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heyyyharry · 3 years

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Deep End - Chapter 2: Birthday Boy

…in which Harry gets the birthday surprise he didn’t ask for.

Word count: 4.7k

AU: famous!harry, siren!mc, adult modern retelling of the little mermaid? lol, fake dating, enemies to lovers.

WARNING: MATURE THEMES

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A/N: Thank you for all the love for Harry and Ezi after chapter 1. Please let me know what you think about each chapter so I can be motivated to write faster 😆

“Humans are so funny. You make up false stories about us and refuse to believe anything that isn’t the same as your imagination,” the siren said.

Harry tossed his head back and laughed. He held out a finger at her. “No, mermaids aren’t supposed to exist. You’re not supposed to exist.”

The siren narrowed her sharp gaze, and Harry quickly moved back a bit in fear of her grabbing his leg and pulling him into the water. To his surprise, she said, “And who are you to decide that? A useless human with a useless tail–”

“Okay, enough with the tail joke.”

“–can’t even survive the drowning deep. You don’t want to believe we exist, so you won’t have to carry the guilt of trashing our homes and murdering our kind.”

Baffled, Harry worked his jaw while silently cursing himself for never taking part in those debate classes back in school. Well, to be fair, he couldn’t have known that one day he would have to debate with a deadly siren in a cave on his goddamn birthday!

He shut his eyes and sucked in a breath. “Look, lady. I’m only one small human, with a bigger than average human tail, FYI.” The siren eyed at his crotch in disbelief, so he quickly crossed his legs. “But that’s beside the point! What I was trying to say was that, if you’re seeking revenge, I can’t satisfy you because I’m not responsible for trashing the ocean or shit like that. I’m a singer, alright? And I don’t even live here. I’m from London. A land far away. If you wanna murder a human, I suggest looking for Elon Musk.”

The siren stared at him like he was the mythical creature. “I’m not familiar with all the names you mentioned,” she said, folding her arms across her chest, which had been a big distraction for him. Good to know that he could still get horny while facing death.

“Don’t you guys have fish Wikipedia?” he asked, and she tilted her head, looking rather confused. Harry pinched the bridge of his nose. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have assumed that you should know all the facts about humans. That sounded like discrimination against sirens.”

For the first time since Harry met this siren, she actually smiled at him. “You have a lot of funny words, you strange creature,” she said, her eyebrows knitted in fascination.

“You know what?” Harry exhaled sharply. “Since you’re my kidnapper, I’m gonna stop arguing with you in case you still wanna kill me. But today is my birthday, so I can’t be kidnapped. I haven’t posted a thank you message on Twitter yet, and I might get cancelled for that. Celebrities get cancelled for literally anything nowadays. It’s annoying.” The siren blinked at him, her pink lips slightly parted. “Right,” he breathed. “You don’t have a Twitter account.”

“You said you were a singer.”

“That’s all you got from my long speech?”

“What is it? Singer.”

Harry bit his dry lip and frustratedly combed his fingers through his damp hair. “I sing. Use my voice to entertain other people.”

“Oh, like sirens.”

“I guess.”

“Except that we use our voice to kill people.”

“What?”

“Sing for me,” said the siren despite Harry’s horrified look. She seemed excited as she rested her folded arms on a boulder and gazed up at him with a twinkle in her crystal clear blue eyes. “Let’s hear it. I didn’t know humans could sing. Let’s see if it’s good.”

“Fine.” Harry blew out his cheeks and cleared his throat.

He began to sing.

“Walk in your rainbow paradise–”

“What’s a rainbow paradise?” the siren asked, but he didn’t stop singing to answer her.

“–brown skin and lemon over ice.”

“Why are you singing nonsense words?”

Once again, he ignored her, this time, closing his eyes. “I get so lost inside your eyes. Don’t you believe it? You don’t have to say you love me.”

“Love,” the siren repeated the word as if she had never heard of it in her whole life.

Harry opened his eyes and found that she was looking at him as if she could see right through him. He went on, “You don’t have to say you’re mine. Oh honey, I-i-i-i walk through fire for you. Just let me adore you.”

“Why would you walk through fire for someone?” the siren wondered out loud as she stared off into the distance, her strong brows knitted. “That's stupid. Fire is hot. I saw the humans on the boats use it one night. I almost burned my fingers trying to touch it.”

“Yeah, don’t play with fire.”

“Then why would you walk through it?”

The siren pouted, and Harry caught himself smiling at her naivety. “It’s supposed to mean that you’d do anything for the person you love. Even risking your life.”

“That’s stupid,” the siren repeated her earlier remark. For a second, Harry saw a curious little girl and not a dangerous sea creature from earlier.

“Well, it’s just a song,” Harry told her. “I personally wouldn’t do that for anyone, either, but some people do love with all they have, and would sacrifice everything for the one they love.”

An angry frown had replaced the siren’s previous perplexed expression. “Some humans murder the ones they claim to love,” she said in a cold voice. Harry felt a chill running down his spine, but then the siren went on with a softened expression. “Sirens are not supposed to love. Love is a weakness for my kind.”

Harry nodded. “Bet you don’t even have a heart.”

The siren cocked her head; a corner of her mouth raised subtly. “Every living and breathing thing has a heart. Sometimes it’s valuable. Sometimes it's not.”

“Only valuable if it’s the heart that you want,” replied Harry.

For a long moment, the siren looked into his eyes as if she was trying to read his thoughts. Could she do that? Read his thoughts?

Beads of sweat were trickling down his back as his heart began to race; he could hear it in his ears. Suddenly, the siren was pulled beneath the water. Harry stiffened at once. The ocean was still for a moment, then two sparkling tails burst through the surface. Harry’s jaw fell slack with a soundless scream when he saw another siren sinking her fangs into the first one's neck.

The other siren had bright red hair and a silver tail. There were visible scars all across her pale, lanky arms, and he couldn’t see her face. Legs too stiff to run and hide, he stood on the edge and watched in absolute terror. The scene in front of him was madness as the sirens screeched, their tails flapping, creating violent waves as they sank their claws and teeth into each other’s flesh. Harry could see blood. The first siren was not as strong as the one that was attacking her. He must save her. Maybe a part of him knew that she wasn’t entirely evil. Maybe because she was the only hope for him to get home. Either way, he couldn’t just stand by and watch her die.

Before Harry could even think of a way, a bony hand wrapped around his ankle and dragged him into the sea.

Harry’s dreams were thick with blood and haunted by the siren’s face. He’d been in the dark water, drowning, and the last thing he’d seen was her sapphire eyes glowing with the sunlight above as she’d stretched out her arm to grab him before he sank deeper. He woke up gasping, still feeling the saltiness of the ocean on his tongue and the pressure of water on his lungs.

He found himself lying on his bed, fully naked under the covers. Had he been dreaming?

Kneading his temple to chase away the headache, Harry scanned his sore eyes around the room and screamed when he saw her sitting in the corner. Naked. He looked away as soon as he caught her ocean blue eyes staring back.

The siren was in his room. And she had legs!

“You’re alive!” she exclaimed.

He heard her standing up but couldn’t bring himself to look. She sat down on the edge of his bed, smelling like the ocean. Not the fishy kind of smell; one that was unique, and Harry liked it even though he shouldn’t.

“This is a dream. This is a dream. This is a dream,” he mumbled to himself while clutching the duvet to his chest.

The siren, now a human girl, let out a sigh. “It’s not. This is real. I’m real.”

“You’re not.”

“Look at me.”

“I can’t.”

“Why?”

“You’re...naked.”

Even though Harry wasn’t looking, he could feel her questioning gaze pinning on him. He grabbed the covers and shoved them at her. “Cover yourself.”

“Oh...okay.” The siren did as she was told as Harry quickly placed a pillow on his private part. He finally looked at her, and she smiled while covering her upper body and the area between her legs with the duvet.

Harry let out a sigh of relief. “Better. Okay, why are you here?”

The siren’s eyes widened. “You don’t remember?”

Harry shook his head.

“We were talking when my sister attacked me, then dragged you into the water. You were lucky I saved you twice and brought you back to where I’d found you. This is the only palace on this beach, so I assumed it was yours.”

Harry sat and stared her face, trying to detect a lie but failed.

The siren rolled her eyes. She seemed disappointed as she swept her long black hair over her shoulder, exposing the huge bite mark on her long pale neck. The skin had healed, and the blood had dried, but the area was still bruised. Harry fought the urge to touch it. There was no way this was really happening.

The siren shot a glance at his ankle. And that was when Harry noticed the red claw mark around it. He shivered at the flashbacks of a siren with red hair and a silver tail charging straight at him with her mouth wide open, her sharp teeth ready to tear off his flesh.

“Sorry about my sister. She could be very...deadly,” the siren in front of him said, looking remorseful.

Harry eyed her up and down once again. Finally, he broke his silence, “What happened to your tail?”

The siren refused to look him in the eye as she said, “My mother found out that I saved you, a human, so she cursed me.”

“Cursed you?”

The siren said nothing; the corners of her mouth lowered as she stared down sadly at her legs.

What kind of The Little Mermaid plot is this? Harry thought to himself, yet didn’t say it because it shouldn’t be a joke. She’d lost her tail, which meant she couldn’t go back to the ocean. Ariel from The Little Mermaid had wished to become a human. This girl had been cursed with the life she never wanted just to save him twice.

Harry buried his face into his palms. “Shit. Fuck. I’m sorry. This is all my fault.”

“It is your fault.”

His head whipped up at her honest response. “You always say what you think, don’t you?”

“Why shouldn’t I?”

Harry sighed and ran his palm over his face. “Never mind. How...how do I get you back to your mermaid form?”

“Siren.”

“Sorry, siren. How do I help turn you back?”

“I don’t know,” she said sadly, clutching the duvet to her chest. “But I need a place to stay until I figure it out.”

Harry thought for a moment and nodded. “I’ll pay for your hotel room.”

“What’s a hotel?” the siren asked, her eyes round. “And why can’t I stay here in your palace? It’s big and you live alone.”

“This is a house, not a palace,” Harry said. “But I’m going back to London tomorrow, and I can’t take you with me.”

“Where is London? I want to see London.”

Seeing her so excited made Harry laugh. “No, you don’t; trust me. It’s not sunny there. Always dark and gloomy and raining.”

“It’s not sunny underwater, either.”

Harry held up a finger and kept his mouth open for a moment as he pondered over what she’d said. “Good point. But I’m still not taking you to London. That’s not a good idea.”

The siren’s eyebrows drew together. “It was your fault I’m in this situation.”

Harry gasped. “You’re so manipulative!”

“I don’t know what it means.”

“It means you say things like that to get me to feel sorry for you, and so I have to help you.”

“Oh, then, yeah, I’m manipulative,” the siren said. “Take me to London with you, or I’ll find you in London and make your life hell.”

Harry tossed his head back and groaned. As if he hadn’t been traumatised enough by all the events that had happened today, now he had to take responsibility for the life of a mythical creature. If he had been a bad guy, he would have just let the government have her and keep her in a lab like that Oscar-winning movie about the dead girl and her fish lover. But Harry wasn’t a villain. Sure, he could be an asshole, but he couldn’t betray someone who’d risked her life to save his. Twice.

Maybe if he’d just say yes and then leave quickly in the morning, he wouldn’t have to deal with her. He’d ask someone to take care of her, pay for a place for her to stay and her food. Her mother would have to take her back eventually. He didn’t know about sirens, but even in the animal kingdom, mothers never abandoned their children.

“Fine, I’ll take you to London,” he said. Seeing the smile on her face, he was lowkey thankful that he was so good at lying. “First, you have to put some clothes on. Wait here.”

Carefully, he slipped out of bed, holding a pillow in front of his crotch and one behind him to cover his butt, then padded awkwardly to his closet to change and get her something to wear. When he returned, she was still sitting on his bed, humming a familiar song and kicking her feet as if testing out her new body parts. He found it endearing, but of course, he wouldn’t tell her.

He handed her a bathrobe. “Put this on. I’ll find some real clothes for you later.”

The siren accepted the bathrobe and stared at it as if she’d been told to put it in her mouth and chew. She glanced up at him. “I don’t understand the purpose of this.”

“To cover up your private parts.”

Suddenly, she seemed sad. “I think I’m broken.”

Harry blinked. “What?”

She looked at him again, pouting. “I don’t have a tail.”

“I can see that.”

“No, I mean, a tail like yours.”

When Harry realised what she meant, his face burned, and he cleared his throat into his fist. “You’re not supposed to,” he said awkwardly. “You’re...a female. I bet male sirens don’t look the same as you, right?”

“There’s no male sirens,” she told him.

Harry cocked his head to the side, squinting his eyes. “Huh? Then how do you guys...you know?”

She blinked innocently at him. She didn’t know.

“Mate.” The word made Harry cringe. “How do you mate?”

“Sirens mate with mermen. We only need them for children.”

“Okay, that’s...new…”

Harry would be glad to find out more, but this was definitely not the right time. He waved his hand, urging her to hurry up. Clumsily, the siren got to her feet. Harry didn’t intend to stay here while she changed, but since she could barely keep her balance, she had to hold onto his arms. He stood there, staring at the ceiling as the duvet dropped. She was completely naked in front of him now and so dangerously close. The voice inside his head was telling him not to peek. Fuck. Why did she have to be sexy?

“Do you...um...do you need help?” he asked as she seemed to be struggling with the bathrobe.

“No, thanks. I got it!” she said between ragged breaths, then, “Hey your tail is growing!”

Harry’s eyes dropped to the front of his boxers, his face heating at the sight of his erection. He gently pushed her back onto the bed and rushed to the bathroom.

“Where are you going?” she shouted after him. “I need to see it in its full form!”

“This is its full form!”

“It’s still small.”

“Shut up! It’s not!”

Ezili felt bad for lying to this human.

Well, lying was the whole point of her mission, but he had been so nice to her when he found out she couldn’t return to the ocean. She blamed her new human heart for these emotions. Siren Ezili would never feel sorry for this ugly creature. No, wait, this one wasn’t ugly. The mermen were ugly. As much as she despised humans, she must admit that most of them were beautiful.

When this human wasn’t looking, Ezili would regard him with as much curiosity as he had regarded her in secret. The way his brown curls swept back messily. His defined jawlines. The deep dimples in his cheeks. The look of wonder in his eyes. He looked about her age, but his eyes were innocent, greener than seaweed.

She looked away as he caught her gawking. They were sitting at a small table on the floor. The room was darkly lit by the light in the corner. On the table was a mushy pile with little fire sticks on top.

“What is this?” Ezili asked, inspecting the object.

The human smiled at her, the firelight dancing in his leaf-green eyes as he said, “It’s a cake. We’re celebrating my birthday.”

“You told me not to play with fire.”

“We’re gonna put it out anyway.” He winked at her. “A little fire won’t hurt.” Ezili watched the human take out a little black thing and flick his thumb. Fire flared out, making Ezili flinch. “Relax,” he chuckled and the fire vanished. “This is called a lighter. It makes fire. This is a cake. These are candles.”

“What do we do with the cake?”

“We eat it.”

“You eat fire?”

The human laughed at Ezili’s distressed look. “No, silly. We blow out the candles, then eat the cake.”

“Oh,” she said, making him laugh harder. She found it disrespectful and annoying. Was this creature making fun of her? “What’s so funny?” she asked through gritted teeth.

The human stopped laughing, yet his dimples were still visible. “I can’t believe I’m celebrating my twenty-fourth with a siren,” he said.

“Who do you usually celebrate with?” Ezili asked.

“My friends or family,” the human said. “My friends were supposed to be here but their flight got cancelled due to bad weather.” The sadness in his eyes disappeared as he gave a dismissive wave and laughed. “Oh well, it’s not bad being alone. In fact, I’ve been alone my whole life.”

“That’s sad,” Ezili murmured, mesmerized by the candles.

“It’s not,” replied the human. “Some people live their whole life surrounded by others, and yet, they’re still lonely.”

As he closed his eyes, took a deep breath, smiled, and blew out the candles, Ezili sat there and pondered over his last words.

They didn’t eat the cake right away, because the humans said they ought to eat it after dinner. Apparently, humans ate three main meals a day—breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Sirens ate when they were hungry, so this was very new to Ezili. She picked up the small shiny thing that shaped like her mother’s trident and pushed around the foods on her plate. “What is this?”

“Fish,” the human said with a smile.

“Dead?”

“You expect me to eat alive fish?”

Ezili scowled at him. “That’s what we eat.”

“You’re human now. Try cooked fish.”

When she didn’t do anything but stare at the plate, the human nudged her hand with his knuckles. “Come on. If you don’t like it, I’ll get you the raw fish in the fridge.”

Ezili doubted that this imbecile creature would poison her with these colourful foods to get away with his responsibility, but at the same time, nothing was impossible.

However, she would probably faint if she didn’t eat. This dinner actually smelled good, and her stomach was rumbling because she hadn’t eaten since yesterday. And so she stabbed the fish’s burned flesh with her little trident, closed her eyes and put it into her mouth. It was soft, salty and a bit spicy, and...surprisingly delicious. She quickly took another bite, and another, and another.

“Wow, you’re really hungry, huh?” The human chuckled. “You like it?”

Ezili nodded fast, unable to answer because her mouth was full.

The human seemed satisfied. “Good. Means I’m a great cook.”

Ezili chewed fast and swallowed as the human began to eat. She tried to copy the way he held the little trident and the knife, and felt like she’d changed. Her mother would hate her so much for enjoying this. And Koa would make sure everyone in their kingdom knew and turn her into a laughing stock.

“Do you have any questions for me?” she said, breaking the silence, mostly to distract herself from thinking about the mission and her family.

The human thought for a second. “Hmmm, I have a bunch so I don’t know where to start.” Then, after a pause, “Why did your mum do this to you? Doesn’t she love you?”

Ezili wished she could stab him for bringing up the topic she’d been trying to avoid. Instead, she sucked in a breath. “She does. It’s just...the way sirens show love is different from humans. We teach our children to be strong from the moment they are born. Sirens live dependent on one another to survive, and so we always have to look out for one another. I guess that’s love for us. My mother is the Sea Queen. She’s very powerful, and so she has high hopes for my sister and I. My sister is better than me, though. I’ve always envied her.”

“Your sister is scary as hell,” the human remarked. “But if your mum is the Queen, you must be a princess.”

“Yeah.”

“Wow, so does that make me Prince Eric?”

“Your name is Eric?”

“No,” the human chuckled. “It’s a reference from The Little Mermaid. You should watch that film. You’d probably hate it though. Anyway, it’s so weird that we don’t know each other’s name. I’m Harry.” The human, well, Harry, put his hand across the table. Ezili didn’t know what to do with it so she just stared.

“I’m Ezili.”

Harry smiled, picked up her right hand and shook it. His hand was bigger than her and warm. She liked it.

“Cool name. Can I call you Ezi?”

Ezili instantly pulled her hand back. “No, you filthy creature. That’s not my name!”

“Ezi is short for Ezili.”

“What?”

Harry ignored the look of confusion she was giving him. “Or I could call you Bubbles. That’s a cute nickname.”

“Why Bubbles?”

“Because…” He tossed his head back and groaned. “Damn, woman, you gotta read the story, too. I can’t make these jokes if you don’t get the references.”

