#need to reread the book again soon too its been a couple of years

[shadyufo]

a long overdue rewatch <3

#still one of my favorites #probably been 30 years now since I first saw it #pretty sure I was just 4 or 5 when I first saw it #explains a lot lol #I wore out the vhs copy of it I had as a kid #need to reread the book again soon too its been a couple of years #watership down

[everlasting-stories]

To Feel Again [M]

Genre: light angst, romance

Warnings[!]: smut, penetration, creampie, unprotected sex, mentions of adult toys

Pairing: Doyoung x Reader

Words: 4.4k / One-shot

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Valentine's Day: the day of roses and hearts and chocolates and romantic candlelit dinners. When people proposed marriage and professed undying love.

You sighed, staring unseeing into your bowl of cornflakes as they succumbed to their milky grave and turned to soggy goop. Funny how a date on a calendar could open the pit of despair that lived somewhere near your stomach. It had to be near your stomach. You've been reasonably hungry until you've noticed the date and the pit opened. Your hunger had fallen into it, and the memories and pain rose out of it.

There was a time when this day had been wonderful. Life had been wonderful, you didn't need Valentine's Day, but you celebrated it with reverence and, sometimes, wild abandon.

You knew what love was, what it felt like to love a man and how it felt to lose him. You remembered what he'd said that last morning, how he'd kissed you; how the sun had lit his face as he smiled, promising he'd be back. You also remembered the police, how the sun seemed to dim as they told you the phrases out of courtesy. They were sorry for your loss. They will let you know of details as soon as the investigation on the accident comes to an end.

Since that time, Valentine's Day had passed unheralded, unheeded and uncelebrated. You knew you were a joke of the office - entering thirties soon and never been fucked, that's what they said. The borning woman who had no idea what fun was, wouldn't have known what to do with a man if by some miracle you did catch the attention of one. They were wrong, of course. Not that it was any of their business; it certainly didn't affect your ability to do your job.

If you chose to act and dress your age and spend your evenings quietly, rather than as mutton dressed as lamb in some gaudy nightclub, surely that was your right?

You sighed again, getting up from the table, taking your cereal bowl and dumping the gloop down the sink. A bleak day of petty jibes and pitying looks lay ahead. At least you knew what to expect this year.

Last year had been your first Valentine's Day with this particular company and, therefore, your first with this particular bunch of malicious people - your fellow employees. As front counter receptionist, you were the company's first "public face" and some of your co-workers had decided it didn't look good if that face wasn't surrounded by gifts from admirers on this day.

When the first bunch of anonymous flowers had arrived, you've been flustered, flattered and flabbergasted that anyone would send you flowers. You had hurriedly cleared a space on the counter for them, proudly displaying them, fussing with them to show them off at their best and make them visible from the greatest distance. You kept touching them, moving them slightly, reaffirming they were really there. Your heart sang; someone had noticed you. Maybe he was too shy to reveal himself; maybe he was married and couldn't: your mind was alive with questions, trying to solve the mystery of their origin. You were all in all happy.

Then a large box of chocolates arrived, closely followed by more flowers. By lunchtime, these had been joined by a little plush cherub, two red plush love hearts, a pair of earrings, three more bunches of flowers, four assorted boxes of chocolates and a large jar of candy hearts. They all carried the same anonymous message. And you knew then and there what is the catch behind this.

By the end of the day there were nine flower arrangements, ten boxes of chocolates, three cherubs, the two red love hearts, three teddy bears, two jars of candy, the earrings and a gift box containing four pairs of edible undies. Just before the close of business the final humiliation came - a fantastically wrapped see through box containing an inflatable male doll with vibrating tongue, a massive purple vibrating dildo and a copy of the Sex for The Beginners book.

You had to stay at your post until the last visitor or client left. But the rest of the staff was already heading out of the building. Some boggled at your desk, some snickered, a couple made loud crass comments and a very few had appeared horrified at the pile of stuff surrounding yourself. The building had almost emptied before that last visitor departed. You were sure that, too, was a set-up, particularly when you saw it was the client that had been visiting quite frequently lately.

