seemed that getting into the shop was the bigger problem. He knew it wouldn't hurt to just look around, he didn't necessarily need to buy anything after all, but something was holding him back. An invisible force that had him rotten to the spot, something that had never been present in his life before he had been shot - self-consciousness mixed with ever-present uneasiness.

Mr A. Prentice Pawnbroker & Antics Dealer.

The sign mocked him as he scowled at it. Well, for a start, Gold had nothing to deal with - no money, no precious heirlooms as the last remotely valuable thing he had to give away to be able to come back to the country. His hand unwillingly raised to look for the locket at his neck that was no longer there. He swallowed hard as it dropped to his side, curling into a fist. He didn't even have the photograph of his only child, so what was the point in going in?

Gold glanced up at the sign again.

To hell with it.

He took a step forward.

A soft jingle of the bell started him, and he jumped, gripping his cane tighter while looking around. There was no one in sight; the noise of ticking clocks was the sole witness of his misstep, and so Gold straightened his jacket and walked further inside.

The number of things gathered in the room was overwhelming. From old paintings, some partly covered and some clearly visible, to bigger and smaller trinkets littering almost every free surface. Clocks, chests, music boxes, instruments, gramophones and many more, all dusty and clearly not touched for a very long time. Gold looked around the cluttered front room, and somehow he got an impression that not many people visited the shop.

Off to his right, he spotted a glass cabinet in which lay an open wooden casket. His eyes winded when noticing a display of various rings, one more decorated than the previous one. They were all beautiful but very clearly above anything he would be able to afford. He was so lost in his head that he didn't hear that he was no longer alone.

"A fine eye you have," an old raspy voice made him stiffen, and he whipped his head to the side, coming face to face with a man dressed in a fine, black suit and redshirt. He was older than Gold, probably somewhere in his seventies. His white, groomed beard reached his chest, only emphasizing his age, but he surely knew how to move silently.

"I apologize for barging in - "

"Well, the sign on the door does say 'open', so I wouldn't call it bargaining in," the man cut in with a smile and exchanged his hand. "Alfred Prentice, I'm the owner of this cluttered establishment."

"Roy Gold," the captain accepted the handshake, a little surprised by the strength of the man's grip.

"Oh, I know who you are, but it's nice to finally meet the famous captain Gold," the barely contained flinch from Roy's side didn't go unnoticed. "The town talks," he added, letting go of Gold's hand with a slight twitch of his lips.

"Still?"

"Oh, a lot less than before, let me assure you. Now," Prentice clapped his hands and passed by Gold to sweep the dusty boxes away from the glass cabinet. "I see you have found the rings. I'm terribly sorry for the mess, by the way."

"You don't get many costumers, do you, Mr Prentice?" Gold asked as his eyes took in a mess around the shop.

"Not really." He didn't seem bothered by that. "Those who need my services usually find me anyway. So, Mr Gold which of them you think is the cheapest?" Roy was so taken aback by the fact he wasn't addressed by his former rank that it took him a second to notice that the rings were now fully displayed before him.

It was weird, he thought as he bent over the box - being seen as a civilian - A feeling he wasn't eternally opposed to, but instead of dwelling over it, he took a step forward to have a better view.

There were ten rings in total, each having some distinctive features - be they the stones, shape or engravings. Gold looked closely, fascinated. They were in perfect condition, even if not new. Polished and restored to their former glory, captivating and beautiful. It seemed that Prentice was putting a lot more effort into conservation than in tidiness of his shop, or maybe it was deliberate.

"That one," he gestured to the ring in the middle, and Prentice raised his eyebrow, a slight smirk slowly lifting the corner of his mouth.

"Oh? How so?"

"It's brass. The others are golden."

"Very good," the man was fully smiling now with a glint in his eyes, and Roy had a feeling he was being tested. For what he couldn't tell. "And which is the most valuable then?"

He held the older man's gaze for a second, trying to read him, but finding it hard to do, he looked down on the rings again, his eyes darting back and forth between the two on the far right. They were similar in appearance - both with a golden band, with decorative ornaments resembling petals. Delicate, definitely not conspicuous with blue sapphire as the sole stone drawing attention away from the engravings.

"May I?" Gold asked.

"Of course."

Their weight was almost identical. Almost.

"This one." Gold put both of them back and pointed to the one which had been the farthest to the right. Prentice grinned broadly.

"Impressive. I knew you had a good eye."

"I used to pickpocket rich people as a lad," he said offhandedly, shrugging his shoulders. Not many knew that, but it didn't matter. It wasn't as if he was still doing it. "This one is older than the other one, more used and heavier. That one is a good fake, I must admit."

"My own making, so thank you very much."

Prentice closed the lid, amusement clearly visible on his face with bearly hidden laughter in his voice. He didn't know why, but Gold found it hard to draw away his eyes from the sapphire ring even when it disappeared from his line of sight.

"What pushed you into the military then?" the other man asked, bringing Gold out of his thoughts. He looked up to Prentice, who was now leaning casually on the cabinet with hands in his pockets and smirked at the memory.

"I robbed the wrong person," he answered. "I wanted a golden watch, and it turned out I got a commission from a general instead. He said it was either this or calling the police. I'm still not sure if it was a good deal."

Prentice laughed, but there was nothing mocking in his voice - he seemed generally amused by the dry tone the captain had delivered the confession. Roy didn't know how, but somehow, he got a feeling that he passed the test. He was about to ask what the whole exchange was about when the older man tilted his head to the side as if thinking about something.

"Tell you what, Mr Gold," he rested his hands on the cabinet, leaning towards him. "You can have that ring you just picked."

"I don't - "

"As payment, you'll come work here for me," he added, not letting Gold finish his protests and only smiled at the captain's dumbfounded face.

"You - What?"

Prentice shrugged his shoulders.

"I hardly think that your military pension - nor your salary at Marco's for that matter - could make you afford even that brass one as of now, but I'm old, you see."

"I'm not sure I understand, sir," he answered, frowning.

"You don't have to answer right away, of course.," Prentice continued waving his protests aside with a move of his hand. "I understand you need to think about it, but I really believe you could be just the person I was looking for to help around here."

"You want me to work here? As who?" Was the man mad after all?

"But my assistant, of course," Prentice rounded the cabinet and winked. "You may find me a better employer than your previous ones, and it's a lot quieter in here than in the workshop. Think about it, Mr Gold."

With that, he just left Roy standing in the middle of the front shop, not waiting for his reply and disappearing to the back room through the drape in the doorway.

What the hell had just happened?

Ruby glanced at the envelope lying on the counter for the fifth time in the past five minutes. It came in today's post, and at first, she had been able to ignore it, but the longer it stayed where it now was, the harder ignoring it had become.

It was crumpled and stained at the corners, probably because of the neglectful messenger. Yet it wasn't the state of the envelope that had her concerned the most, but who had sent it and to whom.

She stared at it again, squinting her eyes as if the paper could jump and bite her when uneven steps that she now associated with captain Gold reached her ears. She glanced up, her heart beating faster with nervousness as she spotted him. He looked better lately as he put on more weight and walked with more confidence, but right now, his gaze was fixed more on the ground than anywhere else, and his brow furrowed in thought. He past by her without a glance, too lost in his own head.

"Captain?"

Gold turned around from where he stopped, only now realizing he wasn't alone. Even though his expression cleared, Ruby could see in his eyes that whatever had him occupied still lingered. It was intriguing how good she had become in reading him since he had returned.

"Yes, Miss Lucas?"

"There was a messenger for you, sir. He dropped in a letter."

The frown returned as he took the envelope from her, and a shadow passed over his face, darkening his expression. It looked to her like he debated with himself whenever to open it with her standing next to him or not, then tucking in into his coat pocket after making the decision.

"Thank you."

Gold turned on his heal, swiftly making his way to the stairs, not giving her much room to protest, so he was already on the third step when she had called after him with a question she was sure as hell not have asked a year ago.

"Sir? Um, You OK?"

He seemed confused at first, as if his mind was somewhere else eternally, looking at her with a dumbfounded expression. Ruby didn't know, but it took him a while to fully comprehend the meaning behind her words, but then his lips twitched.

"At the moment, yes." She wondered if she should press the point or not, but he was already at the top of the stairs. "Miss Lucas?" She glanced up, startled as he leant over the balustrade. "Thank you."

Only when he descended the stairs with a lost expression, sporting what looked like his old military jacket, the same one that Belle had carried around with her constantly when thinking him dead, she knew he wasn't as fine as he claimed to be.

Gold had thrown something over his shoulder about needed to think and clear his head and that if Belle asked, she would know where to find him.

Ruby just hoped he wouldn't do anything stupid.

That one time dragging his drunk self had been enough for her.

She would have run, at least before. Now, she walked. Maybe at a quicker than usual pace, but still - walked.

There were times when she was still afraid to have him out of her sight - petrified that all those months had been a dream, but she hardly thought that her mind could come up with how fragile he had seemed to become. But she had noticed the recent changes too - his eyes were no longer empty as they had been for those first couple of months, and he walked with more confidence in his steps, but she still worried. Maybe it was due to the vacant expression that sometimes lingered on his face or the fact that it still looked to her like he didn't get enough sleep - she didn't really know, but she tried to honour her promise to him and not over-worry herself. They managed to come to some sort of an equilibrium that none of them wanted to shatter.

As she got to the edge of town and near the woods, carefully avoiding puddles of freshly melted snow, she couldn't help but marvel at this new version of Roy. She had a feeling that he was somewhere in between now - no longer the person that had left, but also not the one who had returned. He was still looking for himself, and even though Belle sometimes missed the past, she knew it would not return, and she loved this new, slowly emerging version of Roy just as much. The man just had to be reminded of that fact more often than not.

The ground was muddy where the trail had started, and it was easy to spot his footprints going up and then disappearing beyond the bushes. It looked like he had lost his footing more than once but hadn't fallen over - a good sign, considering the uneven terrain. Belle followed the tracks, pushing away the branches in her way. It had been so long since anybody had come here that moving past the overgrown vegetation was a lot harder than before.

She spotted him sitting on the tree trunk that had probably fallen during the recent storm. Roy had his gaze focused on the river as his hands played with the golden handle of the cane. On closer inspection, he didn't look lost, at least not in the same way as he had that day when he had gotten himself drunk.

"It didn't change much," he said, not turning around. "Took me long enough to get here, though."

"Well, the snow had just started to melt. Even I had trouble."

Belle made her way towards him and sat down on the log, her shoulder touching his. She tried not to look at the bloody patch on his uniform jacket. No matter how much she had tried, she couldn't get rid of the blood.

Instead, she looked at the river, smiling as his fingers entwined with hers. It was their spot and the first time they had been here together since the day before his departure so long ago.

He was right - it didn't change much, only they did.

Belle waited patiently, knowing well by now that it would be better to let him start without being pushed. She felt him shift, letting go of her hand, and soon, a crumbled letter was pressed into her hand.

She scanned the paper, frowning a little as she made it to the point that had probably had him agitated.

"They made you a major?" She asked, turning towards him and saw him grimace, displeased.

"Aye. In gratitude for loyal service. It sounds almost like a joke," Roy's tone turned bitter, and she risked a glance in his direction. He was still looking ahead, his jaw set, and a crease on his forehead that he always got when either thinking too hard or displeased. It took him a moment to slowly breathe out and relax his shoulders. "Well, at least they finally confirmed it in writing that I'm out of the army even if I can't get myself out of it."

She frowned.

"What do you mean?"

He tapped the handle of the cane with his index finger in thought.

"Everyone calls me 'Captain', and I've never seen myself as anybody else... But then today that man in the pawnshop kept calling me 'Mister' -"

"What were you doing in the pawnshop?" She couldn't help but cut in with curiosity. Her question made his eyes widen briefly, which only made her more suspicious.

"I was offered a job, actually."

"In Mr Prentice's pawnshop?" He nodded, making her beam. "That's wonderful! Will you take it?"

"It seems...beneficial," he added, fidgeting with his cane - a new quirk of his that she noticed him doing more and more lately when thinking or nervous. "It's just - I've been a soldier almost my whole life... I can't - " He trailed off, running his hand threw his hair in frustration. "I won't be able to forget, will I?"

Roy searched her face for answers she couldn't give with helpful eyes. As much as she wished she could give them to him, she was unable to as it was something he would have to come to terms with on his own - even if it pained her so see him doing so.

"Do you still dream about that german boy?" she asked instead. "The one you told me you had to run through during your first fight?"

He swallowed hard and nodded.

"Do you feel the same when thinking about him as then or different?"

Gold didn't answer for a while, and when fidgeting became not enough to keep him distracted, he stood up and limped closer to the bank, resting the tip of the cane against the protruding root. He concentrated on the sound of the water, calming his mind. He looked down and tried not to focus on the eyes of the blond boy that had immediately appeared before his eyes. He risked a glance towards the apparition, noticing not for the first time that the boy's eyes were the image of his own gaze at the time - petrified and sick.

"I think... I think that whoever told us that the enemy was different from us had to be the biggest liar," he admitted slowly, pocking the root with a frown. "We were the same; I was just quicker with my bayonet."

He had been sick after killing that boy. They both had been deceived.

"Roy..." Belle licked her lips, and he looked over his shoulder at her. "I won't lie to you that you'll forget, but maybe with time, you'll be able to change your thinking as you did with that boy?"

"Hmm."

He turned away at poked at the root again. Belle sighed and hopped off the log, and with a couple of swift strides, she made her way next to him, then sat on the root instead, looking up at Gold. He avoided her gaze at first but then shook his head, sighing.

"I'm sorry," he said, looking at her apologetically as he took her hand in his. "You don't deserve any of this." She tilted her head to the side, raising her right eyebrow. "And I'm repeating myself, yet again," he added chastened.

Belle smiled softly, squeezing his hand. "When I thought you gone... I couldn't cope with it," she admitted, looking down. "Sometimes, panic still grips me at the mare reminder of how it felt because I don't want ever to feel that way again."

"You won't. I'm not going anywhere."

She shook her head. His voice sounded firm and convincing, but she knew he couldn't be entirely sure about that. It was scary how much one could depend on another person.

"What I mean is, that feeling... it won't leave me, and I'll have to accept to live with it."

Gold smiled softly, love shining from his eyes. He bent down, closing the distance between them, chasing away the shadows of worry as he locked his lips with Belle's. Her eyes fluttered shut as she focused eternally on the warmth spreading through her body and the touch of his hand on her cheek. The sounds faded into the background, and even though the kiss was soft and undemanding, it spoke of reassurance and conviction.

Gold loved kissing Belle. From the first time it had happened to now, he knew he would never get enough of it. And now, when he no longer had to hide his affection from the world, he wanted more.

To bestow her with not only kisses but his whole life.

To never leave her side ever again.

He was hers. And she knew it. And that knowledge alone made him one of the happiest people on Earth.

Slowly he broke the kiss, but instead of drawing away, he rested his forehead against hers.

"I would be lost without you - you know that?" He murmured, rubbing his nose against hers, making her smile.

"I think it's mutual."

She could see the desire in his eyes, lurking beneath all the confusing feelings, but they both knew it was neither the time nor place for anything more than stolen kisses. And so he pecked her on the forehead and straightened up, looking around.

She watched him curiously when he limped to one of the trees, and with some difficulty, he put more of his weight on the left leg, balancing on it to remove the jacket, and then hung it on the branch.

"I can't see myself as a pawnbroker," he said, and Belle could help but chuckle.

"If it means having you in a tailored suit, then I can definitely see it."

"I can't afford a tailored suit," he wiggled his finger at her, but instead of hurt, there were playful sparkles in his eyes that she missed so much. She stood up from the root.

"But when you will, I'm sure you'll look mighty fine in it." Belle tone was husky as she approached him. Gold could only watch, his Adam's apple bubbling as he swallowed when her hands rested on his shoulders. She climbed on her toes, pressing against him, making him back against the tree as she kissed him. He could feel the bark scraping his back through his shirt, but he couldn't care less.

He wrapped his arm around her waist, bringing her closer. It was cold, but neither could feel it, not when so close to one another. She parted her lips for him, and he swept his tongue against her palate, making her shudder and scrap her fingernails against his scalp.

As he proceeded to kiss her behind her jaw, in his desire to hold Belle closer, he forgot himself. He let go of the cane, not even realizing that it had fallen to the ground before it was too late. Gold instantly wobbled, his leg folding on itself like a pocket knife. He would have fallen if not for his hand darting sideways and wrapping around the tree branch.

"Damn it," he hissed, trying to regain the balance, both frustrated and embarrassed not only by what had happened but also because he had to support himself on Belle's shoulder as well.

"It's OK," she handed him the cane, her eyes never leaving his. "Hey, look at me," she turned his face towards her and smiled. "It's actually a good thing."

He grimaced. "I don't see anything good in the fact that my leg is fucking useless."

"Well, making out against a tree trunk among the melted snow wasn't such a good idea."

There was laughter in her voice, but not at him - never at him, and he sighed. Belle might have been correct, but it didn't change the fact that at that moment, he would want nothing more than bash his own limb with that golden handle of the cane.

"When I make an honest woman out of you, I promise it won't happen again."

He felt like a lair just by saying those things, but Belle didn't look offended, more amused than anything.

"If I remember correctly," she stated, helping him find his footing and leading him away from the tree, "you made me a very dishonest woman right in this spot."

He chuckled, following her. Some of the clouds chased away.

"Minx."

"You bring the worst in me."

He grinned. Wrapping his arm around Belle's waist and pushing the pain in his ankle aside, he matched her tempo, walking in step with her.

The jacket stayed where he had left it - hanging on the branch.

The soldier was gone.

The last rays of the sun shone through the cracks in the pulled blinds, basking the room in a warm, red light. He flipped the sign to close at least an hour ago but still couldn't bring himself to leave the shop just yet. It wasn't as if anybody was waiting for him at home, and he didn't have anything better to do.

Lighting a gaslamp on the workbench, he sat on the stool and put the watchmaker's loup in his eye. The pocket watch he was currently working on was a magnificent object. The lid decorated with a crane taking flight among the swamp was so detailed that it was easy to spot single feathers in the animal's wings. A family heirloom, as his client had claimed, even if he himself suspected it stolen. Not working, but not for long.

One of his favourite activities was repairing watches—this, and restoring paintings. But his eyes weren't the same anymore, and he found out it took him longer to complete his tasks than before.

He took apart the mechanisms, lying the cogs next to each other in a neatly formed raw, not even an inch out of the line. He had always been thorough and a good judge in the value of things. This watch once restored and repaired, would be twice as valuable as it now was. Prentice knew this, and so did the owner, patiently waiting for the repair. He would then proceed to sell it, and Prentice would get one-third of the deal. Not bad, not terrible.

He just wished his hands wouldn't shake so much.

Prentice chuckled and shook his head. It was good that they hadn't done so in his youth. If they did, his skill would have been wasted, and he wouldn't be where he was now. He sighed as he glanced around the backroom before picking up the smallest screwdriver.

Once upon a time, there were three of them - three Musketeers as Martha used to call them. Wilfred Lucas had ended with the Diner and a motel, Prentice with the pawnshop and Leroy with a drinking problem. They did with their money what they thought was the best - once part of the Intelligence, then ordinary citizens. But now, one was dead, the second alive, and the third on an excellent way to join the first if the second wouldn't beat him to it - one never knew.

Storybrooke might have been a small town, but it surely did attract many individuals. No one knew what the three of them had been doing during the First War, only that they were part of the military. Of course, there were talks, just the same as with that whole mess with Captain Gold.

Prentice chuckled again as he replaced the broken cog with the new one. If Gold only knew about the past, he would be a lot less stiff about the whole affair. Being in love with a local was hardly a big deal, at least to Prentice. To be honest, he found it quite amusing. It almost reminded him how Wilfred and Martha used to be when young.

The bell above the front door jingled, and he smirked. The clever lad had noticed that the door wasn't locked despite the flipped sign.

"In the back!" he shouted, not tearing his gaze away from the watch in his hands. His back was to the doors, but it didn't stop him from knowing who had come to his shop. He always knew who his clients were. "You can come in, Mr Gold. I'm just finishing."

"How did you..?" He didn't need to look at the man to see the surprise on his face that was so evident in his voice.

"Maybe I'm a clairvoyant taught by a magician," he began, putting the watch down an turning around on the stool with a smirk, "Or maybe I saw you in the mirror that hangs above that closet."

Gold gaped at him, then glanced at the mirror and chuckled.

"Fair point," he admitted.

"What can I do for you, Mr Gold?" he asked, crossing his arms over his chest.

The ex-soldier looked like he didn't want to stare too much at the various things in the room but couldn't help himself much. Prentice let him stare. He already knew what the other man wanted.

"About that job offer," Gold turned his gaze away from the antique Ming dynasty vase on the top shelf, "I have one condition."

"I'm all ears."

Gold looked like he searched for the right words, his hands clasping and unclasping in the handle of his cane. Wasn't it Wilfred's? Prentice tilted his head to see it more clearly. It definitely was; he had found it for the man himself. Alfred must have admitted that it suited the ex-soldier very much so. Blinking, he went down to the matters at hand.

"It came to my attention," Gold started, straightening up, "that years ago, a ring might have come into your possession, Mr Prentice."

Oh, that was too good. It was really hard not to openly grin.

"I see. I presume that by the seller, you mean Maurice Fench?"

Gold nodded, not surprised that Prentice already knew what he was talking about.

"You're in luck then, Mr Gold," Alfred jumped from the stool and went to the nearest drawer. It was good that he had already prepared himself for this conversation. Honestly, sometimes people were too predictable. He tossed the ring to Gold, impressed that the man had caught it with one hand. "It just happens that the ring I have promised you is one and the same as the one pawned to me by Mr French."

Gold stared at the ring, his mouth slightly agape. Then his eyes narrowed.

"Did you plan it?"

Prentice shrugged his shoulders with an innocent look.

"What can I say? I'm good at reading people. And you were right - it was the most valuable among those other rings. An old family heirloom," he added as he made his way towards Gold. "The times were hard for the Frenches after Colette's death, and I might have given a little bit more for it than required."

"So, how much is it worth now?"

"I would say, two months of your work here," he smiled. "And then you may decide if you want to stay here or not."

Gold offered the ring back, even if reluctantly, then exchanged his hand.

"I accept your terms, Mr Prentise."

"Splendid!" Prentice shook it vigorously then clapped Gold on the shoulder, making the other man jump slightly. "Consider yourself haired, Mr Gold."

Without another word, he rounded the younger man and grabbed his coat from the rack.

"The keys are in the smaller drawer right there. You can play around with the watch if you like, oh and do close up when you finish, would you? Have a nice day, Gold!"

Roy didn't manage to get a word in, and before he knew it, he was left alone in the shop. He could swear he could hear Prentice's laugh from the outside down the street.

He looked around, still not sure what exactly had happened. Slowly he approached the table with a dismantled pocketwatch and tilted his head.

Well, why not?

He sat down on the stool and began to study the cogs.

#rumbelle #rumbelle fanfiction #once upon a time #Rumplestiltskin #Belle #golden beauty #AU #my fic #fic: until the last petal falls

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treatian · 3 years

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The Chronicles of the Dark One: Magical Loopholes

Chapter 14: His Work Days and Their Nights

Belle was a balm for his soul. He'd known that he supposed. She'd had the ability in the Enchanted Forest to calm him, to make him smile when he felt tortured or worried. She'd had that ability, but he'd ignored it when they'd been together in his castle or else tried to pretend like it hadn't been there. Now, he found himself craving it.

When he'd first come home for lunch, he'd felt guilty and disappointed in himself. He'd been depressed at the thought of not having her around, of being a dark stain on her, body and soul. But when they made their way down to the kitchen, and he began to make them some sandwiches, he felt warm just having her around. She was like the sun coming out again after a hurricane. Even if all she was doing was watching him as he moved around the kitchen, he felt like he could breathe as he never had before. His lungs felt clearer, the air inside of them felt fresher. It was easy to forget about what had happened with Dove, to forget everything he'd seen on the way into town, about locating August Booth and just focus on her.