Ezili had so many questions. Just as she was about to ask, the black thing on the table lit up and started playing a song that startled Ezili.

“Sorry. My mum’s calling,” Harry said as he picked up the thing and swiped his fingers across it. “Right on time.”

“Is your mother trapped in that thing?” Ezili asked, clutching the hem of the shirt Harry had told her to wear. It was too big on her but she loved that it was comfortable and kept her warm.

“No, this is a phone,” Harry said, shaking the magical device with light coming out of it. “So my mum’s in London, and when she calls me on the phone, her voice gets transferred through it, and I can hear what she says.” He pushed himself up and told Ezili, “I’ll be right back.”

Once Harry was gone, Ezili sat there and tried her best to process all the new information. It was only her first night on land and she was already going through it. This mission was harder than she thought. Still, she had no choice but to continue. She must have that heart, and her mother would be so proud.

When Harry woke up this time, he was on his private jet.

“Hey.”

He screamed, causing Ezi to fall back into her seat in front of him. He whipped his head around and saw that they were the only two people in this cabin. Before he could even come up with a question, Ezi got up, her hand resting on either side of his seat as she leaned forward, until her face was so close to his that he could smell the vanilla scent of the cake in her breath.

Her eyes sharpened at once. “I know you were trying to get rid of me.”

“No...I didn’t.”

“You did, Harry. You were going to leave me at your beach house. I heard you talking on the phone last night with someone else after talking to your mum. You mentioned a hotel room.”

Harry had booked a room for her on the phone last night. He should have done it on the website.

“But guess what?” A corner of her mouth lifted. “I might not have the ability to control tides anymore, but I still have my voice. And so I can control humans with it. I sang you to sleep last night. Then when your servants came to take you to this metal bird, I made him carry you to the magic black carriage and I came here with you. You think you’re one step ahead, you’re wrong. Try that again. I dare you.”

Harry swallowed hard. He could feel his palms sweating as he rubbed them against his thighs. “Okay, I’m sorry for that,” he said. “But you can’t control people like that. If someone found out what you’re capable of...what you are...you’d be in big trouble.”

Ezi arched an eyebrow as she slowly backed away and stood straight with her arms across her chest. Thank God, Harry’s mother called just in time. He immediately got up and excused himself to answer the phone. He left a pouty Ezili in the cabin and went to the exit to talk to his mother.

“My precious boy, are you on the plane right now?”

“Yes, Mum,” Harry sighed.

“Good. I just need the name of your date for the seat arrangement.”

Harry stiffened for a second then quickly glanced over his shoulder to check if Ezi was eavesdropping. Fortunately, she was distracted by a magazine.

“Like now?” he asked his mum.

“Yes. Last night you told me you found one.”

Yes, Harry remembered that part, but he’d only said that so his mum would stop pestering him.

He took a deep breath. “Yeah, I did.”

“Her name?”

He hesitated before saying, “Ezili Hans.”

Hans as in Hans Christian Andersen. The writer of The Little Mermaid. If he had the energy to be happy, he’d give himself a pat on the back for the creativity.

“Great,” his mother said, sounding as if he’d just told her he was getting married. “I’m so excited to meet this girl.”

“No, you’re not.”

“Yes, dear?”

“I-I said ‘Well, of course’,” Harry said and covered it up with a nervous laugh.

When he got off the phone with his mum, he felt a light tap on the shoulder and turned around to see Ezi. Shit, had she listened to–

“I promise I won’t use my singing voice to control you again,” she said, to his surprise. "Please. I cannot survive on my own." She twisted the hem of his band-tee uneasily. Even though she looked super cute in his t-shirt and joggers, she was still too underdressed for someone that was travelling on a private jet.

“Fine. You can stay,” he heard himself say while trying to imagine her with actual clothes that fit her.

Ezi’s blue eyes lit up, and the smile that rarely showed up on her face caught Harry off guard. He almost forgot what was happening.

“Really?”

“Yeah.” He nodded. “But we need to set up some rules.”

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yumeka36 · 3 years

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Frozen 2.5 - Prologue + Chapter 1

I’m literally shaking. I can’t believe this day has finally come.

I first began work on this project back in November, on Frozen 2′s anniversary to be precise, and have worked on it for countless hours since. My artist for the project, the talented @myrthena, has also been working hard on the above cover art and other illustrations. After tons of edits and re-readings, I can’t express how happy I am to finally share it with all of you!

Frozen 2.5 is my next big Frozen writing project. But unlike my previous one, Seek the Truth, which is an essay-style analysis book, Frozen 2.5 is a post-Frozen 2 fanfiction novel, created very much in the same vein as the official Frozen novels Dangerous Secrets and Forest of Shadows. Anyone who’s been following my posts for a while knows that I mostly do essay/editorial writing and have never had much interest in reading or writing fanfiction. But like any fan, I’m always playing out fanfiction stories in my head. I just never felt the need to write one out in full - until now. But before you get to reading the story, a quick introduction is in order:

I had two main goals while writing Frozen 2.5. First goal was to create a Frozen story that would be indistinguishable from something Disney would officially release as a feature-length film. I wanted fans, whether hardcore or casual, to read this novel and think, “Yeah, I could see Disney making this for the next Frozen movie.” Obviously, that means there’s nothing in the story that would warrant a rating beyond PG, but as anyone familiar with Disney movies knows, that certainly doesn’t mean the story can’t have drama, angst, and dark moments (which it does). And my other goal, and probably the more important one, was to create a story that appeals to a wide range of Frozen fans, especially fans who are having trouble imagining if fun, likable scenarios can still take place with the new direction Frozen 2 took for our beloved characters. With that in mind, even though I’m not well versed in the Frozen fanfic community, I’m pretty sure my story will have some similarities to others (the world of Frozen does lend itself easily to common headcanons and narrative ideas). But in spite of this, I’m hoping Frozen 2.5 has enough of my own unique touch as a writer, and die-hard Frozen fan, to be something very interesting, unpredictable, and overall enjoyable for fans of many ages and tastes.

I’m going to be releasing a new chapter of the story every 1-2 days, starting with the prologue plus chapter 1 today, and ending with chapter 7 (the final chapter) and the epilogue on April 11th. Each chapter will have an original illustration by myrthena as well. The entire 63K+-word novel is written already, so don’t worry about me getting writer’s block and not finishing it. I just need a little more time to compile the illustrations and do a final review.

The release schedule is below (I’ll try to stick as close to it as possible, though it may vary slightly). You can follow me here or on Twitter to be notified when the new chapters are available. You can also check the respective pages on FF.net and AO3 (linked at the end of this post):

Release Schedule:

-Sun. 3/28 (today): Prologue and Chapter 1

-Tue. 3/30: Chapter 2

-Fri. 4/2: Chapter 3

-Sun. 4/4: Chapter 4

-Tue. 4/6: Chapter 5

-Fri. 4/9: Chapter 6

-Sun. 4/11: Chapter 7 and Epilogue

For the final release on April 11th, I’ll also include a complete edition that has all the chapters and illustrations together in one pdf, including an afterword written by me (where I discuss some history and final thoughts on the project).

With all that said, please enjoy the prologue and chapter 1 linked below. I have poured my heart, soul, and every fiber of my being as a Frozen fan into this story!

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Story Summary: It’s been about half a year since the events of Frozen 2. Anna is adjusting well as queen of Arendelle, and Elsa has been making slow but steady progress with reconnecting the spirits with the Northuldra. And while both sisters, as well as Kristoff, have been trying hard to create a unity between Arendelle and Northuldra, decades of animosity is proving difficult to mend. However, the new status quo is interrupted when Anna receives a letter from a queen of an unknown kingdom - a queen who still thinks that Elsa is the queen of Arendelle. Our heroes soon get caught up in the mysterious plans and dark history of this strange kingdom and its enigmatic queen. Trusts are tested, courage must rise against danger, answers slowly come to light, and in the end, all sides must come together to overcome an impending threat.

The prologue and chapter 1 mostly reintroduce the characters and their current status, and have a lot of endearing Frohana moments. But there is foreshadowing of the calm before the storm...

*I recommend reading the PDF version since FF.net and AO3 have limitations (not a lot of font choices, can’t show all images, no distinction between prologue/epilogue and chapters, and FF.net doesn’t let me have a period in the title)*

*Read PDF version HERE (recommended)

*Read on FF.net HERE (it’s called “Frozen 2 5″ because FF.net doesn’t let you include periods in titles)

*Read on AO3 HERE (thanks to @wintermoonqueen for the invite)

#frozen #disney frozen #frozen 2 #frozen2 #frozen fanfiction #fanfic

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bvccy · 3 years

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Tenderness and Ferocity | 6. The Last Day

Pairing: Winter Soldier!Bucky Barnes x Hydra!Reader Fic Synopsis: The Winter Soldier is starting to make stupid mistakes in the field, which is Bucky's way of trying to wrest back control and sabotage his handlers. Hydra brings a new doctor to figure out what's wrong with him and fix it. As she spends time with him, she becomes fond of the Winter Soldier, and he becomes fond of her. Bucky has other ideas. Or, a fic in which the Winter Soldier is the good guy and Bucky is actually the bad guy. Warnings for this chapter: Angst, some Violence Word count: 1858 Read on AO3: [link] [Previous Chapter] [Fic Masterlist] [Next Chapter]

"To get everything you want is not a good thing. Disease makes health seem sweet. Hunger leads to the appreciation of being full-fed. Tiredness creates the enjoyment of resting."

— Heraclitus

She wasn't supposed to be in the office on that day, at that hour. She spent all of the previous day mismanaging her tasks and various paperwork to create the plausibility of needing overtime. It was easy enough to convince one of her friends to drive her to the Headquarters, and she picked one that had no family just in case Hydra got overzealous… later.

One small mercy was that the whole building was mostly empty, except for the bare-bones of military personnel and the medical staff getting the Asset ready. They were due to fly him out late at night, and the sun was low in the sky.

The few staff who were there were surprised to see her, but she reassured them with easy smiles and a ditzy attitude that everything was fine. The Director was still in a meeting, said Suzi at the front desk, but he'd been there for hours and should be out any minute. And the Asset? "In his cell."

She went into her office like it was any other day, put on her lab coat, put her things the same place she usually did, and took only what she needed.

The way to the Soldier's cell was something she had mapped out a few days ago, first out of curiosity, then determination — and while she was at it, took note of a few more interesting pathways through the facility. The only thing to worry about were the guards.

"I'm here for a final evaluation before he's in the field."

"We weren't informed about that."

"Then go ahead and call the Director. I'm sure the Standard Operating Procedures are foremost in his mind."

The two guardsmen looked at each other, silently goading the other to pick up the radio while she nervously twirled a syringe with one hand, clenched a well-loved page in her pocked with the other.

"Go on, call him."

"…Door opened."

Her Soldier was waiting on the bed in his frightening black gear, hands clenched, feet apart, looking ready to pounce. He must have heard her coming a corridor away, and once he finally saw her there, his face broke into the most brilliant smile.

She grinned and snuck in the corner, right beneath the view of the camera. Silently, she beckoned him closer and uncapped the syringe, nodding to the men outside. He subdued them easily enough and, without even asking what she was thinking, followed her out: down the winding corridors, through parts stuck in reconstruction, in and out of the large dark meeting rooms she had the keys for.

They inevitably met a few guards on patrol, which the Asset could hear much in advance. When he first stopped her, arm out and hard which nearly took the wind out of her, she was frightened for a moment that he'd changed his mind. But he kept his eyes straight ahead, and she could tell by looking at him that he was listening intently.

With a feline slink, he stepped back and kept her behind him, further, further, into the doorway of a locked room while he holstered the guns they took from his keepers. She held onto him and steadied her breath against his back while he waited, silent as a statue, for the right moment. The men reached and passed them by, only just noticing him when it was too late — when one had his neck broken and the other was knocked out.

"Turn." he told her. She faced the wall without thinking and only heard a fleshy crack as he caved in the man's skull. Then he took her hand in his and led her away.

When there were too many at once, five of them approaching from somewhere to the left, he had them both crouch down in wait until the targets passed by the mouth of their corridor. They probably couldn't even see her, a minuscule target shielded behind him, as he steadily took them down with a shot to the head before they could even reach for their coms. The sound echoed through the emptiness, but she assured him they were almost out.

Within minutes, they reached a long white corridor, more civilian looking than the rest. At its end, an open door leading to a vast field and rows of jeeps and busses.

"We've made it." she laughed breathlessly, looking up to find him still tense and alert but smiling with her.

One leaping step after another and suddenly, in one breath, he was out. He had been out before, of course, but never like this. The coolth of the evening in early spring soothed his flushed skin as he walked out over the blackened earth and melting snow, a pale sun dipping beyond the horizon.

The Soldier already eyed a vehicle that looked good for the terrain, easy to hijack, small enough to be dumped somewhere once they were far enough away to start covering their tracks. He turned around to see her catching her breath as she took in the sight of him with pride, and relief, and some fear. She threw a chain of keys at him and he caught it mid-air.

"They're colour-coded with the jeeps. If you go South, in 15 miles there's an apartment complex. That's where the staff lives, keep driving. There are trackers on all the cars, but they stop transmitting beyond a 70 mile radius. Nearest settlement is 90 miles South-Southwest, an old fishing town."

"What?"

"The gate behind you, further that way, it'll be locked by now but the hinges are old and rusted."

"Why are you telling me this?"

"So you can escape, of course."

"But you're coming with me."

"I can't."

It was then that he noticed she hadn't stepped a foot outside, standing in the doorway at the very edge, one hand holding onto the frame. The rest of the facility was open behind her, a hungry maw empty and quiet.

"What do you mean you can't? Come with me."

"I took a oath. I can't leave my post unless dismissed or dead." she recited with chill equipoise.

Just like in the bad old days, the Soldier felt madness creeping in. "Then why let me go?"

"Hydra serves a noble goal, but what they were doing to you was wrong. They've never understood that, because they don't want to, because it's not convenient right now."

In the distance, through layers of concrete, he could hear them shouting to each other, panicking, having found the bodies. It wouldn't take long for them to figure it out.

"You know what they'll do to you…" he said, coming closer and just about ready to grab her but stopping, for now, right in front. The heat radiating off his body kept the evening breeze away and warmed her.

She felt the same horror he felt, but just shook her head. "I have to keep my honour."

"You don't need honor, you're just a dame!"

She cracked a smile at his odd choice of words, the unintended slight washing over her, 'just a…'. "Then why does it matter what happens to me?"

He placed his arms on either side, crowding her in the doorway and poised to pull her out. The shouting was always getting closer, she should start to hear it soon. "Because you're mine."

The smile paled from her lips and he thought he had finally gotten through. She looked around, searching for something and moved slightly closer, almost in his arms… And then a wall of metal bars came up at the push of a button, her sad face left in its penumbra. He gripped them instantly and started pulling.

"It's no use, even your arm isn't enough to break them." she consoled, placing her hands on his fists as much for his benefit as for her own. But he wouldn't let go and obstinately shook his head, mute with anger and going through any number of wild schemes in his head that could break her out.

"You know… I've always loved perfection, which is so well embodied in you." she spoke, leaning forward and holding his gaze. "They couldn't destroy you. They could only displace you, for a while. They can't destroy me either." she tried to comfort him. "Nothing can be destroyed. So don't worry."

He wanted to argue with her that it wasn't the same thing at all, that she was crazy, that it could be so bad, so much worse than she could imagine. As if reading his mind, she smiled and shook her head, and gave him a small kiss from between the bars. Then she turned around in a white flutter and ran away, down the corridor, further inside, the echo of her high heels clipping on the concrete drowned out by his angry shouts. She disappeared around the corner to the right, head kept intently down and not daring to look at him again. She kept one hand in her pocket, secretly caressing that white page with the clock he'd drawn for her.

The Soldier shook at the cage that stood in his way until he heard the boots and rattling of ammo one door away, and a gate opening further afield, outside. When the first shot rang and hit above his head, he turned and emptied what was left of a cartridge into the guardsman without even thinking. Then in an instant, one thoughtless instinct moved his body to the vehicle he had picked earlier. He planned to go back for her, but a thought in his head said: Later. The black car keys went in, just like she said, and he quickly found himself driving away. Now he just needed to find another way into the building. Sure, later.

One hand on the steering wheel, he took aim at the hinges of the closed gate in front and blew them loose enough for him to speed through and break it open, while shots rang out behind him. Maybe it was the air or the temperature outside, but he suddenly noticed just how heavy his left arm was, how cold, and how rigid. He didn't mean to drive very far, just far enough that he'd be out of sight and could circle around another way. He had to go back for her. Just a little bit later.

He navigated the half-frozen terrain to cross the 70 miles in well under an hour, the sound of his pursuers long faded away. He ditched the car in an overgrown ravine, and by midnight he reached the sleepy town she'd mentioned. His heart could finally afford to shrivel in his chest at the realisation that he hadn't gone back, and she wasn't there.

She must have known this place, must have seen once what he was seeing now, stepped on the same dirt road, breathed a different air under the shelter of the same sky — once, longer ago, before she knew him. His feet carried him on as his mind stayed behind and he struggled with himself, and with the burden of her last request — to not worry anymore.

Tagging: @chipilerendi @themaskismyface

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tatertotthethot · 4 years

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The Doms Next Door 2.0

THIS IS A TEMPORARY REUPLOAD FOR THIS CHAPTER CUZ TUMBLR IS RAN BY A BUNCH OF BOTS. 2.1 HERE

Warnings/AN: frequent, casually cursing; comical, gay Jimin; insecure reader; steamy flirting; tattoo/sexualized Tae 🙃. Enjoy~ (TAEKOOK EDIT ABOVE IS ARTKOOK DONE BY NONCONMAN ON INSTAGRAM)

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Your tires came to a stop outside of the tattoo shop you've seen online— a brick building, covered in spray paint and street-style art. A sign buzzed over the awning of the entrance doors, with the built-in UV lights and graffiti-styled font displaying the name of the place in neon-red letters. Kink For Ink! The name alone was what first caught your attention last week, when you Googled "Tattoo shops near me" and it pulled up a list, with "Kink For Ink" being the first option. It just seemed so uncanny and fitting at the time, considering the previous run-in you just had with the sex-crazed neighbors a couple nights before. You couldn't help but to click the link to their Instagram.

A profile came up with 53.4k followers, which immediately blew your mind... but you quickly saw why. Every tattoo and piercing, no matter the body-placement, skin-type, or quirky design, was vividly appealing— certainly done by the articulate hands of certified experts. Even in the comments of the piercings that were posted, people were praising them for the "minimal" amount of pain they experienced, despite the fact that some of piercings were done in places you couldn't even fathom the thought of having a needle jammed through.

It said in the bio that the shop is owned by the two artists that work there— Kim Taehyung and Jeon Jungkook. You couldn't find out much about them, all their pictures showed was their work. You even went back to search for a personal account of their own, but nothing came up. You then went back to the bio and clicked a link to the official website, hoping to find out something, but you were met with a disclaimer rule at the top that automatically deemed your chances of even getting your piece done by them, slim-to-none.

• No walk-ins allowed.

• Every request/idea must be sent in through the DMs of our Instagram page. You will only be accepted only if it spikes our personal interests.