Myungsoo ushered the man to the street and turned back to you as you gathered your coat and handbag, ready to escape.

"Gee, you're a popular girl. Who would have thought?" He reached your counter and began collecting up the flowers, grinning madly. "Let me help you with all that."

Before you could say a word, he bundled all the flowers, chocolates and assorted other items into your arms. You could barely see where you were going. Myungsoo put his arm around your back and shepherded you out the door, peeking at the vibrator in its transparent box. "There you go, sweetheart. Looks like you're definitely gonna get some action tonight." He turned smartly away, laughing as he rapidly put distance between the two of you.

You obviously had thrown the whole lot in the nearest dumpster and hurried to the relative sanctuary of your car before breaking down and sobbing, burying your head in your hands to hide from prying eyes of curious passer-bys.

Standing at your kitchen sink, you wondered what they'd pull this year. It couldn't be worse, could it? You sighed again and then abruptly shook your head, standing straighter. To hell with it - you were not going to let them get to you today.

It had already begun when you arrived. A bouquet of irises sat at the front of the counter. You were tempted to throw them straight in the garbage, but decided they were too pretty, too unusual. So they stayed. Curiosity got the better of you as you looked at the card, expecting it to say something sappy and insincere, as last year's cards had.

"You are worth far more than they will ever realise. Hear the flowers."

You pondered the card. Hear the flowers?

What on earth did that mean? You raised an eyebrow as you settled into your post: at least it seemed this year would be more intriguing than last. During quiet moments throughout the morning, you'd pick up the card, reread the cryptic message and study the beautiful bouquet, but its secret was never revealed.

No gifts arrived for you, no more flowers. You were relieved, but it only served to deepen the mystery of the flowers. As your lunch hour approached, other staff began filtering out of their offices to take a break. They all noticed the irises. Several of the women stopped and commented on their beauty. No one laughed.

As always, you left the building for lunch. You would usually grab a sandwich somewhere and do a bit of window shopping. Anything to get away for an hour - if you stayed in the office, someone always "needed" you for something.

When you returned, a neatly typed page was on your desk: "The meaning of flowers". One line was highlighted in blue: "Iris: Have Faith. Don't Give Up On Hope." A single purple violet was pinned to the page. You scanned the page to find "Violet (Purple): You occupy my thoughts". You put the page to one side, but still in view, unsure whether to laugh at it and throw it along with the flowers away before the punch line or wait it out. This was definitely a far more sophisticated assault than last year.

Throughout the afternoon a steady procession of couriers arrived, carrying flowers and gifts. You nervously watched each one approach your counter, only to breathe a sigh of relief as the teddy bears and hearts, the chocolates and flowers were all destined for other souls.

At 4:30PM a man approached your station: nothing unusual in that; everyone that came to see someone had to check in with you. What was unusual was that he actually saw you as a fellow human, not a robot programmed to take names and give directions. He smiled at you, a real smile that reached his eyes and warmed your heart. Something familiar in his eyes...

"Good afternoon. My name is Kim Doyoung. I have an appointment to speak to Choi Myungsoo. Would you mind letting him know I am here, please?"

Quickly, you dialled Myungsoo's extension, giving him the information. Myungsoo, as usual was brusque to the point of rude, telling you to "entertain the idiot 'till I'm ready for him - he's not supposed to be here for another 15 minutes".

You were tempted to tell the polite gentleman exactly what Myungsoo had said, but instead used your tact and diplomacy (that was why you were hired after all) to tell him that "Mr. Choi is a little delayed. He will be available in a few minutes."

With that being said, you offered him a seat.

Again he smiled. "Those are beautiful flowers," he said, nodding towards the iris bouquet. "A discerning choice for a lovely lady."

You lowered your eyes, feeling the heat rise in your face, knowing you were blushing.

His voice softened and became much quieter. "You don't remember me, do you?" Your eyes flew to his face, confused. Were you supposed to know this charming man?