He used the last bit of good bread he had and some fresh meat and cheese he'd summoned from the grocery store to craft their lunch and vowed to get more before he came home tonight. Mostly she was quiet and just watched him as he worked, but then she pushed him aside after he finished the first and offered it to her and instead made her own. She asked him about the microwave about what it did and how it worked, then the coffee maker, and then the stove. She offered him a challenge in having to describe simple everyday things he'd never thought of before. He'd rather enjoyed their hour, the entertainment he'd found in answering her questions, but by the end of it, he could tell her head was spinning. She was blushing and shaking her head as she looked around the kitchen like it was an untamed world she had to map out and master on her own.

"Hey," he whispered before pulling her to him and kissing the top of her head. "We'll get there. Trust me, soon enough, this will all be second nature. We'll make dinner together tonight; that will help. There is no better way to learn than through experience."

She nodded, smiling up at him. "I'll see you later then."

"Indeed you will, though…" he sighed as he pulled away from her. He was about to leave again and was reminded of how he'd found her when he'd come home in the first place, what he'd assumed about the asylum giving her drugs to calm her. "Try to rest, but don't sleep," he advised. "You'll feel better when things are normal. When days are days and nights are…"

"When days are busy and nights are ours," she finished for him with a suggestive smile that made him question if he really needed to go back to the shop. He did. He needed to locate Booth. He knew who his son was, and with Emma gone, his greatest chance of finding him was with the puppet. But pulling away from her was difficult. Leaving her at all was difficult when she folded herself against his chest and held him just as tight as he held her. He was going to have to figure out how to balance this life, balance getting his son back, and enjoy whatever time he had with her so he could die happily.

"I have to go, but I'll be back before dinner. I love you."

"I love you, too."

He kissed her once more, then managed to make it back to the shop only because he refused to look back the entire way.

Booth, he had to turn his attentions to Booth. They'd had a deal. He'd told Booth he could get Emma to believe that he'd get the Curse broken so that Henry would wake up. In return, Booth would tell him where to find his son. He wanted Emma to take him there for several reasons, not the least of which the Seer kept insisting on it. Still, having a location, a phone number, even just a name would reassure him, give him something to hold onto as he made plans for leaving town to find him and waited for Emma. He was ready. He just needed the puppet.

He tried to call first, but the mechanical voice on the phone told him that the number he had for him at Granny's Bed and Breakfast had been disconnected. He didn't panic. Half the town was without power. If the Bed and Breakfast had been knocked out too and no one had reported to work, as he suspected from the large crowds that were still gathering around the town, it might be a while.

It was the only number he had for Booth, so instead of calling again, he simply walked. Down the street to Granny's he went, glaring at anyone who dared to look at him as he hobbled along. He didn't like what he found at Granny's. The lights were off. The door was locked, but a window had been broken. More than one window. He waved his hand over the locked door, and it clicked before swinging open for him.

The place was dark. Allowing his senses to extend outward, he heard no heartbeats, and that was fine. It meant Widow Lucas and Ruby were out somewhere. And Booth, well…if he was a puppet, he didn't need blood anymore, so there was no reason to hear a heartbeat. But when he made his way upstairs, he found that the room was wrong. Ransacked, it appeared. It was different than it had been the last time he'd been here. There were some clothes strewn about, but his personal effects appeared gone, mostly. More importantly, the bed he'd left the puppet upon was empty.

"Oh, you can't hide that easily, boy…" he growled. He used his magic again. He focused on Booth, on the dark-haired man who knew Baelfire, and had his magic take him there. He ended up in the middle of the forest. Something had gone wrong. Or else magic not working as it previously had was to blame. He tried again but only wound up in the same place. Out of curiosity, he went looking for Marco, assuming that if the puppet was alive or awake, he'd have gone out in search of his father. Oddly enough, he did find Marco. He found him in his garage, sitting on a stool, his head in his hands, crying. Booth was nowhere in sight.

He spent the day searching. He looked all over Storybrooke, everywhere he could think to look, but he never found Booth. More than once, he tried to use his magic. Each time he always came back to that same place in the woods. There was something special about it. He knew that. The magic worked when he wanted to go other places, and yet every time he tried to appear before Booth, he kept coming back to this place. That meant one thing…Booth had done something. Booth had cast a spell either to bring him here when someone tried to locate him, or he was here but covered with a spell of some kind.

He growled. He growled and sneered and shouted into the woods as the sun began to go down. He was angry. He was frustrated. He wanted to kill someone, namely a little wooden puppet who knew too much about this world and him. But magic always won in the end. He'd get his price out of him, one way or another, today or three years from now…he'd get what he was owed.

Angry as he was, he drove home on auto-piolet, driving around the masses wandering and screaming in the street, around the small fires and shards of glass he saw in the road. He was distracted, so much so that he only remembered Belle and the fact that he needed to bring food home for her so they could make dinner together once he turned onto his street. His magic was tired, he'd gotten a lot out of it today searching for August, but he managed to summon food from the grocery store into the trunk and retrieve it.

He tried to tell himself to calm down, to not be in a bad mood and breathe, but he felt like blackness as he walked up his steps. He'd been hoping to return home knowing something about his son. Instead, all he knew was that August Wayne Booth was a-

The minute the door closed behind him, he heard footsteps on the stairs. He dropped the bags he'd been carrying and braced himself as she rounded the corner and found her way into his arms again.

A balm for his soul…

She made today better. She made his failure disappear. She made him want more than revenge.

He was careful when he kissed her. He wanted more than the pecks he'd given her earlier but less than something that would lead them upstairs. He'd only restrained himself at lunch because he needed to go back to work. Now that he didn't have to leave, he needed to practice restraint. She'd be hungry, and she really did need to learn how to use the kitchen if she was going to stay here.

When they broke apart, they took what he'd brought, or summoned, home. He taught her what he could, trying to pick out every little detail, assuming that she knew nothing and would tell him if she did know something. Plastic, Styrofoam, refrigeration, those were all new words to her as they unpacked meat and vegetables, boxed food, and frozen food. He'd told her earlier that frozen food wasn't as good in the microwave, but he'd still summoned it so she could get the practice using it for herself. Chicken, a side of pasta, and frozen broccoli, they moved around the kitchen together as they cooked. She asked questions, wondered where he kept things like pots and pans, glass containers, and each time he answered her questions and then watched her work. Admired her work, was probably more accurate. She always was a smart one, and she'd always been a good cook, or at least she had been once she'd gotten some practice. It was ironic to him. He'd told Dove that morning that this new form of magic was like a muscle; the more he used it, the more it would come back. Belle might not have magic, exactly, but it was clear that some things were coming back to her, muscles and instincts working that hadn't worked in decades.

She dazzled him.

And as they ate, he felt the stress of the day lift off his shoulders. She was his sun again, chasing away the clouds that had haunted him all day long. Even when, against his protests, she began to do the dishes. He didn't like her filling that role of "servant." He didn't want to see her in that way ever again, and he didn't want her to feel like she had to do chores either. But when she lit up after using the garbage disposal, he couldn't help but smile. She was learning, not serving. And she was enjoying every bit of her education. So, he taught her more.

Just to watch her eyes widen and her mind work, he found the soap under the kitchen sink and put a bit into the dishwasher, explaining how to measure as he went. Then he shut the cap and let it close before teaching her how to start it on a delay so that they'd be asleep by the time it came on.

"They seem clean now, but trust me, by morning…they'll sparkle."

"Really?" she asked excitedly.

"Well," he sighed, reminding himself that with no other experience, all she had to set her expectations were his own words. He didn't want her to be disappointed. "Not sparkle, not really, but they will be even cleaner than they are now."

"And it does it on its own? Throughout the night?"

"Yes, but it only takes a couple of hours. I just prefer to do it at night. When I awake the next morning, it's easy to unload it and put everything back where it belongs."

"Can I do it?" she asked quickly. He could see her excitement, he knew why she was asking, but the thought of her doing chores around the house while he went off to work and searched for his son…it was too much like old times. He hadn't brought her here to be his maid. He'd brought her here because he loved her, and after what she'd endured because of that love, she deserved to be taken care of. She should spend her days reading, not doing chores.

"No, Belle…you don't have to do that. Not anymore-"

"No, I want to," she argued. "Just…just until I learn my way around. Experience is the best way to learn, isn't that what you said."

"It was indeed," he muttered. Perhaps he'd spoken far too soon. Maybe he shouldn't have used those words exactly.

"Please," she insisted with a gentle smile. "I want to. It'll give me something to do while you're gone."

He wanted to growl at the thought of that. He hated the fact that he'd ever used her as he did in the Dark Castle, to begin with. But if she truly wanted to do it, and it would only be a few minutes out of her day…

"I'll leave it for you then," he conceded.

She beamed. Well, at least it made her happy. That was something.

"Do you normally go to bed now?"

Her question seemed to suck the air out of the room. Suddenly he noticed how quiet it was in the kitchen. And he couldn't help but realize that though she'd asked him about going to bed with confidence, she was twisting her hands in front of her nervously, and her cheeks were red. He swallowed hard.

"It's a bit early," he commented, looking at the clock. He'd brought her home late last night, and after dinner, there had been nothing to do but go to bed. Tonight, they had time, though the way the sun set early this time of year, he could certainly see how it would trick her mind. "Sometimes I do something else until I'm tired…"

She smiled, her blush deepened, and she pulled her hands apart before she shrugged. "I uh…I wasn't exactly planning on going to sleep first."

Oh, fuck.

She'd meant it to be suggestive. Any woman saying those kinds of words with that blush and that look in her eye would have sounded suggestive. She sounded completely irresistible. His heart was fluttering as blood rushed through his body and into a certain body part that made it clear he was perfectly fine with her "suggestion."

But after last night, after she'd confessed she was sore, and they'd spoken…he didn't want her to feel forced or like it was expected. If he was honest, he'd be happy just to hold her for a few hours before she slept. He'd be happy to clean out one of the guest rooms for her now that his magic was working and give her some privacy.

"Are you sure?" he questioned, trying to breathe. All day long, he'd felt like the Dark One. Suddenly he had her feeling like a human all over again, shaking and utterly unsure of himself. "Are you positive?!"

She didn't answer him, not with words. Instead, she moved slowly over to where he stood then smoothed her hands slowly up his chest and around his neck in a way that made him think he might not make it to bed if she wasn't careful. Damn…she was a fast learner now, wasn't she?

"Why is it so hard for you to believe…" she breathed before leaning her head against him so that he could kiss her forehead. His arms finally moved around her. "I just want to be close to you."

Oh, he nearly broke right then and there. Today had been…less than great. First dealing with Dove, then trying and failing to find Booth, learning nothing about his son but knowing that the person he needed to get back to him was in another realm, and then there was their talk just before lunch. That part hadn't particularly been bad, but it had been embarrassing in its own way, and he wasn't exactly keen to relive it.

But, when she tightened her hold on him, he felt everything melt away into something that he wanted, something he'd longed for longer than he could explain. She wanted to be close to him. He wanted to be close to her too.

He gave her a gentle squeeze before releasing her and accepting their fate, accepting whatever their relationship was and where it would lead them. Then he placed his hands on her neck and kissed her. Once gently, then again slowly, and finally passionately. He listened to her groan into him and didn't resist, didn't pull away because he saw no reason to.

"Then…" he whispered gently before kissing her one last time, "we'll go to bed now."

#Rumbelle #Rumple #Rumpelstiltskin #Dark One #Mr. Gold #Belle #Marco #August Wayne Booth #pinocchio #geppetto #ouat #ouat fanfiction #fanfic

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killingkueen · 4 years

Text

Much More Than This

Hello, hello, hello @mrs-stiltskin! Can you believe it’s me again???

Prompt: cats, dogs, books, opposites attract

Summary: Mr. Gold tries not to pay much attention to the new librarian and her husband. He tries very, very hard. He almost succeeds.

Rated very E

A/N The First: There is some very mellow m/m as well as some m/f/m, so keep an open mind. It’s also the first slash I’ve ever written—today is the day I became a fanfic author.

2A2N: I have never met a Scottish person in my life

Edited to add AO3 link

OOO

The sky was moody and grey. It hadn’t yet determined if that was because the sun hadn’t fully risen, or if it was a sign of rain. It didn’t matter to Mr. Gold, who parked his Cadillac behind his shop. He parked there everyday, after all. And every day he took his cane and his keys in hand, and opened his shop. Mr. Gold had a strict schedule, a strict routine. That was how he liked it.

At the back door, key out and ready to be slotted into the lock, Gold paused. There were boots sticking out of the bottom of his shop. Boots attached to two squirming legs, the toes digging into the ground for leverage. If he strained his ears, he could make out faint muttering, followed by a psspsspss.

Gold stared, baffled. The boots were old, but not shabby, and along the lines of what he’d seen the dock-workers wear. He didn’t think any of the men who worked there would have the nerve to—what, exactly? Was this a robbery? If it were, he’d give points for creativity.

Whatever he was doing, he was an unwelcome change to Gold’s routine. He had a shop to open. Gold lifted his cane, knocking the handle against the wood paneling of his shop, firm and loud. As he hoped, the man startled, a muffled thud accompanied with what was now cursing as his head hit the floor above him.

The man scrambled out, his limbs kicking up dirt as he backtracked.

Mr. Gold almost smiled. This was the most excitement he had seen in months.

“And just what do you think you’re doing underneath my shop, dearie?”

The man now stood on his knees. His eyes, widened in surprise, snapped to Gold’s face.

“Glasgo’!” he exclaimed. “Isnae this a shock! ”

Gold raised an eyebrow. Not many people in town much cared where he’d come from, and a good amount of them swore it was somewhere much warmer than Scotland. Glasgow was a dreary place full of nothing of value to him, and he couldn’t say he missed his homeland.

“From Scotland yourself?” Gold found himself asking.

“Aye, I grew up in the highlands in a wee toon near Inverness.” He brushed off the front of his jacket, dusty from crawling around in the dirt. “I thooght I was stuck wi' these Americans, ye ken.” His smile widened, thrilled at the chance meeting.

That still didn't give him the answer he wanted. “What are you doing under my shop?" he asked again. What was he doing in Storybrooke, for that matter? It was still too early in the season for tourists.

The man’s eyes were too wide for his face, and very expressive. They darted away, to the library across the street, and for just a moment he looked like a kid who’d been sent home with a note from the teacher. The library. Of course.

Gold had heard the new librarian arrived last week, having come all the way from—London, was it? The UK, at least. He remembered the name he’d read when he filed the contracts with the city council: Isabelle French. He had seen a second visa for the husband, though Gold couldn't recall reading the name. He would bet his current inventory he was looking at him.

“Mr. French,” Gold said, deciding he didn’t much care what the man’s name was. He relished the look of surprise that appeared on his face for the second time that morning. It made Gold feel more on balance, knowing things people didn’t expect him to. Much more regular, keeping the townsfolk on their toes.

“Och aye, that’s reit.” A smile pulled at the corner of his mouth. He half shrugged. “That’s me, innit.” His shoulders straightened with—pride, was it?

The man was thin, and the baggy clothes he wore only made him look smaller. Even on his knees, Gold could tell he wouldn’t stand any taller than himself, and tall was certainly not a word he could claim. His hair was shaggy but not quite to the point of being unkempt, and he needed a shave.

He also needed to know how things worked around here.

“Mr. French,” he said again, digging his cane into the ground. It was quite easy to look down his nose at him, when the man was already so far below him. “Just what were you doing under my shop?”

“Ah,” French blinked. “I havenae adjusted tae bein' haur yit. Jet lag, I’spose.” At Gold’s unamused expression, he hastened to add, “Sae, I was oot walkin' thes morn when I saw a moggie athwart th' causey. Puir hin' was injured. When I tried tae approach it, it ran under yer shop an' noo won’t come it.”

Gold was viscerally aware he hadn’t set foot in Scotland in nearly thirty years.

“There is a cat under my shop,” he surmised.

“Aye.” He stared up at him, brown eyes wide and waiting.

“What?“ Gold asked impatiently.

“You sound almost American,” French said around a half-smile.

That’s where they were, isn’t it? He pursed his lips. “How are you going to get the cat out, then?”

“If I had something tae wrap her in, I could pull her out safely, I think.” His eyes trailed to Gold’s throat and he knew what he was going to ask the moment before he did. “Do you mind if I knick your scarf?”

Yes, I absolutely do, Gold thought. He pulled the scarf from his throat, the cold air biting at his neck and collar bone, now bare. It was soft and wide, perfect for the early spring, and long enough to wrap around his neck twice and still dangle nicely. It annoyed him, probably more than it should, that it technically was perfect to wrap a cat in.

He held it out to French wordlessly.

“Cheers,” French said, disappearing under the wooden base, leaving Gold to stare at the heel of his boots once again.

Cane in hand, Gold waited.

French spoke in a low, even voice. Gold couldn’t make out what he was saying but it sounded comforting. Hopefully the cat agreed. After a few silent moments, Gold heard a terrible yowling, like a broken siren.

Making much slower progress than before, French inched his way from under the shop, the yowling becoming louder and louder.

“I suppose the noise is a good sign,” Gold said, voice raised over the beastie.

“She’s got a pair of lungs on her,” French agreed. He was smothered in dirt again, the knees of his jeans particularly dark.

He eased himself to his knees, rearranging the bundle in his arms so he had a much firmer grip before he carefully moved to his feet. The cat was wrapped quite securely in the scarf, enough so that Gold could only see a small tuft of dark fur peak through. He took it as further good news that he couldn’t see any obvious wet spots seeping into the fabric. Mr. Gold didn’t like blood.

After a long moment, French coughed. “Where tae now then?” He was cradling the cat like it was a child, holding it firmly to his chest. His hand rubbed circles against it’s back, which did nothing to silence the shrieking.

“You’re not bringing that mongrel inside,” Gold said.

“You dinnae look like much of a veterinarian,” French fired back.

Gold narrowed his eyes. Yes, it would be a vet he’d want. “Marian Hood owns a clinic that’s across the street from the elementary school.” She was known to be quite an early riser herself; chances were she was already inside her building, getting ready for the day.

French looked at him expectantly.

Sighing, he said, “Go north a few blocks and then take a left at the movie theatre. Once you reach Marco’s Woodworking, take another left. You’ll find it eventually.”

“Right. Thanks for the help, Mr. Gold.”

With that, the man turned to leave. Gold looked to the sky. It seemed to be settling on rain, after all. Hm. Gold wasn’t going to offer him a ride; the man had just been rolling around in the dirt. Besides, he had a shop to open.

“Mr. French,” he called, just as the man reached the sidewalk. “It’s too long to walk.”

“Oh,” he said, frowning. “But I don’t have a—”

Resisting the urge to roll his eyes, Gold started to limp to his caddy. “Get in before I change my mind, Mr. French,” he said, opening the passenger side door with no small amount of sarcastic grandeur.

The ride was broken only by the pathetic wailing of the poor creature, and the quieting shushing of the man who held her.

Gold would open his shop as soon as he dropped them off. Then his routine would be back to normal, and he’d again be ignorant to the existence of Mr. and Mrs. French.

OOO

The sunshine was bright through the windows of the pawn shop. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky when Mr. Gold opened for the day. Only blue skies could be seen through his shop windows when he heard the bell signal someone had opened his door.

Gold didn’t look up from his ledger. An air of aloof casualness always worked best as a starting point. They were the ones encroaching on his day, after all.

“I’ll be with you in a moment,” he said, making a mark that he would erase later as the sound of heels clicked across his floor. He didn’t look up when the clicking stopped in front of him at the counter. After a pause, a plastic bag was set down on the glass.

Something to pawn, then. Shame. He was almost in the mood to argue about rent. Gold’s eyes flickered up. Standing before him was a woman he’d never seen before. She was quite pretty. At least her profile was; she was currently scanning the shelves of their various glassware and bits and bobs.

“Do you have many books here?” She turned in a slow circle to take it all in.

“No.”

The woman looked at him. “There’s antiques here, too, right? It’s not just a pawn shop?”

“Books aren’t really what most people think of when they think of antiques.”

“No, because then they’re usually called first editions.”

The corner of his mouth lifted, and nodded his head slightly, conceding her point. “All the same. My apologies.” His regular buyers weren’t interested in books, and certainly no one in town was either.

“I suppose I’m surrounded by enough books, as it is,” she said, sighing.

Gold had a feeling he knew who this newcomer was. He should leave it alone. He had enough work to keep him busy.

“If you’re interested, I can ask my contacts. I know a person or two in the rare books trade.” He knew exactly no one but they’d be easy enough to track down.

She smiled, delighted surprise brightening her eyes. He had been mistaken before, calling her pretty.

“That’s so kind of you to offer. I’ll let you know.”

Mrs. Isabelle French, new head librarian of the Storybrooke Library, was beautiful.

He nodded, not trusting anything he could say to her. She smiled again. It felt like a bullet straight to his chest.

“Yes, well.” Her hand went to the bag, almost forgotten on the counter. “I’m afraid I’m actually here about a different matter. You no doubt know who I am already, but all the same: hello. My name is Belle French, and it’s nice to meet you.” She opened the bag, taking out a familiar scarf.

“I know it’s rude to return something without having it cleaned, especially over a week later and especially with how my husband absconded with it in the first place, but it’s a very fine material? And hand dyed, which of course you would already know.” She bit her lip. The previous surprise on her face had long since evaporated, leaving nothing but worry.

The scarf had been a gift from his son from when the lad had taken a school trip to Europe. Neal had bought it from a boutique he probably shouldn't have been in, proud to present his papa with something that met his high standards. The silk was lovely and soft. It was his favorite; the final thing he reached for when he left the house on chilly days. His son had given it to him, after all, which made it irreplaceable.

“It’s just a scarf, Mrs. French.”

He shook the fabric, wanting to see the full extent of the damage. Near the center were two dark patches, clotting the silk. And there, at the end of one side, was two more.

“The thing is, the lady at the dry cleaners wasn’t sure if it could be saved. We’re on a strict budget until I get paid, and with the surprise expense of emergency vet bills,” she risked a slightly ironic smile, “I can’t justify paying for a service that might not even work.”

“I was the one who gave it to your husband,” he reminded her. “He didn’t snatch it from me. I was under the impression the cat wasn’t yours.”

“She wasn’t.” Shrugging, she said, “She at least hasn’t been chipped nor reported missing. Rum can’t bear the thought of leaving her at the pound, and so it would seem we have a new roommate. And honestly, if we were going to pay for the cost of fixing her up, we might as well take her in. Rum always said he was a dog person through and through, but he’s thrilled we have her now. Honestly it’s worth the bill to see him this happy.”

Mrs. French shook her head, blushing at her rambling. “My point was, if you took the scarf to the dry cleaners yourself, or just bought a replacement, we’ll pay you back for it as soon as my first paycheck comes in.”

“That won’t be for two months, at least.” Government jobs were notoriously finicky when it came to billing cycles, and the town having what could be considered a minuscule government didn’t make the paperwork any less annoying.

“I’m happy to sign something.”

“It’s just a scarf,” Gold heard himself say again. “Don’t worry yourself.”

The woman opened and closed her hands, confused about the lifeline placed in front of her. No doubt she’d been regaled with stories of the cruel, evil landlord from the townsfolk. On a different day he’d be more than happy to meet her expectations. Perhaps he merely wanted to make a good first impression.

She finally seemed to settle on a smile, small and relieved. “As soon as I get the library open, be sure to come visit, alright? I’ll get you signed up for a card, free of charge.”

Was that a wink? Gold had always thought library cards were already free, but then again, the town had been without a library for as long as he’d lived in it.

“Perhaps.” With careful hands, he folded Neal’s scarf into an orderly rectangle. He knew a few tricks for cleaning silk. “Good day, Mrs. French.”

After only a moment of hesitation, the sound of her heels clicked out his door.