Yikes; You were instantly discouraged by this. The piece you wanted was something so common and cliché, that you actually got the image out of a child's coloring book.... It was the cartoon layout of the glass vase and enchanted rose, from the Beauty and the Beast movie. Cheesy, yes. But it was something of personal, nostalgic value. You remember when you were little— roughly around 3 or 4 years of age— when your parents started fighting and would spend all day screaming and throwing things at each other, putting you in a constant state of anxiety. But then you'd go to bed at night and pop the VHS tape, and the movie never failed to put you in a peaceful state of mind— a hopeful one. It's remained as your all-time favorite love story throughout the years. Which, is ironic, considering that the relationship itself was different, but almost as dysfunctional as your parent's. However, the fact that even the Beast was capable of change, and everything wound up so perfect and happy in the end, makes your heart happy. And even now, at age 19, it still puts you in your feelings. The previous remake of a movie is what actually inspired you to get the enchanted rose as a tattoo, after seeing it in 3D not too long ago. But you're only willing to shell out up to $200 for it, at most. You've just started college, and even though Jimin's parents own the house and let the two of you live there, rent free, you're still responsible for half the utility bills from month to month. Blowing every bit of money you have saved up, right at the start of the semester, would just be irresponsible. But $200 was manageable, and you're looking for anything that'll give you a little extra "oomph" to break you out of this introverted shell you've always known. Pushing it off would just delay it, and you were ready for change. The nose piercing you want is just a small little thing that'll hopefully add a bit of flare to the features of your face. These two guys could probably do the piercing/tattoo with a blindfold on and a hand tied behind their back. So, if it meant that you'd be able to get these things done in confidence, without having to worry about the outcome, you figured it wouldn't hurt for you to at least ask, even if they straight-up ignore you. So, after spending an unnecessary amount of time overthinking the wording of your text, you finally constructed a message in your notes and DM'd it to business page, after sending them a small, simple outline of the cartoony rose, and pressed send.

• You: Hello! I've been wanting to get this tattoo done for a very while now, and was hoping one of you will be willing to do it for me... along with piercing my nose? I know it's a very mediocre and cliché piece, and a nose piercing can be done anywhere. But I'm new to the area and I've never gotten a tattoo/piercing done before and I haven't really checked out any other places either because I found this page first. And from what I can see, you guys are pretty efficient and CRAZY talented. So, I trust it'll get done right.... only if you want to! I'm willing to pay $200 for this, but if it costs that much for just the outline I've sent then that's fine as well. But I understand if neither of you want to do it cuz that is really cheap compared to the ones I've seen lol. But either way, thx for ur time 😁

A few minutes went by and you had just unlocked your phone to check the message again, when the word "seen" popped below the message. You held your breath for a second— but seconds turned to minutes, and time went by with no reply, what-so-ever. You figured maybe you sounded a little too immature to take seriously; kind of like a prepubescent 12-year-old asking someone out for a dance... and you blew it. Which was disappointing, but predictable. So fuck it. Maybe it's a sign; you shouldn't get it after all.

11pm rolled around, many hours later. You were now hiding beneath your covers, beginning your "amateur threesome" exploration on PornHub. You were ready to see what this whole "2 guys, 1 girl" thing was all about. But just when you were about to type it into the search bar, you were interrupted by an Instagram notification dropping down from the top of your screen.

"KinkForInk sent you a message."

You audibly gasped, eyes turning to saucers as you clicked on the notif and switched over to the Instagram app.

• KinkForInk: Hi (Y/N). This is Tae, one of the artists of the shop. The tattoo you sent in is worth roughly $100... but I want to run an offer by you in hopes that you'll be interested.

— Your brows scrunched in oddity, stomach fluttering. An offer? For you?

• You: Okay, sure. What's that?

• KinkForInk: I've been looking for someone willing to showcase the custom design I've come up with, specifically for a much more... exclusive version of the Beauty and the Beast tattoo you sent. And if you'd be down for letting me and my partner put it on you, it'll be free. No charge. BUT you'll also have to sign a contract saying that you'll do a little bit of modeling for us once it's done. You think you'd be in to doing something like that, even if you get it?

— Your head spun for a second, reading the message over and over again until you could fully wrap your mind around what he was saying.

• You: Hold on... YOU wanna put a tattoo on ME so that I model for you? And it's FREE? Are you sure about this? I'm not even model material lol.

• KinkForInk: Yes, yes, and yes, you are. You'd be perfect for this.

• You: How do know that? Is it a face tattoo? Cuz I only have 6 selfies on here and you can't see anything past my shoulders.

—"Seen" came up as soon as you hit send, but a couple of minutes rolled by with no reply to the message, nor was he even typing. Maybe you came off a little rude. But it was already sketchy and it was a logical question.

— An image suddenly popped up: a screenshot of your Facebook profile. Then another— and much to your horror, it was the photo Jimin tagged you in last week, when the two of you were swimming at a local community pool. You were wearing a simple two piece, sitting at the foot of the lawn chair Jimin was also sitting in, as his legs were visible on either side of you and his lap was practically framing your ass. The photo was at an upward angle and looked so scandalous— but really, you had just asked Jimin to put sun screen on your back and he didn't want to stand up because the pavement was too hot against his bare feet. But you actually liked the picture at the time; it was just a silly joke and your ass actually looked quite nice from that angle. Plus, everyone knows nothing sexual actually goes on between the two of you, for obvious reasons. But Taehyung doesn't, so you couldn't help but dreadfully cringe when you saw the caption of the screen shot.

"Babymama 💦🍆"

• KinkForInk: Is this you??

• You: Yes, that's me. The caption is a joke tho... pay no mind to that. But this is like, really happening? You really think it'd look good on me?

— Why that picture though? You couldn't help but wonder.

• KinkForInk: Yes. Like I said, you're perfect for this piece. Are you down to at least see what the tattoo will look like? We don't expect you to be experienced with modeling or anything, but if you listen to us and cooperate, you'll do just fine.

• You: Yes I wanna see, and I'll do the best I can if I decide to get it... I'm just a bit shy, is all.

• KinkForInk: You'll be in good hands. I promise.

• You: Okay... are you going to show me??

• KinkForInk: Can't send it over a message, I don't want it plagiarized or the concept stolen. But the piece itself isn't necessarily crazy or anything, just more creative. I'd be more than happy to show you at my shop some day this week, if you'd be willing to swing by.

• You: Yeah, I can do that. When should I come?

• KinkForInk: Are you available after 5 tomorrow?

• You: I am, I get off at 4:30.

• KinkForInk: Great. Be here by 5:30, and make sure you've eaten in case you like the piece and wanna get started. It's pretty big for a first timer and gonna take a lot of time and patience. It'll have to be done in sessions but I hope you have a fair enough pain tolerance to at least get the outline of it done first.

— It can't be any worse than a bikini wax, you thought, shivering at the memory. That a story for another time. You decided on an alternative scenario.

• You: I give blood from time to time... but that's easy and doesn't really hurt that much. I think I can handle it though... maybe. I honestly don't know lol, I'm sorry 😣. But I can try my best. Can I ask where it's supposed to go?

• KinkForInk: That's okay, I'll work with you. It's supposed to go down the middle of your back. Starts between the center of your shoulder blades, and trails down the length of your spine to your lower lumbar. You'll see how it looks once we transfer a template on your back. But if you don't like it, there will be no hard feelings from my end. I can still do the tattoo you want if that's the case, free of charge just for your time.

• You: Oh no, you don't have to do that! I'd still pay!

• KinkForInk: Not if I don't accept your money. Trust me, I'm not worried about it. The nose piercing is gonna be $30 regardless, though. JK isn't so lenient.

• You: Of course. Will I have to take my shirt and bra off for the tattoo?

• KinkForInk: Yes, and for the pictures once it's done.

— Your mind blanked at that; thumbs froze over the keypad. He was typing again.

• KinkForInk: Don't let that discourage you. Again, you're in good hands. You can bring something to cover your chest. And the pics will be if your back as well.

• You: Okay, I can handle that. So 5:30 tomorrow?

• KinkForInk: Yes, please don't flake on us!

• You: Lol, I won't. I'll be there.

"They're gonna knock us the fuck out and sell our organs to the black market," Jimin declared. He had parked next to you outside of the shop, and was now sitting in the driver seat of his car with his door locked and windows all the way up, refusing to get out. You were standing right outside his door, still having to talk on the phone. "And is this Tae-guy an AllState representative or something?"

Jimin is petty. You wanted him here for moral support— which he's usually reliable for— but this time, he's just plain salty right and doing everything he can to remind you of that. Reason is, he's been begging you to get a matching tattoo with him ever since your 18th birthday, and you've always refused because of what he wanted to get.

Cupcakes. Jimin wanted to get matching cupcake tattoos... in honor of Cupcakke the legend. Sorry, but H E L L no.

You rolled your eyes, growing frustrated. He only has enough time to pop in and confirm that these two aren't gonna kill you, and then he's gotta head home to get ready for work. You were already supposed to be in there. It was 5:33pm, 3 minutes past the time.

"Jimin, you're the one that insisted on coming along! And now you're making me late!" you ranted. "I'm going in without you."

"Hold your horses, hoe! I'm finishing my blueberry slushie," He retorted, sassily bringing the straw to his mouth and loudly slurping it into the phone. He then abruptly flinched away from the straw with a disgusted expression, nostrils flared, body locking up; lips drawing into an air-tight knot that was so extreme and unnatural, it caused an ugly snort to break out of your nose.

He smacked his lips in exaggeration to the taste, face falling back into stone as an eyebrow arched over the top of his aviators; unamused and saltier than before... Like you were at fault for that, too.

"Or... Blueberry-ass, I should say."

That forced another giggle out of you as Jimin stiffly rolled his window down, phone still pressed to his ear and eyes still scowling at you behind the inspector shades. He bit down on the straw and withdrew it with his teeth before dumping the dark-blue contents of the drink out of the window, making it a point to shake the styrofoam cup empty of every drop before tossing it over his shoulder and into back seat. He then spat the straw out of his mouth with an audible "PLUUUUH!" of a French accent, and waited until the window rolled all the way up again, just so he could hang up the phone. You scoffed at this as you shoved your phone back into your pocket, scornfully watching Jimin exit the car and slam the door behind him. He snatched his glasses off his face as his cotton-candy hair swayed in the breeze, revealing his scornful eyes right back at you as he gestured for you to lead the way in exasperated manner— as if you were the one wasting his time now.

"Go on, lead us to the grave," He shooed, a snippy little shit. You sauntered away, walking up the side of the shop, then paused just before reaching the glass entrance door, when you remembered how much of a coward you are. You've never even stepped into a parlor before, and supposedly, this was a famous one. Which makes it more and more surreal when you think about it.

"Are we doing the mannequin challenge now? Is that what we're doing?" Jimin sardonically inquired.

"You go first, I'm nervous!" You whisper-hissed.

"You don't want me to go in there first— I'll show out," he reasoned, simply stating a fact.

"Please don't," you whined.

"Then, again, I'll show out?" He reiterated, as if to say duh. "How else am I supposed to break the ice? I look like Timmy Turner's Fairy-Gay- Parent."

You gave him a wary look... he's right. You sighed, slightly kicking your foot in distracted defeat. Fuck, you hated making an entrance to new places—

"Hold up— is that Drake?" Jimin suddenly blurted, holding his hand up to silence you. You honed in on the muffled track playing from behind the glass door, and Jimin's face soon light up like a Christmas tree before he spun around you, unstoppable.

"Jimin, NO—!"

"KIKI, DO YOU LOVE ME—?!"

It was already too late. The door was flying back behind him as he Milly-Rocked his way into the shop, leaving you no choice but the chase in behind him.

"—ARE YOU RIDING? SAY YOU'LL NEVA-EVA LEAVE FROM BESIDE ME— hello there."

You were panting, coming to a stop right behind Jimin, where you instantly latched on to the back of his shirt as you met the face of the man behind the studio counter. And, as corny as this is gonna sound: the world actually stilled for a solid beat... or maybe you were in the verge of cardiac arrest.

A pair of glossy-Black eyes looked up at the two of you; A series of silver-studded earrings trailed along the outer cartilages, peaking out beneath a head of soft, layer-swept hair. It was a Carmel-tinted blonde in color— thick and shaggy, and neatly spilling in waves around a headband that proudly sported a high-dollar brand-name you've never seen anyone wear in person before. G U C C I, it read— Meaning that the headband alone was probably worth more than some of your college text books, put together. It sat just a few inches above a pair of dark brows, that oddly brought out the shape of his cat-like eyes— irises like polished marbles. His ample lips had a sharp, well-defined Cupid's-bow, and a natural shade of pink that fit the porcelain appearance of his melanin-kissed complexion, to the finest degree.

And here you are, looking like an actual bum. You had just enough time to clock out of work and head straight over here to make it in time. You didn't even have any makeup on, and the only thing hiding your raggedy hair from those captivating eyes is your old baseball cap from high school. It took a second for him to take the bold presence that was Park Jimin— who was also frozen to the spot as he openly checked the guy out. He was hunched over the counter, a v-neck hoodie covering the rest of him with a thin, loose-fitting material. It was Black and allowed a full visual of his tan neck, and prominent collar bones. And it certainly didn't hide the fact that he had a pair of wide-set shoulders, either. A pencil sat in his hand— one that was laced with masculine veins, and lot of decorative ink. There was a silver ring on his thumb.. and a very heavy-looking Rolex watch.

The man cracked a grin at Jimin— a boxy one that dimpled in at the corners.

"Love the hair," he humorously began, twisting a quirky eyebrow at Jimin. You subconsciously snagged the bill of your hat as your eyes went a little wide at how mature the man's voice was.

"Love the watch," Jimin retorted, then reached around and gripped you by the wrist before pulling you into full view beside him. "You wouldn't happen to be Taehyung...?"

"Mhm," the man hummed, absentmindedly moving his wrist at the mention of his watch. His eyes cut over to you, and you swore you could see a minuscule reflection of yourself in his eyes, before they flashed back at Jimin and blinked. "You must be the babydaddy?"

Blood rushes to your ears. It's really him... a guy who looks like a high-dollar model himself, asking you to be his canvas model. Your own conscious didn't even know what to say right now. So you stayed quiet and still as Jimin took charge... which was a mistake.

"She wishes, but no. I'm the best-friend— and a gay one, at that," Jimin replied, and you knew he did that for his benefit. Thot. "I'm just here to make sure you're not gonna sacrifice her to Satan, or anything of that nature. I need her around in case I ever forget the Netflix password."

Taehyung chuckled at that, mouth opening to reveal a row of teeth shinier than Chip Skylark's. But then, you caught something behind his teeth that caused your gut to leap. A silver ball... a tongue ring. Your thoughts clouded over for a second.

"Well, I can assure you, she's safe with me," he said, looking over at you again. You blinked, nothing more. His brow arched at your lack of response, but this time, it was done more handsomely as he was still smirking at you. "Still, you don't look too thrilled to be here... You sure you wanna do this?"

"She's just nervous because you're really fucking hot," Jimin announced, unyielding. "You should feel how sweaty her hand is."

"Don't listen to him— I'm gay too," You lied in panic, trying to defend yourself from the absolute truth Jimin spoke just then. You snatched your hand away from him and jutted a finger at the door, eyes beading and lid twitching as your nerves ran amuck. "Goodbye, Jimin."

"She's a lonesome hetero," Jimin told Taehyung, assuring him with a face that showed no bluff. "One look at her camera roll, and you'd see for yourself—" You were yanking him away by the arm now, in a tug-of-war game that Jimin obviously could've won if he really wanted to. But he figured you suffered enough and eventually let you drag him out of the shop, waving bye to Taehyung before turning to look at you with beading eyes.

"I think he wants to fuck you— text me as soon as you can," Jimin uttered with unmoving lips as before he walked to his car. You stopped for a second, noticing he was actually being serious. How could he possibly think that he wants to fuck you, just from that small encounter? And what is the odd sensation currently coiling in your stomach? Things grew awkward again when you re-entered the shop, coming to a stand at the same spot... only alone now. He was still amused, it seemed. And so calm and cool despite this odd, intense look in his eyes. It gave him a Casanova effect, where all he had to do was give you that look and it'd instantly make you blush.

"He seems like a fun person to be around," he noted, somewhat honestly, but more so making fun of the red-hot appearance of your face.

"He's a pain in the ass," you muttered, trying to conjure up a smirk but hardly even able to speak properly from how dry your mouth was. It felt like there was a white-hot iron expanding in your throat. "I'm really sorry about him."

"Don't be. I'm just glad you're here— thought you'd chicken out." You nervously wiped your clammy palms over the back pockets of your jeans as Taehyung got up from the barstool behind the counter and approached you on the other side of it, a whole head-and-a-half taller than you. He was wearing black cardigan jeans and matching combat boots.. his headband and jewelry the only thing not black on him. And oddly enough, he made it look fucking fantastic.

"Mh-mm," You hummed, not trusting your voice. You've never needed a sip of water so bad in your life— he even smelled expensive.

"Well, It's very nice to meet you," he formerly began, and you mustered up the normality of placing your (dried) hand into his much larger one, as he held his out to you in greeting. And boy, was he close. So close that the heels of your spine itches to lean back from the proximity.

"It's nice to meet you, too. I'm really sorry if I'm acting weird. I'm just nervous." — Your mind struggled to stay focused on your words, arm tensing at the skin-to-skin contact. You were extra-effected by the firmness in his grip. You really wanted to look down at all the bold ink you saw dashing across the veiny surface of his tanned hand, or see if those were images or scripted letters on the knuckles of lengthy fingers... But you were held captive by those God-blessed eyes... And that fucking tongue ring. It was infecting your head in ways that weren't necessarily healthy for your current state of mind, as you saw it peering in and out at certain words.

"And physically shaking," Taehyung pointed out, brows twitching down at your trembling hand in his as if he was concerned for it. But his smirk gave off an odd sense of fascination to the involuntary symptom, like it was cute or something? Hm. He glanced back up at you, causing your dehydrated throat to bob as his other hand came to clasp over the rest of yours, swallowing it completely from the wrist down. "Intimidated?"

"V-Very," you spluttered, a small slither of saliva copulating down your throat as you looked back up at him. He absentmindedly rolled his tongue ring over the button row of his teeth as he watched you with tainted eyes— undoubtably getting cocky with that damn grin of his and proudly teasing you about your reaction to him. It gratified the effortless sex-appeal he had. You were even beginning to imagine that tongue ring elsewhere, and you literally just met him. Then, as you felt the band of a ring move along with the pad of his thumb as gently ran it across your trembly knuckles, chills shot up all the way to your shoulder. Oh... oh wow. You glanced down at his knuckles on reflex this time, and saw a four-letter word scripted in black ink across the bottom row of his knuckles, and another word scripted on the middle section of his fingers. A silver band on his naked thumb. STAY TRUE, it said.

"And why's that?"

"I.. feel like you're a celebrity," you sheepishly admitted, your other hand wedging into your back pocket as you had to stop yourself from reaching for the bill of your hat again. Is he flirting? The words seem too innocent for the way he was making you feel. It was getting so hot in the oven of his massive palms, and he wasn't even squeezing you hard enough to cut off any circulation, but yet your fingers were beginning to tingle.