"I had an appointment here at the same time, on this day last year. I was waiting outside for a taxi when you left. That was uncalled for, the whole situation that happened - mean and heartless and exactly what I would expect of Myungsoo and his friends. I deal with them only because I must. They offer a service unparalleled in this town."

He leaned across the counter, his voice so low only you could hear. "How they manage it, I cannot tell. They are pig swill and don't know a pearl when confronted with one." Doyoung paused, seeming to weigh up his next statement, then leaned closer to you. "Did you hear the flowers?"

Your eyes again flew to his face, your mouth falling open a little. "You sent them?"

"I did. And the violet. I had hoped to counter whatever crass display they had planned this year. Would you possibly consider spending the evening with me?" His face was eager, hopeful. "A nice dinner?"

You were stunned, flattered, amazed - but also wary. This was Myungsoo's client. He could easily have been put up to this. You studied his face closely, seeking any hint of a lurking cad. His face fell. "But, of course, you have other plans. I apologise for embarrassing you." He moved away and sat, abashed, on one of the hideous lounge chairs to await his appointment.

You studied this man. He didn't seem to fit the mould of Myungsoo's usual cohorts. For one thing he was unerringly polite. He was also good looking, very, very good looking, without being outstanding or flashy. He was also much closer to your age than Myungsoo's and had an air of quiet confidence, like he had nothing to prove to anyone and nothing to fear from them either. You looked at the flowers. Could Myungsoo have possibly thought of something this elegant? You didn't think so. You took a deep breath: to hell with it.

"Mr. Kim?" He looked up. "What time would you like to pick me up?"

In your bedroom, staring at the clothes hanging limply in your closet, the cool bravado that had claimed you as you agreed to the date vanished. In its place indecision, doubt and outright terror took hold. It seemed painfully obvious to you now, away from the office and that lovely man, that it was all another twisted joke, something for the office beautiful people to laugh at during tomorrow's coffee breaks. Why did you say yes? Your wardrobe was woefully inadequate. It was years since you'd been out with a man; you were bound to make a fool of yourself, even if it wasn't a set-up.

At that thought your heart jumped and lurched. The possibility that Mr. Kim - no, Doyoung; this was a date not a business appointment - was sincere in his wish to take you out only heightened your confusion and indecision.

Finally, in desperation and the realisation that if you didn't decide soon, you'd still be in your underwear when he arrived; you chose a chanel-knee length cremé skirt and baby pink cashmere sweater, topped off with knee length boots. The heels were quite high, but you remembered him being tall, so that wouldn't be an issue, as long as you didn't fall over in them.

You were saved from an overcritical examination in the mirror. You had just completed applying your makeup when Doyoung arrived. You grabbed your coat and quickly walked out the door, before you had time to rethink and back out.

"You look lovely," Doyoung said, smiling down at you. Feeling the heat creeping up your cheeks; you weren't used to receiving compliments, particularly from someone like him. You mumbled a shy thanks as he helped you put on your coat and led you to his car.

Sitting in the car as he drove, you were able to study the mysterious man that is Kim Doyoung. He was extremely handsome, not in the classical sense, but he certainly was far from a plain looking man - a man at peace with himself. He knew who he was and was content with that; he knew what he wanted and how to get it; and what was beyond his capabilities and lost no sleep over it. He obviously managed quite well; his car was expensive but not too flashy.

The restaurant he took you too was a quiet small place, away from the standard eat-and-entertain strip. It was intimate without claustrophobia; the decor was elegant without being overbearing; the lighting low but not dim; the service attentive without being intrusive. The food you could not describe - later, you barely remembered what you had eaten beyond it being "nice" - your attention was totally taken by Doyoung.

He was gallant and charming; helping you with your coat and holding your chair for you at the intimate table for two tucked away in a corner. Doyoung quietly suggested items on the menu he thought you might like. It was obvious he'd been here before, was a regular, but usually without company. His choice of wine was perfect to go with the excellent food as you enjoyed each other's company.