OOO

Gold decided the best thing to do was put the Frenchs out of his mind. Better yet, avoid them entirely, as it was clear he couldn’t be trusted around either of them.

That didn’t stop him from hearing things. For instance, Belle had moved to the UK from Australia with her father when she was in primary school. She’d met her husband when she was finishing up her master’s degree and coming off a particularly nasty breakup. As Gold heard it, things were fine until her husband was laid off and they had to move in with her father in London. Unhappy, she went looking for any job that would get them out. A head librarian position in middle of nowhere, Maine? Fine. Perfect. And wasn’t that something else, that they only officially married so he could come with her to her new job in America.

Most interestingly, Gold heard they would sometimes go to the diner for breakfast. The morning Gold walked into Granny’s, it wasn’t like he was expecting to see them, or anything. He just thought it was high time he became a patron of the most popular Storybrooke establishment. Support small business, that kind of thing.

“Glasgow,” he heard before the door had even closed behind him.

Mr. French was waving him over to the booth he shared with his wife, a wide grin on his face.

Gold was going to ignore him, of course. He was going to stare straight ahead and pretend he hadn’t heard.

“Mr. French,” he said, walking slowly over to them. “Good morning.”

“Mr. French?” his wife repeated slowly, raising an eyebrow.

A bashful smile Gold couldn’t explain appeared on French’s face. He shrugged at his wife helplessly.

“Join us for a wee bite, Glasgow? We huvnae ordered yet.” He gestured to the menus spread before them, as if Gold needed proof.

He frowned. He already let them off the hook for the scarf. It was mostly his own fault, after all, and he was nothing if not fair. They didn’t pay rent to him, either, since they were residing in the caretaker’s apartment. Moving across continents was expensive; perhaps they hadn’t budgeted enough for it, especially considering the paycheck problem. If that were the case, they could come to his shop and ask like everyone else.

“I only came in for a cup of coffee,” he demurred.

“Oh.” His face fell, like he was actually disappointed. “You can sit here with it, if you want.”

“If he doesn’t want to join us, we can’t make him, Mr. French.” The look on Belle’s face was unreadable as she stared at him over her mug.

“I liked the sound of it, alright?” His mouth pulled up at the corner. “If that’s what he wants to call me, I’m nae gonna stop him.”

She snorted, her own grin breaking free as she laughed.

Gold looked towards the counter forlornly. He was finding he did not have enough caffeine in his system yet. He supposed he could walk away and wait by the counter like everyone else did, but something kept him by the French’s table. Belle had a pretty laugh. Maybe that was it.

“Mr. French is my father,” she finally explained with an eye roll and shake of her head. “This ridiculous man is Robert McWeaver.”

“Nice tae meet you.”

“Apologies for assuming.” He should have paid more attention to the paperwork. It wasn’t like him, not to pay attention.

“You couldnae have known.” Robert McWeaver took a sip from his own mug. “What would you recommend, then?”

“What?”

“To eat. What’s good?”

Gold wouldn’t know. This was his first time stepping inside for anything other than rent.

“I’m getting the pancakes,” Belle said, eyes on the menu. “Rum’s leaning towards the full breakfast.”

“As close tae an English breakfast as I can get. They got one thing right, eh, the English?” He laughed at his own joke, mouth wide, the crows feet at his eyes giving him a distinguished, friendly look. Gold’s own just made him look old. With his loose clothes and easy smile, McWeaver was the definition of laid back, almost—cool. Someone people gravitated towards. Not that Gold knew anything about it.

But that was the most constant thing he’d heard, wasn’t it? With their wide smiles and kind eyes, it was no wonder how the townsfolk had adopted them so readily. Anyone would be lucky to be their friend, to share in their warmth.

“Take a seat,” Belle said, smiling. “We’ll put an order in, get you your coffee.”

God help him, he almost did just that.

What was with these two?

“Some other day,” he said, turning on his heel. “Ms. French, Mr. McWeaver.”

“We'll hold you to—“ the door latched shut cut off what they were about to say.

Brooding, Gold walked to his shop. Whatever those two were after, they weren’t getting it from him. Besides, there was no room in their happy lives for the heartless, asshole landlord. It was better for everyone if he left them alone. He had held himself apart from the rest of the town for years. That was how he liked it.

Not bothering to flip the sign, Gold went straight to the back, deciding to bury himself in polishing every piece of jewelry in the shop until the lot of it could power a solar panel.

He was working through his collection of wedding rings when the front door opened, bell jangling. A quick look at the clock told him he was supposed to have opened twenty minutes ago. Whatever happened to his routine?

Not bothering with his cane, he stood up and pushed the curtain aside. He promptly froze.

“Alright, Glasgow?”

“Mr. McWeaver,” Gold said, frowning at the nickname. He needed to say something before it became permanent. “Ms. French.”

“Call me Rum.” His smile was back, broad and open as ever.

Gold said nothing, just stood in between the doorway. He had expected to have more time before they came to deal. After his retreat that morning, perhaps they thought it best to get it over with.

“You, uh, left before ordering anything.” Belle placed a to-go cup and a bag down in front of him. “We got you a muffin, too, in case you get peckish.”

They stared at him expectantly. Only when their smiles started to dim did Gold manage to clear his throat.

“Thank you,” he offered.

“We weren’t sure how you liked your coffee, so we just got it black,” Belle said helpfully. “I hope that’s all right.”

Gold liked it with enough sugar to make his auntie's teeth pop out.

“Black is fine.”

He was rewarded with a smile.

“Well,” she said, rocking back on her heels. “We have a shipment of new books coming that I need to sign for, so we’ll get out of your hair. Have a great day, Mr. Gold.”

Before he could do more than nod a goodbye, they were out the door, the bell ringing after them. He watched as Rum reached out to take Belle’s hand. Gold watched as they reached the library doors and she dug through her purse one handed for the keys. Rum kissed her neck, and he couldn’t hear the squeal as she batted him away, but he could imagine it. They were like teenagers; blissfully happy and seemingly untouched by the real world.

Gold looked at his coffee, and saw the heat guard had fallen down. He opened the bag. The muffin was blueberry, his favorite.

Staying away from them would be best.

OOO

Gold soon developed a new routine. Every morning he’d stand by the front counter of his shop and wait for Belle and Rum to make their way to the diner. He never wanted to go himself, but something always convinced him; maybe if Belle’s dress was blue, or if Rum had his arm around her waist rather than looped through her own. Gold would watch until they were out of sight, then finish up whatever busy work he was doing. After locking the door to his shop he’d make his own way down the street.

When he got to Granny’s, he waited at the front so he could order coffee to go. At least he would, if he ever got that far. As soon as Gold was through the door, Rum would call out to him and insist he join their table. Belle and Rum were never ready to order anyway, which was just as well, as he liked to rest his leg before making the short walk back to his shop. And Gold was finding he quite liked the breakfast spread.

So it went in the mornings. Gold knew sometimes they ate dinner there as well, but there was no pattern to when they went and Gold hadn’t run into them on the night’s he popped in, for rent or otherwise.

Currently, Gold had already walked through the door. He was waiting at the front, by the register. Rum usually noticed him by now. He tapped the handle of his cane. The front bar was white and shiny, as it always was. The glasses behind, stacked and waiting for the waitresses to fill them up, all glistened.

Gold shot a glance at their table. Rum was facing him, his elbows on the table, head in his hands, his face rapt as he listened to whatever Belle was saying. He nodded once or twice.

Gold frowned. He wondered what she was saying. Last week, after stumbling on a story about World War I soldiers and how they bonded over their trauma, she had gone on a tangent of medics and the first studies of shell shock. The time before, how cigars were made. It was no wonder Rum hadn't noticed his entrance if Belle was talking about her current passion. She could have anyone riveted with as little as a sigh.

He stepped aside as one of the tables finished up and left, passing him on their way out. This wasn’t part of the routine. Gold was never supposed to actually order coffee to go.

He had overstepped, that was it. They had likely seen him walk in, but hadn’t said anything in the hopes he left without intruding. He could leave them alone for a single morning to enjoy breakfast as a married couple, for once. Did that mean they didn’t want him there anymore? Maybe they were both too nice to say it to his face, and were waiting for him to take the hint instead.

Gold glared at the cups, standing pristine along the wall, as if he could intimidate them into giving him answers.

That was how Ruby found him when she came out of the kitchen, finally.

“Mr. Gold,” she greeted. “Are you going to sit down?”

He ignored her.

From the corner of his eye, he saw her look at Rum and Belle’s table, then back at him. She rolled her eyes.

“Granny,” she bellowed behind her, causing Gold to jump. “Has the special been updated? Like, on the board?”

“I wrote it last night,” Granny yelled back, muffled by the distance.

“Alright.” Ruby’s eyes were on him, something smug and knowing in their depths.

“Glasgow!”

Attention grabbed by Ruby, Rum finally looked up toward the counter to where Gold was brooding.

“You’re late today,” he called with a frown. “Everything all right?”

Ruby snorted. Gold shot her a glare which she promptly ignored.

“Take a seat, Mr. Gold,” she said with a bright smile. “I’ll get started on drinks.”

Rum was still staring at him, eyes overwide and welcoming. He had such an expressive face, so open, so telling, so. Gold wondered what he’d look like below him, panting and wanton.

When Gold continued to stand there, Belle turned as well, looking over her shoulder. Her hair was down today, the sheek brown curls cascading down her back. His fingers itched with his want to bury them in her hair, cradle her head while he kissed her.

These were not new thoughts; they had always been there, just below the surface. He swallowed, trying to bury his feelings deep in his stomach, keeping them from sight.

With numb feet, he limped to the table. Belle scooted to the side, making room for him to slide next to her. He liked the mornings he sat next to Belle; he could smell her perfume, light and floral like roses. And Gold liked when he was facing Rum; half the fun of listening to Belle was watching her husband.

“We havenae ordered yet,” he was saying now, folding his arms on the table and leaning forward. “Just waitin’ for you.”

They were too sweet for him. All this time, Gold was pretending it was just good timing on his part. Oh, but it hurt his heart, to be expected.

“Sorry for the delay,” he said quietly.

“It’s no problem at all.” Belle bumped him with her shoulder. The heat of her burned. “I was just regaling Rum about a new book Ariel recommended, about Octopuses, of all things.”

“Calling them ‘octopi’ is wrong, apparently,” Rum said. “And they have three hearts. And,” he sat up straighter, taking his arms off the table when he spotted Ruby approaching from the kitchen. “And, they remember their handlers, and especially the grudges they hold against each of them.”

“How about we order, and then we’ll catch you up to speed,” she teased.

“I would love nothing more,” he said. He meant every word, from the bottom of his decrepit heart.

OOO

When Gold told himself he had to stay away from them, he meant it. It was Belle and Rum who didn’t seem to get the memo. And okay, maybe he had developed a taste for Granny’s coffee.

At least he could admit to himself now that he didn’t want to stay away. The chance that they felt as deeply for him as he did for them was impossible, the thought of them willingly taking him into their bed was unthinkable. But he could have their friendship. If their mornings together in the diner was all he had of them, he’d cherish that time fiercely.

Seeing one of them alone wasn’t something that happened often, though. Yet here Rum was, no sign of his wife in sight, fidgeting in his shop as if he were a stranger.

“What are you doing here?” Gold asked.

“What, am I not allowed?”

His accent had mellowed in the couple months he’d been in town, through necessity if nothing else. It was a continued source of amusement for Belle that their accents thickened whenever they talked to each other.

Gold put down his pen. He was going through a list of items from an estate sale down south, but that could wait. Spreading his arms across his counter, he gave Rum his full attention, patiently waiting for him to get to the point, or leave. He was used to these sorts of games. Usually he could guess what the other player wanted, though.

Gold would have thought if they wanted something from him they would have asked a long time ago, but situations changed. He hadn’t heard of Rum rescuing any more wayward animals.

Rum’s full attention was currently on the paintings that hung on the wall behind him. Perhaps it was about his pride.

“Do you need a job?” Gold asked.

That surprised Rum enough to make him look over. “A job?” he asked, frowning.

“You don’t work,” Gold pointed out. He knew what Belle’s salary was. It was enough to sustain a two person household, but barely. He couldn’t imagine there was any left at the end of the month to for savings.

“Legally, I can’t. Couldnae get a work visa. Figured it was lucky enough Belle wanted me to come with her at all.” He shrugged. “If it comes to it, I’ll wash dishes at Granny’s. Said she’d pay me under the table.”

“I see.”

“I like not working, to be honest. I’m good at being a house husband.” He flashed a crooked smile, but there something hesitant in it, like he expected derision.

“That so?”

Rum wandered closer, leaning his hip against the counter. “Yeah. I like being able to make a home for Belle. It’s a great feeling, when she comes back to a tidy apartment and a warm meal.”

An image of Rum in a retro house dress, makeup neat and apron pressed, flashed in his mind. Better to focus on that then the stab between his ribs, knowing he was going to a cold, empty house devoid of Rum and Belle’s warmth.

“Now that’s an idea, innit?” Rum perked up, eyes expectant.

For a second, Gold was worried he had spoken aloud. “What is?”

“Dinner. I’m a good cook. Come and try it.”

Gold barked a laugh. Of all the things for him to suggest.

Rum looked down, his smile fading quickly. “It was just an idea,” he mumbled.

Afraid he’d leave, Gold reached out, grabbing his hand where he lay on the counter.

“I thought you were going to ask me for money,” he tried to explain. “Or some other sort of deal.”

Rum looked at their hands. He flexed his, but didn’t pull away. “Uh, right. Makes sense.” He straightened. “So, dinner? You’ll come?”

“Of course. When were you thinking?”

He shrugged. “Tonight, tomorrow. When—Friday!” Rum shouted, tugging his hand like an electrical current had gone through them. “Come Friday.”

“Okay,” he agreed, bemused.

“Just, uh, you open later on Saturdays? And Belle does too, at the library. Friday is best.”

“Expecting a late night?”

His eyes widened, brows drawing together. “Maybe? You know, just in case.”

“I’ll bring the wine,” Gold said after a pause.

“That would be perfect.” This time when Rum smiled, it looked genuine. “It’s a date.”

OOO

He had chosen a rosé. He hadn’t asked much about what Rum was planning on serving, wanting to be surprised. And rosés paired nicely with all most things..

With one final brush down the front of his suit, he knocked on the apartment door. Seconds later it opened, revealing Belle wearing a bright dress and a brighter smile.

For a moment he was struck mute, words lost as he stared at her. She was so lovely.

“Come in, come in,” she said, not seeming to notice his state. She reached out for him, sliding her hand along his back as she guided him inside. “I’m so glad you could make it.”

The apartment was small, but cozy. The living room was big enough to accommodate a TV and a sofa, and to the left a dining table with four chairs, but not much else. Not that it kept Belle from piling books on every conceivable surface, including the floor along the walls. Gold couldn’t help but smile at that. Everything was neat and tidy, excepting the books. A perfect home, all things considered.

Rum poked his head out of the kitchen. “Hey, Glasgow,” he called. “Make yourself comfortable.”

He hadn’t been too far off when he imagined the apron. “Smells good,” he said, not having anything better to say. And it did, the heady aroma or sizzling meat and spices heavy in the air. It would seem Rum hadn’t been exaggerating when he said he was good at this.

“I hope you like it. Should be ready soon.” He disappeared into the kitchen.

Gold felt Belle’s arm tighten around him. When he looked, there was a small smile playing on her lips.

“Yes?” he asked.

“Nothing.” She gave him a final squeeze before letting go. She took the bottle of wine from him before walking to the table. “He wants to impress you. We both do.”

That warmed him up from the inside in a way he chose not to examine too closely right then. “That right? You cook, too?”

“God, no. But I am the master of doing dishes.”

They were interrupted by a meow, coming from the ground.

“Hello again,” he said to their roommate. “You’re looking well.” He had never gotten a good look at the cat when Rum rescued her from beneath his shop. She was a handsome creature, a long-haired tuxedo. She looked completely healed, and would have looked completely normal too, had it not been for a missing eye. The socket was closed, and almost unnoticeable if it weren’t for the brilliant blue of her other eye.

That one eye blinked up at him. She mewled again before turning around, and he expected her to stalk off. Instead, she sat on his shoes. She weighed as much as a sack of feathers.

“You can’t have him, too,” Belle said.

The cat started to purr. Apparently, she thought otherwise.

Belle shook her head. “She’s intent on stealing all the men in my life, I swear.”

Gold wasn’t sure what to say to that. “What’s her name?” He asked. That was safe.

“Oh you’ll like this,” Belle said with a conspiratorial smile. “We named her Forte, on account of her looking like a music sheet, and being quite loud when she wants to be.”

“Aye, I remember. Fortan means luck in Gaelic,” Gold offered.

“Yes! Rum was quite proud of that. He can’t usually think of puns.”

Gold shifted, lifting up a foot experimentally. Forte ignored the hint.

Fine, then.

When he looked at Belle, she was staring at him, biting her lip.

“What?”

She shook her head. “I’m happy you’re here.”

Gold managed a nod. “I’m happy I’m here, too.” He tried to flash a smile. He hoped she didn’t mistake it for a grimace.

“Good.” Her gaze was intense, scorching.

Unable to bear it, he looked down at the cat, still on his feet. Her tail brushed his legs. He heard a timer go off.

“Belle,” Rum called. “Can I have a hand?”

“Take a seat, if she’ll let you go, the little monster,” Belle said cheerfully.

“I’ll pour the wine,” he said.

She shot a smile over her shoulder, disappearing into the kitchen.

He lifted his foot again, and Forte accepted he was serious this time. She slunk over to the couch, jumping up to the cushion gracefully before plopping down.

Gold had just filled the final wine glass when Belle came back. She set a basket of dinner rolls on the table, along with a bowl of salad. “He wanted to make buttered cabbage,” Belle said. “Apparently it’s a good side dish for this in Scotland, but I put my foot down.”

“Thank God for you, Belle French.” He pulled her chair out for her, making sure she was quite settled before taking his own seat.

Rum chose that moment to appear, dish in hand. He set it proudly in the center of the table, removing the foil with a flourish. All Gold could see was a white top,even except where a fork had been run through to create a swirling effect. The peaks were a crispy, golden brown.

“Shepherd's pie,” Rum announced. “Though I couldn’t get lamb on such short notice, so it’s actually cottage pie.” He shrugged. “Still good, I hope.”

“Still good,” Gold agreed, feeling his mouth water. Sizzling ground beef, cooked with onions, peas and carrots, drenched in a rich brown gravy. Then topped with a thick layer of creamy, buttery mashed potatoes. He hadn’t had it in years.

Rum was indeed a good cook. He scraped his plate clean, full from having second helpings.

“Was there something specific you had in mind for after dinner?” Gold asked, taking a sip of wine. The bottle was empty; an easy thing to do when split between three people.

Belle and Rum shared a look. “What do you mean?” Belle asked.

“Rum mentioned a late night. I assumed that meant board games. You seem the type,” he said warmly. Gold had been looking forward to it, honestly. He hadn’t played anything of the sort since before Neal moved out. “Something tells me you’d make a worthy opponent at Scrabble,” he said to Belle.

Belle shot her husband a look, who was looking intently at his wine glass. “He told me he had lost his nerve.”

“Sorry?” His heart stopped in his chest. This wasn’t supposed to be about a deal. That’s what Rum had said.

She seemed to read the disappointment in his face. “My husband and I owe you nothing of monetary value, Gold. We have no intention of changing this.”

“All I can offer are things of monetary value.”

“I wouldn’t say that,” Rum muttered, staring at the legs of wine as they cascaded down his glass.

Belle cleared her throat. “I do actually have Scrabble, somewhere. And we have a deck of cards. If you’d like, we can certainly find a game to play. But we were thinking of a group activity of a different nature,” she said, licking her lips. His eyes followed the path of her tongue, and she smiled, wide and sultry.

“Ah?” His brain short-circuited. She couldn’t be implying what he thought she was. He looked to Rum for help, but he was staring at his wine as if trying to boil it with his mind.

Belle took pity on him. “Join us for a night.”

“A night.”

She nodded.

“Of sex.”

Another nod.

“Only one?” He asked before he could stop himself.

That got Rum’s attention. His head shot up, and he put his glass down with more force than necessary, almost knocking it over. The beginnings of a crooked smile played on his lips.

“Doesnae have to be.”

“Let’s see how we like it, first,” Belle said reasonably.

Gold didn’t ask why, out of every other sorry bastard in this town, they chose him. He didn’t question their taste or their eyesight. Instead, Gold nodded. Yes, a night with them was everything he had ever wanted.

Belle swallowed the last of her wine, head thrown back as she drained her glass. Gold followed the line of her throat as she swallowed, finally feeling like he was allowed to look.

“Leave the dishes,” she said to Rum. She scooted her chair back, holding out her hands to them. “And let’s go to bed.”

OOO

From there, it was easy.

Gold followed them into their bedroom, Rum being careful to shut the door behind them so Forte couldn’t get in to interrupt. The room was just as tidy as the rest of the apartment, with stacks of books on every conceivable surface. The bed was queen size, and he liked the thought of them three of them sharing the space. He hoped they’d let him stay for a while, after.

Rum cleared his throat, drawing Gold’s attention.

“Can I kiss you?” he asked, quiet, almost shy.

Gold licked his lips.

“Yes.”

Before he could blink, Rum’s hands were on either side of his face, his thumbs brushing his cheek bones before his mouth collided with his. He started sucking on his bottom lip, causing Gold to whimper. Rum’s hand slid up, brushing through his short hair while the other ran along the back of his neck before settling in the space just above his collar bone.

Gold’s own hands were clutching the sides of Rum’s baggy shirt, pulling him closer and closer. As his tongue pushed past his lips, one hand cradled his jaw, turning his head slightly so he could push inside for a deeper kiss. Rum moaned happily, trying to suck on his tongue.

When they finally broke apart for air, Belle grabbed his head, turning it so she could kiss him deeply next. He leaned into her, almost stumbling before catching himself on her shoulder. Expecting the fabric of her dress, he was met with her bare skin. Gold broke the kiss so he could see.

While Gold and Rum had been busy necking, Belle had taken the time to undress. All she wore now was her lingerie, the dark blue silk making her skin almost glow.

If Gold hadn’t been hard already, seeing her chest, her belly, her legs, would have undone him completely.

“Oh,” he breathed. He kissed her again, feeling her smile. She undid his tie, then started to unbutton his shirt, slowly leading him to the bed. Gold didn’t have his cane, he couldn’t remember where he had left it, but it didn’t matter with Belle and Rum there to guide him forward.

When he was laying down on the bed, Belle kissed him again, pushing his back into the comforter as her mouth ravaged him.

He lifted his hips so Rum could pull off his trousers, then socks, and Belle finally got him to shrug out of his shirt. She eyed his chest hungrily, like he was dessert.

Belle went for his throat then, sucking and licking the skin there. He moaned as she worked lower, nibbling across his collar bone. Gold’s hands reached for her, wanting to fill his hands with her creamy skin.

“No touching,” Belle decided, giggling as she grabbed his arms, pinning them to his sides. She lightly bit his nipple, the breath of her laugh skimming over his wet chest as he gave a jolt.

Rum kissed his hip bone, before taking off his boxers. Then he was bare and achingly hard. Now free of all his clothes, splayed on his back, there was no friction, no barrier, to keep him sane. Just consistent, blazing want.

“Rum,” he groaned as Belle continued to kiss, lick and bite his chest. “Please.”

Rum shrugged out of his own shirt, was undoing the zipper on his jeans. Gold watched them fall to the floor before he stepped out of them. His eyes came up to settle on Rum’s bulge.

“Please,” he said again, voice hoarse.

Rum made eye contact. His eyes jumped to Gold’s cock, bobbing and thick. Then his hands were on the inside of Gold’s thighs, pushing his legs apart so he could settle between them. Gold saw a flash of his pink tongue before his mouth had swallowed his cock whole.

Gold yelped, his hips jerking upwards sharply. Instead of gagging (Gold had an apology already at the ready), Rum groaned. He pulled back so he could suck the head, then swallowed him down again.