"Mm, no. Just a little popular, really," he granted, teetering his head a little as he pondered the thought. You could see his vocal chords contract in his sleek neck as they project his smooth, pungent voice. "You still trust me?"

"Mhm," was all you could muster. He'd gotten even closer, to where his hand had gone into a prayer stance around yours. You were aware of how wide your eyes had gone from the awe you... you knew this was just the beginning. He was going to be very handsy throughout this whole process. But in a very twisted way, you were more than okay with that. Even if it meant you were at risk of fainting from actual dehydration. Maybe you were in over your head. But you couldn't will yourself away from this now. And then, just as a wide, heart-stopping smile edged out on that mind-numbingly handsome face, the door at that back of the room swung open, and heavy-metal rock blasted through the quiet vibe of the scenery and caused you to jump a little at the disturbance. Taehyung shot a wicked smile over his shoulder, and his next words nearly knocked you out right then and there as you beheld yet another, breathtaking sight.

"Oh, there you are," Tae eagerly acknowledged, one hand still holding yours as he walked around to grab your with the other, presenting you to the.. hulking presence in the room. "This is (Y/N), our next little experiment."

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hurricanery · 3 years

Text

If You Went Away - pt. 4

A/N: Here’s part 4! You can read the previous parts here:

part 1 // part 2 // part 3

If you sent a different prompt, I will get to it/start posting stuff in between. Thank you if you sent a message encouraging to post this next, the feedback is very much appreciated <3 This chapter takes place starting the day after Halloween/the day after the last chapter’s events.

_______

(present day)

A groan leaves her lips the second she opens her eyes and a dull, familiar ache expands through her head. The type of subdued headache you wake up with when you’re five years old and your temper tantrum is what finally put you to sleep in the first place.

But she’s not five years old. She’s a full grown adult who apparently still cries herself to sleep sometimes.

Her first thought is that it’s way too bright in here.

It takes all of her strength to push herself up and stumble across the room in an attempt to shut the blinds.

She manages to fulfill the task, but she’s interrupted on her way to climb back into bed. Because she’s gracelessly tripping over her boots, and her jeans, and her jacket. All of the things she’d worn the night prior. She steadies herself, as the unwelcome realities of the morning catch up with her.

And then it all hits her. As she looks down, noting her attire, dressed in only Link’s Mariners sweatshirt.

Suddenly she needs support. Her legs feel like they might give out from under her as the sleep-induced drowsiness fades and the trainwreck situation that was the night before crashes down on her.

Her head starts to spin as she tries to shut out her own self awareness. The awareness that she’d shown up here last night, acting completely unhinged, and then in her post-surgery sleep-deprived state, she’d practically begged Link for contact. Begged him to touch her. She cringes. Because those were almost her exact words.

She glances at the clock. It reads 9am. Which means Link was definitely at work by now, and Scout was definitely still sleeping. She forgoes her desire to crawl back into bed, and instead, decides a shower will help wash away her faults.

She enters the bathroom that’s attached to their room, reaching her hand over to turn on the shower. She waits a few minutes for it to warm up before stripping the sweatshirt off and hauling her body into the tiled stall.

She sits. Because that’s all she feels her body will allow.

She sits huddled on the shower floor, knees pulled into her chest, as the steady stream of hot water hits her in the back.

She focuses on the sound of the shower, trying to let it soothe her. Somewhere in the back of her mind she registers the sound of her own breathing, trying to keep it steady. Her body feels numb as she focuses on the persistent sound of the water hitting the floor around her. It pounds in her ears, and if she focuses hard enough in her mind, she can trick herself into thinking she’s caught up in a thunderstorm. She likes that better. Pretending to be somewhere else. It’s easier than coming to terms with her own inconsistencies.

In her mind, it’s absolutely pouring. And when she concentrates deeply enough, she can hear the occasional crash of thunder. It’s quiet, but it’s there. Almost resembling the sound of her front door slamming shut with the wind. But more powerful than that.

However, it must be windy, because she feels the house creak with movement that she’s not making herself.

“Mommy….?” A familiar, timid, voice sounds from somewhere in the distance. And Amelia startles only a little.

“Mom?” This time it’s louder, closer.

And now she’s panicking a little. Because she knows Scout hates storms.

A knock against wood shakes her from her reverie and she lifts her head enough so that it meets the stream of water from above. And all of a sudden her head is stinging, because this water is absolutely freezing now.

“Mom?!” his voice is close now, and bordering on impatient. His tone brings her back to reality and she completely realizes where she is. How long had she been in here?

“…Scout?” Amelia finds her voice, perplexed. Scout usually sleeps in well past 10am when he isn’t woken up by her or Link.

There’s another faint knock against the bathroom door.

“I’ll be out in a second, Scout. Okay?” She tries to sound cheerful. “I’ll come make you breakfast.”

“Aunt Mer gave me breakfast.”

She frowns, standing up and shutting the water off. Meredith was here? She doesn’t know how to respond to that exactly. She feels numb, and confused, and out of her head.

“Can I go ride bikes with Bailey?!” Scout’s question pulls her attention back.

“Wait, hold on a minute,” she mumbles, pulling a towel around her body and moving towards the door. She peeks her head out and meets her son’s eyes. “Just wait for me to come downstairs.”

His hyperactive body language isn’t boding well for Amelia’s request. He’s practically jumping up and down from where he stands in their bedroom. “Please. Pleaseee. Bailey has his bike and he’s already out there! Please!!”

“Okay, okay,” she groans. And Scout immediately takes off, running towards the stairs. “Wait! Hold on there, buddy!”

She exits the bathroom fully, and Scout stops in the doorway, looking at his Mom anxiously, like she’s about to be the gatekeeper of all of his fun.

“Scout listen to me,” Amelia says pointedly. “Just because Bailey has a big kid bike, doesn’t mean we’re changing anything about your bike-”

“Mommmm!” Scout interrupts her with an exaggerated whine. “I know I know, please!”

“Hey! I asked you to listen.” She waits for his impatient demeanor to calm a bit before she continues. “Scout, you have extra wheels for a reason, okay? We’re not taking them off until Dad has time to teach you-” Amelia trails off bemusedly as she watches her son nod along with her words, focus elsewhere, his eyes darting back to the stairs every few seconds. She recognizes the distant sound of Bailey’s laugh from the driveway outside.

“Okay, go.” She laughs. And Scout immediately runs off. “But stay in the backyard!”

_______

After about twenty minutes of pulling herself together, Amelia finally rounds the corner into the kitchen. Meredith turns around from where she’s cleaning up some of the mess from breakfast.

She raises her eyebrows at Amelia briefly. “Long time, no see,” Meredith says, somewhat sarcastically.

“You say that like it’s my fault,” Amelia defends herself. “The phone works both ways.”

Meredith frowns, but then nods at her words, in a very ‘you got me there’ type of way. “Well anyway, you look exhausted,” Meredith says blatantly.

“Thanks,” Amelia laughs, reaching for the coffee-maker. “I actually slept really well last night.”

“Something tells me you didn’t.”

This was their typical banter. Amelia actually feels comfort in the layers of sarcasm and utter boldness of their dynamic. It’s sort of refreshing. Compared to Maggie, who often tells Amelia what she wants to hear, Meredith doesn’t beat around the bush.

“You want to talk about it?” Meredith offers, somewhat flimsily.

Amelia grimaces. Because no. She doesn't want to talk about it. But, she knows she has to. It will all come out anyway. And to Meredith, of all people, who was queen of telling her to stuff her feelings in instead of dealing with them.

Amelia clicks the coffee-maker on and listens to the familiar sounds of the machine coming to life. She peeks out the kitchen window, a smile waving across her features as she watches Scout show off his training wheels to Bailey. She turns back to Meredith, who’s still looking at her blankly. Then she decides to rip the bandaid off, putting it all out there.

“I basically begged Link for sex last night.” She leans back against the counter nonchalantly. As if the situation she’s confessing to is completely normal. “And then…” She laughs at the absurdity of her own words. “When he rejected me….? I cried myself to sleep.”

Meredith’s expression doesn’t even falter.

“In his arms!” Amelia raises her voice incredulously, still laughing bitterly. “I should add that. I cried myself to sleep….in his arms.”

Silence fills the kitchen momentarily, until the distinct sound of the coffee-maker clicking off catches Amelia’s attention. She moves toward the cupboards, rummaging for a mug, before pouring herself a cup.

“It could be worse.” Meredith finally says, after Amelia takes her first sip.

“Ah, shit!” Amelia exclaims, burning her mouth on the hot beverage, almost breaking the mug with the force she sets it down with.

She takes a moment to gather herself, closing her eyes and nodding at Meredith’s words. Because she’s right. In the grand scheme of things, it could be much, much worse.

And in an almost ironic turn of events, her thoughts are interrupted by the agonizing sound of her son’s cry from the backyard.

Amelia’s eyes spring open and she glances at Meredith briefly before they are both taking off, sprinting outside.

She feels like she’s having an out-of-body experience as her senses adjust to everything that’s happening around her.

She sees Scout. Sprawled out on the driveway, a bike abandoned about 10 feet away.

She hears him. His scream of a sob. It rattles her eardrums and covers her body in chills.

And she hears Bailey, too. His panicked tone as he explains how ‘Scout just wanted to try it, auntie Amelia, he just wanted to try my bike for a minute!’

“Shh, Bailey, shh,” Meredith murmurs somewhere behind Amelia. “What happened?”

“The...the bike tipped over,” Bailey cries. “He just wanted to go fast, Mom. He just wanted a little push. I’m sorry!”

“Okay, okay. It’s okay,” she hears Meredith whisper to Bailey.

Amelia approaches Scout, and just by the positioning of the fall, she can already tell that things are at the point of much, much worse.

“Meredith,” she breathes, as she kneels on the cement of the driveway. She hovers over Scout, pushing his hair back and resting a hand on his hot cheek, murmuring to him that everything is going to be fine. She turns back to Meredith. “His, his arm….look at his arm. Look at the angle of his arm.”

“I’ll get the car.”

_______

The ER is crowded when they arrive and Meredith decides it’s best to take Bailey home before things get too chaotic. She reaches for Amelia’s hand and squeezes gently as they both watch the resident on call guide Scout into a wheelchair.

“Thanks for driving us,” Amelia whispers, glassy eyes still glued to her son as they begin walking inside.

They get situated in one of the trauma rooms and Amelia hovers over Scout, who has finally stopped crying.

“Mommy,” his voice is still strained from his previous sobs. “It hurts.”

“I know, baby, I know.” She can’t help the tears that spring to her own eyes as she runs her fingers through his hair gently. “But you’re so brave.”

An intern that Amelia doesn’t quite recognize walks into the room and she turns to him. “No,” she says, dismissively. “No, I told them to page Atticus Lincoln.”

“Uhhhh,” the intern looks around, confused. “Well, we did page him but-”

“Go find him,” Amelia interrupts. “On foot.”

The intern stares at her blankly.

“Now.”

The harshness of her tone has him turning on his feet instantly.

_______

“It looks like….the impact of the fall definitely caused a tear in his rotator cuff,” Link murmurs, as he examines his own son carefully. “His shoulder is dislocated. We’re going to have to….reset it.” Link outwardly cringes at the last thought.

Amelia sighs. She stands on the opposite side of the bed from Link. She can’t take her eyes off of Scout.

“Daddy?”

“Yeah, bud?” Link gently responds as finishes his examination.

“Did I break my arm?”

“No, no. Not quite.”

“That’s good.”

“Yeah,” Link laughs, half-heartedly. “Yeah it is.”

“It doesn’t really hurt anymore.”

Amelia’s gaze snaps quickly to Link, out of concern. But Link’s tone provides an instant sense of calmness to the room.

“Well, that’s actually good,” he explains. “Because, you see, your arm isn’t broken. It would hurt a lot lot more if it was broken. It’s more like….your bone is in the wrong place.”

“And….you gonna….put it back where it goes?” Scout wonders out loud, causing both parents to smile despite their joint concern.

“Yeah, bud,” Link murmurs, watching as Amelia brings her own hand up, biting at her thumbnail anxiously. “We’re gonna put it back in the right place.”

“Mkay,” Scout murmurs quietly. “I’m tired now….” He blinks, eyes shifting between both parents on either side of the bed.

Amelia smiles sweetly, tears threatening to make another appearance. She gazes at Link.

“That’s okay, Scout,” Link whispers, eyes shifting from Amelia to his overtired five-year-old. “You can close your eyes….that’s actually better, while we wait….to not have him moving around much….” The last part is directed more towards Amelia, who nods solemnly at this information.

“What do you mean ‘while we wait’?” Amelia whispers, noticing how quickly Scout had drifted off.

Link sighs heavily. He moves towards one of the two plastic chairs in the corner of the trauma room and motions for her to join him.

Amelia bites her lip anxiously. The anticipation of sitting so closely to him, mixed in with the regret of her actions last night, causes her to panic. With the chaos of the morning, Amelia barely even had time to dwell on how their first conversation would go after last night. These weren’t the circumstances she imagined at all.

What immediately registers for her, despite her own nerves, is just how overwhelmed Link looks, too. And that revelation is what allows her to cross the room and take the seat next to him. Because despite what had happened between them, they were in this moment, processing together.

“I’m sorry I didn’t call you,” she murmurs as she sits down. “It all happened so fast….we just had to get here. I completely forgot to grab my phone-”

“Amelia, that’s not what I’m worried about,” Link interrupts, the tone of his strained voice perplexes Amelia and she turns to him, studying his face.

“What then?”

“I, uh….we’re waiting….because I paged Nico.”

Amelia just frowns. “You’re here now, though. I don’t understand why-”

“I can’t do it,” he says simply. Eyes glued to the floor as he zones out slightly. “I can’t be the one to pop his shoulder back in place.”

“You’re….” Amelia trails off, her eyebrows pulling together as she tries to understand. “You’re head of ortho….why would you not be the one to do this….”

“It’s gonna hurt like hell, Amelia!” Link’s voice raises harshly and they both turn to Scout, checking to see if he’s woken up from the slight outburst.

“Sorry…” Link murmurs, much quieter. “I can’t….I won’t let him associate that kind of pain with me. I won’t do it….”

Link’s getting worked up now and Amelia absentmindedly reaches forward, squeezing his knee. When she realizes what she’s done, she quickly pulls her hand away.

“Okay, I get it.”

Link finally looks at her, and for the first time Amelia sees the panic in his eyes. It mirrors her own.

“He’s going to be okay.” Amelia adds. And when she reaches for his knee this time, it’s not absentmindedly.

Link glances down, eyes focusing on her hand. He inhales deeply, and then hesitantly rests his own hand on top of hers, giving it a small squeeze.

The moment is interrupted when Nico walks into the room, and they quickly pull apart.

They both stand. And Amelia exhales shakily as she moves towards Scout, gently reaching forward to wake him up.

_______

“You did so good, baby,” Amelia murmurs, ruffling Scout’s hair as she once again feels her eyes sting with moisture. This time it’s out of gratitude.

“Do I get anything I want now?” Scout wonders, as Link and Nico carefully help Scout up from the bed.

Amelia laughs. Because she had promised that. When the panic set in just before Nico began the process of re-setting Scout’s arm. Scout had lost his cool completely. Breathing rapidly as his eyes darted between his parents in total fear.

‘I’ll get you anything you want after this’ Amelia had pleaded with him.

And Nico had stepped forward, resuming the task at hand.

‘Look at me Scout, look at me and scream as loud as you can. Don’t hold back, I want to hear it.’ Link had instructed.

“Cuz I know it.” Scout chimes in again. “I wanna ice cream sundae. With sprinkles.”

Amelia laughs again, reaching for the hand on his good side as they walk out of the trauma room and towards the ambulance bay. Scout’s injured arm now resting in a sling.

“I can make that happen,” Amelia smiles as they walk outside.

“No, dad too,” Scout whines, pulling his hand free from her grasp. Amelia frowns. “You both have to come!”

“Dad’s working, Scout,” She mutters, “Sorry, you’re stuck with just me.”

“Noooo,” he whines. And the realization dawns on Amelia that it must be closing in on late afternoon. This was Scout��s usual naptime. He was only going to get more irritable.

“Sorry, Scout,” she tries not to sound too defensive, attempting to hide the ego bruise developing at his sudden refusal to be with just her. “That’s just the way it is…”

“Then why's Daddy walking over here?”

“Huh?”

Link catches up with them a moment later. Jacket on. Holding his car keys.

“Hey! I wrapped up early. You guys probably need a ride home, right?” He looks at Amelia. He can’t quite determine the expression she gives back to him. Somewhere between hurt and frustrated.

He looks between the pair, perplexed.

“What’s up?” he mutters in question.

“We’re getting ice cream!” Scout excitedly announces.

“Oh?” Link trails off, glancing back at Amelia, whose appearance doesn’t at all match Scout’s enthusiasm.

She rolls her eyes.

“I can drop you guys off somewhere and pick you up?” Link offers quietly, muttering to Amelia.

“No, no!” Scout interrupts. “No, Dad! You have to come! You have to come, too!” He stomps his foot and Link almost wants to laugh at the impatience. He doesn’t laugh, though. He holds back at Amelia’s demeanor.

Scout looks up at Amelia, and she sighs, weighing her options.

“Okay, let’s just go,” she breathes, glancing at Link. Who frowns slightly at her. But she just nods her head, suddenly indifferent.

Scout squeals with excitement, taking off quickly towards the parking lot. And Link catches up with him. “Wait, buddy, Slow down! Try to keep that arm still.”

Amelia trails behind them a bit further back, mentally preparing herself. Because now that the major crisis of the day was resolved, there was suddenly way more room to process the events of last night. And what their new normal was, going forward.

#amelink #amelink fanfic #amelinkfic #amelia shepherd #atticus lincoln #amelia x link #greys anatomy fanfic #greys anatomy fic #grey's anatomy fanfic #grey's anatomy fic #my writing #meredith grey #nico kim

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silentprincess17 · 3 years

Text

Sometimes Things Have To Get Worse Before They Get Better

This is essentially a darker, heavier alternate take on Memory #7 - Blades of the Yiga. I wanted to write a fic with a competent Yiga Clan. (Yes you read that right). It is very angsty in the beginning and then becomes fluffy (hence the title!)

Summary: Link and Zelda have returned from Vah Naboris with Urbosa and have spent the night in Kara Kara Bazaar Inn. Link wakes up and finds her missing.

Cue the angst.

This story is complete and I will post each chapter daily on here but you can read the whole thing on AO3

Rating: Mature (Graphic descriptions of violence) Pairing: Link/Zelda (Zelink) Characters: Link, Zelda, The Yiga Clan, Master Kohga

Chapter 1 Chapter 2

Chapter 3: So what do we do now? (or the fluffy chapter to the previous angsty one)

Link awoke and immediately questioned it, because he felt like he was still dreaming, in a Castle Courtyard where, as a child he’d snuck through a small canal to get in to see the Princess, and as an adult he’d waltzed in as Captain of the Guards. Because he could hear her lullaby. It had been so long… He slowly opened his eyes, disorientated because he was staring into the familiar vivid green eyes of His Princess, not the blue of other, so she wasn’t her, and he wasn’t him, but the lullaby? And she was smiling at him, albeit weakly. What- smiling? His Princess? At him?! What had happened?