And you talked.

You learned a lot about him. Doyoung was 34, older than you had thought; he had been engaged, but his fiancé decided to break off the engagement for simply falling out of love. He had had a series of short term relationships that had petered out and, for the past several years, had lived a solitary life, rarely going out with women. He didn't work as such; his livelihood came from investments, which explained him being a client of the company you worked in. Myungsoo may be a jerk, but he was the one of the best investment brokers around.

He had been attracted to you the first time he met you, a year ago, but had been intimidated by the evidence of all your admirers. When he realised it was all a cruel joke played by his adviser and the other brokers, he was mortified. He had seriously considered changing brokers, going to another organisation but that would have meant he had no chance of meeting you again. So he stayed. He had been in your office on three occasions since then, and each time had seen your quiet, unflappable charm and how your talent and lovely nature were either ignored or taken for granted by those around you. He was determined to gain your attention, but without the office cricus freaks being able to use it against you, hence the mystery flower delivery this morning.

You found yourself opening up to Doyoung. He seemed sincerely interested in hearing what you had to say, hanging on your every word. It was a liberating and wonderfully powerful feeling. You weren't used to being the centre of anyone's attention. You told him of your pride at the independence since the loss of your lover, all those years ago. You were happy in your little home, content with your work, rarely coming to the attention of the office jokers.

It was over coffee that you admitted to Doyoung something you haven't admitted to yourself: your life was lonely and you missed the affection of another person. You missed the companionship of sharing your life with someone.

Immediately after the words had left your lips you regretted them. You have given away too much of yourself, been too forward. You lowered your eyes, not wanting to see the closed expression you knew would be on his face, so you didn't see the fleeting look of pain, quickly followed by understanding and hope.

However, you did feel his hand close over yours and squeeze lightly. You looked up into a face of gentle eyes and soft smile. "Would you like to take a walk with me," he said quietly. "I think it's time we leave - they want to close the restaurant anyway."

You looked around yourself noticing that you two were the only people other than staff left in the restaurant, and many of the lights were dimmed. You gasped in wonder - you had no idea you've been there so long. "Yes, a walk would be lovely."

Doyoung ushered you along the street and across a small, neat park to a promenade along the riverbank. It was enough lit to feel safe and you walked along arm in arm. You felt his arm snake around your waist hugging you closer to him, and you snuggled against him, your arm around his back. The moon was up, the stars were out and the night was peaceful and clear.

Your heart was singing and your eyes sparkled. You've been right to take this gamble. He was sincere, and it was wonderful. But the night was late, and it was rather cold.

You shivered. Doyoung felt it immediately and turned off the promenade proposing to head back toward the street where he had left the car. "I'd better take you home. It wouldn't be much of a date if you ended up ill."

At your door, Doyoung formally thanked you for a lovely evening and asked if he could see you again. You smiled and surprised yourself only a little by reaching up and kissing him lightly on the lips before saying: "Would you like to come in for a nightcap?"

Doyoung blinked, looking mildly bemused for a moment before studying your face. "Are you sure?"

Oh, most definitely, you were sure. You have thought of nothing else since you two have left the river. He looked right, he felt right, and he smelt right. You wanted him but was sure he'd never make a move. He was too much of a gentleman to ever force the issue.

You took his hand and led him into your home, kicking the door closed with your foot, shutting out the rest of the world with its mean people and ugly attitudes. You reached up to kiss him again. This time he lowered his head to yours, cradling your face in his hands as he returned the kiss. The lips met and parted, allowing the tongues to join and caress each other. His hands moved down from your face to caress your body, yours moving up from his hips. Both of you parted, searching each other's faces for confirmation of your desires.

"I think we're on the same page," you said. "Why don't you leave your coat on the couch? Do you want the nightcap now, or after the tour?"

"I'll put a hold on the nightcap," Doyoung answered, reading the desire in your eyes and knowing it was mirrored in his while stripping off the coat.

"Right."