Rum moaned blissfully around him, hallowing his cheeks as he sucked. Gold whimpered, desperately trying to keep his hips still. But fuck, he was good at this. After a few minutes of bobbing on his cock, Rum swallowed, taking him deeper until he hit the back of his throat and his nose was pressed to his pubic bone.

Gold grit his teeth, not wanting to come yet. But it was hard, impossibly hard, when Rum’s mouth was so hot, so good. When Belle’s hands were skimming up and down his sides, tortiously slow.

She looked down at her husband, hungrily sucking Gold off. Her eyes were blown out completely, and she wet her lips. Almost absently, she pinched Gold’s nipple. He whined high in his throat.

“He’s so good with his mouth, isn’t he?” she said, voice low. “God, that tongue.”

Gold could only whine, and keep whining as Rum sucked harder.

“I’m there,” he tried to warn him. “Fuck, Rum, I’m—“

Rum pulled back, but he kept the head in his mouth and used his hand to wank him off. Gold came across his tongue, panting. Closing his eyes, he sunk further into the soft bed, trying to catch his breath.

“Save any for me?” He heard Belle ask.

“Sorry, love,” he said, and Gold heard a smacking of lips.

“No, you’re not.” They kissed. Belle moaned; she could taste Gold on his tongue. Fuck.

“You can have him for round two.” Rum rubbed his thighs, using them for balance as he leaned forward and gave another kiss to Gold’s hip bone.

“I’m holding you to that.”

There was the soft sound of fabric gliding against skin. Gold felt the bed shift as Belle straddled his hips, legs on either side of his thighs. He opened his eyes when Belle kissed him; she was gloriously bare. His arms wound around her shoulders, a hand burying in her hair, keeping her in place.

He expected Rum to come close, but instead he backed off. Instead, he moved behind Belle. Gold felt a wave of molten heat go through him at the thought of Belle being fucked by her husband while she lay over him, panting in his ear as she took it deep and hard.

Wanting to entice Rum, Gold ran his hands down her soft sides, over her rump. He gripped her where her arse cheeks met her leg, his pinky and ring finger over her cunt lips, and he held her open, on display. She was already so wet, he had to let go so he could get a better grip.

Belle hummed, pushing her breasts into his chest and sticking her arse up, giving her husband a better view.

“Like this, Gold?” she asked, sucking on his neck. He hoped she left a mark.

“Fuck,” Rum breathed, his eyes drawn to her open cunt. “Oh, Gold, if only you had this view.”

“Describe it to me,” Gold said.

“She’s so wet and pink. Fuck, Belle.”

Her breath caught, and she pushed her arse back. Gold guessed Rum was using his fingers on her.

“You’re so wet. Did you like that, watching us?”

“Of course.” She wiggled, spreading her legs wider, bringing her knees up as best she could. Gold spread his legs again, too, helping to keep her open. “You two look amazing together. So beautiful.”

“What else?” Gold asked. He felt fingers skim from Belle’s thighs to his. Rum cupped his balls. He gasped, feeling a thumb press into his perineum, then down to circle around his anus, before coming back up.

“And here’s you, all spent. I did that. You taste so good, Gold. I want to suck you again.”

Gold moaned as Rum pressed his soft cock against Belle’s heat. She was ready and wet and perfect.

“Fuck, I can’t wait for you to get hard.”

Belle whined, trying to get the angle right to move her clit against Gold’s pelvis. “You said I got him next.”

Rum laughed. He let go of Gold so he could run his hands over the back of Belle’s thighs. “I did. Do you want to fuck her, Gold?”

He hissed an affirmative, hands leaving imprints where they still held Belle open.

“Should we wait, Belle? Let him have you first?”

“No, God! Rum! I need it now,” she begged, wiggling. “Fuck me now.”

“Yeah,” he agreed. “Yeah, I’ll fuck you.” He let go, eyes turning a bit more critical so he could figure out the position. “Close your legs, Gold, so I can fit,” he ordered, softly. Gold happily acquiesced, and he watched as Rum settled behind Belle, his knees pressing into the bed in between theirs.

Slowly, he guided his cock into his wife.

Gold let go of her arse, hand moving to tip her head up, searching for her eyes. “Look at me,” he murmured, wanting to see the moment she was filled up.

Belle bit her lip in bliss. Her eyes widened slightly when Rum bottomed out. He leaned forward so he could kiss her shoulder, giving them both time to adjust to the position.

“Good?” Rum asked.

She shuddered when she pushed her hips back into his, her clit sliding along Gold’s pelvis beautifully. “Oh, that’s perfect,” she breathed, eyes locked onto his.

“I’m not going to last,” her husband warned, pulling back before fucking into her.

Belle moaned, grinding onto Gold as she leaned into her husband’s thrusting hips. “Neither will I.”

One hand in her hair, the other gripping her upper arm, Gold held his breath as he watched her. She was stunning, her cheeks flushed, and her eyes clouded over with lust.

“Are you going to come, Belle?” Gold asked her. “Does he feel good inside you? Fuck, I bet he feels so good.”

Belle could barely nod. “Deep. Hard,” she panted. “Almost there.”

Her breath caught, and she clenched hard on Rum’s cock, slamming back against him, then stilling. Her orgasm triggered his, and with a grunt, he emptied inside her, hips stuttering.

Gold pulled her down for a kiss, and she went happily, boneless and sated. Once Rum caught his breath, he pulled out, flopping down beside Gold with a sigh.

Belle tucked herself against Gold’s chest, watching her husband cool down beside them.

The silence that fell on them was easy and soft, broken only by the occasional pawing of Forte at the door.

When she mewled, Rum looked up, and it seemed like he might let her in.

“Not yet,” Belle said. “I was promised round two.”

She pushed herself up, looking down so she could see where she had been rubbing herself against Gold’s pelvis. Rum’s spend seeped out of her, slicking her way.

“Fuck,” Gold breathed, unable to tear his eyes away.

It didn’t take much longer for Gold to harden again, helped by Belle’s skillful hand. She wasted no time in mounting him. She slid all the way down his shaft. She pumped her hips, delighted at feeling him so deep.

She was so wet; so hot and wet and already filled with cum and it was a good thing Gold had climaxed once already because he wasn’t sure how he would have lasted otherwise.

As it was, he was happy to watch as Belle took him for a ride. Gold’s attention was quickly drawn to her breasts, and he watched them bounce up and down. He wanted to suckle them, feel their weight in his hands. He hadn’t paid nearly enough attention to that part of her yet.

Rum moved so his head was laying on his chest, fingers circling one of Gold’s nipples as his eyes were glued to the area Belle and him were connected. As Belle moved up and down, Rum began to kiss and nip at Gold’s pecks, then his rib cage, his abdomen. He circled his tongue inside Gold’s belly button, making his stomach clench and his hips jolt. Belle’s moving hips kept him from being able to go down any further, and he sweetly got her attention.

“Lean back a little,” he requested.

That meant she stopped moving against him, and Gold moaned in protest.

“Like this?” She was spread open again, thighs wide, hands supporting her weight where they rested on either side of Gold’s legs.

“Exactly like that.” Rum latched onto her clit and sucked. She gasped, hips bucking hard against Gold’s cock.

“Fuck, Rum,” she said, clenching.

They set up a new rhythm. Belle worked herself up and down Gold’s cock while Rum sucked at the base of him, and Gold did his best not to utterly combust. Belle ground down when she got to the bottom, and Rum’s tongue flicked up to meet her.

The closer she got to finishing, the closer she stayed, and soon all she was doing was grinding back and forth on his cock, Rum latched to her clit.

Gold’s legs spread in answer to Rum’s searching hand; he felt it close around his balls and his hips jolted in response. Fuck, but that was heaven; Belle riding his cock while Rum played with him like he was a pair of ben wa balls. He moaned, low and deep and long, when Rum tugged them down, then up against the base of him, squeezing.

His hands gripped Belle’s hips tightly as he held her against him and emptied himself into her. He couldn't even moan; she’d taken the breath straight from his lungs.

With a final but heartfelt, “fuck,” Belle clenched, thighs shaking in aftershock. Gold would forever remember the blissful smile on her face as she came on his cock.

Before she could fall over, and it looked like she might, the poor lamb—Rum was there to wrap her in his arms, and help her down. Rum pulled down the comforter with no help from them, but soon enough, they settled into bed, curled into the sheets on either side of Gold. Rum kissed his neck below his ear, entwining their legs as Belle happily murmured into his chest.

“Do you need another one?” Gold asked into Rum’s hair.

He felt the smile against his neck. “I already have everything I need.”

Gold was still boneless when he finally looked at the clock; it was late but not terribly so.

“When do you want me to leave?” He didn’t want to ask, but felt he should. Besides, he didn’t think he could manage a round three. He could barely keep his eyes open, and he felt satisfied and content in a way he hadn’t in years.

Rum mumbled something unintelligible, legs tightening around Gold’s, face pressed harder against his shoulder.

“Don’t leave,” Belle murmured, moving closer herself. She blindly tried to kiss his cheek and missed. “In the morning, Rum will make tomato on toast.”

“Oh. Okay,” he said, not needing to be convinced.

In the morning, he’d wake to Forte’s tail flicking in his face and Belle wearing his shirt, Rum still curled into his side, but for now he was content to sink into sleep.

#rcij #rumbelle fic #Rumbelle Christmas in July

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kmomof4 · 4 years

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Of Darkness, Vampires and Soulmates Ch. 3 The Family Desmoulins

We’re back y'all! Thank you all so much!! Your response to this fic has brought me such joy! I know we’ve had a lot of pain so far, and we still have a lot of story left to tell, so thank you all for coming on this journey with me and for the trust you’ve gifted me with! I hope that you’ll agree that it was worth it when we reach the end!! I hope that you continue to enjoy!!

All the love and hugs in the world to @profdanglaisstuff for her outstanding beta services, @hollyethecurious for her encouragement and willingness to listen to me spitball, brainstorm and whine whine and whine some more, the CSSNS and CSMM discords for their encouragement and help with a title, and finally to @spartanguard for her INCREDIBLE and PERFECT art!!! I could iterally stare at all of it for HOURS!!!!

Chapter Summary: Over a century has passed and Killian makes his way to Pre-Revolutionary France.

Rating: M (Violence and smut)

Words: 4.4K of 41K total

Tags: Vampires, Soulmates, Reincarnation, Prophecy, Black Death, French Revolution, Magic, True Loves Kiss

Prologue | Ch1 | Ch2 | Ao3 chapter link | Ao3 fic link

Tag list: @hollyethecurious @winterbaby89 @snowbellewells @stahlop @resident-of-storybrooke @jennjenn615 @kingofmyheart14 @profdanglaisstuff @branlovestowrite @thisonesatellite @ultraluckycatnd @flslp87 @whimsicallyenchantedrose @let-it-raines @shireness-says @kymbersmith-90 @darkcolinodonorgasm @bethacaciakay @searchingwardrobes @ilovemesomekillianjones @teamhook @aprilqueen84 @qualitycoffeethings @superchocovian @artistic-writer @donteattheappleshook @doodlelolly0910 @seriouslyhooked @tiganasummertree @lfh1226-linda @nikkiemms @xsajx @klynn-stormz

Please let me know if you’d like to be added or removed.

Under the cut unless Tumblr ate it.

A/N: While the chateau is made up, the description is based off of the Chateau de Montsoreau in the Loire Valley of France.

1786 France

Killian was finally making his way toward Paris after an inexplicable longing to come to the city had overtaken him while at sea ten years before. In his day, Paris had been one of the most prominent cities in all of Europe, but due to the religious wars between Catholics and Protestants, he and Liam had never been to the city. Why this compulsion had come upon him so unexpectedly, he had no idea. However, other priorities had prevented him from acting on that desire for many years. As the years passed, and the preoccupation wouldn’t leave him, he eventually found himself docking in Marseille and turning his face toward Paris. He was about a day’s ride outside the city, when he stopped at a small village in the Loire valley for the night. Once he settled down in his bed, memories he hadn’t thought of in years poured over him.

After discovering his Swan’s death, he stayed with David, doing what he could to help and support his friend in their mutual loss. By the fall, David wanted to leave London to see how the rest of his family had fared during the outbreak. Returning to the family farm, David discovered that his father had passed not long after he and Mary Margaret had left, and that his siblings had not survived the dreaded disease. As much as losing Mary Margaret and Emma had affected him, with the knowledge that the only family he had left in this world were a few nieces and nephews that he had never known and their families, Killian was not at all surprised when he finally came down with and succumbed to the pestilence upon returning to London. With the blood tears in his eyes, Killian laid his friend to rest beside his beloved Mary Margaret, Emma, and Granny. Saying a quiet prayer over the family that he had come to think of as his own, Killian turned away and left London, never to return. Arriving back on the continent, he had wandered aimlessly for a few years, before the call of the sea again drew him back to his beloved Jolly Roger and life on the open water.

Why these memories crashed over him now, Killian couldn’t tell. He fell into dreams with the blood tears in his eyes.

~*~*~

After staying in the village for two weeks waiting on a new wardrobe, Killian awoke to bright sunlight pouring into his room. Rising from his bed, he made his way over to the wash basin near the door and splashed the cool water on his face. After dressing, he came down the stairs of the inn and greeted the proprietor.

“Good morning,” he said, seating himself at a table. A bar wench laid the standard breakfast, consisting of bol de cafe, a large cup of coffee with milk, and pain au lait, a rich breakfast bread, before him and hurried away. He dove into the hearty meal as he planned out his day. Upon arriving in the village, he decided that before heading into the city, it’d be prudent to obtain some new clothes. He may not be a prince anymore, but he thought it’d probably be better to be taken for a member of the nobility rather than a rogue and a scoundrel that his pirate attire attested to. Gold, for a pirate captain, wasn’t a problem, so he had ordered a completely new wardrobe. And today was the day it would be ready. He meandered down the center of the village, simply enjoying the cool spring morning and the sunshine. He could just see beyond the simple buildings in the town to the surrounding green landscape of the valley. The beauty was enough to take his breath away.

As he arrived at the tailor’s, a petite noblewoman, dressed in a gown of burgundy silk that brought out the hints of auburn the sunlight gave her dark hair, was just stepping down from her carriage. He held the door open for her as her eyes took in his appearance.

After a brief nod, she swept past him through the door. He followed her in to see her speaking animatedly to the tailor’s apprentice.

“No, young man,” the condescension dripping from the woman’s lips raised Killian’s ire. There wasn’t much in this world that made him angrier than people thinking themselves above others. “I have no objection to you showing me new fabrics and so on, but I must insist on your master being the one to take my measurements and personally make my dress. This is for a party at Versailles.” Killian may have once been a prince, but from his earliest days, his father had taught him the value of working among and serving the people of their kingdom. That everyone, regardless of station, was made in the image of God and was deserving of honor and respect. The difference between the attitude of the royal family in his kingdom and the nobility of France astounded him.

“Yes, Vicomtesse,” the man acquiesced. “But Monsieur Marco will be occupied for the next hour or so, outfitting the Prince d’Épinoy,” he gestured at Killian, “in the wardrobe that he has prepared.” The woman turned toward him with a more appraising eye this time than what she had bestowed on him earlier.

“Oh, don’t mind me, August,” Killian began, swallowing his anger, “I’m in no hurry. I can wait while Monsieur Marco takes Vicomtesse…” he trailed away, holding his hand out in invitation toward the woman.

“Vicomtesse Desmoulins,” the woman answered, placing her gloved hand into his. He raised it to his lips and brushed them along her knuckles.

“While Monsieur Marco takes Vicomtesse Desmoulins’ measurements,” he repeated.

The woman’s high cheekbones flushed pink with his declaration, and she dropped her eyes. “Prince?” she asked, a little breathlessly.

“Aye,” he replied, “At your service, Madame.”

“Thank you so much for your concession, Monseigneur,” she cooed before turning back toward August. “Well?” she questioned the young man again, “Where is Monsieur Marco? I insist on seeing him at once! I’m on a bit of a schedule.”

“R-R-Right away, Vicomtesse,” he stammered, turning toward the back of the shop. Killian stood stoically, his internal displeasure at the Vicomtesse’s attitude well hidden. As soon as August had departed behind the curtain, she turned toward him again. This time with an appraising glint in her eye that Killian didn’t appreciate one bit.

“So what brings you to our fair village, Monseigneur,” she purred, moving closer to him. Killian prided himself on being a good judge of character, even before his meeting Rumplestilskin. And now, living as long as he had, that skill had only been honed further. There was no doubt in his mind that the woman before him was a siren, beautiful to look at, and yet deadly if you get too close. Not wholly unlike himself.

“I’m on my way to Paris, Vicomtesse,” he answered her, with a small bow of his head, holding his ground. “I’ve never visited and I thought it was time to change that.”

“Oh, yes, Paris,” she exclaimed dreamily, “Then I must insist on you coming and spending some time at our Chateau Havre-de-brume before joining us at Versailles. I’m sure that I could secure you a place at court.”

“I wouldn’t want to impose,” Killian tried to protest.

She waved away his objection. “Oh, nonsense,” she pooh-poohed. “It’s the least I can do after you so graciously allowed me to see Monsieur Marco first about my measurements. We leave for Versailles in a week’s time and you can join us at the Chateau until then, then travel with us to court.” It was clear that the woman was accustomed to getting what she wanted, and Killian was finding it difficult to contain his amusement at her assumptions. If only she knew exactly WHAT she was inviting into her home, he chuckled under his breath. “We will expect you this afternoon at 4 for tea, Monseigneur. Dinner will be served at 9 precisely.”

Just at that moment, Monsieur Marco came out from behind the curtain. “August informs me that you’re willing to wait for me to measure Vicomtesse Desmoulins before collecting your wardrobe, Sieur.” Killian nodded at the old man. “Very well, I’ll be ready for you after 2.”

“Until then, Monsieur,” he said, with a bow. “Vicomtesse Desmoulins, I’ll be pleased to join you at your home when I’ve concluded my business with Monsieur Marco.” With another bow toward the Vicomtesse, he spun on his heel, and left the shop.

~*~*~

Killian dismounted his horse later that afternoon and handed the reins along with a brief introduction to the lad that waited to attend to him in front of the Chateau Havre-de-brume, not far from the village. After seeing Monsieur Marco about his wardrobe, he had returned to the inn, changed into his new attire, and departed for the Chateau. He had no objection to spending a week with Vicomtesse Desmoulins and her family if it gave him a free place to stay and would make his entrance into Paris and the court of King Louis XVI easier.

A servant wearing the livery of the chateau opened the door. “The Prince d’Épinoy, I presume?” he asked.

“Yes, my good man.” Killian said with a small bow.

“Vicomtesse Desmoulins has been expecting you. Follow me please.” He turned from the door and led the way to a spiral staircase. Killian couldn’t help but notice the excellent stonework and ornamentation that lent an air of beauty and leisure to the chateau as he followed the servant onto the main floor and into the salon where his hostess waited. The salon was extremely large with huge fireplaces on either end of the room to keep the spring chill at bay. The large windows flooded the room with light as he approached the Vicomtesse, flanked by who could only be her husband and daughter.

“Ah, Monseigneur the Prince d’Épinoy,” she began, “allow me to introduce you to my husband, Vicomte Desmoulins and my older daughter, Regina.”

Killian gave a small bow of his head as he reached out his hand to greet the much older man, by appearance anyway, before him. “A pleasure to meet you, Vicomte.” He turned toward the young lady on the other side of his hostess. The beautiful young woman dropped into a curtsey before laying her hand in Killian’s outstretched one as he bowed over it, brushing his lips over the back of her hand.

Her cheeks flushed with pleasure as her eyes skittered away from his piercing blue gaze. The assessing gaze of her mother had a small smile ghosting across his lips as he straightened again before them. He had no doubt that the Vicomtesse was already contemplating a match between him and her daughter. She couldn’t be much younger than what he appeared to be- eighteen, nineteen, twenty at most.

“Please, be seated, Monseigneur,” his hostess invited. “Tea will be served momentarily.”

As Killian settled down where the Vicomtesse indicated and the Vicomte and Regina took their seats, the doors burst open when a girl of about nine or ten came blowing in with the force of a whirlwind, followed by a rather short and rotund woman clucking her tongue at the child.

“Maman, Papa,” she cried, “Johanna said that I couldn’t join you for tea today! Oh,” she exclaimed, as Killian turned toward her. “I- I’m sorry, Maman, I didn’t realize we had company.” She curtsied before him and Killian felt his mouth go dry. It was Emma. It was his golden haired Swan. Obviously younger than she was when he knew her, but the features were the same. The high cheekbones, rosebud mouth, button nose and pert chin, not to mention the long blonde hair and green eyes. But, how? Snapping his jaw shut, he couldn’t tear his eyes away from the child. As she rose from her curtsey, her mother motioned the child to her side.

Gathering her in her arms, the Vicomtesse spoke gently to her. “This is Monseigneur the Prince d’Épinoy. You may call him Monseigneur.” Addressing Killian again, she continued, “Allow me to present my younger daughter, Emma.”

Dumbfounded, Killian extended his hand toward Emma. “It is a pleasure, Mademoiselle.”

“Generally, she would not join us for tea when we have visitors,” she gave a slightly disapproving look to her daughter, who looked sheepish in return while cutting her eyes toward her gouvernante, “but since she is already here, she may join us. Just this once.” She smiled indulgently, as Emma’s face broke into a grin to rival the sun.

Killian desperately tried to keep his turbulent thoughts hidden, as the tea was served. Soulmates unbound by time. Since his time in London, he had memorized every word of the prophecy and so easily recalled the line that had baffled him a century ago. He cut his eyes at Emma as she settled herself in her own seat. If he needed any further confirmation, he got it when he spied the birthmark on her neck. The same birthmark she had in her first life back in London. It was a second chance. They could have a second chance. He would have to bide his time until she was of marriageable age, but remembering what happened the last time he left her, he was reluctant to go that route. On the other hand, he had to keep her safe from Rumplestiltskin, too. There was still no doubt in his mind that the monster wouldn’t hesitate to kill her if who she was to Killian was revealed. He would have to keep his distance from the family, but close enough to satisfy himself that he wasn’t leaving her alone. Remaining at Court in Versailles would be perfect.

~*~*~

The week at the chateau passed by for Killian very pleasantly. Mornings were spent touring the estate with either the Vicomtesse or Mademoiselle Regina. Emma was too young to spend most of her day among the adults of the chateau, but when she didn’t join them for tea the next day, he made his desire for her presence known to the Vicomtesse. Since then, Emma was a daily participant in the afternoon ritual after her daily rest. It was a few days after he arrived at the chateau that he realized the compulsion to visit Paris, first felt all those years ago, was the soulmate connection. He was acutely aware of Emma’s presence whenever she was nearby, and when he was actually with her the connection he felt with her filled him with a joy that he hadn’t felt in a century. It must have come upon him shortly after her birth, but as something he’d never felt before, he didn’t recognize it for what it was.

As the days passed, the Vicomtesse found more and more reason to remove herself from Killian’s company and employ her daughter in the entertainment of their guest. Killian had trouble hiding his smirk as for the third day in a row, the Vicomtesse was suddenly pulled away on urgent business at the chateau leaving him to tour the stables with Regina, who couldn’t hide her eye roll and rosy blush as they continued toward the stables.

“Hmmmmm,” mused Killian, leaning in closer to his guide, “Do you think that perhaps your mother might be trying to get us to spend some time alone together?”

Regina’s blush intensified as she rolled her eyes again. “She’s very old fashioned in her thinking and is trying desperately to make me a suitable match. Which she obviously thinks you are.” Killian pulled open the door to the stable for his companion. She ducked her head in embarrassment, but was unable to hide the spark of excitement in her chocolate brown eyes as she proceeded him into the stables. As he entered behind her, they were quickly approached by a young man, about his own apparent age. Brown hair, neatly cut for a stable hand, swooped back over the crown of his head. He was a handsome man with fine, strong features. Arriving by Regina’s side, he had to clear his throat in order for the two young people to snap out of their own little world and acknowledge his presence. He couldn’t help his chuckle as Regina’s blush deepened even further and the young man before her looked startled at the addition of a third to their meeting.