There was more to add to his confusion though, because she was humming. She was the one humming the lullaby, but it wrong, because it wasn’t her lullaby, but really who was he to say otherwise, it probably was the lullaby for all the Princesses named Zelda. It- it was achingly familiar, but disturbing because all the times felt wrong and messed up. This wasn’t his, this wasn’t meant to comfort him, but it was anyway.

But why was he –

He blinked, waking up properly this time. He suddenly realised where he was exactly. He was in the Princess of Hyrule’s lap. His head was resting on her thighs. She was stroking his hair. His ponytail was gone. She was humming her lullaby to him. And she wasn’t angry at him.

Everything about this situation screamed wrong.

And then it all came hurtling back, and Link felt like he’d been stabbed all over with those darts the Yiga had aimed at her stomach. They’d been captured by the Yiga. Goddesses above. He rapidly sat up and felt a burst of pain all the way across his right shoulder and down his arm, and his vision swam, from the remaining drug in his system or from the pain he didn’t know.

“Link! Don’t get up so fast you-”

She gently pulled on his good arm, and he didn’t put up much resistance, mainly because it felt like the wind had been knocked out of him. He felt so disjointed, and he knew this was wrong, but he wasn’t feeling well enough to protest.

And okay, maybe he was a little glad she didn’t seem to hate him anymore. Just a little.

He raised his eyebrows at her, hoping she’d understand. She did. “After they drugged you asleep, because I guess they figured they’d never beat you otherwise, they did the same for me- I got caught barely a few metres from where you fell. And then I presume we both got carted to their Hideout. I woke up before you because I had a lower dose, and I, um, well.”

She awkwardly pointed to his right shoulder. “You know, I’m no Mipha, and it’s not like we have any healing resources, but I needed to close your wound in case it got infected- I believe they wrenched the sickle out of you before they dumped us in here. And I thought it best to at least try to sew it together whilst you were asleep and couldn’t feel much. It, went well, surprisingly- you didn’t bleed excessively considering they removed the object that was effectively acting as a tamponade, but I think because it landed squarely in your trapezius, it didn’t hit any major blood supplies, thankfully. I cleaned it as best as I could. And it was a good thing I had my mini sewing supplies in my pocket, Urbosa’s skirt had a small cut she wanted me to- uh- never mind. It was lucky that I forgot to put the kit in my pouch, which they took so.”

She paused, “Anyway, just as I put in the last stitch, thinking I could, maybe, relax a little, you started to thrash around, flailing all your limbs everywhere. With hindsight, I think the draught was fading by that point…” She took a short, sharp breath, “And I obviously couldn’t risk you ripping the wound open so in an attempt to calm you I held your head down and started humming and it, uh, worked. So that is why. I was. Doing that.” She fisted her hands awkwardly, bunching the material of her shirt in her hands, between her fractured phrases. Her eyes flittered around, looking everywhere but him. “And I didn’t want you to open that wound again, we don’t have many supplies so, so I guided you to lie down again.” She was clearly uncomfortable. And was that- Farore. She was blushing, he realised. Because of him.

That felt incredibly wrong, no Princess should ever blush at her Knight, so he readied himself to move off her and give her some much needed space.

He nodded, putting her out of her misery before sitting up much more slowly this time. He looked over his shoulder trying to see how bad the wound was, but she’d done an excellent job in sewing him up. Perhaps the embroidery skills she’d learnt were amenable to medical stiches too. He scooted away from her, trying to clear his head a little, and forget how comfortable it felt. How much he’d enjoyed her deft fingers working through his hair. How she'd still smelled of lavender, honey and just a hint of Gerudo spice –

He shook his head, clearly, he was still somewhat delusional following the heady sleeping draught. He needed to apologise to her and he needed to try to find a way to get out. He suddenly remembered her neck, and he dashed over, scanning across her whole body quickly, trying to see if she was okay and if any other wounds had been inflicted on her whilst he was asleep.

“Link!”

What? He had to- why was she bending her neck? He could guess why, and his gut twisted on itself. He’d let her get hurt. He hesitantly raised his hand, and placed it close to her chin, not quite touching, but Zelda tracked his movement and slowly nodded. He ever so gently touched the tips of his fingertips onto her jaw, and pressed upwards and she elongated her neck in compliance.

He gasped. She’d wiped it down, but there was a red, clearly inflamed, scabbed over, curved, line across her neck. He screwed his eyes shut, half wanting to throw up, even though he knew he had nothing in his stomach. He couldn’t look at her, this was his fault, he’d allowed her to get hurt. Some Appointed Knight he was.

He was so lost in cursing himself and his inability to protect her that he missed her hand moving and pressing down on his own, still softly holding her jaw. His eyes flew open at that, but he still couldn’t meet her gaze, looking everywhere but her. “Link.” He knew what she was going to say, and he didn’t want to hear it. It was his fault.

“Link, look at me.”

He couldn’t deny an order from his Princess.

“It wasn’t your fault. You were not the one to draw the sickle against me, okay?” He reluctantly nodded, seeing where she was coming from. “If anything, it was mine for running away. And I should be the one apologising, because you got hurt- and your wound is much more severe compared to this simple scab that will heal with time. And that’s notwithstanding the whole infection risk of using embroidery thread and not actual medical sutures.”

She sighed, patting the ground next to her. He reluctantly let go of her and sat down as she wished, his vision swirled a little, from all the abrupt movement.

She fiddled with her fingers, before turning to him, a determined look in her eyes. “I truly am sorry Link. For- for everything. From running away all those times, to being childishly jealous of you and your success, to… even shouting at you.” She sighed, “Not to mention taking out all my petty frustrations on you, whilst you were only trying to do your job. For, well, letting you get hurt because of me. For ending up here…” She shoved her head in her hands. “Goddesses above, the list never ends. I-”

Her voice went quiet. “I apologise, Link, for not being the Princess you deserve.”

He was shocked. He hadn’t been expecting that to say the least. Words had never been his forte, so he did the best he could.

He tenderly tilted her head towards him, and then shook his head. The vulnerability he saw in those verdant eyes struck him. She was serious, she genuinely regretted it, and he tried to smile reassuringly. How could he ever remain upset with her anyway? Not when he understood and related to her so well.

He placed his other hand on his heart and bent his head towards her. “You accept? No, you forgive me? So easily? No, I insist you give some punishment Link.”

He chuckled, shaking his head as he raised both hands up, shrugging slightly. He was never one for punishments and he forgave her, because he understood, he truly did. He just needed to think through his words, and he’d tell her properly.

“You're too kind. I'll find a way, to earn my forgiveness, even if you've already accepted. Although... perhaps being here is punishment enough.” She hugged her knees to her chest, and he closed his eyes for a second, just trying to get his bearings. He still felt dizzy and sitting up so fast as soon as he had woken up, and then rushing to Zelda to look over her had not helped matters. Most likely, this was due to a side effect from inhaling such a high concentration of the drought. He’d have to wait for a bit before moving again, and he spread his palms out on the ground next to his thighs to try to get over the remaining queasiness, keeping his eyes shut so he wouldn’t be further disorientated.

He felt her slip her hand just next to his, her pinkie finger barely touching his thumb.

And Link felt his heart speed up a little. He couldn’t help but feel pleased they’d finally made some progress and were no longer at odds with each other. For the first time, the silence that descended on them was a comfortable one, not fraught with tension like every other time they’d been left alone together. And for that, he was immeasurably glad.

After taking a few minutes to recover his bearings, Link slowly opened his eyes, and was pleased to find his world was not tilting on its axis. He took several deep breaths, trying to ignore the stabbing pain in his shoulder.

Okay. He was ready now, to start thinking of a plan.

He motioned for Zelda to wait as he heaved himself to stand, very slowly. And nothing happened, everything was still balanced. Good. He headed over to the bars, first, before realising they were made, in fact, of fairly hardy steel and it wasn’t at all rusted. There would be no hope of breaking them directly, not by hand anyway. And where was the door? He belated realised the metal on one side was different to the others. It was darker in shade. He flicked his index finger at it, but it came back just as hard and resonant. Well. Clearly whatever it was wouldn’t be easy to break either. He tried to stemmy the rising panic when thinking about how the hell they were supposed to break out. He moved to the bottom of the bars, but it became rapidly obvious to him that the mongrels had drilled the bars a significant distance down, too low for them to try to dig out. She shuffled over.

“I had a quick check over the cell too, before, I um, realised that you were hurt. They sort of left you with your back to the wall, so I didn’t actually see the bleeding until I got up close and- well. You know the rest of it. There really isn’t much other than the toilet in the next cell that we can go into.” His eyes lit up, “But no, it’s the exact same thing as this one. More bars, just with a curtain for decency I guess.”

He decided to check everything anyway. Alas, it was an airtight cell. There wasn’t a single thing they could manipulate. Clearly the Yiga had been planning for this.

He cast his eyes out, looking beyond the bars and realised that it in fact looked out to what seemed to be a gigantic circular hole in the sand. The landscape itself naturally moulded into a giant cylinder, perfect to keep the Yiga hidden, and impossible for them to climb out without being seen. If they could even get out of the cell to begin with. Although, eerily, everything seemed quiet.

He turned back to Zelda, motioning to the space outside and then pointing to the banana symbol engraved in the wall. “I found it surprising too. I have no idea where they’ve gone. It’s all very calm. I’m not sure why... Well, this sounds morbid, but I don’t understand why they’ve kept me alive. Surely their intention was to assassinate, and yet, now we’re locked up, and they haven’t come yet. Although I can only assume this is a good thing, time to plan an escape… maybe… well hopefully, anyway.”

He fought a smile off his face. She always did talk too much. Perhaps that was a good thing though, it balanced him out quite nicely.

He sighed, moving to sit down again, it was best to conserve his strength. And looking at the red lanterns and those weird orange wooden planks linked to each other was freaking him out a little. He wasn't sure what the symbolism was, but he was wary. There wasn’t much else they could do, other than wait for one of the Yiga to come, and make the mistake of opening the door, then Link would go into hand combat, and they would have to scale the cliff out of the here. The section to the right actually appeared the least steep, so hopefully Zelda would be able to manage that. However, he could see the snow from here and that meant there was risk of hypothermia, and they didn't have their normal stock of elixirs. Goddesses above, his head hurt from thinking through all the ways this could go wrong.

“You’re looking at the end cliff face. Do you think-”

He nodded.

“I think I can do it. Will you be okay with your wound?”

He nodded again.

She exhaled heavily, coming to sit down next to him. “The chance of a rescue team coming to find us is also depressingly slim, at the minute, because according to Urbosa, we’ve left the desert. According to my father, we’re in the process of travelling to the Spring of Power, and whilst we’re in the vicinity we’re supposed to go visit Daruk again to see if he’s has any progress with controlling Vah Rudania. Therefore, we are not due back at the Castle for another three weeks at least to account for travel time, so he won’t be suspicious of our continued absence. And Daruk thinks were going to Spring first and I don’t think he knows that you are only supposed to stay a day there- he might assume I’ve succeeded and so stayed for longer, or even that we were delayed in Gerudo Town…”

He nodded. Basically, all that meant external help was not coming any time soon.

“How long do you think it’ll take them to realise we’ve been captured?”

He thought about it for a few seconds. It would take at least another two weeks for Daruk to realise something was up, and by the time he relayed that over to Urbosa and the King, it will have been at least three. And then they still needed to search over Hyrule as to where exactly the Princess and Link were, before tracking them down to the Kara Kara Bazaar Inn, and hopefully realising they were, in fact, abducted by the Yiga Clan. And as to the actual rescue itself, he doubted it would take more than a couple of days simply because it involved the Princess and the Hero - the two people who were truly capable of fighting the ever-approaching evil. So overall that was what? Four and a half weeks?

He held up four fingers. Best to not dash her hopes too much.

“Hylia above! A month?!” She slumped against the wall. “I can see why though. It- it’s just so inconvenient that we decided to combine three separate outings into one. And that is why no one will actually realise we are in trouble.”

Link didn’t point out that this was, in fact, a common occurrence. The Princess often fabricated another couple of reasons to delay going back the Castle. He understood why of course. Facing her father with repeated failures was hard and being out in Hyrule meant she could at least be of some use in terms of her research. Frankly, if he’d been in her position, he would have done the same.

“Another thing that I didn’t mention before, but you should probably know, is that they took the Sheikah Slate.”

Oh crap. Purah would kill them both, but she’d go all out on Link, fond as she was of Princess Zelda. She’d skewer him alive and then Robbie would sprinkle on his various guardian parts on top for seasoning and the two of them would roast him slowly for committing such a crime. And then they’d recover the guardian parts because those were precious and were not likely to burn, unlike his mortal form, into ashes anyway. Why was thinking of this and how did he come up with this much detail?

He must have had a look of apt horror on his face because she chuckled slightly, “Yes, I know. Even if we survive this whole abduction, we will probably not live for long afterwards.”

He shook his head. No, they would survive. He would make sure of it. She smiled a little in response.

Something was unsettling him though. It felt like a there was a gnawing hole inside him. At first he thought it was because of Zelda getting hurt, and then because of his dizziness but it suddenly hit him what was missing. His heart skipped a beat in fear. He glanced over, looking at his shoulder again, in vain because he knew it was empty and the confirmation terrified him. He looked at her with wide eyes, not daring to think of the implications. “I- I don’t actually know what happened to the Master Sword, Link, it was – um, in that Yiga’s head and then I was knocked out. I don’t know if they took it, or left it behind…”

And there went Link’s last hope of killing the darkness.

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hotpinkhoshi · 4 years

Text

kiss it better | prologue

pairing: mark tuan x reader

genre: angst, smut, brother’s best friend au (sort of)

warnings: age gap (nine years), cursing, explicit sex, slow burn

summary: you were off limits for more reasons than mark could count. but everything changed for him the day you walked into his tattoo shop with those big innocent eyes and a laugh like his favorite song. he couldn’t. he wouldn’t. and yet…

✩ index here ✩

Your favorite thing about living on your own, hands down, was having the freedom to eat ice cream whenever you pleased.

It had been a hot summer in Seoul, hot enough that you couldn’t remember the last time you’d gone out without being painfully aware of the sweat on the back of your neck and the space where your thighs touched each other.

Today was hotter than yesterday had been. Sticky and humid, like it needed to rain. You’d gone out with your new friend, Yiren, to shop for some new records. Well, she shopped for records—you bought a cheap ice cream bar from the convenience store around the corner.

While waiting outside of the record store for Yiren to check out, you leaned against the side of a bench while taking in the area.

You’d moved to Seoul at the start of the summer, and you still felt like a little fish in a big pond. The big, wide world awaited you, and you were desperate to see every inch of it.

A couple giggled outside of a bakery next to you. You tried not to stare as the boy, tall and gangly, wrapped his arms around the female and pulled her into his chest. You wondered how it felt to be held like that.

Across the road, a stark contrast to the pale pink and yellow scheme of the bakery, sat a tattoo shop. Paradise Tattoo, the sign read, in neon blue. A dark haired man, maybe your age or a little older, sat on the steps drinking an iced coffee while bobbing his head to whatever was playing on his earbuds. Even from afar you could make out the sleeve on his left arm, made up of swirls and lines of black ink.

He lifted his head from his phone and caught your eye. You blinked and quickly looked away, gasping when your sudden movement caused the top scoop of your ice cream to topple onto the street.

“Noooooo,” you whined, a full pout forming on your lips. You’d barely even gotten to take a full bite.

“Sucks,” you heard Yiren say from behind you. She had a plastic bag of records, so full you were honestly surprised she could carry it.

You sighed, tossing the empty cone into the trash can next to you. “And I thought today would be a good day.”

Yiren laughed as she bounded up to you, linking her free arm through yours. “It is a good day. You got paid today, remember? What do you wanna do with all your cash?”

You snorted, fully prepared to make a comment about how you needed to save for a security deposit on an apartment. Your eyes drifted back to the tattoo shop, but the man sitting there was gone. You chewed your lip and glanced back at Yiren, nodding towards the shop.

“I’ve never been in a tattoo shop before. Want to check it out?”

Yiren, as usual whenever you expressed one more thing you’d never done before, gasped dramatically. “You what?! I swear, Y/N, you should be in a museum. You’re so cute.”

When she moved to pinch your cheeks, you swatted her hands away. “Gah. Let’s just go.”

You dragged her across the street and up the few steps that lead to the front door of the shop. You heard a ding once the door was halfway opened, signaling your entrance. The cool air of the shop comforted you immediately, offering you some relief from the sticky air outside.

It sort of looked how you’d imagined it, but brighter. There was hard metal blasting on the speakers above you, with framed drawings of all sorts of tattoo styles adorning the deep red walls.

Doubling as a desk, on your left side was a glass jewelry display case with different earrings and bars that were used for piercings in various body parts. Sitting behind this desk was a girl with bright green hair and thick framed glasses.

“Hi! Do you have an appointment?” she asked cheerily, her tone the complete opposite of what you’d expected. You’d never seen anyone with a neck tattoo, but she had hers proudly displayed—a snake traveling from her chest and around towards the nape of her neck, the head appearing on the other side.

“Um,” you said, glancing towards Yiren.

She jumped in. “No. Do you talk walk ins? My friend was thinking about getting a tattoo.”

“I-” you started, your eyes widening at Yiren. “I haven’t decided yet.”

The girl behind the counter nodded and turned around in her swivel chair, reaching for a big black binder that was sitting upon a shelf behind her.

“Here, we have some photos and drawings of previous tattoos our artists have done. We have five artists. Youngjae, Jackson, Mark, and Yugyeom. And me, but I mostly do piercings. Do you have any idea what you’re looking for?”

You flipped open the binder, greeted on the first page by a portrait of a very voluptuous, very naked woman that had been tattooed onto someone’s leg. It took a conscious effort not to show your shock, simply because you didn’t need Yiren cooing at you again.

“Well, I like…” you thought about it as you continued flipping the next few pages, until you came upon a drawing of a rose, a soft pink color that reminded you of the bakery across the street. There was a series of pages full of drawings of flowers, different types and shades of the rainbow. “Who did these? These are beautiful.”

“Ah,” the girl nodded, leaning her chin upon her hand. “That would be Mark. He’s great at flowers, they’re sort of his specialty. Youngjae does beautiful portraits. Jackson’s shading is unbelievable. And Yugyeom is new, but his lines are incredible.”

Yiren snickered next to you. “It must be great working with all these guys.”

The girl raised her eyebrows, an amused smirk on her lips. “Please. They’re not exactly my type.”

Just as Yiren opened her mouth for a follow up question, a male voice called from the direction of the hallway to your left.

“Dahyun, did you get any napkins from the coffee shop? Yugyeom spilled his shit all over-”

Looking up, you saw a guy walking towards you. Perfectly styled hair, a chiseled jawline, and tattoos covering both of his very toned arms. He stopped in his tracks, then gave you an apologetic bow.

“Sorry, I didn’t know we had a customer.”

Dahyun rolled her eyes and grabbed for a stack of napkins next to her. “Here. And tell Yugyeom he’s on mop duty tonight.”