You took his hand again. "This is the lounge. There," you pointed to the right, "is the kitchen and dining room. This way," pulling him down the hall, "is the second bedroom, the bathroom and," dragging him through a doorway, "here is the main bedroom."

"Very nice," he said, looking around, trying not to focus on the bed.

Suddenly shy, you both looked at anything but each other, awkward in a lack of intimate knowledge of each other. Doyoung tentatively reached out a hand to you, aiming to caress your breast, veering off at the last moment to your shoulder, but still lightly brushing your breast with his fingertips. Your gasped breath emboldened him and he reached his other hand, caressing your other breast lightly as you shivered under his touch and sighed.

Your own hands went to his chest, running down the front of his shirt and back up, then beginning to undo the buttons, pulling the shirt from his trousers and teasing his bare skin with your fingers.

Doyoung pulled his shirt off and then raised the sweater over your head and off the arms, moving in to kiss you as his hands went around your back to undo the clasps of a bra and returned to cup your breasts. The sensation on your breasts as he caressed and pinched the nipples sent a sharp message straight between your legs. You could feel yourself becoming moist and shuddered under his touch; breath becoming uneven.

Pushing him away you removed the skirt, letting it pool at your feet while looking into his eyes. Doyoung took the hint and began unbuckling his belt, then grinned foolishly and sat beside you to take off his socks, sneaking kisses of your neck and shoulders as he did so. You both stood again, slightly apart. He dropped his trousers and you could see his briefs pushed out of shape by his erection, the fabric straining.

Doyoung stepped up, taking you in his arms, kissing down your neck and across the collarbone, his hands lowering to your hips, sliding under the elastic and beginning to tug your panties down. Your own hands flew to the top of his briefs. Together, you pulled down the underwear, stepping out of them and standing naked before each other. Again Doyoung moved first, holding you and gently pushing backwards onto the bed, following after you onto it.

He ran one hand down the body of yours, teasing and tickling the beginning of your womanhood and beyond, teasing you with his fingers, tickling across your mound and easing around your damp centre. You moaned as he explored, your hips twisting and twitching. It had been so long since another man had touched you there. It felt amazing, wonderful, but achingly short of what you needed. You could feel his hardness against your thigh. Reaching down, you took his cock into your hand. It was hot, hard and pulsed under your touch. Doyoung groaned and his hips jerked convulsively. You kissed him hard and whispered fiercely, "Please, it's been too long. I need you, now."

"For me too, far too long," Doyoung gasped back, rolling you onto your back and positioning himself before gently splitting your lips and sliding steadily but firmly into you. Your moans were prominent in the air as he stretched and filled you right, not stopping his steady thrust until he was wholly inside you, your warm walls gripping him tightly. Your eyes met and locked as you lay still, immersed in the feeling of each other's body.

Being warm, wet and a safe haven, you were engulfing his cock. Doyoung was filling you with his hard heat, owning your body completely. You fit each other perfectly; you could see it in each other's eyes. You belonged together.

As great as this feeling was, you needed more. Doyoung slowly withdrew, till only the very tip split you. Both groaning as he pushed back in, again slowly feeling each other with delectable inch. Slowly in and out, in and out, revelling in the feeling of each other's bodies, gradually building up speed as your need increased.

You could feel the fire building, the tension increasing as sensation on sensation smashed into you with each thrust, your body twitching, your hips writhing. Still it built; higher, tighter, fiercer. Your entire being was wrapped around Doyoung's cock as it pumped in and out of you. You could hear him grunting with each thrust, feel his body trembling as he got closer to his climax. His speed increased and you breath got caught in your throat, your back arched, legs went stiff as you began to twitch when the white light exploded through you, spreading warmth and scattering your senses.

You felt, from far away but deep within you, Doyoung losing his rhythm before coming, pumping wildly into you, grunting and thrusting hard one last time as he shot deep inside you feeling spent but overly fulfilled.