“Daniel, may I present the Prince d’Épinoy. He is a guest at the chateau before we return to Versailles at the end of the week.”

Killian gave a small bow to the man before him. “It’s a pleasure, sir.”

Regina turned back toward him, while keeping her eyes on Daniel. “Daniel is the stable master and will be preparing the horses for us this morning.”

“Ah, yes,” Daniel began, “You must be the owner of Nox. I must say, he is a magnificent animal, Sieur.” He turned away from them and led them toward the far end of the stables. Killian couldn’t help the pride that swelled in him at the high praise the stable master had for the animal. Daniel chuckled to himself. “He wouldn’t let anyone near him except me. Not that I mind. It’s a privilege to work with such an exceptional and beautiful horse.”

“Thank you, monsieur.” Killian looked around the immaculately kept stable and took in the obvious good health and well being of the other animals in their stalls. “That is high praise coming from someone of your obvious expertise.” Killian followed him until Nox poked his head out of his stall and whinnied in greeting. Killian reached into his coat pocket for an apple that he had brought from the kitchens as he began stroking the lustrous midnight black coat of his prized stallion. He nickered in pleasure as he chomped down on the tasty treat as they waited for Daniel to attend to Regina’s horse, Rocinante. Once Regina was mounted and ready, Killian opened the door of the stall and Daniel led Nox out with the lead rope.

Once he was mounted, Killian and Regina left the stable. Killian’s thoughts turned toward the young woman at his side. It was quite obvious to him that Regina loved Daniel. And Daniel certainly seemed to return her affections. But he was perceptive enough to know that the Vicomtesse would never approve of such a match. Not with the way she was doing all in her power to foster affection between himself and her daughter. She obviously loved both of her daughters very much, but she was also shrewd and calculating. A suitable match for Regina would be someone of the nobility with a high status at court. Anyone deemed lesser than their own station would never be considered.

“Tell me, Mademoiselle,” Killian began, hesitantly, “just who is the stable master to you?” He looked over as a soft blush colored her cheeks. He waited patiently as she seemed reluctant to share. After her earlier revelation, he wanted to make sure that she knew that he had no interest in her mother’s machinations to secure a match between them. Thoughts had already begun to tickle the edge of his mind of how he might be able to help the young lovers, if she deigned to trust him.

Regina cleared her throat as they cantered along. “Why do you ask, Monseigneur?”

“I’m simply observant, lass.” Killian clicked his tongue at Nox, changing their direction as Regina led them on a more southeasterly track toward the chateau’s vineyards. “I couldn’t help but notice the way you both looked at each other when we first entered the stable. As if you two were the only ones in the world.” He fell silent for a moment as memories washed over him. “I’ve only seen that kind of look once before. On the faces of dear friends who were very much in love. True Love, if you ask me.”

“Were?” she asked, looking at him.

“Aye, were,” he replied, sadly. “They’ve been gone many years. Taken far too soon.”

“How old were you,” she asked, softly.

Killian immediately realized his mistake. Speaking of the close friendship he had with David and Mary Margaret in the past tense, when he only appeared to be in his very early twenties, would naturally confuse Regina.

Killian scratched behind his ear as he scrambled for what to say. “Ah, let’s just say,” he began, nervously, “that I’m much older than I look.”

Regina laughed. “Well, how old are you then?”

Killian waggled his eyebrows at her. “Older than I look. That’s all you need know.”

Regina huffed. “Okay, fine then.” They continued their ride through the green of the valley. Before they had gone much farther, Killian tried to draw her out again.

“You never answered my question, Mademoiselle. Who is the stable master to you?” He looked at her again as she struggled to hide her thoughts from his perceptive gaze. She glanced toward him, her dark eyes piercing, clearly trying to see if she could trust him. Perhaps he should give her a reason to. “As I said, Mademoiselle, I am much older than I look. I have traveled far, seen and done many things. Dark things. Things that could prove advantageous to your particular situation.”

Shock plainly registered across her features. “What do you mean? What situation?”

Killian stopped his horse and looked directly at the young woman. “A situation where you feel trapped.” She cast her furrowed brow down toward her lap. “I am not far off the mark, am I, when I say that your mother would never approve of a match with your Daniel. That she would forcibly keep you right here, controlling you, making you into a carbon copy of herself, with all her ambitions for a higher station at court resting on your shoulders.” His piercing gaze rested on her as she lifted her gaze to him again. He watched the blood drain from her face.

“How could you possibly know all that?” she whispered.

He reached over and gently took her hand in his own. “I am not of this world, Mademoiselle. Trust me when I say that I can help you. I have the means and the desire. But, you must trust me.”

~*~*~

Regina looked down at their joined hands. The confusion, and yes, fear, she felt at their guest’s revelations were hard to rein in. Not of this world. What did he mean? He had only been at their home for a short time, but in that time, he’d been nothing but a gentleman toward all the members of her family. His clear affection for her beloved younger sister was particularly gratifying. Somehow she knew that she could trust him with this secret, but that didn’t make it any easier to actually tell him.

“Yes,” she whispered, looking up at him again. “I love Daniel. And he loves me. His father died last winter, leaving him as the stable master. He’s been here with me as long as I can remember. He’s the one who taught me to ride.” She lowered her gaze again as she felt her cheeks flush at the memories that now poured from her lips. “We’ve been friends our entire lives. But last spring, that changed. We’ve had to be very discreet in our liaisons so that Mother wouldn’t catch us.”

She looked up at her companion again. His gentle gaze and soft smile prompted one of her own. “We’d love nothing more than to be together, but with Mother trying to force us together, Versailles imminent, and his new position here at the chateau, I don’t know how it would be possible,” she cried.

He released her hands and knickered to his horse to get them moving again. “You leave that to me. I’ll play the dutiful suitor between now and then, culminating with a fake engagement,” he ruminated, waggling his eyebrows at her, prompting a giggle from her. ”When we return to the chateau to plan a wedding, I’ll have all the arrangements made for you and Daniel to be together. Now, how can I help you between now and our journey to court?”

She cantered briskly to catch up with him. “You’d help me? Help us? Why?”

He laughed. A bitter, brittle thing that told of pain and despair beyond measure. “Let’s just say that I have a soft spot for those trapped in circumstances that they have no control over.” She couldn’t see his face, but she could imagine the storm clouds covering his visage with that statement. It was so desperate, so hopeless, that she felt her own heart go out to him. What kind of circumstances did he feel trapped in? Somehow she knew that she would never be privy to that information.

She caught up with him and gently placed her hand on his arm. “Thank you. I don’t know how I’ll ever be able to repay you. But if there’s anything that I can do for you, you need only name it.”

His lips lifted in a soft smile. He patted her hand and looked up into her eyes again. His blue eyes were clear now. Clear as a summer sky. “Thank you, my dear. As we will be spending some time together in the coming months, fake courting and all, I would like for you to call me Killian.”

She could feel her cheeks flush again. “Then I must insist on you calling me Regina. It will make Mother think that we are getting closer. Which can only be good for keeping Daniel a secret from her.”

“Indeed. I’ll arrange for you to be my guide and companion for these last few days before we leave for Versailles, and you can meet Daniel without fear.”

The joy that exploded in her heart at his words could not be contained and a girlish giggle erupted from her lips. She dug her heels into Rocinante’s sides and took off toward the vineyards at a gallop with her new friend galloping behind, laughing along with her.

#cssns20 #krystal writes #of darkness vampires and soulmates #ch3 #art by spartanguard

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star-and-the-motherverse · 3 years

Text

Chapter 6 - Off She Goes

The Butterfly Who Lost Her Wings

Word Count: 3476 | AO3 Mirror | Previous | Next

Summary: Marco tries not to think about summer. A familiar face realizes he’s out of the loop.

✧·ﾟ: *✧·ﾟ:* ☾ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧

It didn’t really feel as if summer had ever arrived, to Marco, but it wasn’t like that was a trait unique to this particular one. When he was little, summer was the most exciting time of the year, but as he’d grown up, summer started to feel like it was getting shorter each time it came around. It had sort of lost its magic, in a strange way.

Not to say it was unwelcome—far from that, really. Summer break still probably was one of the better parts of the year. He got to spend a lot more time with his friends when they weren’t in school, and it was nice to take a couple months of break, not having to worry so much about the future.

But as days went by, he was starting to realize that he was… bored. By almost all of it. And it was strange, so strange. Really, this summer was equally as mundane as those that preceded it, and yet, here he was, feeling overwhelmingly alone.

You know exactly why that is.

Marco tried his best not to think about it—about her—as he went about his day-to-day life. But over half a year had passed since his everyday life had been upheaved. He’d practically forgotten what the bathroom countertop actually looked like when it was completely clear, or how small the guest room really was before it belonged to Star. They were little details that he was sure never would have stood out to him, not in the past. His painfully normal life had never stuck out to him like this until now, after everything that’s happened.

He missed the unpredictable nature of having Star as a housemate. The excitement, the danger, and everything else. He missed it so much.

Everything is still about Star.

He rolled over in bed, groaning, not able to find the motivation to get up just yet.

Some of his old friends hadn’t spoken to him in what felt like ages. Did he miss them too? He couldn’t tell. He thought that he did, but couldn’t even begin to think of how he might reach out. Jackie and—to a lesser extent—Janna were really the only friends from school that he regularly talked with anymore. He wasn’t exactly doing a good job of keeping in touch with anyone else.

Before he could think on it any longer, his phone vibrated. It took a surprising amount of effort for him to sit up and grab it off of bedside table. Reading over his lock screen, he saw that Jackie had texted him twice, the first message being from about an hour ago, and the other happening just now.

Jackie: Hey! How are u doing?

Jackie: Just realized you might still be asleep, sorry! xoxo

12:30 in the afternoon wasn’t a completely unreasonable time for a teenager to sleep in to, but Marco rarely ever stayed in bed for that long. He’d been up since noon at least—on a normal day, he’d be annoyed after wasting time, laying there and feeling sorry for himself.

Marco: Nah, I wasn’t. Sorry, missed your first text

Marco: It’s been a long morning 😅

Jackie: No worries :) Just checking in on u!

Jackie: Have u had lunch? Theres a food truck fair in town at the park, I think it would be fun to go!

Jackie: I bet theres a nacho truck somewhere, probably not as good as urs tho :)

He wasn’t really hungry at all, but he could certainly use the distraction. And he loved spending time with Jackie, more than anything. She always knew exactly what to say to make him feel better.

Marco: That sounds great. Did you want to meet there?

Jackie: Sure! Is 1:00 too soon?

Jackie: Also, hope u don’t mind but I invited Janna to come too!

Janna was one of the few people he’d managed to keep up regular conversation with, mostly over text. She didn’t give off the impression of a very social person, but then again, their unusual friendship probably didn’t make a lot of sense to outsiders, either.

Her reaction to the news of Star’s disappearance had been about in line with he was expecting, which wasn’t really saying much. Janna was an absolute wildcard, and he had a hard time figuring out what was going through her head even when things were normal. So her complete non-reaction, which might have caught other people off-guard, was just another Janna thing, in his mind.

She never liked talking about her emotions, and this would be no different. All he could really do was let her know that he was available to talk if she never needed to.

Marco: 1:00 is fine. And that’s cool with me

Marco: She’d probably find a way to invite herself if you didn’t.

Jackie: Lol ur probably right :P

Jackie: I’ll see you then💖

He let out a sigh and set the phone down on his bed, finally convincing himself to stand up. It wouldn’t take him that long to get ready to go out, mercifully. Such was the benefit of wearing a hoodie every day—even if the summer weather wasn’t exactly kind to him for it. He’d have plenty of time to get to the park and meet up with his friends, provided nothing weird happened.

Of course, as luck would have it, a lone laser puppy came wandering into the room, his tail wagging in excitement.

“Oh, hey… Sajak?” Star was the only one who could ever tell them apart, but he liked to believe he was getting better at it. “Yeah… Sajak.”

The puppy gave short little barks as he hopped around the room, coming to a stop in front of Marco and rearing up on his hind legs to demand his attention.

“‘Scuse me, buddy,” he said, carefully stepping over Sajak so that he could better reach his closet. “Sorry, but I’ve got things I gotta do today. No more lounging around.”

Sajak kept running circles around him and the room, occasionally pausing to stare at him expectantly. Marco tried to head out to the hall and towards the bathroom, but nearly tripped over the puppy as he rushed out in front of him before flopping down in front of the closed bathroom door.

“What in the world has gotten into you?” Marco asked, laughing, mostly to himself. He scooped up the dog with the intention of moving him. “You don’t feel like shooting me with a laser today? No?”

It was sort of a joke. He couldn’t quite remember last when the puppies had used their laser eyes. He wondered if it was related to whatever was going on with magic. It was a bit nicer to pretend that Sajak was just being particularly nice today, though.

Before he got the chance to move, a horde of laser puppies charged up the stairs, yapping excitedly. Barko Diaz brought up the rear, dragging in a multi-leash with him and nearly tripping over its cable several times as the lugged it up to the second floor.

“Seriously?” It was pretty cute at first, but now this was getting kind of ridiculous. “Guys, come on! I’m trying to do things!”

But he knew better than to tempt fate. These puppies were absolutely ruthless when it came to getting what they wanted. Truly, how could anyone say no to those adorable little faces?

He let out another low sigh. “Okay, okay, fine!” He’d had stranger mornings. If anything, he was getting exactly what he’d asked for with a distraction. His bad mood from the early morning was a distant memory by this point, which was a rather impressive turnaround.

He made his way slowly through what felt like a minefield of dogs, back to the side of his bed and picked up his phone once more.

Marco: I’m gonna be a little late, I have to take the dogs out on a walk first. They won’t leave me alone, haha

Jackie: Aww, so cute! That’s cause they love u so much ^^

Marco: Just doing my civic duty o7

Marco: See you in a bit ❤️

Jackie: 💖💖

“Settle down, Barko!” He cried out, once he’d turned his attention back to the excitable puppies. “I can’t put a leash on you if you won’t sit still!!”

✧·ﾟ: *✧·ﾟ:* ♥︎ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧

“What the heck?”

The phrase wasn’t really intended to be a question. It was more like... some sort of out-loud expression of Star’s ever-growing confusion. She’d only been free falling for a few seconds or so, but as she blinked, she somehow found herself standing in front of Echo Creek Academy. She had no idea how or why. She didn’t even remember landing on the ground, which she was sure would have injured her under normal conditions.

“School? Again?!”

What even were the odds that she’d end up on the school’s doorsteps? Unless, for some reason, it was doing that thing where it was in every place she looked—

Oh no… it absolutely was. There was another school right in front of her. When she turned away, there was another school there, too. She turned again and again. Another one, each time.

“You’ve gotta be kidding..! Why?! Why here?!”

She was most definitely somewhere inside of the wand. She shouldn’t have been that surprised—it was one of the most likely options that she’d narrowed down, for cob’s sake—but there was still something deeply unsettling about how she’d found her way back to this place. Not long from now and she’d probably start bumping into past versions of herself, following in her current footsteps like some sort of video game. Only this time, she had no idea of how she was supposed to get out. Hopefully Glossaryck would know to come rescue her if things got bad.

At least those weird disembodied voices hadn’t managed to follow her here. Somewhere along the way she must have lost them.

“I’m not going in the stupid school,” she grumbled, having nothing but negative memories associated with its strange, magical realm counterpart. It’s supposed to be summer! I do what I want!

Instead, she took to the sidewalk, putting her hands in her dress pockets and wandering along, looking around for a glimpse of something, anything else.

There certainly wasn’t any shortage of weird things to look at in the wand. Everywhere she looked were pieces of Echo Creek and Mewni, awkwardly stitched together in ways that didn’t make much sense at all. Street lamps and sidewalks wove between wells and Mewnian carnival tents. Spanish-style houses were dotted between the fields of corn that stretched out into the horizon, from what she could see past the school. Cacti and coniferous trees were growing side by side, as if they were always supposed to be that way. But even with everything going on, the looming silhouette of Butterfly Castle towered over all other set pieces, only dwarfed in size by the mountainous terrain that made up the background of this strange place.

“Ack!” she cried out suddenly, stumbling a bit as the ground beneath her transitioned from sidewalk to an empty parking lot—save for a single chariot parked on the other side. Just ahead of her, a little puddle rested on the uneven pavement, made up of that same green sludge that Toffee had left her to drown in.

She was so overcome with anger and frustration at the sight of it that she kicked it out of impulse. Just before her boot made contact with the puddle, though, she swore she saw a glimmer of light hiding within it—but not nearly soon enough to stop. When her foot landed back on the ground, and the puddle stilled, nothing was there.

A bit shaken, her gaze wandered upwards. The star-shaped insignia in the dark purple sky looked the same as it had before, split in half and all. But as she watched it, she couldn’t help but think it looked a bit dimmer. It’s fine. You’re gonna be fine, she wanted to say, but she never spoke it aloud, not entirely sold on the idea herself.

Was it fine? Is that really why she wasn’t running into any timeline duplicates of herself? She was still alone, sure, and maybe that was a good thing. There wasn’t any immediate danger, or anything like that. So why am I worried?

She wrapped her arms around herself in an attempt to quell her doubts.

Surely nothing had changed, right?

✧·ﾟ: *✧·ﾟ:* ☀ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧

Tom rubbed at his eyes with the heel of his hand as he made his way out of his room and towards the dining hall, headed out in search of coffee. He never was much of a morning person, and that fact probably wouldn’t come as a surprise to many people. He was never thrilled about having to wake up early for meetings, or summons, or whatever else, but that was something that sort of came with the territory of being a prince.

He’d been trying to avoid Star ever since he’d failed his anger management final exam, following the suggestion from his life coach. It didn’t make sense to him at first—how was he supposed to know when she wanted to talk to him again?—but he’d ultimately come around to Brian’s advice, even if it was with reluctance. It was clear that she still wanted space. He needed to respect that.

It sure was frustrating, though. Patience wasn’t exactly his strong suit.

He was drawn out of his irritated thoughts when a messenger demon nearly crashed into him as he appeared around the corner. “Watch it!” Tom snapped, but the messenger didn’t acknowledge him as he continued in a hurry down the corridor. He couldn’t help but be a bit curious why this particular message was so important that it demanded such prompt attention.

Weirdly, the demon suddenly skidded to a halt, whirling around to come back down the hallway and stop in front of Tom, bowing. “Master Tom! Would you perhaps know where King Dave would be at this hour?”

“Uh… probably in his office?”

“Thank you, Master Tom!” Just as quickly as he’d returned, he was off again, headed back down the hall.

That was weird, Tom noted. He watched the messenger instinctively head towards the throne room, only to remember where he was supposed to be headed and travel down the adjacent hall instead. It wasn’t often that they received news worthy of any interest, so before Tom could convince himself otherwise, he was chasing after the messenger—too intrigued to stop himself from prying. It’s not like I have anything better to do, he remarked inwardly, somewhat dejected.

Light on his feet, he followed the smaller demon at a short distance so that he wouldn’t be noticed. They both quickly arrived at the king’s office, and the messenger disappeared through the towering doorway. Tom was able to catch the conversation before it had really started, listening through the door.

“—uncement from the Butterfly Kingdom, my lord! The Silver Bell Ball has been indefinitely postponed!”

What? If he was being completely honest, he’d sort of forgotten that it was almost time for the Silver Bell Ball again. He had some fond memories of the event from over the years, but he wasn’t really the dancing type. It was more boring than anything else, and it was quite funny how Star agreed with him wholeheartedly. But she always made the point of how it was nice to see everyone again, and he supposed that was one of its better aspects. It would feel weird to not go to it every year.

His father’s thought process mirrored his own. “What?” Dave exclaimed. “But the ball is a yearly tradition! Why would they do such a thing?”

Tom overheard the messenger clear his throat as he unraveled a scroll. “In the words of the Queen and King themselves: ‘it is with great reluctance that we inform you of our decision to cancel the Silver Bell Ball this year. We believe that this is the right thing to do, as the ongoing magical fritz is a pressing issue that requires our full attention. This is a difficult time for our kingdom, and we sincerely thank you for your patience and understanding.’”

“A magical fritz? What in the Underworld does that even mean?”

“The announcement does not clarify it, my lord.”

Tom heard the groan of table legs against the floor as Dave adjusted his chair. “I know that the Butterfly Kingdom is quite dependent on magic, but enough to cause this level of instability? This is preposterous!”

Admittedly, he didn’t have that much of an understanding of how magic worked, either. Most of the cities across Mewni had close ties to magic, but none of them were quite as clear cut as the Butterfly Kingdom. They had been an incredibly powerful force for centuries. If something weird was happening with magic, Star likely would have been one of the first to notice, since she was in possession of the magic wand.

“There could be something more serious at play here…” The messenger demon’s words trailed off.

“In what sense?” Dave asked.

“Well…” He lowered his voice, and it immediately became more difficult for Tom to pick up on their conversation, much to his frustration. He had to listen incredibly closely in order to make out what was being said, leaned up against the door. “There’s a rumor going around that something happened to the princess.”

Tom swore he could feel his blood run cold.

“What do you mean?” the king asked. “Is she sick?”

“Something like that. People can’t seem to agree on what’s happened to her.”

Dave paused for several moments, likely thinking over the implications of the messenger’s words. “You think that the Butterflies are lying?”

“Not necessarily. Perhaps it is an indirect lie, or a lie by omission. Whatever is going on, it appears the royal family are trying to hide it while they're so vulnerable.”

It had to be impossible. Star must’ve been fine. She was on Earth! Who did this messenger think he was, to present such a baseless claim as an actual reality? No, he’d prove him wrong. He could call her, right?

Of course! Why didn’t I think of that sooner?

Before he could even stop to remind himself that, no, Star still needed space, he shouldn’t bother her, she’ll come back to him when she’s ready to talk again—he was clicking through his contact list and tapping on her displayed nickname. Starship. He’d never brought himself to change it from that.

“Calling Star,” read the text-to-speech voice, before it was cut off by a screen tear and replaced with loud, crackling static and white noise. Startled, he snapped his compact shut immediately to silence it.

“What was that?”

“Huh? I didn’t hear anything…”

“Oh… hmm. Sorry. Perhaps it was nothing.”

He wasn’t listening to them anymore—no, he was panicking. Fear was getting to him, badly. He hated this, he hated feeling scared. This didn’t make any sense! Even if something had happened to her, the call should have gone through. It still should have let him leave a voicemail, or something! Not static and nothing else!

This was strange, this was wrong. Something was wrong, and he had no idea what it was.

“—h well,” he overheard Dave start to speak again. “I suppose it’s not—“

Unable to stand there any longer, Tom threw open the door and came storming in, glaring accusingly between them both. “That’s not good enough!”

“Thomas!” Dave scolded, standing up from his chair. “What have I told you about eavesdropping on my conversations?”

Ignoring him, Tom stared directly at the messenger, his eyes fiery with anger. “What did you say happened to Star?!”

The demon flinched, scrambling for words as he stepped backwards. “I-I’m sorry, Master Tom! I truly wish that I had more information, but I don’t. So long as the Butterfly kingdom keeps its borders closed, I’m not sure we’ll ever get an answer…”

“Then do your job!” He snarled, clenching his fists. “Go out there and find the answer, and don’t come back until you do!”

“Thomas, that’s enough!” Dave stepped between them both. “We don’t know what’s going on, and that’s how it’s going to be for right now. It’s ultimately not our business, to know what’s happening in the personal lives of other royals.”

“It is mine!” Tom hissed. “I care about her! I need to know that she’s okay!”

But no matter how much shouting he did during that confrontation—and it certainly was a lot—he never got an answer he was happy with. No amount of sulking around the castle was going to change that. He wasn’t going to find an answer here on Mewni, not anytime soon.