“Yes, ma’am.” The guy saluted Dahyun, then turned on his heel and jogged back down the hallway to one of the rooms.

“Anyway,” Dahyun continued. “We do take walk ins. It’s been slow today, honestly, so if you wanted to get a smaller piece we could probably make it work. Youngjae’s tattooing someone right now, but other than that, it’s wide open.”

You gulped. Now that it was real, you were feeling a bit panicked. But you were drawn to the image of the pale lilac flower on the page in front of you, as if it was calling to you. As silly as it sounded, just looking at it brought you a sense of calm.

“Could I… could I get this?” you asked meekly.

Dahyun turned her head to view the picture, then nodded her head. “Of course. Do you know where you want it?”

You looked at Yiren, a question in your eyes. It had to be somewhere you could hide it. Your parents strongly disapproved of tattoos. To be fair, they disapproved of every aspect of your life already, so how much worse could it get? Still, you wanted the option to cover it up if you needed to.

“You could get it on your ribs, maybe?”

Dahyun inhaled sharply. “Ah, I wouldn’t recommend that. Hurts like a bitch. Shoulders and hips are pretty painless though, that’s where a lot of newbies get their first.”

Worrying at your lower lip, you stared down at the flower once more, then up at Dahyun. “The back of my shoulder, would that be okay?”

“It’s your party, princess. It shouldn’t hurt too much, and if you get it small enough it’ll be over before you know it.”

Dahyun went ahead and printed out the sketch after you told her just how big you wanted it, and modified the color to a deeper purple. She went back to talk to the artist, Mark, then returned a few minutes later and told you to follow her back.

“He’s ready for you. We’ll go over all the aftercare and fun stuff once it’s all done, okay?” she said as she led the two of you back to Mark’s room. You stuffed your shaking hands into the pockets of your shorts, not wanting him to see how nervous you were.

Once you came to the threshold of the room, you first noticed all of the drawings on the walls. Not just flowers, but trees, portraits, still life sketches… all of it. Apparently flowers weren’t the only thing this guy could draw.

Mark had his back to you, sifting through a box full of colored ink bottles. You realized without even seeing his face that this was the guy you’d seen on the steps of the shop earlier. Up close, you could see more of his sleeve. Right on the back of his arm was a large tattoo of a lion’s face, jaw wide open in a roar.

“Sorry, go ahead and sit-” he started as he turned towards you, his jaw dropping once he made eye contact. “Y/N?”

It took you a long moment to realize where you knew him from, and it wasn’t just because you’d seen him across the road earlier. You hadn’t seen him in at least six years, but you knew him right away. How could you not have recognized him before?

You’d practically grown up with him. He’d eaten countless dinners at your family table while your mom fawned over him and pinched his cheeks, asking why your older brother couldn’t be more like him.

The last time you’d seen him was Taehyung’s going away party just before he left for his year-long backpacking experience in Europe. You’d only been sixteen at the time, but Mark was nine years older than you.

Besides the sleeve of tattoos and the deep red hair he was sporting, he hadn’t changed much since then.

“Mark?”

full chapter one to be posted march 17th, 7pm est

#got7 #mark tuan #writing #got7 fanfic #mark tuan fanfic #got7 smut #got7 imagine #got7 scenario #got7 writing #mark tuan smut #mark tuan angst #mark tuan imagine

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twoidiotwriters1 · 3 years

Text

Written In The Stars XCVII (Harry Potter xF!Oc)

A/N: THE SEMESTER IS OVER

P.S. I’m thinking of posting the last few chapters all at once next week bc they don’t feel exactly christmas-like lmaoo would you guys like that or should I keep the normal schedule? -Danny

Words: 3,623

Series’ Masterlist

Previous Chapter // Next Chapter

Listen to: White Stripes -by Hayley Gene Penner

Chapter Thirty-Two: Palpable Memoirs.

Once in front of the Gargoyle, they realized they still had no idea of what the password was.

"Uh- Sherbet lemon?" Harry tried.

The gargoyle stayed in place.

"Okay," said Harry, "Pear Drop. Er — Licorice Wand. Fizzing Whizbee. Drooble's Best Blowing Gum. Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans... oh no, he doesn't like them, does he?" She shook her head. "Oh just open, can't you? We really need to see him, it's urgent!"

Harry kicked it, which she considered stupid since it was made of stone.

"Chocolate Frog!" He grunted, holding his leg to lessen the pain. "Sugar Quill! Cockroach Cluster!"

Suddenly the gargoyle turned.

"Cockroach Cluster?" He widened his eyes. "I was only joking..."

Mel laughed. "It's your bloody luck, Glasses."

They hurried up the stairs, Harry reached the door and was about to open it when Mel pulled him back, asking him to listen.

"Dumbledore, I'm afraid I don't see the connection, don't see it at all!" Cornelius Fudge exclaimed. "Ludo says Bertha's perfectly capable of getting herself lost. I agree we would have expected to have found her by now, but all the same, we've no evidence of foul play, Dumbledore, none at all. As for her disappearance being linked with Barty Crouch's!"

"And what do you think happened to Barty Crouch, Minister?" That one was certainly Moody.

"I see two possibilities, Alastor. Either Crouch has finally cracked — more than likely, I'm sure you'll agree, given his personal history — lost his mind, and gone wandering off some- where —"

"He wandered extremely quickly, if that is the case, Cornelius," said Dumbledore.

"Or else — well... Well, I'll reserve judgment until after I've seen the place where he was found, but you say it was just past the Beauxbatons carriage? Dumbledore, you know what that woman is?"

"I consider her to be a very able headmistress — and an excellent dancer," said Dumbledore quietly.

"Dumbledore, come! Don't you think you might be prejudiced in her favour because of Hagrid? They don't all turn out harmless — if, indeed, you can call Hagrid harmless, with that monster fixation he's got —"

"I no more suspect Madame Maxime than Hagrid. I think it possible that it is you who are prejudiced, Cornelius."

"Should we wait till dinner?" Mel asked anxiously.

Harry was about to reply when Moody spoke up.

"Can we wrap up this discussion?"

"Yes, yes, let's go down to the grounds, then..."

"No, it's not that. It's just that Potter and Miss Dumbledore want a word with you. They're outside the door," The door of the office opened abruptly, Mel jumped away. "Hello," said Moody politely. "Come in, then."

Mel wanted to hide behind Harry, but since she figured it would've looked stupid. She walked directly to the middle of the room.

"Harry!" said Fudge. "Mel! How are you?"

"Fine," Harry said shortly.

"We were just talking about the night when Mr Crouch turned up on the grounds," Fudge continued carefully. "It was you who found him, was it not?"

"Yes," said Harry. "I didn't see Madame Maxime anywhere, though, and she'd have a job hiding, wouldn't she?" He added quickly.

Mel and Dumbledore smiled at Harry. Sometimes she felt amazed at his courage.

"Yes, well," said Fudge, blushing a bit, "we're about to go for a short walk on the grounds if you'll excuse us... perhaps if you just go back to your class —"

"I wanted to talk to you, Professor," Harry said quickly.

Dumbledore looked at both, Mel, although feeling a bit stupid, kept eye contact with the Headmaster and tried to focus her mind on the memory of Harry on the ground, holding his forehead, just to see if her theory of Dumbledore being able to read minds was right.

"Wait here for me," Dumbledore said. "Our examination of the grounds will not take long."

Once the sound of steps was gone and they were alone, Mel sat on one of the chairs in front of the desk.

"Hello, Fawkes," Harry said, smiling at the Phoenix behind the Headmaster's chair. Suddenly, his eyes lit up. "Hey, don't you want to try the chair?"

"What?" Mel snorted. "I don't have a deathwish, no..."

"But it's not to mock," Harry said in confusion. "I meant to see how you feel, wasn't that what you saw in the mirror when we were in first year? You have a chance to see how it feels!"

"Oh," Mel turned scarlet, "er, maybe later... We should sit down."

The girl guided Harry to the chairs facing the Headmaster's desk and sat down next to him. He stared at her with a curious yet polite expression. It was his soft gaze what gave Mel the sudden urge to offer the world to the boy. The thought scared her, she had no idea how it felt to actually give everything up just to save someone. Her father had done it, yes. Her grandmother did it, her uncle did it as well... but she couldn't promise something like that so lightly! She was too young to give her life away like that, even if it was for her best friend.

She realized that confessing what she'd really seen in the mirror was too much, it would've surely put pressure upon the boy, to know he'd been the thing she'd wished for the most all those years. Instead, she blurted out something else.

"Kiss me."

Harry's eyes widened.

"What?"

Mel cleared her throat, feeling her blush reach her neck.

"I– I'm sorry, that was bold. Didn't mean to make you uncomfort–"

Harry cupped one side of her face so she'd look at him.

"I'll do it," He gave her a small smile. "You just took me by surprise... I'll do it."

He leaned closer, and just as they were about to kiss, something caught his eye.

"What's that?" Harry stood up.

Mel let out the faintest whimper, she quickly looked over her shoulder to follow his gaze.

"What thing?"

"That," He pointed to what looked like a small cabinet, he hesitated for a moment, not knowing what it was inside.

A shallow stone basin lay there, with odd carvings around the edge: runes and symbols that Harry did not recognize. The silvery light was coming from the basin's contents, which were like nothing Harry had ever seen before. He could not tell whether the substance was liquid or gas. It was a bright, whitish silver, and it was moving ceaselessly; the surface of it became ruffled like water beneath wind, and then, like clouds, separated and swirled smoothly. It looked like light made liquid — or like wind made solid — Harry couldn't make up his mind.

He wanted to touch it, to find out what it felt like, but nearly four years' experience of the magical world told him that sticking his hand into a bowl full of some unknown substance was a very stupid thing to do. He therefore pulled his wand out of the inside of his robes, cast a nervous look around the office, looked back at the contents of the basin, and prodded them.

The surface of the silvery stuff inside the basin began to swirl very fast.

"What?" Mel got up as well, standing next to him. "What's..?"

"Dunno," Harry squinted, bending closer to the surface. "There's something..."

"Be careful," Mel put a hand on his shoulder, but this only seemed to encourage him to go forward.

With a final push, Harry held onto the edge of the basin and stayed firmly in place. Mel could see something over his shoulder, but she decided not to get any closer, whatever Harry was doing, it couldn't be all that dangerous, he looked fine, even if he was holding a little tightly to the edge.

She waited a few seconds and suddenly Harry spoke, but it sounded muffled like he was in another room.

"Harry?" Mel reached out to pull him out.

"What are you doing?" A voice came from above.

Mel jumped and looked around frantically.

"What do you think you're doing?"

She finally located the voice: A man in one of the portraits, looking awfully grumpy.

"Sorry. We're just... curious?"

"Curiosity burned the witch, young lady," He retorted sharply.

"I know that," Mel frowned. "But we're not doing anything wrong..."

"You should pull back that boy before he ends up with nightmares."

"What?"

"That thing he's using, that's a Pensieve. Dumbledore was using it before Fudge came in with his weeping, but I assure you, nothing in there will make your friend's life any more pleasant, so you should bring him back."

"What does a Pensieve do?"

"If you don't know that's your problem, just do what I tell you!"

"A Pensieve works to show memories and examine them," A woman said from the portrait on the right. "Your Headmaster pulls a memory out of his mind and then pours it in, to take another look at it, paying more attention to the details."

"I didn't know such thing could be done," Mel said in amazement. "How-?"

"That's none of your business!" The man exclaimed. "Eupraxia, please be kind enough to not go around telling the Headmaster's secrets to a child!"

"That child is a Dumbledore," The woman replied sternly. "She's allowed to ask questions. You're free to ignore her, Phineas, but I certainly won't."

"If anyone cares," a third voice spoke up from Phineas' right. "A Pensieve is not a thing only Headmasters have, anyone can have them, they're hard to find, but–"

"Shut it, Brutus!" Phineas snapped.

The door opened then, and Dumbledore stopped at the scene.

"Dumbledore!" Phineas exclaimed. "Put order here! That boy over there is lurking around, getting his nose where is not–"

"I see, Phineas," Dumbledore interrupted, walking up to Harry. "Don't worry..."

Mel wanted to say something in Harry's defence, but Dumbledore raised a hand to ease her mind.

"Give me a moment," He told her, bending into the Pensieve as well.

She heard him speak just like Harry had done minutes before, then watched as the man grabbed the boy by the arm and gently pulled back as he straightened up. Harry gasped, blinking rapidly.

"Professor– I know I shouldn't've — I didn't mean — the cabinet door was sort of open and —"

"I quite understand," Dumbledore grabbed the basin and carried it over to his desk, the children followed him and sat on the two opposite chairs.

"What is it?" Harry asked.

"This? It is called a Pensieve," said Dumbledore. "I sometimes find, and I am sure you know the feeling, that I simply have too many thoughts and memories crammed into my mind."

"Er," Harry stammered.

"At these times," Dumbledore nodded, "I use the Pensieve. One simply siphons the excess thoughts from one's mind, pours them into the basin, and examines them at one's leisure. It becomes easier to spot patterns and links, you understand when they are in this form."

"You mean... that stuff's your thoughts?" Harry stared at the liquid looking material.

"Certainly," Dumbledore confirmed. "Let me show you."

Dumbledore drew his wand out of the inside of his robes and placed the tip into his own silvery hair, near his temple. When he took the wand away, hair seemed to be clinging to it — but then Harry saw that it was in fact a glistening strand of the same strange silvery-white substance that filled the Pensieve. Dumbledore added this fresh thought to the basin, and Harry, astonished, saw his own face swimming around the surface of the bowl. Dumbledore placed his long hands on either side of the Pensieve and swirled it, rather as a gold prospector would pan for fragments of gold... and Harry saw his own face change smoothly into Snape's, who opened his mouth and spoke to the ceiling, his voice echoing slightly.

"It's coming back... Karkaroff's too... stronger and clearer than ever..."

"A connection I could have made without assistance," Dumbledore put it away, "but never mind. I was using the Pensieve when Mr Fudge arrived for our meeting and put it away rather hastily. Undoubtedly I did not fasten the cabinet door properly. Naturally, it would have attracted your attention."

"I'm sorry," Harry grumbled.

"Curiosity is not a sin," He said, looking intently at Phineas. "But we should exercise caution with our curiosity... yes, indeed..." He swirled the tip of his wand inside, a figure rose out of it, it was a girl.

"He put a hex on me, Professor Dumbledore," She was saying. "And I was only teasing him, sir. I only said I'd seen him kissing Florence behind the greenhouses last Thursday..."

"But why, Bertha," said Dumbledore sadly, "why did you have to follow him in the first place?"

"Bertha?" Harry and Mel asked at the same time.

"Is that — was that Bertha Jorkins?"

"Yes... That was Bertha as I remember her at school."

"Wonderful," Mel peered down at it with excitement, she realized what she'd said and leaned back, clearing her throat. "I- er, meant the Pensieve, you know..."

"So, kids," Dumbledore continued calmly. "Before you got lost in my thoughts, you wanted to tell me something."

"Yes," said Harry. "Professor — I was in Divination just now, and — er — I fell asleep."

"Quite understandable. Continue."

"Well, I had a dream," said Harry. "A dream about Lord Voldemort. He was torturing Wormtail... you know who Wormtail —"

"I do know," said Dumbledore. "Please continue."

"Voldemort got a letter from an owl. He said something like, Wormtail's blunder had been repaired. He said someone was dead. Then he said, Wormtail wouldn't be fed to the snake — there was a snake beside his chair. He said — he said he'd be feeding me to it, instead. Then he did the Cruciatus Curse on Wormtail — and my scar hurt... It woke me up, it hurt so badly... Er — that's all," said Harry clumsily.

"I see... I see. Now, has your scar hurt at any other time this year, excepting the time it woke you up over the summer?"

"No, I — how did you know it woke me up over the summer?" said Harry.

"You are not Sirius's only correspondent," said Dumbledore. "I have also been in contact with him ever since he left Hogwarts last year. It was I who suggested the mountainside cave as the safest place for him to stay," He looked at Mel. "As well as the one who recommended him not to take your mother's offer, it's too dangerous to have him at plain sight."

Dumbledore got up. He kept adding thoughts into the basin from time to time, while Mel kept revolving in her own thoughts.

Snape seemed to be informing Dumbledore about what Karkaroff was telling him so that had to be the reason why Snape wasn't one of Dumbledore's worries, Bertha disappeared at the start of the summer, and Harry kept having dreams about Voldemort assuring others Harry'd be dead soon... it didn't make sense at all, but still... she had to be missing something... she had to be overlooking at something important, something maybe Harry had forgotten to mention...

"Professor?" Harry asked, bringing both Dumbledores back from their heads.

"My apologies," The older said quietly, sitting back.

"D'you — d'you know why my scar's hurting me?"

"I have a theory, no more than that..." He started carefully. Mel noticed he was speaking with the same hesitant tone he used when telling her about Ariana. "It is my belief that your scar hurts both when Lord Voldemort is near you, and when he is feeling a particularly strong surge of hatred."

"But... why?"

"Because you and he are connected by the curse that failed," said Dumbledore. "That is no ordinary scar."

"So you think... that dream... did it really happen?"

"It is possible. I would say — probable. Harry — did you see Voldemort?"

"No. Just the back of his chair. But — there wouldn't have been anything to see, would there? I mean, he hasn't got a body, has he? But... but then how could he have held the wand?" Harry wondered out loud.

"How indeed?" muttered Dumbledore.

"How indeed..." Mel repeated, lost in thought.

For some reason, Erick's words came back to her stronger than ever.

'I know you want nothing more but to live in a fairytale, but all we got is this...'

Was it? A world in which people like Voldemort could go back to life and people like her father had no second chances? If that was truly the case, she didn't think she'd be stepping out of her soft and gentle point of view any time soon.

"Professor," Harry said, "do you think he's getting stronger?"

"Voldemort?" Dumbledore looked intently at the boy. "Once again, Harry, I can only give you my suspicions. The years of Voldemort's ascent to power were marked with disappearances. Bertha Jorkins has vanished without a trace in the place where Voldemort was certainly known to be last. Mr Crouch too has disappeared... within these very grounds. And there was a third disappearance, one which the Ministry, I regret to say, do not consider of any importance, for it concerns a Muggle. His name was Frank Bryce, he lived in the village where Voldemort's father grew up, and he has not been seen since last August. You see, I read the Muggle newspapers, unlike most of my Ministry friends. These disappearances seem to me to be linked. The Ministry disagrees — as you may have heard, while waiting outside my office."

So there it was, at least that part was cleared. She felt a sudden frustration when thinking of all the things she didn't know, either because she was too young or she hadn't asked the right questions, either way, she couldn't do anything with so many holes in her story, and she would do anything to fix that.

"Professor?" Harry spoke again.

"Yes, Harry?"

"Er... could I ask you about... that court thing I was in... in the Pensieve?"

"You could. I attended it many times, but some trials come back to me more clearly than others... particularly now..."

"You know — you know the trial you found me in? The one with Crouch's son? Well... were they talking about Neville's parents?"

"What?" Mel asked abruptly. Dumbledore stared at both of them grimly.

"Has Neville never told you why he has been brought up by his grandmother?"

"No," Harry turned to her. "Mel mentioned it once, about how odd it was, how he'd never mentioned his parents... she said it after the first lesson we had with Moody when he showed us..."