Your hand was making lazy circles on Doyoung's chest as you lay, curled against his side with a head on his shoulder. You weren't sure how you've come to be in this position, but it felt so right and he smelled so good.

You were at peace while drifting off to sleep.

Waking up without feeling body by your side, you immediately felt the loss. Doyoung wasn't there. Your heart dropped, the pit near your stomach threatened to open and engulf it. Sensing the tears coming up, you accidentally feel something on your side with a hand.

He wasn't there. But there was a note.

"I am so sorry. I hate to leave you, knowing you will wake alone. There is something I must do."

You had just finished reading when the phone rang, disturbing your thoughts. Grudgingly, you moved to answer it. "Hello."

"Wish I was still beside you."

Your heart flipped again. The pit dissolved so you could breathe again before whispering, "Doyoung."

"Y/N. Tell me, what are you planning for breakfast?"

"Uhm. Coffee? Maybe some toast. Why?"

"Don't move. I'm on my way. With breakfast. And it's better than toast."

You lay back in bed, listening to the dial tone after he hung up. Surprised, you smile softly. You must remember to thank Myungsoo for introducing them.

If this is how you will feel loved and feel free to love again, you have no complaints.

Your new chapter is about to begin and hopefully, it will last for a very long time with a man named Kim Doyoung.

#one shot #nct smut #nct scenarios #nct fanfiction #doyoung #kim doyoung #doyoung x reader #doyoung scenarios #doyoung fanfic #doyoung smut #romance #nct romance #nct angst #nct 127 #nct u #nct 127 scenarios #nct 127 fanfic

[tenthgrove]

Can I request the one where La Squadra thought the reader was pregnant (when she just actually visited her kid) situation for Bruno's gang?

Mother Mother- Bucci Edition

Team Buccerati x Reader (Fem), Platonic, SFW

Bruno Buccerati is feeling restless. He's not one to pry, but your behaviour lately is starting to concern him. Leaving the base for hours without explanation is no cause for worry in itself, after all, you're not obliged to inform him of your whereabouts 24/7 and you're hardly the only one on the team who does this, but together with the ceaseless obsession with cutting your finances, the uncharacteristic melancholy and the jolt of panic whenever your personal circumstances become the topic of conversation all add up to a bad picture.

The final straw for Buccerati came today, in which while passing you idly on the sofa he caught sight of the word 'parenthood' printed on the title of the leaflet you were reading. He didn't see the rest of what it said, but your guilty smile at being caught spoke well enough for itself.

Buccerati truly does feel bad about this, but with how defensive you become at even the smallest sign of confrontation, he sees no other choice. As he watches you depart your bedroom and head into the bathroom, he waits quietly for the rush of water from the shower, before sneaking into your unlocked bedroom unnoticed.

He will make clear, he thinks to himself as he pilfers through the loose paper on your desk for that leaflet, that he is not angry. If it's what your heart is set on, he isn't even that opposed to the idea of you raising the baby yourself. The squad is decently paid and their work isn't as dangerous or all-consuming as some, so they can manage. He even feels a little bit of excitement at the thought of helping you with your offspring. He's only doing this because it can't be healthy for you to conceal your pregnancy like this. Children have always been such precious things to him.

A pink leaflet flits off of the desk and Buccerati picks up his prize. He reads the title in full.

"Parenthood for the Parents of Hospitalised Children: What Doctors Advise"

Ahh. Now that changes things. Buccerati feels his heart sink at the sight of the stock image of a mother and father standing over the bedside of a sickly-looking girl. He guiltily returns the leaflet to its former place and tries to reorganise the paper as he found it, before exiting quickly.

Having learned his lesson well about making assumptions on too little evidence, Buccerati sits down with his phone book. There's a fellow on one of the intel teams who owes him a small favour, and it's time he called on it.