#star vs the forces of evil #svtfoe #marco diaz #jackie lynn thomas #star butterfly #tom lucitor #motherverse #tbwlhw #immersive

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ngame989 · 4 years

Text

“Enough” - TGG SVTFOE Fanfic Collection Ch. 11

Writing: @ngame989

Art: @toxicpsychox

Musical Arrangement: @ubercelloczar

Editing: @ubercelloczar, @seddm

Alternate fic links - FFnet, AO3

Summary: Star, Marco, Tom, and Janna reflect on their pasts, arrive at a crossroads in the present, and make decisions about their futures when Echo Creek Academy hosts a dance with an uncannily familiar theme.

Comic Page

Masterpost

Merry Christmas, happy holidays, happy New Year! This is a very special chapter, slightly breaking the tradition of having its poster be a Polaroid photo (though one of those will be coming soon lol). Also, this was inspired by an actual real life event, Google the date for yourself. MASSIVE thanks to my friend @ubercelloczar for the musical arrangement - I can’t embed it partway through so I’ll just link it when the time comes. Hope you enjoy!

Red. All these years, and she was just now realizing how little red there was in her expansive collection of outfits. Star could probably count on one hand the number of times she’d worn anything in that color besides Marco’s oversized hoodies. Though for all intents and purposes she’d moved into Marco’s room over a year ago, most of her clothes were still kept in her old room at Angie’s insistence. You leave pajamas in the mailbox ONE TIME and suddenly everyone’s all “please use a closet, Star.” Her fingers fondly brushed over the fabrics of dozens of dresses and skirts she owned. The turquoise with the narwhal? Timeless classic, though a bit worse for wear after so many life or death incidents on Mewni. Purple with suspenders? Eh, not so much… for whatever reason she just hadn’t felt like wearing that in a while. Her sleeveless sky blue dress, on the other hand, had made its way back into her rotation after the dimensions cleaved. Why, she couldn’t say, though she tended to skip the leg warmers these days. The pink overalls with the cute skirt were one of her favorite buys on Earthni - the perfect blend of dimensional fashions.

Minutes passed as she reminisced, her wardrobe a library unveiling its stories as her eyes roved its contents. One random winter night came to mind at the sight of her rarely used fuzzy yellow jammies. The heater had been on the fritz, so she and Marco had cuddled up even closer than normal. Her brain had been too frozen to think straight at the time, but in hindsight it was one of her favorite memories - spending all night watching movies with family, hot cocoa by the gallon, and holding Marco tight did more to warm her soul than any heater ever could. Some more notable memories were captured in the attire too, like the lavender dress she’d planned to wear to her first school dance before ditching it to resurrect a clown; the Love Sentence concert tee she’d made; her green dinosaur dress, captured forever on that fateful photo strip.

Experiences shared with Marco stood out among the rest - they usually did anyway, but tonight perhaps more than most, and for good reason. She’d once obsessed over a tattered, stinky hoodie of his as a source of calm and stability for some of the harshest weeks in her life, but tonight she felt like she was at her highest point. When her eyes finally spotted her target, the reason she had even been rummaging around an old closet and choking on enough dust to fell an adult warnicorn, her small, nostalgic smile stretched into a wide grin laden with too many emotions to count. If there’s any night to wear red, this is it, Star thought as she slipped into the silky dress awaiting her.

After all, she and Marco were once again going to a Blood Moon Ball.

Six Weeks Earlier

“Not sure if we’ll be able to pull this off, Diaz. They’ve got us surrounded.” Steam rolled out of Star’s mouth with the words, threatening to give away their location. She shivered despite the warm pink fleece she wore; the wind today was so chilly that even Marco had donned a winter jacket over his hoodie. They were in the midst of a battle, nay, an all-out war. We’ve got one, maybe two dozen? We’re doomed.

Where Star faltered, Marco’s resolve was firm. “Our only option is a last stand. I can lead a strong forward assault and draw fire long enough for you to flank their offense.” They’d found a secure location with solid cover, but it severely limited their scouting ability. Marco lowered his hood and stole a glance above the metal behind them, ducking back down instantly. Snow had already accumulated on his lashes and glittered softly in the sunlight, but Star couldn’t afford to linger on that image. It was do or die.

He took her hands and pulled her close, almost touching their noses. “If I don’t make it, Star, I want you to take care of Nachos for me, OK?” He scooped up his armful of snowballs and moved into position.

She theatrically reached out a hand towards him right as he got to the threshold of safety. “I’ll never forget you Marcoooo…” she whispered loudly. The pair giggled as Star grabbed her ammunition. “Alright, enough of that. Ready?”

“Ready.”

Marco dashed around the playground slide and into the fray. Right as Star followed, she heard him yelp and fall into the soft snow coating the playground, three enemy combatants hovering over him and pelting him mercilessly. “Marco!” Star yelled and trudged over with the gleeful cheers of their enemy ringing in her ears. “Speak to me, Marco! Don’t leave me!”

“Star… Remember me...” He grunted and let his head drop into the snow.

“Noooooooooo!” With one final breath, she flopped on top of him and accepted death by a thousand snowballs.

One extra large hunk of snow, far too large to have been thrown by any of the kids, exploded on Star’s back and coated her entirely in soft white fluff. Star heard the warm rumble of Antonio’s hearty chuckles at his successful finishing blow. “Alright, kiddos, your families are here. Have a happy break!” His beefy hand grabbed Star’s own and easily hefted her to her feet before doing the same for Marco. How the heck he was OK in the cold with just an ear-flappy-hat and his usual flannel shirt, she’d never know.

Star dusted herself off and watched the children skip through the snow - a much smaller group than usual, since it was the last evening shift before Christumpmasday break. Most were eager to return to their families, though Star had to help two little girls finish building their snowlizard and take a few pictures before they were willing to leave without bursting into tears; in their defense, it was a ridiculously cute and fun snowlizard. And with that, it was finally holiday break time!

As they walked back to the Center with Antonio, Star took in the sight of the campus covered in fresh snow. The sparkling white planes draped across the pristine Earth architecture contrasted with the raw, natural aesthetic of snow and ice intermingled with remnants of a once-thriving Mewman village, but it all blended together into something unique and beautiful. She caught Marco transfixed with a goofy smile on his face, in awe of her as much as she was with the world, and her cheeks flushed a tiny bit more than they’d already done in the cold. The crunch of snow underfoot and the gentle whooshing of the wind as they swung their joined hands back and forth were the only sounds disturbing this peaceful, perfect moment.

“Merry Christumpmasday, Antonio!” Star shouted as she gave her boss-slash-friend a big hug, and he laughed and returned the gesture with enough strength to lift both Star and Marco off the ground a little.

“Same to you two. Thanks again for staying late, I feel bad about keeping anyone here like this. My husband’s still out of town until tomorrow so home, work, it’s all the same to me, personally. Wish your whole family the best for me.” After saying their goodbyes, Star and Marco walked back out into the cold where their ride was waiting.

“Hey, girl” Marco’s voice was tender as he adjusted Nachos’ cute winter cap and stroked her back. As he was testing his foothold to make sure he wouldn’t slip and faceplant while trying to hop on, Antonio peeked his head out the door.

“Wait, before you go… an elderly lady gave me this flier for some kinda dance.” He scratched his chin through his beard. “Dunno why she brought it here of all places, but since I had it, I thought I might as well pass it along.”

“Oh, is it for that big dance the high school is throwing for all the teens in town?” Marco asked.

“Seems so. Maybe she just got confused about what kinds of kids it was for,” Antonio said, lightly chuckling. “January 30, it says, and it’s an all-nighter; that’s quite the shindig. If Earthni parties are anything like my high school days, it’s probably best I give you the whole next day off,” he said with a wink and a smirk.

All night dance? Even the Bounce Lounge was rarely that crazy - what was so special about this? Antonio handed the flier to Star and Marco who took hold of the other side of it, moving it between them as they gaped in shock at its contents.

“No way, there’s no way, what the-” she and Marco muttered in perfect unison. “Are you- seeing this? It can’t- how did-” They started and stopped as their attempts to stop copying each other canceled each other out.

Marco blinked a few more times to finally pry his eyes away from the page. “Well, eclipses do happen pretty often on Earth, I guess...” They both glanced incredulously back and forth between each other and the flier before the tension in their shoulders finally dropped. An unspoken agreement had been made: they might as well give this dance a shot. Star took one last look at the flier before hopping on Nachos, stuffing it into her jacket and wrapping her arms around Marco’s midriff for the ride home, its words emblazoned in her mind.

January 30-31, 2018. Super Blue Blood Moon Eclipse Extravaganza at Echo Creek Academy! Come dance under the red light of the lunar eclipse!

***

Present Day

“OK, Diaz, let’s see what you’ve got. Sweat prevention, check,” he noted with a quick whiff of his armpits. “Outfit, check.” Bright red dress shirt, sharp black jacket, sleek black tie. Marco posed in the bathroom mirror a few times, getting everything in order for a night he’d been looking forward to for months. “Hair, check.” It was just his usual style, but it never hurt to make sure it was ready to go. Looking good, Diaz.

His stare lingered in their bedroom mirror for a moment too long as thoughts began racing through his mind. Was he nervous? Marco Diaz, nervous for a big night with the girl he loved? More often than not Star was his reason not to be nervous about anything, but this was their first big formal dance as a couple and he did have a pretty dicey history with those. And what were the odds that it was on the night of the Blood Moon again? He wasn’t exactly worried about the curse, per se - there was some caveat or another in demon lore that the Blood Moon could only impart its curse when shining through a special Underworld crystal, the very same one embedded in the roof of the Lucitor ballroom years ago, Relicor had assured them. And it’s not like it even did anything bad to them in the first place, right? Marco still stood by his own words - it was all baloney. Still though, it did leave him with a decision to make. He experimentally put on his Día de Los Muertos mask and turned his head a bit. Should he?

“I don’t think I ever told you how cute you look in that mask.” He’d gotten pretty good about anticipating Star’s sudden appearances but had been caught up in his own mind enough that he still jumped a bit, much to her amusement. “Buuuuuuuut…” she drawled as she swiftly stepped forward and snatched it off his head. “I like your face more.” She grinned and pinched his cheek before they both stopped to truly look at each other. They hadn’t seen each other’s outfits ahead of time but as always they’d been on the same page. “I like the rest of you, too,” she muttered, biting her lip. Marco felt his cheeks turn the same color as his shirt at the comment, but also at her own appearance. Two wavy strands of hair in front of her ears framed her adorable face, though her hair had otherwise been left down as normal. Her red dress had a lone heart clasp on one shoulder, a pattern of moons and stars on a dark band circling the waist, a knee-length wavy skirt that gently swished as she rocked back and forth, and black high heels.

“Wow,” he uttered.

“You like it?” Star asked hopefully. “I thought, well, I didn’t want to go too over-the-top and wear the old Blood Moon Ball outfit but I still wanted to fit the theme so-”

“You’re beautiful,” Marco stated. Not that she’d needed to be wearing an incredible evening dress for him to think that, and he knew she knew that too, but she was still making him a bit dizzy right now. “Wait-” he stopped her when she tried to move in for a kiss, leaning back to their nightstand. He grabbed her horns and gently placed them on her head, brushing a wayward strand of hair back into place. “Perfect.” He leaned forward to kiss her, seeing her doing the same as his eyelids closed, and-

“Mijos!” Star and Marco’s eyes opened, freezing in place so close together that her breath tickled his lips, staring at each other for a second before turning towards the door. Daaaaad. “Oh, sorry, did we interrupt a moment?” We? Rafael stepped aside to reveal all their parents, plus Eclipsa and Globgor, crammed into the hallway. Star took Marco’s hand as they separated.

“Eeeee!” Eclipsa squealed in delight. “You two are absolutely precious. Come downstairs, loves, we must take your picture.”

“I’ve got two backup rolls of film!” Angie chimed in as Moon herded them all down the stairs and out of the way.

Marco looked at Star, who was goofily smiling at him as she squeezed his hand. It wasn’t that he minded being affectionate with Star around friends and family - heck, his own parents were still the most overtly lovey-dovey couple in the house - but he couldn’t help a bit of embarrassment when they were the center of attention like that. After double checking to make sure they had everything they needed, the pair headed out and walked down the stairs together to the oohs and aahs of their families. Star’s parents merely watched while Marco’s both wielded cameras, snapping pictures fervently. Nachos wasn’t due for another few minutes, so they decided to just endure the gauntlet.

“Didn’t think a sort-of-school dance was such a big deal,” Star murmured. Eclipsa sat down on the arm of the couch next to Globgor while Moon daintily folded her hands in her lap on the opposite side with River squished between her and the size-shifter.

“Well, when Marco left for Mewni, we were worried he’d never get to have a prom,” Angie cheerily responded, having evidently heard Star’s comment. “This is basically the same thing, though. Raf, honey, remember our prom?”

“Oh, yes, it was delightful,” he said, finally lowering the camera and turning to address the others on the couch. “We had actually just broken up that morning and went separately, but your mother just happened to walk directly into me as the slow music started and we ended up waltzing the night away. That was the last time we had to get back together.” How many details about my parents have I missed? Marco wondered to himself, before realizing he likely didn’t want to know quite a few of them and shuddering a bit. Still, it was better than being endlessly fawned over, so Marco stood perfectly still and shut his mouth.

Eclipsa set a hand on Globgor’s shoulder, smiling fondly. “Globgor and I met at a dance too! Well, not quite a ‘dance’, I suppose... he twirled me out of the way of an assassin’s arrow, and I swept him off his feet, but the principle seems about the same to me.”

“I was about to eat a guard until she blasted me to the ground. She cast a spell on me in more ways than one.” Globgor laughed. “Though the literal one was very painful,” he added seriously.

“Well, River and I had been to our share of Silver Bell Balls and other royal festivities,” Moon chimed in. “Though when I was Star’s age we weren’t together yet, and I was very focused on the kingdom by the time things were calm enough to enjoy them properly…”

“And now our little girl is going to big fancy galas with a handsome young man. Next thing you know she’ll be setting out on her own, never needing her parents again!” River wailed, clutching Moon’s arm. Well, the diversion was good while it lasted.

“River, please,” Moon gently chided. “You two are quite the adorable couple, though. Though I never wished to interfere in your personal affairs on Mewni, I am certainly glad things eventually worked out as well as they did.”

Eclipsa strolled over and enveloped both of them in a hug. “You two look positively astonishing together,” she cooed before releasing them to take them in one at a time. “Star, darling, you’re as stunning as I’ve ever seen you. And Marco...” She paused, placing her hands on his shoulders. Her purple eyes were laden with unbridled affection as they looked him up and down, her lips turning upward in as sincere a smile as he’d seen her display. “Marco, you sweet young man… You’re quite lucky to have each other, you know. Perhaps it’s not my place to say, but I’m so proud of how you’ve grown these past few years. Now have fun tonight, this is great practice for a certain other first dance I see in your future,” she finished with a wink, causing his blush to return with a vengeance.

“Picture time!” Rafael singsonged, getting up close and flashing a camera near Marco’s face. “Do some fun poses! Give the people what they want! We are not going to miss any more of our son’s major life moments!” His voice was filled with determination to the point of sounding angry, and Marco’s eyes widened in part sympathy, part stark terror. Minutes flew by as Star and Marco supplied their families’ demands, exhausting both the traditional prom shots and their signature poses: back-to-back, too cool for school, Star pinching his cheeks, drowning in a monster’s stomach acid… the list seemed endless, and though goofing around with Star was always fun, he’d been anticipating the dance so long that every second of delay felt like torture. Finally, Marco breathed a sigh of relief when his dad moaned in dismay at the camera clicking without anything happening; he was out of film.

“Oh dear, only one left,” Angie echoed. “Let’s get a nice one of a kiss. Don’t be shy.”

“Well, Marco? Shall we?” Star threw him a flirtatious grin, wrapping her arms around his neck.

He opened his mouth to respond with a quip of his own when he heard wheels screeching to a stop outside. Sweet freedom. “Well, that’s our ride!” Marco stated a bit too forcefully, breaking away from Star and heading towards the door to greet Nachos. Flying in on a dragoncycle would be a major departure from whatever prom fantasies about picking up Jackie in a limo he’d had as a kid, but he still wanted to do something special with a traditional flair. She snorted and cackled when the door opened and revealed his grand prom surprise: Nachos with a top hat and bow tie.

“Marco, what did you do to her?”

“Well, it’s prom, so our ride needs to be the fanciest it can be,” he giggled as she rolled her eyes. “Only the best for you, m’la-”

When Star’s lips cut him off sweetly as she tugged him closer, suddenly Marco didn’t mind staying a little bit longer, and the snap of his mother’s camera seemed to agree.

***

Chaos. Compared to any dance Star had been to before, this was the best kind of chaos. The energetic beat of the electronic music thrummed in her ears as her hips swayed and arms waved in the air. She wasn’t sure exactly how many people had shown up, but the gymnasium of Echo Creek Academy was more packed than she’d ever seen it. Still, it wasn’t so cramped that she had no room to get her groove on; when her butt bumped into Marco beside her, it was by choice as she slyly grinned at her boyfriend in his red shirt, now sans jacket. He smirked back at her and set his feet in place, slicing his hands wildly through the air. “I thought you didn’t like the sword-hand dance,” Star loudly spoke into his ear, though it was a whisper relative to the volume of the music and crowd.

“Yeah, but if everyone else is gonna do it anyway, I might as well own it.” They locked eyes as she began to mirror him, mimicking his karate poses in time with the music. He abruptly grabbed both her hands and swung them up and down, laughing as they just shook everything they had without a care in the world. She yanked him towards her and spun them both around, their backs flush against each other as they kept bouncing to the rhythm.

“Woop, woop! Starco in da HOUSE!” Ponyhead stuck her horn between them, forcing them apart as she floated up and down.

Tom also made his way beside them, drink in hand. “Anyone else want punch?” He lowered the plastic cups he’d been levitating over the crowd into Star and Marco’s hands, and Pony’s tongue. “Gotta say, this is pretty good punch. What kind of blood is it? Centaur? Unicorn? Oooooh, I’ve heard that giraffigator blood is hot these days.”

Marco eyed his cup warily. “What the heck is a giraffigat-”

“WHAT’S THIS ‘BOUT UNICORN BLOOD?” Pony screamed, getting up in Tom’s face.

Star quickly separated them, holding her hands up to try and ease her friends. “Guys, guys, there’s no actual blood in it, I think it’s just citrus.” Well, she was fairly sure. She took one trial sip, tasting the sweet flavor of- “Wait, yep, this is blood,” she said disgustedly after she spit it back into the cup.

“More for me, then,” Tom said nonchalantly, as he snatched Marco’s cup and took another swig while Pony floated in circles grumbling. It seemed like the DJ was taking a break from the upbeat dancing music for now, so the group made their way to the outskirts of the gymnasium where they’d left their belongings. Star laid down on the bleachers, resting her head on Marco’s lap after he’d put his jacket back on and sat down. He stroked her hair with his thumb as they relaxed after an intense hour of dancing. It struck her that this was actually the first time she’d ever truly had carefree fun at a formal dance. The original Blood Moon Ball left her with very mixed feelings to say the least, and her one experience with an Earth dance had been a bit of a disaster even though she didn’t actually go. Time had largely expunged the lingering venom she’d directed at herself for her relationship mistakes after returning to Mewni, leaving some life lessons and fond memories; but even some enjoyable fiery dances with Tom didn’t change the fact that the Silver Bell Balls were stuffy political dramafests. She reached up and intertwined her fingers with Marco’s, squeezing his hand and beaming at him - this was more like it.

“You know, I will say, this DJ is killing it tonight,” Pony said as she returned. “I was kinda expectin’ something lame but this is the best party I’ve been to since the Bounce Lounge closed.” Star nodded in agreement.

Tom leaned back and crossed his legs a few rows below them, taking a sip from his second cup so far. “Oh, yeah, I know him, he’s actually the cousin of my old anger management coach. His name’s Kim H. Brian.”

“I thought your coach’s name was Brian,” Marco responded.

“Yeah, Brian Brian.”

“Get outta t- wait, the Kim H. Brian?” Star bolted up at Marco’s words and they stared at each other incredulously.

“The producer of Love Sentence’s most controversial album, Prison Breakup?” Star and Marco said simultaneously.

“That’s the one,” Tom said, chuckling a bit. “Only you two could still say entire sentences at the same time without a demonic curse.” He stared into his drink for a few seconds, his visage suddenly becoming completely somber. All three eyes closed as he took a deep breath before floating up and sitting next to the couple. “Look, about the whole Blood Moon thing-”

Hold on, was he still in a twist about this? “Tom, it’s fine!” Star said, putting a hand on his shoulder. “We broke the Curse, you apologized, it’s all good.”

“I know, but it’s not that- after we went to the Severing Stone, deep down I knew that the Curse wasn’t why you two had those feelings, but I just kept pretending because I still liked you, Star. If I hadn’t been so caught up in that, maybe it wouldn’t have taken so damn long to sort our mess out. I know it doesn’t matter anymore, but… I guess the dance just got me thinking again about friendship and love and stuff. So if you’re OK with it, I actually asked Kim to do a little something special for you two later, to help give you the Blood Moon Ball you deserve,” he finished with a toothy smile.

Star’s eyes started to mist up; Tom had always been supportive of Star and Marco since they’d all sorted themselves out, but it never failed to move her. Star lunged forward, wrapping herself around him in a bear hug, and Marco followed suit. “Toooooom, that’s so sweet!”

“Yeah, man, that’s really-” Marco was stopped by the sudden intrusion of Ponyhead into their little moment.

“Hey, Lucitor, do you know where Janna went? I’ve been TRYING to ask her for the hot deets on totally eligible bachelors here. You know, name, height, bank account balance: the usual business. So anyway she hasn’t been, like, responding at all and I’m starting to worry I might not be able to score a good enough rebound to make Seahorse see that he made the biggest mistake of his life letting me dump him!”

Marco nodded toward the still-in-progress group hug. “Little busy?”

“Yeah, whatever, save your huggy feeltime for later, this is im-por-tant.”

“OK, fine,” Tom said, extricating himself from the embrace. “I haven’t seen her for a while but I can help look. It’s Janna, so she’s probably just splicing some gargoyle DNA to a class hamster or something.”

“Last I saw, she was by the old photobooth.”

Wait, that had survived? Star and Marco exchanged shocked glances at the thought of the site of their first kiss having survived the whole way to Earthni.

“You thinking what I’m thinking?” Marco asked. Star grinned and nodded, grabbing his hand to run off and make even more memories.

***

Janna Ordonia had never been more scared in her entire life. Okay, maybe that time a monster guy exploded into dust a few feet in front of her was more viscerally terrifying, but Janna was used to freakiness and death even before she’d spent so much time in the literal Underworld. Tonight, though? The pit in her stomach that left her unable to speak, unable to think, was something almost alien to her. She had so much unique expertise in dealing with all things mystical and macabre that it took something completely and utterly human to faze her, and now she found herself staring in a mirror struggling to cope.

Janna Ordonia had caught feelings.

She’d always known she had a thing for the spooky and supernatural, so an attraction to a half-demon with two horns, three eyes, and purple skin was basically inevitable. It hadn’t bothered her like this when she’d had a casual fling with a talking skeleton years ago, either. The only logical conclusion she could draw was that whatever she was feeling now was a different beast altogether. The night had started out so pleasantly: the Lucitors had invited her over for a casual dinner beforehand - whatever meat the Underworld used for burgers was damn good - and they’d taken the carriage together to the dance afterwards.