"When he showed us the Unforgivable Curses," Mel finished.

"Yes, they were talking about Neville's parents," said Dumbledore. "His father, Frank, was an Auror just like Professor Moody, and much like your own father, Mel. He and his wife were tortured for information about Voldemort's whereabouts after he lost his powers, as you heard."

"So they're dead?"

"No," Dumbledore's voice grew bitter. "They are insane. They are both in St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries. I believe Neville visits them, with his grandmother, during the holidays. They do not recognize him."

Something in her stomach dropped and knocked the wind out of her lungs. Tortured, surely the same way Moody had shown them with that spider...

"The Longbottoms were very popular," Dumbledore explained. "The attacks on them came after Voldemort's fall from power, just when everyone thought they were safe. Those attacks caused a wave of fury such as I have never known. The Ministry was under great pressure to catch those who had done it. Unfortunately, the Longbottoms' evidence was — given their condition — none too reliable."

"Then Mr Crouch's son might not have been involved?" Harry asked in horror.

"As to that, I have no idea," Dumbledore replied sadly.

"Er, Mr Bagman..."

"...has never been accused of any Dark activity since," said Dumbledore calmly.

"Right... And... er..." The children were both staring at the Pensieve, which was showing Snape's face on its surface.

"No more has Professor Snape," he said.

"What made you think he'd really stopped supporting Voldemort, Professor?" Harry blurted out.

Dumbledore and Harry locked eyes for a few seconds, it felt weird to stay seated in the middle of it, quietly observing. "That, Harry, is a matter between Professor Snape and myself."

Harry stood up, Mel did as well.

"Children," both of them stopped at the door. "Please do not speak about Neville's parents to anybody else. He has the right to let people know when he is ready."

"Yes, Professor," they said in unison.

"And —" The light of the Pensieve gave Dumbledore a much more ghostly look. "Good luck with the third task."

Harry nodded, walking out of the office. Mel stayed in her place, thinking about her dad and Neville's and how they probably knew each other, and how Emily probably heard about their attacks. She thought of this until Dumbledore shook his head.

"When you look at all together it becomes unbearable," He sighed tiredly. "That's when a Pensieve's useful, so you can keep a hopeful standpoint, even in the middle of a poorly lit view."

"How did you..?"

"I believe you are under the impression that I'd be able to see, without words, what you were trying to communicate... Was I wrong?"

She blushed. "I was trying to see..."

"If I was able to see your thoughts," Dumbledore smiled. "It's quite more complicated than that, but certainly that's the easiest way to put it –and yes," He added when he saw her expression. "With a little effort, you can learn that too."

"Will you teach me?" She asked.

Dumbledore's eyes shone knowingly.

"Patience, dear girl."

Next Chapter —>

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eldritchteaparty · 3 years

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Chapters: 16/22 Fandom: The Magnus Archives (Podcast) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist Characters: Martin Blackwood, Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Tim Stoker (The Magnus Archives), Sasha James, Rosie Zampano, Oliver Banks, Original Elias Bouchard, Peter Lukas, Annabelle Cane, Melanie King, Georgie Barker, Alice "Daisy" Tonner, Basira Hussain Additional Tags: Post-Canon, Fix-It, Post-Canon Fix-It, Scars, Eventual Happy Ending, Fluff and Angst, I'll add characters and tags as they come up, Reference to injuries and blood, Character Death In Dream, Nudity (not sexual or graphic), Nightmares, Fighting

Summary: Following the events of MAG 200, Jon and Martin find themselves in a dimension very much like the one they came from--with second chances and more time.

Chapter summary: Everyone heads to Elias’s house to continue discussing their situation. Jon and Martin talk with Elias.

Chapter 16 of my post-canon fix-it is out! Read at AO3 above or here below the cut.

Tumblr master post with links to previous chapters is here.

***

Martin took the front seat for the ride out to Elias’s house. He wasn’t sure if that was what Jon preferred, but it felt like it put less pressure on him to engage with Elias. He supposed he could have made some excuse to sit in the back seat with Jon, which is what he’d really wanted to do, but that would have made what was already a very awkward occasion even more awkward; after all, Elias was doing them a favor.

He wished he’d thought before to ask Jon how he actually felt about Elias. There was no guarantee Jon would have wanted to talk about it, but he should have offered him the chance. Martin could tell Jon wasn’t comfortable around Elias, but then again, neither was he. It wasn’t Elias, necessarily—it was more about the fact that when he looked at him, he couldn’t help but see Jonah Magnus, at least for a moment.

This brought up a bigger question that Martin had thought about but had no way to really ask Jon, and that was how much he operated on what Martin imagined most people did—memories, experience, reasoning things out—and how much he operated on knowing and feeling things most people couldn’t feel. During the apocalypse it had been almost exclusively the latter, based on how incapacitated Jon had been when separated from the Eye, but he knew Jon didn’t have nearly the abilities he’d had then.

On the other hand, there had been times recently when Jon had acted on Martin’s feelings without even realizing he’d been doing it; Martin suspected it had happened more times than he knew. Was it just with him that happened?

Only half conscious of it, he turned to check on Jon in the back seat.

He’d basically succeeded in putting the thought of their bond from the Lonely out of his mind since their first big argument here. Jon had just gotten so sick, and then—well, everything else, and he’d basically filed it away, undigested, a concept he didn’t quite know what to do with. Now, as Martin watched Jon stare distractedly out of the car window and into the night outside, the thought reinstated itself.

What did it mean, now that they appeared to be heading down the same path as before? Although he detested the whole idea, maybe he was somehow essential to Jon being able to start another apocalypse—or maybe, if Jon did end up starting one, Martin was essential to whatever his plans might be afterward. Could he use that somehow to—to help keep Jon safe?

As soon as the thought occurred to him, the guilt poured in from wherever it tucked itself away. Trying to protect Jon always felt so much like working against him, and he hated it, but he still hadn’t found another way. The guilt compounded with a familiar frustration bordering on anger—no, it was anger—as he reminded himself that even if he came up with something, even if he did manage to find some small foothold of power in this situation, it would almost certainly backfire. Everything—every plan, every measure of protection he or Jon had tried to take—always had.

He realized Jon had stopped staring into the darkness outside of the car and was now looking at him.

Martin took a breath to say something—he wasn’t sure what—when Elias spoke for the first time since they’d gotten in the car.

“Everything all right?”

“Um—yeah,” Martin said, turning back around in his seat. “Yeah, it’s just late, and I—I guess I’m tired. Sorry for not being more helpful.”

“Oh, I’m fine. I do this drive a lot.”

“Yeah, I—I guess you do.” Martin glanced back to see Jon had returned to looking in the direction of the window. “I mean, every day, right?” It was an incredibly stupid question, but Martin felt obligated to make some effort to keep the conversation going.

“Well—mostly. Every now and then I stay in the office overnight.” Elias turned and caught Martin’s eye, but the resulting discomfort seemed to be mutual, and he quickly returned his eyes to the road. “Or, I suppose, more often I just don’t come in in the first place. Sasha pretends to hate it, but I think we all know she’s happier when I just stay out of the way.”

Elias laughed at his own self-derogatory remark, and Martin tried to be polite with a quick hm. He hadn’t spent a lot of time around Elias here; he’d actually done his best to avoid him, simply because he was his boss, and Elias had seemed fine with that. It was the same way he’d tried to avoid Jon before—before he’d turned out to be Jon. Sasha had always been Sasha, she’d gone out of her way to make him comfortable, but—well, in any case, he didn’t think that laughing about Elias being a shit boss was the best way to forge a relationship. He had no idea how to interact with him under the best of circumstances, and therefore tonight was a lost cause. Thankfully, Elias seemed to arrive at the same conclusion, and let the conversation drop.

Martin turned to imagining the scenery that might be outside the car for the remainder of the ride.

He assumed they had arrived when Elias turned the car off the main road, and the surface beneath the car began to crunch. They drove a short way down this gravel lane before Elias stopped the car and pulled out his phone and opened an app.

“Looks like Allan gave up on me tonight,” he said. “Give it a minute… and… there.”

Several flood lights lit up the drive that curved around in front of an impressive country house; it was an impressive house to Martin, anyway. Elias hadn’t been joking when he’d said he had enough bedrooms to go around. His surprise must have shown on his face.

“The outside’s the best part,” Elias said, as he pulled the car around near the front door. “I really don’t even use most of it. It was a family place. No idea why I hang on to it, other than—well, it works.”

“Did you grow up out here?”

“Here?” Elias asked. “No—not really. We lived in town. We came here sometimes, I guess. Mostly my father rented this one out. I sold the London place as soon as he died, and meant to do the same with this one, but—well, it’s been twenty years—twenty-five, almost? Christ—and here we are.”

“Right,” Martin said, even though he had no frame of reference at all. His mother had died with nothing but what she’d kept with her in the care home. He supposed he was grateful for that; he’d barely found the fortitude to go through the couple of boxes they had returned to him. “Well—thanks again for having us all out here.”

“Oh—it’s, um—” Elias paused. “It’s the least I can do.”

“It’s not.” They turned to look at Jon.

“Sorry?”

“I’m just saying it’s—it’s not the least you can do. It’s rather far from it, actually.”

“Well—” Elias paused again. “Look, I’m feeling sort of—”

“They’re here.”

“What?”

Headlights flashed down the drive.

“Oh, the girls,” Martin said. “Guess they left around the same time we did.” Elias and Jon were already getting out of the car by the time he finished his sentence, clearly also not eager to have a real conversation for the moment.

“Park anywhere,” Elias told them as they pulled up. “You see where Allan’s parked, and we’re not expecting anyone else.”

“Tim,” Sasha said from the back seat. “He’ll be here. Well—in a day or two.”

“He’s been here before. He’ll figure it out.”

They managed to get everything out of the cars in one go, with Elias bringing Georgie’s bags, and Georgie carrying a padded crate that emitted an occasional small sound of distress. Georgie caught Martin looking toward the crate as they walked toward the house.

“He’s not fond of car rides, I’m afraid. Do you—like cats?”

“Oh, I just like animals,” Martin said, wondering why he was suddenly feeling shy. It was interesting, feeling something like a normal emotion in the middle of all this. He couldn’t decide if it was a waste of energy or a relief. “Never really had a pet, though.”

“Well, this is the Admiral. He’s pretty friendly, at least when he’s not in the car, so—”

“Oh yeah, Jon’s told me all about him.”

“Is that so?” Georgie asked, turning to look at Jon.

“I, uh—did get to know him a bit. Before. There, I mean.”

“Right,” Georgie said, shaking her head. “It’s going to take me a while longer to get used to this.”

“All right,” said Elias, as they walked through the front door. “I know it’s late, so if you all don’t mind I’ll save the tour for tomorrow. I was thinking it might be best if you all stayed on the first floor, but there are other rooms on the second floor. That’s where Allan’s room is. My bedroom’s down there”—he pointed to hallway on the right— “and I was thinking you all could stay here.” He led them down a hallway in the opposite direction.

“There are three rooms. Sasha, this one’s just got a double. It’s the smallest room, and you’d have to use the bath across the hall here—well, I mean, there are others, but that’s the closest. If it’s ok with you—”

“Oh, yeah,” Sasha looked both tired and appreciative. “Honestly, it’s much bigger than my room at home. It’s—it’s great. If you all don’t mind, I might head off? Try and get some sleep?”

“All yours. Oh—that door at the end of the hall, that’s a linen closet. If any of you need an extra blanket or towel or anything.”

“Thanks,” Sasha said. “For all of this. Goodnight.”

They headed just a little further down the hall as Sasha closed the door behind herself. “As for the other two rooms—Melanie and—Georgia—”

“Georgie.”

“Right, I’m—I’m sorry—Georgie—I was thinking if you didn’t mind sharing the hallway bath with Sasha, this room has a super king. Or the other one’s a king, but it does have an en-suite shower. And again, there are other rooms upstairs if—”

“I’m ok with this one,” Melanie said. “Georgie?”

“Sure. Unless you two—?” She looked toward Martin and Jon.

“Oh, I don’t—I don’t think we care?” He looked at Jon, who by now also seemed quite tired. Jon shook his head. “I mean, we’ve been sharing a double, and I guess before that we just slept on the ground somewhere, you know, when we could sleep, so…”

He trailed off as he realized everyone was looking at him with slightly wide eyes—even Melanie, who had been avoiding eye contact since they had arrived. He hadn’t meant to say quite that much.

“Well,” Georgie said quickly, releasing some of the tension, “if you’re really fine with it, honestly, the Admiral’s a snuggler, so… yeah. We wouldn’t mind the extra space.”

“Here, I’ll—” Elias picked up Georgie’s bags again from where he had temporarily set them on the hallway floor, and glanced at Jon and Martin. “Are you two all right? It’s just the last door down that way.”

“Thank you,” Jon said, surprising Martin.

“You’re welcome,” Elias said, before turning to help Melanie and Georgie get settled.

Like Sasha, their room was also much bigger than the one they shared at home. Not only did the king fit in it—it would not have in Jon’s flat, as the double just about took up all the room left after the dresser and the side tables—there was also an armchair to one side of the bed and a small writing desk in the corner. He remembered Elias commenting that his father used to rent the place out.

“Bit formal,” Martin commented as he set down Jon’s suitcase, which had been the heavier of their two bags. “Big, though.”

Jon nodded and handed Martin’s bag to him before sinking on to the end of the bed. Martin took a moment to sit next to him.

“You all right?”

“Yeah.”

“Tired? Want to go to bed?”

Jon nodded. They undressed; they knew which sides of the bed belonged to each of them without asking. Just as Martin was about to pull down the sheets, he realized the only switch to turn off the light was near the door. Jon was already in bed, so he got up to turn it off. He looked at Jon as he did; his eyes were already closed.

“Jon?”

“Hm?”

“Do you feel safe here?”

“Like I said before—we’re as safe here as anywhere.”

“Do you feel safe here? With Elias?”

“Oh. I—” Jon paused, opening his eyes. “I do.”

“Ok.” Although he felt like maybe there was more to it, one of Jon’s short answers was going to have to be good enough for tonight. Martin turned off the light and felt his way back to the bed. Once under the covers, he reached out to find Jon. He realized he was glad that the king wasn’t that much bigger than their double. He felt Jon turn toward him in the dark.

Outside, through the conduit of the hallway and the walls connecting their rooms, he heard Melanie’s raised voice, too muffled to understand. She continued for a few minutes, her words occasionally peppered by some also-muffled comment from Georgie, and then there was silence again. A small part of him found comfort in it, even if Melanie was agitated. It was familiar; it was something outside of himself and Jon that he knew and still felt he could trust for what it was.

“I wonder what she’s on about?” Martin asked, yawning.

He didn’t expect Jon to answer, so he was a little surprised that he did. “That’s her business. Or—hers and Georgie’s.”

“Oh. I didn’t mean—I wasn’t really asking. Just talking.” Jon’s comment had, however, reminded him of what had happened on their ride over in the car.

“Jon, can I ask you about something? I mean—if you need to sleep—”

“I’m fine.”

“In the car tonight—when you—looked at me. Did you know what I was thinking?”

“What you were thinking? No.”

“What I was feeling, then?”

“I’m—” Jon started to move away from him, but Martin reached out to touch his arm and he stopped. “I’m sorry.”

“Look, I—I’m sure you didn’t mean to. Just please, talk to me. You—you can’t help it, can you? Sometimes.”

Jon was quiet; Martin could hear him breathing, feel him struggle with the tension in his body. He gave him a minute. “I don’t like it,” he finally said.

“I know you don’t. Is it—just me? Or are you always feeling everyone’s feelings?”

“It’s just you. Of course, it’s just you. You know why.”

“I see.” He sat with that for a moment, letting it sink in as he alternated the pressure of his fingers against Jon’s arm. He knew he was fidgeting, but Jon didn’t seem to mind it. Maybe it was helping. “What did you feel tonight?”

“You were—you were feeling guilty. You always feel guilty, but this was… sharp. And you were angry. And—” Jon shifted under his hand, but didn’t pull away again. “And it all had something to do with me.”

“I wasn’t angry at you.”

“You don’t owe me an explanation.”

“And I’m not going to give you one, other than that. I just—I want you to know that.”

“You know—it’s all right if you are mad at me. I would understand.”

“I know. But I’m not.”

Martin let that settle for a moment before speaking again. “Jon is this—new? I mean, different this time?”

“Sort of,” Jon said. “During the apocalypse, I suppose I—gravitated that way. To your feelings. But everything—everyone—was so loud then. I knew you didn’t like it, and there was always something to drown it out.”

He stopped and cleared his throat. Martin waited.

“Now… Now it’s like when it gets quiet, and all at once you can hear your own heartbeat, feel your pulse radiating through your body. And then you try to stop hearing it, stop feeling it, and—”

“And you can’t,” Martin finished. Jon’s words were becoming painful, although he wasn’t sure for which one of them. “Yeah. All right.”

“I should have told you before.”

“I know why you didn’t. It’s—it’s ok.” Martin said. “I’m sure my feelings are no picnic for you either.”

Jon moved again, but this time it was toward Martin, into his chest. The covers slipped down from his shoulder as he did, and Martin reached for them, pulling them back up. Carefully, so he would not disturb them again, he slid his arm down around Jon’s waist.

They slept.

***

Martin was disoriented when he woke up. It took a moment to remember where he was; the darkness confused him. There were windows on two sides of this room, yet both were covered with heavy curtains instead of blinds, and very little light actually came in. He sensed it was still early, but he wasn’t sure how early until he checked his phone. He hadn’t slept especially late, which wasn’t surprising given how much sleep he’d forced on his body over the last couple of days—but Jon was gone.

Jon’s clothes from the previous day were neatly placed on his side of the bed, so he’d taken the time to get dressed. Martin took that as a sign that he didn’t need to worry. He stood up and stretched, then peeked out of the curtains of the closest window. He couldn’t even see another house from where they were; the lawn extended off into the distance, with the occasional tree adding some variety to the landscape. If they wanted to be away from other people, it looked like they had achieved their goal.

He left one of the curtains open for the little light it provided, and found the small bag with his razor and toothbrush before heading to the bathroom. They had been so tired that they hadn’t even looked at it the night before. It was spacious, with two sinks and a large shower with a hinged glass door. Jon had already been in that morning—either he had been exceptionally quiet or Martin had slept very hard, and he would have believed either. He was slightly amused at his compulsion to use the other sink, the one Jon had not used.

After he had finished up and gotten dressed, he cautiously opened the door and looked down the hallway. No one was there; it was quiet. He closed the door gently behind him and headed back in the direction of the foyer they had walked through when they had come into the house; he imagined he’d find some kind of main room nearby. He passed Georgie and Melanie’s room, and then Sasha’s room; both doors were still closed.

As he drew closer to the foyer, he heard low voices from a room to the other side of the hallway. They sounded conversational, comfortable even. He quickly realized one of them was Jon, and as he continued to walk toward them he recognized the other as Elias. He froze just as he reached the doorway, not sure if he should interrupt; before he could really catch any of the conversation, however, Jon spoke out to him.

“Martin? Is—is that you?”

Is that me, Martin thought, right—but even if they had been alone he wouldn’t have called him on it after their conversation the previous night.