It just made practical sense, it didn’t mean anything, I don’t WANT it to mean anything. Some variant of this refrain had been repeating in her mind a lot lately, but staring at her own reflection, it felt thinner with every passing second. If it was true, she probably wouldn’t even be here now; she could be doing way cooler things with the night of an ultra-rare eclipse than drinking cheap punch and shuffling awkwardly on the dance floor to chart-topping pop trash. But Tom had seemed excited at the prospect, and the next thing she knew she had picked out a simple black dress with pink highlights - hell, it was even Tom’s nonjudgmental support that had given her the confidence to wear her secret favorite color more in the first place. One way or another, everything seemed to circle back to one simple fact. Each day spent learning about the Underworld and adventuring in its depths was obviously worthwhile on its own merits, but it was always better with him. If she couldn’t stop this storm brewing inside, then the only thing left was to take control of it on her own terms. Well, this is it, Janna. You have a serious crush on Tom Lucitor.

By the time her mind had finished processing its own confession, she’d already made her way back to the gym and meandered to a vacant corner to watch idly by herself, not unlike how she’d spent most of the dance so far. They’d arrived from the Underworld fashionably late and it had only taken a few minutes for Janna to ditch her friends and hide while she moped about her feelings, but of course as soon as she wanted company again there was none to be found. She huffed and pulled out her phone, switching between a few games to occupy the time.

“Hey.” She looked up to find Tom holding two glasses. “Anything fun going on in this empty corner?”

“Yeah, it’s pretty intense over here. Some dust bunnies got in a street fight.” She smirked and stole one of his glasses, raising it to her lips for a sip.

“Wait, don’t, that’s-” It tasted funny, fruity and sweet but with a metallic tang. “Blood.” Ah. She considered it for a moment before deciding to take another sip. She’d had worse. “Anyway, where have you been? We basically haven’t seen you since we got here.”

“Oh, you know, nowhere and everywhere. It’s what I do,” she deflected. “Where’re the others?” Star and Ponyhead were forces of nature when it came to stealing the spotlight, so Janna figured they were her best shot at getting through the night with minimal awkwardness.

“We were taking a break and then they ran off to a photobooth. I still don’t really get the hype, but you know how it is with them.”

“Yeah, it’s gross.”

“Yep…” They both fell silent, continuing to drink what was supposedly some kind of real blood punch as the dance droned on in the background. “Hey, so, uh, can we talk for a sec? About… us?”

She tried her damnedest to suppress the unexpected surge of conflicting emotions, burying her face in her cup until she thought she could reliably answer. One time, when they were in elementary school, she’d poured milk down Marco’s shirt at lunch and a few other girls had teased her, insisting that meant Janna had a crush on him. She never really understood that connection - she just kinda liked pranking Marco - but the taunts had gotten to her. There was a sort of pride she felt in being inscrutable, an enigma that could only be unraveled on her own terms. Had he figured her out so easily when she herself had been in denial? A mumbled “uh, sure” was the best she could as she ran through the last few months in her head trying to figure out if she’d betrayed her feelings.

“It’s pretty loud in here, can we head outside?” Janna only nodded in response, her own racing thoughts drowning out her surroundings. The DJ was announcing some kind of special song request as the gym doors closed behind them and they stepped out into the chilly winter air. “Oh, right, um-” Tom quickly took his jacket off, handing it to her. “Since it’s cold, and I can make my own fire, and-”

“Thanks,” she gruffly said, putting her arms through it. Damn him. She was cold, and he was being thoughtful and helpful, but it only made the upcoming conversation even more difficult for her to have. One hand idly pawed through the enchanted storage compartment she’d fitted in her dress (even in formalwear, she considered function most important). Damnit, she’d left her entire arsenal at home, save for a prototype glass bottle that would harmlessly evaporate on impact, which was filled with some leftover antigravity potion - no easy way out of this, then.

“No problemo,” he drawled, pointing finger guns at her before jamming both hands into his pockets and staring at the ground. “Since Star and I broke up, I’ve been trying really hard to just be my own person. Heck, you’re the one that showed me that’s what I needed to focus on. I had no clue what I was doing.... Honestly, I still don’t.” He paused again, turning back towards the school. “Being here, it just makes it hard to ignore how things have been kinda, you know, weird lately, between…” A little fireball coming off his finger zigzagged back and forth between them.

Why was he so insistent on bringing this up? “Look, Tom, we don’t have to-”

He turned back towards her “Yes, Janna, I think we do! If we don’t deal with it now it’s only going to get worse, and I don’t- I can’t-”

“Dude, drop it, OK? Let’s just go back inside so we can-”

“NO!” A puff of flame shot out of his head but quickly dissipated, leaving only a lingering sizzle and water in his eyes. “I can’t do this anymore! I like you, Janna. I really like you, and it’s screwing everything up.” ...wha? There were a few hundred possible ways Janna thought to respond, but none even made it beyond a guttural yelp in her throat, so Tom continued unabated. “I know you’re you, and you can stay really chill about stuff even when you care a lot, but I can’t, OK? You’re clever and fearless and everything’s more fun with you. You’re one of my best friends and that’s why I couldn’t keep doing this without telling you even if I’m probably making a complete idiot of myself right now.” Every second that Janna remained utterly paralyzed on the spot left Tom’s eyeliner even more streaked as his tears rained down, each tiny splash hissing on the cold pavement and melting the nearby snow and ice. “Yeah, OK, I get it. Look, forget I said anything, I just want to still be friends, OK? I- I totally get if you want some space for a while, so I’ll just- alright, bye.” He wiped off his face with his sleeve and turned around, floating off the ground and flying back into the building, leaving Janna alone on the sidewalk.

The oncoming shivers in Janna’s spine provided the final push to lift the dense fog clouding her mind. He’d just confessed to her, he had a crush on her, and she’d basically just snapped his heart in two. Pangs of guilt and sorrow and joy all ganged up on her; was this how bad things had been for Star and Marco? She almost felt sorry for ribbing them about their romantic struggles now. At this point the only thing left to do was to find Tom, so she sprinted into the building after him, braving the fray of the dance floor once more.

Can’t be that hard to spot a tall set of horns with three eyes. Even though there were all sorts of monsters in attendance, there were very few demons, but that didn’t seem to help her locate him. He wasn’t responding to her texts either, ugh! As Janna kept looking around, she realized she didn’t recognize anyone here. She’d left Echo Creek Academy at the same time as Marco but didn’t go to college, nor had she spent a ton of time with Mewni’s teenage population before the Cleaving. The Underworld was what she knew best; it was where she’d felt most at home, even with two whole dimensions merged together, and that realization spurred her to keep searching. Janna barged through another door into the hallway and rounded a corner, instantly colliding with someone.

“Ex-CUSE me! Watch your freaking face before I pulv-” Ponyhead shouted, shaking her hair back into place after being bumped into the locker. “Oh, it’s you, girl! Where you been? And is that Tom’s jac-”

“Tom. Have you seen him?”

“Oh, I see how it is, first Starco gets their own flipping song and runs outside to go boink under the moonlight or whatever, then my boyfriend runs off to sell a toaster or whatever, then Tom comes in here all moody and doesn’t want to talk to me, and now you’re abandoning me too? I feel like I’ve barely been around you guys lately, why does no one want to spend time with Ponyhead?”

“Wait, didn’t you dump- never mind, Pony, this is important, OK? I seriously blew it, I need to talk to him-”

“Hey, woah, is there some drama going on here? Shoot, why didn’t you say so? OK, so, he was floating around in circles out here for a bit. I came out here to do my bi-hourly makeup check just a minute ago and I do believe he was going back into the gym, mmhm, yes, that is where he was. Go do whatchu gotta do and give me the juicy deets after, mmkay?” Ponyhead winked and whacked Janna on the back with her horn.

Janna ran back into the gym and finally spotted Tom standing in the center of the floor, uninterestedly swaying back and forth to the beat of some crooning couple’s ballad. When his eyes met hers, his gaze became visibly pained as he turned to walk away. “Tom!” Her pleading shout was emphatic enough to keep him from running, but it also attracted an audience and left her standing there, too uncomfortable to speak.

Janna put one foot forward, then another, then another, willing herself forward against her better judgment. She’d frankly had enough: enough talking about her feelings, enough uncertainty about her own relationships, enough giving a single damn about “what-if”s. There’d be plenty of time later to tell him he was her best friend too, to assuage his doubts, and to put more meaningful words to her own feelings, but for now, she had settled on a course of action that began with reaching into her pocket to pull out the lone potion bottle within.

“Uh, Janna, what-” Tom stammered, a different kind of concern than the one he’d been stewing in all night bubbling up in his expression as the crowd backed up slightly. Some tiny voice in the back of her mind registered that they seemed nervous to the point of being frightened, and that comforting feeling pushed her to do the one last thing she needed to do. Before he could react, she slammed the bottle to the ground at her feet and felt the weak antigravity effect take hold. Janna closed the last few steps of distance to Tom, firmly grabbed both his shoulders, and kicked off the ground, crashing her lips into his as she hovered a few inches off the dance floor. Tom unconsciously did the same, letting her momentum carry both of them into the air until the confused, but cheering, audience was beneath them.

As he started to return the kiss, he hesitantly placed one arm on her waist and another behind her back to keep them from drifting apart, and Janna wasn’t sure she’d ever felt so secure.

***

Alright, that’s the last of them. Marco finished carefully stacking the photo strips in Star’s bag while he waited for her to return from the restroom. The photobooth had thankfully been a much more fun and much less emotionally exhausting experience this time around, though a very smug Ben Photino had still greeted them when they were done, $650 richer than before.

Now’s my chance, Star thought as she snuck up and affectionately pounced on Marco from behind. Nearly everything about tonight had been perfect so far - just her, Marco, and their friends getting a night of dancing and partying she wasn’t sure she’d ever forget. For so much of her life, it had seemed like nothing important could ever happen without a sizable dose of drama and conflict; by comparison, this all seemed like a dream, and she didn’t want to wake up anytime soon. Speaking of her friends, though… “Hey, where are the others?” She felt a bit guilty over ditching everyone else to go back to the booth for corn knows how much time, but she was certain they wouldn’t have gone too far.

“Not sure,” Marco responded, craning his neck and spotting a tuft of pink spiky hair and two brown horns across the gym. Why was he heading for the exit?

Marco started to lead the way across the gym floor when the sound system screeched with audio feedback and boomed with the sound of tapping a microphone. “Echo Creek, are we having fun tonight?” the DJ, Kim H. Brian, asked the cheering crowd. “We’re gonna keep this party flowing, but right now we have a very special song for all the soulmates out there, so get ready to twist and twirl your special guy or girl.” Star and Marco tentatively stopped in their tracks.

“Is that-” Marco started.

“What Tom was talking about?” Star finished. “We have to get him before he misses it!” What did you do this time, Tom?

(LINK TO AUDIO)

They had made it to the center of the dance floor when the lights dimmed and tinted red. It was obviously from a stage light, but the effect still flooded them with the same hopes and wants and fears from their run-ins with the Blood Moon. Marco gently smiled and took the lead, keeping one hand in hers and tugging her closer with the other on her waist. Piano chords opened the piece - a slow waltz - and Star and Marco were taking their first steps when the cello started to play a hauntingly familiar melody. It struck them both at the same time - this was the same tune that had played when they danced under the light of the Blood Moon only a few months into her friendship. Their moves grew more daring and flashy as the song went on, spinning and swaying to the rhythm.

“I always forget how good a dancer you are, Marco” Star dreamily sighed when he spun her around and dipped her down.

“My grandma taught me. She says that the only right way to dance is the fun way,” Marco laughed, lingering for half a second too long as the music swelled around them. Somewhere in those blue eyes sparkling with only love for him, he’d lost track of the world around them. Only after he noticed how the blonde curls in front of her ears shimmered in the red light did he snap back to reality and continue the dance, much to Star’s amusement.

“That’s good, because it’s always fun with you.” They stepped in harmony, slowly rotating as they box stepped to the same waltz that had once been a source of apprehension. Star took her hand off his shoulder and lifted it to his face, rubbing her thumb over his cheek. She knew the contours of his face inside and out, could describe every last detail of all the facial hairs that he’d given silly names, could picture every last one of the warm and loving ways his soothing chocolate gaze could pierce her soul, yet it didn’t stop her from being completely enraptured by it now. That intimate knowledge informed her when even the most trivial thing was out of place, which is why she decided to flick a spot just under his mole. “You had a fleck of corn.”

“In my defense, your dad’s cooking is really messy.”

“Yeah… it was cute, though. Like you had a second mole.” Something had changed in the waltz from what they remembered, a different theme slowly building until it led into a refrain that was entirely new yet somehow familiar in a way neither could place. It was a vibrant, comforting melody that felt right for them. Star shifted her hands to the back of his neck as the distance closed between them. Though Marco had grown noticeably taller than her, in her heels she found herself at nearly eye level with him as she rested her forehead on his.

Marco’s arms slithered around her waist, holding her tight as their lively waltz morphed into intimate, formless swaying. “This- this is really nice.”

“Yeah… I love it. I love you, Marco.” She paused a moment, leaning back to get a clear view of as much of him as she could; even after a year and a half of being together and years of friendship before that, she was still giddy over how much she truly loved every bit of him. “Nothing’s ever going to change that.”

“I love you too, Star. I’m not going anywhere.” Their hands joined once more as they resumed their spirited dance, their devotion to one another vaulting their joy to new heights. Neither cared about elegance or form anymore; their steps and spins and lifts came from the deepest places within, as if their very souls were mingling in the air above. Plucked strings accentuated the song as it grew calmer and entered what Marco was fairly sure was its final verse. A bittersweet sensation bubbled up from within his chest; he’d had plenty of moments with Star that he’d never wanted to end, but this one seemed to have an extra significance attached. The final chord of the waltz rung out, the pair both freezing in place in their final waltz pose, stunned at the beauty of what had just transpired.

The crowd’s clapping broke finally them out of their trance. “Woah,” they breathed out in unison. In her breathless state, Star idly wondered if the applause was for them, but she realized how silly that was as the full breadth of the outside world slowly trickled back into her senses. Shortly after, the dance went back to normal; had it been a dream? No, of course not, it had literally just happened mere seconds ago, but the impact it had on them felt otherworldly.

Returning from the daze, Marco finally recalled their goal of finding Tom, and the extent to which Marco wanted to crush Tom in a thankful hug and blubber into his shoulder gave it an additional sense of urgency. He turned to her with a determined look, and had it returned. “We should find Tom.” They went to the gym exit, but it was blocked by... Miss Skullnick.

“Oh, it’s you. Nice to see you, Star,” she saccharinely sneered. “Don’t be trying anything funny, you hear me? We’ve already had four couples’ ‘incidents’.”

A shiver ran through Star at the involuntary thought of Miss Skullnick catching her and Marco in a more... private moment, but she quickly brushed it aside for her own sanity. “Skullzy, we’re just trying to find our friend,” she whined.

“Well, too bad, you can’t use this door. The sidewalk somehow melted and completely iced over, and I don’t wanna be sued for liability!”

“C’mon, Star,” Marco said. “We can just go out the front door.” She was still indignant, but acquiesced and followed Marco into the main building and through a hallway. They rounded the corner to the main entrance and stopped dead in their tracks at the sight of Ponyhead passionately making out with Seahorse.

“Pony?!?” Star shouted.

“Oh, um, why hello Star and Earth Turd!”

“Greetings!” Seahorse added in his usual monotone chipper voice.

Star slapped her hand to her forehead. “I thought you broke up ‘for really-realz’ this time, Pony?”

“Well, yes, mmhmm, I do believe that is how I described the sequence of events that occurred. But then, well, you know how it is with him… we made up while y’all went off to take a bazillion pictures or whatever. That weird old human lady that kinda looks like a troll caught us while we were-”

“Pony!” Star yelled, cutting her off in shock. Really, though, the most surprising part was that Ponyhead had been responsible for only one of the so-called “couple’s incidents.”

“Lilacia gave a very high satisfaction rating to the Reflectacorp™ line of vibrating-”

Marco stepped in and clamping Seahorse’s mouth shut before they could be traumatized any further. Star rolled her eyes and took Marco’s hand once more, heading past the other couple towards the front door.

“Fine, I see how it is. C’mon, Seahorse, let’s go get freak-ay on the dance floor!”

“Reflectacorp™ disco technology allows you to boogie and/or woogie risk-free, guarantee-!”

The double doors shut behind Star and Marco as they stepped out into the cold. They walked around the building towards the gym and saw that Miss Skullnick had been telling the truth; but there was no one else in sight, only the snowflakes gently drifting through the air and a full moon above in the night sky. Star still wanted to get back to her friends, but the tranquil scene gave her pause as she stood beside him. Something had been subtly gnawing at her all night - though it’d been on her mind longer than that, if she was honest with herself. “Hey Marco?”

“Yeah?”

“When Eclipsa said earlier about ‘another dance’...” She swallowed, letting the implication hang between them. “Do you think that’s something that will happen?”

He glanced at her quizzically until the meaning sank in and his heart skipped a beat. Was she- did she- is she asking… His eyes blinked rapidly once, twice, three times while he processed the gravity of the question. But his surprise quickly dissolved; after all, he’d been thinking about it too. Maybe he hadn’t drawn that specific connection, but how many times tonight alone had he beheld the wonderful girl beside him and remarked to himself that he’d be happy with her for the rest of his life? He swiveled around to stand in front of her, taking both of her hands into his own. “If you want it to, then I know it will, someday.”

She sighed happily, lacing her fingers through his. It wasn’t even the first time they’d declared their love with permanence, but no matter how far they went, they couldn’t help but be concerned about how the other felt about the next step. “Didn’t a lot of people usually wait until they’re, like, 30 to get married on Earth?”

“A lot of them, yeah,” he admitted, “but, I dunno, I don’t really care about that.”

“Me neither,” she asserted, happily beaming at him.

“So we just… let it happen when we’re ready, I guess.”

“Mmhmm,” Star hummed, feeling a warmth deep inside that combated the chill prickling her skin. One of her hands left his and tangled itself in his hair, as her gaze fondly roved the face she hoped to see as long as she lived before finally settling on his lips. He had the same idea, leaning forward and sweetly kissing her. Their lips were a bit chapped from the cold, but it didn’t bother either of them; this signified something far more than physical gratification. She pressed them closer together until there was no distance left between them, the dual friction of his soft, inviting lips moving against hers and her silky dress rubbing on the coarse fabric of his jacket thrummed through her entire body.

When they separated, his eyes scanned the sky for a moment before sheepishly turning back downwards. “Huh,” he murmured.

“What?”

“Nothing, it’s stupid.” Star raised an eyebrow insistently, the pair still in each other’s arms. “It’s just, I thought that maybe- maybe the Blood Moon would be shining, or our cheekmarks would glow or something. It’s dumb, I know-”

“Well, that does happen to us a lot,” she conceded. “But I’m pretty sure the eclipse isn’t supposed to start until, like, 3 AM.” “Have you ever thought about when we broke the Curse?”

“What do you mean?”

Star stepped away from their embrace, folding her arms and stuffing her frigid hands under her armpits as she frustratedly tried to piece together her complicated thoughts. “Like, when we were in the Severing Stone, I remember it took us back to the Blood Moon Ball and we started dancing… what happened after that? If it never changed how we feel, what was even the point?”

Marco shrugged; when he’d finally accepted his feelings once and for all, he’d dismissed the entire concept of the Curse as bogus, but since then he had considered it in some new lights. “If it was actually a curse, I’m glad we got rid of it, but… looking back, I’m kinda glad that the Blood Moon Ball went like it did. That was one of the first times I saw how special you are to me.”

“Same. Plus, that’s where I learned you dance good,” she growled with a smirk. “But still… sometimes I wonder if I told you I loved you while we were in there. Because I did love you then, you know. Even if I was trying to push it away.”

“Maybe we’ll never know.”

“I guess I’ll just have to tell you every chance I get from now on, then, because you’re stuck with me, Diaz.”

“So long as we both shall live. Do you accept?” He asked with a cheeky grin.

Her laughter, bubbly and playful and sincere all at once, was answer enough for Marco. Not one to be outdone, though, Star carefully lowered herself onto one knee, lowering her head and closing her eyes solemnly before looking back up at him. “I dooOOOH-” She shrieked as the icy sidewalk took its toll and sent her toppling sideways. Marco reacted quickly, stopping her from hitting the ground and helping her to her feet. “Maaaaybe we should go inside now.”

“Yeah, you’re probably right,” he responded, draping his jacket over both their shoulders like a cape. “Still have to thank Tom.” She clung to him as they hurried back around the school and into its shelter from the cold - even shared body heat and emotional warmth could only do so much. Although they’d removed whatever eternal supernatural soul-binding curse the Blood Moon may have bestowed, Marco mused, they’d still shared a tender first dance and grown as partners under its light, once upon a time. Perhaps, in a roundabout way, it had always been a blessing, too. In a sense, they’d just cleaved their own souls together again with only a simple promise. No magic, no curses, just Star Butterfly and Marco Diaz... and that was more than enough.

They stepped back into the gym, ready for the hours of partying ahead of them, and were greeted by the sight of Janna and Tom floating in the air locked in a passionate kiss. Star and Marco’s eyeballs both nearly bugged out of their heads as their eyes whipped back and forth between each other and the spectacle in front of them, leaving them with only one possible response.

“WHAT THE-”

#starco #svtfoe #star vs the forces of evil #jantom #tgg svtfoe #fanfic

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searchingwardrobes · 4 years

Text

The Convenient Groom: 1/?

Okay, I know what ya’ll are all thinking, and I agree: I don’t need another WIP! However, I woke up this morning with this idea, and I just had to write it. What’s more, I was looking for the perfect gift for @spartanguard. You see, I missed her birthday last year. I got on tumblr, saw all these birthday wishes for her, and my heart sank. For some reason, I didn’t have her birthday on my list! I hated it because not only is she one of my favorite writers, but she is also an incredibly kind person who I have come to know as a wonderful fandom friend. So, @spartanguard, I know it isn’t your birthday, but this fic is for you!

This fic has two inspirations: one, the Barenaked Ladies song “Alternative Girlfriend,” but mostly it’s a book I read called The Convenient Groom by Denise Hunter. I normally avoid book aus because it feels way too close to plagiarism, but a Hallmark movie was made from the book and it was a HUGE disappointment. They made it an engagement of convenience instead of a marriage and basically got rid of all the steamy moments. It’s been forever since I read it, anyway, and this first chapter that came to me this morning has vast differences already. Anyhoo, I hope you like it @spartanguard !

Summary: (Is one even necessary? Haha!) Killian Jones just happens to be there when Emma Swan gets the phone call that changes everything: her fiance is leaving her at the altar. The thing is, it also could mean the end of her career. Convenient that Killian has nothing better to do that day. Convenient that he’s secretly in love with her. Not that Emma has to know that.

Rating: M

Words: 2,000 and some change in this chapter

Also on Ao3

Tagging the usuals: @snowbellewells @kmomof4 @whimsicallyenchantedrose @distant-rose @welllpthisishappening @optomisticgirl @ohmakemeahercules @teamhook @bethacaciakay @xhookswenchx @winterbaby89 @delirious-latenight-laughs @resident-of-storybrooke @vvbooklady1256 @thislassishooked @hollyethecurious @nikkiemms @jennjenn615 @stahlop @snidgetsafan @scientificapricot @shireness-says @spartanguard @wellhellotragic @tiganasummertree @branlovestowrite @let-it-raines @carpedzem @profdanglaisstuff

Killian Jones would never forget the first day he met Emma Swan. He’d been focused intently on the rocking chair that the Nolans had ordered for their new baby, and AC/DC’s “Back in Black” was booming throughout his workshop. He always worked to classic rock; it put him in the best creative zone.

Suddenly, the shop was plunged into silence, and he straightened in surprise. Standing there, with the cord to his portable speakers dangling from her hand, was a veritable goddess with anger sparking from her light green eyes. She was dressed in a simple pair of dark wash jeans topped with a cream blouse, yet her trim figure still drew his eyes. He’d never had a thing for blondes, but her golden hair had him re-thinking that. She had caught him so completely off guard, he stood there gaping like a mere boy.

“I’ve got a client upstairs trying to pour her damn heart out, but I can barely hear myself think with this noise rattling the walls.”