“Um, yeah,” he said, stepping with embarrassment to the edge of the foyer where they could see him. “I wasn’t trying to—I just wasn’t sure if I should interrupt. I can head off, if—”

“Come on in,” Elias said, looking cheerier than Martin could recall seeing him recently. He and Jon were seated in a very proper pair of armchairs, with a small side table situated between them; Elias sipped coffee from a mug as Martin entered. “I was just telling Jon about my father, which is apparently the only thing I know how to talk about when someone is forced to spend more than five minutes with me.”

“Oh,” Martin said, not sure what else to say. The room had a high ceiling and was almost uncomfortably large; there was a fireplace that didn’t appear to get much use, more armchairs, and a sofa with a large rectangular coffee table in front of it. There were windows and a large set of decorative doors in the back of the room—presumably leading to the back lawn—but like the windows in the bedroom, they all let in much less light than Martin felt like they should.

“Coffee? Tea?” Elias asked.

“Um—I’d love some tea. I can get it though, if you tell me where the—kitchen is.”

“Back that way.” Elias pointed behind himself to another doorway Martin had failed to notice. “Through the breakfast room. I’ve got one of those machines that does the whole coffee-espresso-tea-blah blah-whatever thing. Well, really, it’s Allan’s, but he finally broke me down and I started using it. Help yourself.”

Martin looked at Jon, trying to discern whether he was all right. “Go on,” Jon said, gesturing back toward the kitchen with a nod of his head. He did seem ok, Martin thought. He seemed calm, anyway.

Martin headed back to grab some tea. He had trouble thinking of it as making tea—he had a dislike for these machines, they never really boiled the water properly—but it would more than make do this morning. He automatically set out two mugs from the selection on the counter, and only when he was in the middle of adding milk did he realize he hadn’t noticed whether Jon already had one. Fortunately, he did not, and he enthusiastically reached for the cup when Martin set it in front of him.

Martin sat on the sofa, the option closest to the armchairs, but he still felt separated from Jon and Elias. It was like the furniture was spread too far apart to make up for the vastness of the room, and hadn’t quite succeeded.

“Did you sleep ok?” It took a moment for him to realize Elias was talking to him.

“Oh—yeah. Yeah, I guess I did.” Martin rubbed the side of his neck. “I actually wasn’t sure what time it was when I woke up. The curtains keep it pretty dark in there.”

“Ugh.” He had just meant to imply that it was good for sleeping, but apparently it was a sore spot for Elias. “Worst thing about this place—it’s so dark. And it really didn’t have to be, you know?” He took another sip of his coffee. “Sometimes I think my father really preferred—oh, never mind. I’ve had enough of his ghost already this morning.”

Martin took a sip of his tea in the brief but uncomfortable silence that followed; he was saved from having to think of something to say when the front door closed loudly. He turned to look toward the foyer, but no one was there.

“Oh, that was just Allan,” Elias said. “He usually heads in about now.”

“Oh. Does he—know we’re all here?”

“He’ll figure it out.”

“What, you didn’t tell him?”

“Nah. He’ll ask if he cares. He’s always pretty wrapped up at work this time of year.”

“What—what does he do?” Martin asked.

“He’s a professor at the University here in Kent.”

“Oh. In Canterbury.”

“Yeah.” Elias, who had been holding his coffee cup quite comfortably between his hands until this point, set it down on the side table. “Actually, to be completely honest—I mean, he is very wrapped up, he just gets that way—but I wasn’t sure I wanted to involve him in all this. You don’t—you don’t happen to know if Allan was all right there? In the—other dimension?”

Martin opened his mouth before he knew what he was going to say, and then turned to Jon. It was clear neither of them had expected this question, and Martin felt both guilty and grateful when Jon took the responsibility for answering it.

“He—no. He was not all right. He died. A long time ago, before you did. Did you—want to know about it?”

Elias sighed. “I just—had this feeling, I guess. I don’t know. Will it help if I know? Help him, I mean?”

“I have no idea,” Jon said.

“Huh.” Elias leaned forward in his armchair and clasped his hands together, contemplating, and then turned to Martin. “Would you want to know, if you were me?”

Martin shook his head, holding up his hands in front of him. “Oh, if Jon doesn’t know if it will help, I definitely don’t. I—”

“I know. But what—what would you do?”

“I guess—” Martin looked at Jon, who shrugged. “I’m not saying it’s right, and honestly, I’m probably the worst person to ask, but—yeah, I’d want to know.”

“Ok,” Elias said, sitting back against the chair. “Tell me.”

“He was… consumed. By a—through—a Leitner.”

“A Leitner?” Elias was confused. “Like—Jurgen Leitner?”

“That’s what we called his books,” Martin explained. “The books from his collection.”

“The collection in the archives right now,” Elias asked.

“Yes.”

“And Allan was—consumed—by a book.”

“Well, they were different there—” Martin started to say, but he was cut off by a burst of laughter from Elias.

“Of course he was.” He continued to laugh, but his laughter became more strained. “That would be exactly how Allan would go in a world full of monsters.” He leaned forward, and the laughter came to a gradual stop as he rested his head in his hands, elbows supported by his knees.

“I’m—I’m sorry,” Martin said, knowing exactly how little it helped.

“No, no—it’s—it makes perfect sense. It just—does,” Elias said, before finally raising his head. “So, what do you think—I keep him away from the Leitner collection? That’s easy enough. He’s never been to the Institute in his life.”

Martin and Jon met each other’s eyes again.

“It’s never—it’s never simple,” Jon said slowly. “I don’t know if it means anything, but it was a long time ago. Certainly the entities had an interest in you there that they didn’t here—that they don’t. That can’t—that can’t be a bad thing. For you or Allan.”

“I’m sorry,” Elias said, sitting up again. He sighed, reached for his coffee, and resumed holding the mug with both hands. Martin realized it was the way a person holds a hot drink when trying to warm their fingers, even though there was no way it could be that hot anymore.

“No need to apologize,” Martin said. “It’s—it’s a lot.”

“Tell me—tell me about Jonah Magnus. And me. I want to hear it from you.”

Jon took a long sip of tea; Martin was glad he had made it for him. “You already know the basic story. What do you want to know about it?”

“Well, ok. Why me? Why did he choose me?”

“I suppose… I suppose you did have a certain profile. You had the right social status to run the Institute. Your—experience with Allan may have primed you in some way. And—” he stopped.

“What?”

“There was no one watching you. Well, no one who—”

“No one who cared.”

“No. No one who—who would—object too strongly if you changed. Slowly. Dedicated yourself to the Institute. Became Jonah.”

“I see.” Elias turned his cup in his hands.

“On the other hand—you weren’t the only one he could have chosen. Not at all. In a very real sense, you were just unlucky. In the wrong place.”

“Sure.” He continued to focus on his cup. “Was it—was it fast, at least? For me?”

Jon sighed. “No. No, it was—long. And slow. And—terrifying.”

Martin shuddered just a little at Jon’s words; he wondered if Jon hadn’t taken it a bit far, but Elias stayed perfectly calm.

“I see,” Elias said again. “Do you think—I know you said I was in the wrong place, but—is it possible that—maybe that’s not true? Maybe that was—my purpose?”

“Your—purpose?” Jon looked directly at Elias. “What—”

“I just think—I never understood why I went to the Institute in the first place. I mean—I kind of did, I thought I’d take a low-level research job, waste some time, do something that would have pissed off my father a bit—but I never really understood why. Not really. And I ended up doing everything he wanted anyway.”

“Well—I’m only guessing, but I think there must have been some sort of pull between the two dimensions, and maybe—”

“And maybe my real reason for existing was there, in that other dimension, to be—that. Some sort of useless, waiting husk that Jonah Magnus could crawl into and—”

“No,” Martin interrupted him. “That’s not—”

“But it makes sense. Just like Allan being eaten by a book. It would explain some things—why I couldn’t just walk away from all this. It would explain why I could never find anything else to go to. If that was why I exist, and it was finished years ago—”

“Jon, please—”

“No.” Jon’s face was pale, and there was an edge of controlled anger in his voice. “That’s not a thing. It is no one’s purpose to serve them. No one exists specifically to suffer and—”

They were interrupted by the sound of voices drifting through the foyer from the hallway; a moment later, the remaining houseguests appeared.

“Morning, everyone.” Sasha seemed very refreshed compared to the previous night; Melanie and Georgie, standing behind her and talking quietly to each other, seemed maybe slightly less refreshed. When no one responded, Sasha’s cheeriness faded slightly. “Is—is everything ok?”

Elias took a deep breath and sat up; smiling, he set his now-empty coffee cup down on the side table. “Everything’s fine. We’re fine.”

Georgie yawned, having missed the nuances of the exchange. “Well—we were wondering—had anyone thought about breakfast yet?”

“Yes and no,” Elias said, standing up. “I thought about the fact that I hadn’t thought about it until this morning. I have some stuff here if anyone’s starving, but we’re going to need to go out before too long. There are a few small places nearby, but I’m thinking we’re better off going to the Sainsbury’s in town and stocking up. I can—”

“Georgie and I can do that,” Melanie said. “You’re letting us stay here, we can at least pitch in and help out with food.”

In the end, Melanie, Georgie, and Sasha all ended up leaving for the store, with plans to bring back several days’ worth of food. After they left, Elias, façade crumpling, turned back toward Jon and Martin.

“I’m sorry for—that. Before they came in. It’s very easy for me to think too much.”

Martin waited to see if Jon would say something, but he seemed very lost in his own thoughts.

“It’s—it’s all right.” He was, again, very aware of how little these words helped.

“I hope you don’t mind if I take a moment.”

“No. Not at all.”

“Help yourself to—whatever. Anything.”

“All right. Um—thanks.”

Elias stuffed both hands into his pockets as he walked out of the room, back toward the direction of his bedroom. He left his empty coffee cup sitting on the side table next to Jon, who remained sullen and withdrawn. If Martin could have easily reached over to touch his arm, physically remind Jon of his presence without disrupting his thoughts too much, he would have, but the couch was too far away from the chair.

He was pretty sure Jon knew he was there, regardless.

He turned back to his cup of tea. It had gone quite cold by now, but he drank it anyway.

#the magnus archives #tma #mag pod #tma spoilers #jonmartin #tma fanfic #my writing

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snowdice · 4 years

Text

Goblin Brain Study Session Fic 1 [Day 58]

Because I don’t want to just have walls of text for my Goblin Brain Study Session posts, I’m separating them by days. If you want to read the previous chapters, click the links below. Chapter 23 and what’s done of chapter 24 is under the cut.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Part 16 Part 17 Part 18 Part 19 Part 20 Part 21 Part 22 My Master Post

See this post for more details and feel free to send me asks to keep me going! It’s been a lot of fun so far! I will reblog this post with the story as I write them today. Also, if you’re interesting, don’t forget that I am constantly updating the timeline as I write. :)

Okay, I’m still not feeling 100%, but lets see how much I can do today. :)

Chapter 23

“Would anyone care to explain themselves?” Logan asked the room filled with the most frustrating human being he’d ever met. He must have infused his voice with the desired amount of ire, because everyone in the room seemed to wince simultaneously except…

“No thanks!” Remus chirped. Logan shot him a tired look and stepped forward. “Wait! Dad! No!” Logan swiftly put him in a headlock.

“We’re going downstairs,” he told the others. His son was a bit wiggly when Logan started to pull him towards the elevator in the other room, but he didn’t actually put up much of a fight.

He let Remus go when they got to the elevator. The elevator was small enough that they ended up taking it in two groups. Logan ended up in an elevator with Lena, his sons, and his brother.

There were a couple of moments of awkward elevator music. “I am very displeased with everyone in this elevator.”

No one responded but Patton who patted him on the shoulder. Logan turned on him. “You are at the pinnacle of my ire.”

There was a few seconds of drawn out silence, and then Patton removed his hand. “Wow,” he said after a moment. “You could hear a pen-acle drop.”

“Kids, you no longer have an uncle,” Logan said coolly.

“That’s right,” Patton said with a smile despite the glare Logan was sending him. “You only have a puncle now.”

Roman snorted out a laugh but looked quickly away when Logan glared at him.

The elevator came to a stop and they climbed out of it. “You all go to the conference room while I wait for the rest. Except you,” he pointed at Lean. “Fred can debrief me. You go get that checked out.” She shot him a thumbs up (because apparently the lack of disrespect for his authority had rubbed off on her) and wandered off towards medical.

“Um,” Roman said tentatively.

“Yes?” Logan asked, already even more tired.

“Also, Janus may or may not have a broken rib. At least he said he might have.”

“Why on Earth is he walking around, then?” Roman just shrugged in response to Logan’s question.

“And send someone down to look at his Janus,” he called after Lena right before she turned the corner. “Anything else pressing?” he asked the three still with him. “No? Then I’ll see you all in the conference room in a few minutes.”

“Conference room 16 or 17?” Remus asked.

“Remus, everyone here is aware that room 17 is a broom closet,” Logan said.

Remus sent him finger guns. “Conference room 17 it is,” he said turning to strut off down the hall. Roman shot Logan an awkward half smile before following after his brother, and Logan’s own brother jerked forward to smack his lips against Logan’s forehead before waltzing off after them.

Why was his family like this?

He turned to wait for the elevator to go back up to the factory and down again. He crossed his arms as it arrived. “You’re injured?” Logan asked as the doors opened.

Most of the occupants looked confused, but Janus looked slightly annoyed. “Remus,” he muttered.

“Roman actually,” Logan corrected. “I’m having someone sent down to look at you.”

“I’m f-”

“Don’t even try to argue right now; your second on my list today.”

“Remus is first?” Janus asked.

“Of course, Remus is first.”

“Where am I on the shit list?” Remy asked with interest.

“Somehow, only 5th.”

“Score!”

“But you’re inexorably moving up.”

“But I’m not in the top three.”

“No, my children and brother fill up the spots above you.”

“You said I was second,” Janus said with a frown.

“Yes,” Logan said. “Also, you’re grounded.” Then, he turned to walk towards the conference room.

“Wait, Logan, what does that mean?!” Janus asked his back.

“It means, Logan owes me a buttload of child support,” said Remy.

“I am not your kid. You are not my dad.”

“Sure, son.”

When Logan made it to the correct room, his family was already hard at work making his life a series of aggravations. Before even stepping into the room, he turned to the opposite side of the hallway and opened the door to the supply closet.

“Get in the correct room before I make you get into the correct room,” Logan said.

“Come on dad, you know it’s not nice to force someone out of the closet.” On most days, Logan would not have found that at all funny, but today for some reason, it elicited a snort of surprised laughter. Remus smiled up at him from his seat on the floor like he always did when he’d done (or thought he’d done) something clever.

“Don’t,” Logan warned, wagging a finger at him. “Don’t. That doesn’t mean your forgiven. I am very, very unhappy with you.”

Remus just kept grinning.

“I’m relieved that you are safe and happy to have you back with me,” Logan said, “but I am also very angry.”

“Eh, that’s fair.”

“Now get out of the closet.”

Remus found it fit to obey him for the moment, and stood, following him to the conference room where the others had gathered. Patton had somehow found a stack of name tags and a box of markers somewhere and had managed to convince Roman to help him draw little pictures on them along with the names. Patton stuck one with a broom drawn on it onto Remus when he came in.

Remy and Fredrick were currently forcing Janus into a chair while Roman avoided the glare the injured man was sending at him, and Emile was talking quietly to Virgil.

“Okay,” Logan said. “Let’s start with the ones who haven’t started to explain yet. Roman?”

“My phone got broken probably somewhere between Janus tackling me and hitting me in the face.”

“Oh, is that why Dad texted me about where you were a thousand times?” Remus asked

“Yes,” Logan said, “and you said you didn’t know.”

“I didn’t say that actually.”

“Remus.”

“I was in the middle of something! …And then I forgot.”

“And then it ended up in the bottom of a lake,” Roman said.

“And then it ended up in the bottom of a lake!” Remus agreed. “Along with Roman’s car and us for a minute.”

“You drove your car into a lake?” Logan asked Roman. “Is that why you are all wet?!”

“Yes, he did!” Remus said.

“Hey! No!” Roman said. “I managed to stop the car before it went into the lake. It’s not my fault the guys behind us aren’t as good drivers as me and slammed into us!”

“Roman destroyed another car!” Remus crooned. “What’s that? Three? And you say Janus is cursed!”

“I take so responsibility for the Taurus or for this one!”

“Two’s a coincidence; three’s a pattern!” Remus sang joyfully.

Logan shook his head at them and chose to look over at Janus instead. “And you?” he asked. “You looked at your mission details and never responded.”

“You were trying to send me on a wild goose chase when my brother was missing!” He tried to stand up and Remy pushed him back down again.

“I was trying to get you in a controlled environment before telling you of the issues for fear you would overreact and do something careless if you found out on your own.”

“I already knew,” Janus growled, “and that is not your call to make.”

Logan considered that. “Perhaps it wasn’t,” he agreed, “but you still should have attempted to communicate with me, at the very least so I would have known you were okay. For all I knew, Nelson had caught you in a lie and your cover had been blown.”

“It is blown,” Janus muttered. “I smashed her phone, blew up her car, and disobeyed her. She sent men to kill me.”

It was honestly a relief. Janus had been in danger constantly while being a double agent and he’d grown more than fond of the man in the last few years. Not having to play nice with Barbara all the time would do him some good.

“We’ll have to reassign you,” Logan said. “As well as Remus, and you’ll both need new permanent residences.”

“We already decided we’re getting an apartment together,” Remus said.

“You decided,” Janus said weakly, clearly not actually interested in protesting, but needing to keep up appearances.

“And we’re going to get a kitty.”

“Ah,” Logan said. “Well, in that case, I would highly suggest you verify it is in fact a ‘kitty’ before you allow it on the premises. I have made that mistake before.”

“You love Raphael,” Remus claimed.

“Possum,” Roman explained at Janus’s questioning look.

“In fact,” Logan said. “It may be advisable that Remington consider moving as well. Nelson very much knows where you live and will likely be unhappy with your continued existence. At least, you should consider taking up residence somewhere else temporarily. For tonight, I’ll get everyone set up in some of the rooms in the base, but that will come later. For now, we need to get everything sorted out. I have a good overall idea about what happened at this point, is there any other important information I need to deal with immediately?”

Mostly everyone shook their heads and Logan was about to move on to getting more detailed reports when Remus raised his hand.

“Yes?” Logan asked.

“There are two of Barbara Nelson’s men tied up in the trunk of Lena’s car,” he offered.

“What?” Logan asked.

“They were the guys shooting at us that caused Roman to drive into the pond.”

“I did not drive into the pond.” Roman said.

“You were shot at?!”

Chapter 24

Logan had kept them in the meeting room for literal hours, pausing only to feed everyone except Patton and Virgil (who had actually eaten dinner). Eventually, he decided that he was satisfied with the explanations (Well, no, perhaps not satisfied, he was still very displeased with everyone except Virgil and maybe Emile, though Emile had not helped himself when he’d realized that he’d spoken both to Patton and Remus in the grocery store near Remy’s house and he and Patton had proceeded to go off on a tangent about pasta.) and had taken them all to some of the hotel style rooms in the base.

#study break stories #not writing

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