Ah, so this was the new tenant in the office upstairs. Killian smirked and sauntered into her personal space. “Well, love, I’ve been told I’m rather good at rattling the walls.”

He hardly knew what had possessed him to say such a thing. Before Milah, he was well known for his charms, but that had been years ago.

The blonde narrowed her eyes at his innuendo, though the blush upon her cheeks sent a far different message. “Not your love, buddy.” She tossed the cords at his chest, and one of them slapped him in the jaw. “Get yourself some damn earbuds.”

She strode towards the door, her high heeled boots tapping loudly on the concrete floor. “It’s Killian Jones, by the way,” he called out after her, “Ms . . . “

“Emma Swan,” she tossed over her shoulder, “and it’s doctor.”

He saw her often after that. It was difficult not to. Storybrooke was a small town, and they shared office space, after all. Their building on Main was also right across the street from Granny’s diner, the only place for a decent cup of coffee and a cheeseburger. Or grilled cheese and onion rings in Swan’s case. They’d crossed paths during their lunch break often enough for him to know her regular order. Yet to say Emma Swan had walls was an understatement, and just casual conversation was a challenge. One he had a rather enjoyable time tackling, honestly.

Yet she never came into his wood shop again. Until one day six months ago, to put in an order. She had stood there in his lobby where he met with clients and rough sketched their custom orders looking uncharacteristically nervous, her hands twisting at her waist. He had noticed the diamond sparkling on her left ring finger early on, and she fiddled with it now. He had never met the man who had given it to her, which he had always thought was odd. Especially considering how passionate Emma was about her career. Even stranger, Mary Margaret had never met him either, and Emma rented the loft from her and David. No one even knew the man’s name. Something was off about that, if you asked Killian. Not that anyone would.

“Can you make a wedding chuppa?” she blurted out.

“Aye,” he said as he leaned against the front counter, “I made one for Marco and Granny when they wed last fall.”

“Good,” Emma breathed out, but then her forehead creased with worry. “Marco’s Jewish, isn’t he? Is it okay to use a chuppa if you aren’t Jewish?”

“Hmmm,” Killian contemplated, rubbing at his chin, “is your fiance Jewish?”

“No,” Emma said with a shake of her head, “but we’re getting married outside, and I wanted some sort of focal point, you know?”

“Well, then,” he told her honestly, “I do think a chuppa has religious significance, so maybe an arbor or archway would be more appropriate? I’ve done those as well . . . “

He had come around the counter then and led her to the sitting area where he brainstormed with clients. He had shown her photos of an arbor he had made for his friends Eric and Ariel’s beach wedding, and several other options online. He found out many things that day: the location of the wedding (the gardens behind the old mansion on the outskirts of town), the flowers (middlemist roses), the color scheme (pale pink and wine red), and the date of the nuptials (late June). Yet he still didn’t know who this mysterious fiance was. Odd.

“He doesn’t like the attention from my career,” Emma had attempted to explain, twisting her engagement ring around her finger, “and I get it. There would be a lot of scrutiny on him and our relationship.”

Killian nodded. Everyone knew about Dr. Swan’s bestseller Seriously, Ladies? which supposedly guided any woman on how to avoid disastrous relationships. Women swore by it, and Emma also had a blog and a podcast. The media was salivating over her upcoming marriage, including the identity of Mr. Right himself.

“And I need your discretion on this,” Emma continued. “The media doesn’t know the wedding date yet, and I -”

Killian placed his hand on hers. “You can trust me, Emma. I won’t tell a soul about this order, much less when or where it will be delivered.”

He had worried that his word wouldn’t be enough, yet Emma had deflated with relief. “Thank you. I know this is a weird situation.”

“You deserve happiness, Swan.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “How do you know that? You know nothing about me.”

Killian had shrugged. “You’re somewhat of an open book, love.”

It was true. Despite her confidence, he could recognize another wounded heart when he saw one. Whoever this fiance was, he wasn’t doing a very good job of healing it, either, at least in Killian’s opinion. Otherwise her eyes wouldn’t still hold that haunted look.

The order meant, for both good and bad, that Killian saw Emma Swan more often. It was good in that he got to know her better, saw her smile, heard her laugh. It was bad for one horrible, terrible reason. For him, at least. Six months was long enough for him to fall in love with her - the woman he was making a wedding arbor for.

Killian sighed, his heart twisting painfully, as he covered the gorgeous arbor of carved mahogany with a moving blanket. Today was the day. For him, it felt more like the day of a funeral than a wedding. This man, whoever he was, better love her the way she deserved. It was all he could hope for now.

“Killian, what the hell do you think you’re doing!” He whirled from the arbor to see Emma marching angrily across his workshop. The scowl on her face was identical to the one almost a year ago when he first met her. “Why did you send the moving crew away empty handed? Please tell me you finished it.”

“Of course I finished it, Swan,” he retorted, unable to keep the bite out of his voice. Wasn’t she supposed to be giddy, flushed with eagerness, floating on air? Instead, she looked so stressed he feared she might give herself a heart attack.

“Then why didn’t you send it to the mansion? Are you being difficult on purpose?”

Killian tilted his head and grinned saucily at her. He couldn’t help it, teasing her was just too much fun. “Though getting you riled up is rather fun, I wouldn’t do that to you on your special day. I just didn’t trust anyone but myself to deliver it.”

“Oh,” she said lamely, biting on her lower lip.

“I was just about to load it up, actually. Want to see it?”

“If it’s not too much trouble . . .”

“Of course not.”

He pulled the moving blanket off, revealing the dark wood with intricate carvings of flowers, vines, and swans. Though the occasion it celebrated tore at his heart, he had never put so much work into a piece. He poured the beauty of the woman it represented into every detail. Emma’s eyes lit up as she ran her hands over the woodwork. The caramel stain brought out the natural beauty of the wood, but it would also make the delicate blush of the roses pop once the florist draped the arbor with them.

“It’s beautiful, Killian,” she told him softly, “exactly what I told you I wanted. More, actually.”

“Thank you,” he managed to tell her around the sudden lump in his throat.

The moment was broken by the ringing of Emma’s phone. She fished it out of her jeans pocket and pressed it to her ear. Killian busied himself covering the arbor and preparing it for transport while Emma paced across his workshop.

“Walsh, are you insane?” he heard her snap, “Our wedding is only six hours away!”

Killian tried not to eavesdrop, but as he glanced Emma’s way, he saw her face grow pale.

“Seriously? You’re doing this to me now?” Though her voice was harsh, her body trembled as she sank to an empty crate next to the table saw.

Killian frowned. He didn’t like how this sounded.

“These are all things you could have told me yesterday!” Emma’s voice rose. “Or better yet, last week, last month.”

She glanced over at Killian, and her face turned bright red. She shifted so that her back was to him. She lowered her voice as she spoke into her phone, but Killian still heard her.

“Is there someone else?”

Killian’s jaw clenched as he saw her shoulders fall and then begin to shake. The bastard.

Her voice was broken as she choked out her next words. “Well I hope you’re very happy together.”

She hung up and dropped her cell phone. Killian winced as it hit the cement floor. She covered her face with both hands and wept silently. He crossed the room and gently placed his hands on her shoulders.

“I’m so sorry.”

“What am I going to do?” she wept. “Oh, God! What am I going to do?” She turned to Killian, her eyes wide and frantic as she clutched at the front of his shirt. “We invited the media to the wedding! It was the only way to keep them from hounding us during our engagement. Now they’ll get an even better story - relationship guru Dr. Emma Swan gets jilted at the altar. I’m ruined! My career is over!”

She was on her feet, pacing the floor, tugging at the ends of her hair. He wanted to tell her she was overreacting, but he couldn’t lie. In this day and age of cancel culture and internet trolls, she would be ruined.

“You’re going to think I’m an opportunist,” she continued, “but my wedding day was also going to be the kick off for my next book. Tomorrow they’re announcing it’s release.”

“I’m not judging you, Swan,” he assured her. “What’s the new book?”

“Ladies, It’s More Than a Wedding,” Emma said sheepishly, “about how to plan for your marriage and not just the wedding.”

Emma groaned and dropped her head against the nearest wall. Killian was silent for a long moment, rolling an idea around in his head. She might shoot him down, call him crazy, but it was worth a shot.

“No one knows who your fiance is, right?”

She looked at him curiously. “No.”

“So . . . couldn’t anyone stand in for him?”

Emma’s mouth dropped open. “Are you crazy? Once the media knew it was a farce, things would be even worse. I have interviews lined up already. A promotion tour for the book. It’s about more than just the wedding.” She barked out a laugh. “Isn’t that ironic?”

Killian leveled her with a steady gaze. “What if it wasn’t a farce?”

She blinked. “You mean . . . like, actually marry someone else? Today?”

“That’s exactly what I mean.”

Emma let out another sarcastic chuckle. “Who the hell would agree to that?”

Killian wet his lips nervously. “I would.”

Emma shook her head in surprise. “You?”

He shrugged. “Well, I’m here, and I have nothing better to do today.”

“We’re talking about getting married, Killian. You know, commitment? Till death do us part?”

“Well,” Killian said slowly, shoving his hands in his jean pockets, “you need to stay married to promote your book, right? What are we talking? Six months? A year, at most?”

Emma’s brow furrowed as if she were contemplating it. But then she shook her head. “I can’t believe I’m even considering this! It would never work! How would it look if I got divorced in a year?”

“Or an annulment. You could blame it on me. I cheated on you or something. Make me out to be the bad guy.” He chuckled sardonically. “You might even get another best seller out of it. Dump His Cheating Ass, Ladies.”

He managed to get a real laugh out of her at that, and he smiled. Her mirth was short-lived, however. “But why would you do that? Tie yourself to me for a year, let your own reputation be damaged? What’s in it for you?”

I’m in love with you.

“I could use your help. With my family. Professional help.”

Emma narrowed her eyes and crossed her arms over her chest. “Okaaay. How so?”

“My brother and his wife. Their marriage is a little rocky.” LIe. Liam and Elsa were relationship goals if he ever saw it. “I think it’s because her sister Anna and her husband Kristoff had to move in with them.” Another lie. They had moved in, but no two sisters were closer than Anna and Elsa.

“So why don’t they just make an appointment?”

“They, uh, have this thing about therapy. They think it’s a sign of weakness. Or an embarrassment. Anyway, but if you were around, you could casually help them out. I think you and Elsa would hit it off.”

“So you want to marry me in exchange for free counseling for your brother and his wife?”

She sounded skeptical, and naturally so. He tried to play it off. “My brother means everything to me. He’s all the family I have left. Plus, my niece and nephew deserve a steady home life, unlike what we had as kids.”

Emma and Killian just stood there looking intently at one another. He held his breath, fully expecting her to call him crazy and walk out the door. Her gaze darted to the arbor, now ready to be loaded onto the trunk.

“It would be a shame not to use that beautiful piece you made.”

Killian tried to hold back his smile and failed. “Consider it my wedding gift to my bride.”

“Okay, groom,” she told him with her hand outstretched for him to shake, “it’s a deal.”

#cs ff #cs modern au #cs marriage of convenience #the convenient groom #for spartanguard #on her birthday

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lo-55 · 3 years

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Lost Things Ch. 2

The Forgotten

Ace only knew his name because it was tattooed on his arm. Or at least they assumed that that was his name. Him and the villagers that had found him in the snow two and a half years ago. Ace, that name was all he had.

He had no memory of who he had been before the forest fire ravaged the land, the same fire that he had stumbled out of, naked and covered in bruises and cuts. Not to mention the massive scar that took up most of his chest and his back. All he had was the name on the tattoo. Ace, misspelled the first time. Or maybe there was a meaning behind the crossed out S. He didn’t know.

He had tried to learn, he tried to remember, but whenever he tried to remember who he had been it felt like a fire had erupted under his skin and his head beat with the force of a drum. Eventually he had to give up.

No one on the island knew who he was, but they treated him with kindness and helped him build his home, out of town. He didn’t know why, but living in the woods felt natural. Familiar.

So that was where he stayed, for two years, until there something fell against the door. Something, or someone, as the case was. Someone who knew his name, but who he didn’t remember meeting.

Ace didn’t know how he knew how to take care of a bullet wound of all things, but he knew how to clean it, he knew how to apply the bandages, he even knew how to check for a fever.

He kept an eye on the man for the next few days, but nothing seemed to happen to his mystery guest. He laid in the bed, breathing evenly, sleeping soundly. Every now again he would shift around before he settled again, and twice Ace had had to pull his hands away from scratching at the thick metal collar around his neck.

He touched the collar once, to try and clean the gauges on his neck, and was swept through with horrible nausea, actually driving him to his knees until he let go of it. It was terrible. Ace vowed to never touch it again.

He was making stew when the person who had been taking up his bed for the past few days finally woke up. Ace spied on him out of the corner of his eye. He was good looking, though he looked pale and sick. His blond hair was messy and wilk and his wide lower lip looked like it would be easy to kiss.

Not that that was anything that Ace would be doing.

His eyes, even when they were open, had a sleepy look that pulled at Ace’s heart string. Seeing him in his bed made Ace feel all kinds of warm. He shook his head quickly, trying to clear it. He squared his shoulders, took a breath, and turned to his new companion. He didn’t want to startle him, so he spoke before he moved towards him.

“Oh, you’re awake,” he said, as if he’d just noticed. “How are you feeling?” Ace grabbed a wet cloth from the sink on his way to the bed.

He barely heard the soft whisper of, “Ace,” the came from the other man’s mouth. This was the second time that he’d said his name, without Ace having ever introduced himself to him.

“You called me that before,” Ace kept his voice soft, “ I’m sorry but, do you know me?” the question had been bothering him for days.

The man’s shoulders got stiffer. He looked up at Ace fully then, his eye were far away, but trained right on him. Like he was seeing him but not. Like he was looking at a ghost.

“You are Ace, aren’t you?” he asked, the words choked.

Ace frowned at him. “Well um, truthfully sir, I don’t know,” he confessed.

There was a beat of silence before the strangers brows furrowed and sleepy eyes turned up towards him.

“What do you mean you don’t know?”

“I mean what I said. I don’t know if I am Ace. Not the one you’re talking about,” he shrugged, smiling apologetically at the other man. “What’s your name?”

A flash of pain crossed the blonds face and Ace feared it was the bullet hole in his chest, the way his hand twitched there. Except his hand was too high up to be there for the injury.

“Marco,” he cleared his throat, “My name is Marco. You look like someone I used to know.”

Ace sat at the edge of the bed, folding his hands in his lap. He considered the blond, looking at his bloody neck, his wide mouth, his sleepy eyes. His breath caught at the sight of them. They were familiar. The burning came back to his brain, pushing hard behind his temples. More than that though, Marco’s eyes were fixed on him, and filled with something Ace saw in the mirror far too often.

Loneliness.

Ace swallowed thickly.

“Do you know me, Marco?”

Marco shook his head and Ace felt his heart sink. He had thought that maybe he could finally get some answers about his past.

“The Ace I knew died two years ago.”

“Died,” Ace repeated. Two years ago. Two years. Could it be a coincidence? Was it possible? Ace shook his head. “I’m sorry for you loss.”

Marco lifted his shoulders. “It’s happened, no one can change that.”

“How do you feel?” Ace decided to change the subject. It was clearly painful for Marco to talk about.

“I’ll be better once this damned collar is off my neck,” he growled.

“What is that?” Ace asked, frowning at it. It was horrible to touch.

“It’s seastone. For devil fruit users. The- someone put it on me, and it’s making me sick.”

Ace remembered the disgusting feeling he got when he touched it and cringed in sympathy. He couldn’t even imagine being in constant contact with it for days.

“How do I get it off of you?” There wasn’t an ounce of hesitation to him. He would no way let someone keep touching that thing if he could stop it. And not someone like Marco.

Ace frowned. Where did that come from? He barely knew Marco!

Marco looked at him thoughtfully. He brought his hands up, bringing them around the collar. Ace watched him curiously.

“A knife could work, I suppose.”

Ace frowned. “A knife? I might cut you!”

Marco turned a strange look on him. His mouth curved slightly.

“You wouldn’t. Even if you did, once the collar is off it won’t matter.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Ace leaned back a little, one arm across Marco’s legs. The man didn’t make that much sense. Of course, he had come out of a blizzard. That would make anyone weird. Ace came out of a forest fire and he’d lost his memory.

Marco flashed a smile at him that shoved Ace’s heart in his throat.

“Trust me.”

Ace was pretty sure that this Marco guy was crazy. Like, totally crazy. Only crazy people told you to put a knife to their neck, lining up with their spine, and use it to forcefully prie open a metal collar. A stone collar? Just what was seastone?

Ace shook off his uncertainty.

Marco lay beneath him on the hardwood floor, giving Ace and his knife access to his back and to the back of his neck. Ace had no idea why he was trusting him this much. It didn’t make much sense to him, to be honest. Marco said that his Ace was dead, but he had called Ace by the name of the dead man. Had Marco thought himself dead? Did Ace just look like Marco’s Ace?

He knelt down behind the man and carefully slipped the thin blade between the edges of the collar. It was just wide enough to accommodate. Ace’s hands were shaky.

“It’s fine,” Marco assured him for the tenth time. “Once it’s off, everything will be fine.”

“You keep saying that, but it's really not making me feel that much better,” Ace told him dryly. The blond laughed, the sound music to Ace’s ears.

He had to shake himself away from the thoughts. Maybe he was just too used to living out here, alone in the woods. The villagers were nice, but after his sudden appearance they all treated him wearily, and no matter how friendly and helpful they were none of them could ever quite hide the apprehension they felt around them. So Ace lived away from them, close enough to town he could get his supplied easily but far enough away no one would hear the nights where he screamed at the stars to tell him where he was meant to be. Where he belonged.

Ace took a deep breath.

“Are you sure about this?” he asked, one last time.

Marco said, “Do it,” with such command that that was what Ace did. He pushed down on the knife with both of his hands, twisting it as hard at he could. For a second nothing happened. He strained against the power of the locked collar, gritted his teeth and shoved with the force he usually reserved for killing deers. Deer.

There was a low groan from the metal, followed by a loud crack. The metal opened up around the knife. Ace yanked it away as fast as he could, but with the weight behind it still cut deeply into Marco’s neck.

“Oh shit!” Ace threw the knife away, not caring where it went, and launched himself to his feet. He needed a rag, and bandages, and hot water and stitched and Marco was sitting up.

“Marco, you’re neck!” he objected. A hand raised to stop him. The other hand reached up to pull the collar away. It fell to the ground, but that wasn’t what Ace was looking at.

Across the thin line made by the knife, a deep cut as it was, it raced. Covered the dark bruises that had formed under the collar, shot across the gauges that Marco had scratched into his own neck. It erupted from his chest, the site the bullet left from, burning brightly in the dim light of his cabin.

Blue fire.

Blue fire, with flashes of yellow deep inside of it swirled across Marco’s skin.

Ace’s breath caught in his throat. The pounding in his head returned, washing through him. The fire in his chest erupted, clawing to get free. It burned with emotions he knew but didn’t remember. He knew the fire.

He didn’t even realize that he had reached out to touch the back of the pirate’s neck. His fingers brushed through the fire, unharmed. It was warm but it didn’t burn, it flickered across his finger tips, gentle and harmless. The fire that burned inside his throat leapt higher until Ace thought he was going to spit lava out of his mouth.

“Ace?”

He pulled away abruptly, like the fire really had burned him. It winked out on Marco’s skin, leaving it unmarred and perfect. Bright eyes caught Ace’s over a broad shoulder.

“Are you okay?” Marco asked, turning towards him.

Ace stood up on legs that felt like jelly. His head was pounding hard, someone was yelling in the back of it. His name, someone was yelling his name. Someone else was laughing.

“I- yeah. What was that?” he shook his head, struggling to clear it. He felt like his thoughts had to swim through syrup to get to where they needed to be.

Marco stood with him, unharmed. The bandage Ace had put on his chest fell to the ground, revealing perfect skin where once a hole had been. Marco was looking at him, something strange in his lonely eyes.

He took a step forwards. Ace’s legs didn’t want to carry him backwards.

“That was the devil fruit I mentioned. I’m a phoenix. I can heal from anything,” he told him. Ace nodded slowly, trying to process it. A phoenix. He knew he knew the myth, but he didn’t remember learning the myth. He knew a lot of things he didn’t remember learning. An immortal bird that was made out of fire itself, one that could be reborn from its own ashes. He knew of devil fruit too, magic fruit that could bestow upon anyone special, fantastic powers. Some were amazing, like fire. Some were lame, like rubber.

And where did that thought come from?

“You don’t look like a bird,” Ace found himself saying. He turned a smile to the blond man's face. It felt so natural to smile at Marco. To joke with him.

Marco smiled back, less vibrant than Ace’s but still there.

“Maybe when this storm clears up I’ll show you something interesting,” Marco offered.

“Really?!” Ace felt himself light up at the prospect. The idea of seeing more of that beautiful blue fire took him like a vice to his heart. The pounding and the shouting in his head faded once the fire went out but he had no doubt it would return if he saw the flames again.

That didn’t stop the bone deep desire to watch Marco burn brightly.

A low, soft laugh left Marco and his wide mouth turned the smile higher.

“Yes, really.”

Ace grinned at him widely. Something occurred to him and he jumped straighter.

“I haven’t fed you yet!” he realized, horrified at his own manners. He flung himself across the room to the stew he’d been making, checking it hadn’t burned while he’d been preoccupied with his guest. He sighed in relief to find it well enough and started moving around the small kitchenette. The cabinets were filled with food, enough to last him a week, a regular person a couple of months. Ace found two loaves of bread and hollowed them out, shoving the entrails of his own in his mouth before he filled both of them with the thick stew.

He turned around and jumped to find Marco practically right behind him.

“That smells good,” Marco said. Ace puffed with pride and handed over Marco’s portion.

“I’m not the best cook in the world, I’m not picky enough for that, but I picked up a few things. Somewhere.”

“You really don’t remember who you are?” Marco took the bowl, and the spoon that followed after. Ace ushered him to the table and went to fetch the stool from the corner. He sat on that.

“No. Doc Brown figures I must have hit my head, or seen something so traumatic I don’t want to remember,” Ace shrugged. “I try, but I end up with a headache.”

“Do you remember anything at all?” Marco asked.

Ace paused, considering. “I don’t remember, but I feel things sometimes. I picked up a pipe and it felt familiar. I tied a knot no one showed him how to make. I know what a warm breeze feels like but they never blow on this islands. I know what it’s like to hold hands and hug people but no one's ever done those with me here.”

He knew what it was like to lay with a man but he’d never done such in these past two years. He knew what kissing felt like but none kissed him now.

“Really?” Marco shoved his spoon in the bowl. Ace could imagine that he was ravenous. He hadn’t eaten in days, after all. Ace didn’t want to imagine what that was like, but he was pretty sure he had had to do the same thing a few times on his own.

“Yeah,” Ace nodded and shoved the stew into his mouth, trying not to be too gross about how he ate but he wasn’t used to eating with other people present. He hadn't done it in a long time. How long had it been? Why did he always feel like he should be on the lookout to make sure that no one took away a part of his portion?

Ace had so many questions, and he had no answers at all. No one could answer his questions. The hope he’d held for Marco’s having them died when he told him that his Ace friend was dead.

Marco took a bit of the soup and stopped moving entirely. His eyes widened, his shoulders drew together.

Ace paused. “Are you okay?”

Marco swallowed, his face paler. “Fine,” he assured, waving his hand. He went back to the stew.

He didn’t look fine to Ace, but he didn’t argue with the pirate.

Pirate. There was that thought again. He’d labelled Marco as a pirate twice now, but Marco never said that was what it was. Maybe it was because he had the blue tattoo taking up most of his chest? The Whitebeard pirates mark, his brain provided. How would he know that?

Ace let it go, focusing on his own food instead of stewing over Marco and the things that he did and didn't know.

Outside, the wind howled. On the beach boats made their landing.

#one piece #one piece fanfiction #portgas d. ace #ace x marco #marco the phoenix

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