“Hello, it’s Buccerati, could you do something for me quickly? I need you to check the records of all the hospitals in Naples that hospitalise chronically ill children, and take a look through the names of the patients in the children's ward," he requests. "There's a specific surname I'm after, hang on, I'll find it for you." Buccerati racks his brains. If there's one thing he's certain your being honest about it's your real name. He pulls it from his memories and relays it to his friend. "No, no need to take any action once you find them. Just let me know the details, particularly of the illness. Very well, thank you," he concludes the phone call and hangs up. He leans back in the seat and sighs.

He barely gets half an hour to rest before the phone rings.

"Oh hello, that was quick. Did you find them? That's excellent. What did the records say?"

The agent relays his findings. Matching the surname he gave him is a little girl about 5 years old, currently residing in the hospital closest to Buccerati's base. The child is suffering from a frightful condition that, although rarely fatal with treatment, can leave sufferers in need of constant medical care for months on end, along with more minor support for years after.

The most concerning thing about the records is that the agent was able to find visitation logs attached to the data, and they all speak of a single, anonymous visitor with recorded visits matching perfectly with the dates and times of your disappearances.

Buccerati thanks the agent and promises to wire him a little money for his quick and extensive help. Hanging up, he broods deeply. He cannot simply allow your suffering to continue if there's anything, anything at all he can do to help.

He is broken from his trance by the sounds of panicked footsteps running in from the hall. He catches sight of Mista and Narancia sneaking in from the hallway, and is struck by the immediate impression that they are by all definitions, up to no good.

"What's the matter you two? You seem startled," he presses them patiently. He is met with two loud sounds of 'uhhhh'.

"Nothing Buccerati, we swear it!" Narancia promises.

"Yeah! In fact, we were just going to the shops and were arguing over what to get!" Mista backs him up. Buccerati rolls his eyes and smiles.

"Alright. Not too much sugar, Narancia? We don't want to find you being sick in the bathroom at two in the morning again, do we?"

"It's not me you have to worry about doing that now," Narancia mutters under his breath.

"Pardon?" Buccerati asks, confused.

"Nothing! We should go now!"

The boys immediately make their exit out the front and disappear down the street. Bruno tuts. Sometimes he thinks he'll never understand that lot. He smiles.

As he replays the encounter in his head, it occurs to him what that strange item poking out of Mista's pocket was. The leaflet from (y/n)'s room. Shit.

"Mista? Narancia? I think we should have a word please!" Buccerati shouts down the entry street. But it's two late, they've both disappeared out of earshot. Buccerati throws his hands up in despair, and returns to his room.

::::::::::::

Abbacchio knows what he sees. Mista and Narancia go running down the street and about 20 second later, Buccerati goes out shouting. As Abbacchio watches Buccerati return to the house in defeat, he makes a decision. He's had enough of those kids and their petty little antics. If Buccerati doesn't have it in him to set them straight, he will.

"You look pressed," Fugo remarks as Abbacchio pushes past him in the corridor.

"None of your business. Mista and Narancia are up to no good and now I've got to go and find them," Abbacchio grunts.

"Narancia?! But he promised me he'd work on his assignments tonight! Little bastard, I'll kill him!" Fugo fumes.

"Will you now? Better keep up then," Abbacchio says, throwing on his coat.

It doesn't take them long at all to find Mista and Narancia. Indeed, they're cowering in the very first alleyway left of the house.

"We can explain," Narancia promises.

"I bet you can," Abbacchio mutters half-heartedly.

"Take a look at this!" Narancia urges them. He pulls a pink leaflet from Mista's pocket and rereads it himself. "It says 'parenthood'. We found it in (y/n)'s room. Does that mean she's pregnant?"

"Why in god's name were you snooping around in (y/n)'s room?" Abbacchio interrogates them.

"Furthermore Narancia, you can't read," Fugo adds.

"Well, for a start, Buccerati did it first. We just went in after him to see what it was he was looking for. Second, Mista read it for me, and he swears it says 'parenthood'. Isn't that right Mista?"

"Sure is," Mista affirms. "Look."

He flicks the leaflet in front of them and, sure enough, they all read the same word. Abbacchio and Fugo curse simultaneously.

"What the hell is their game, thinking they can hide something like this from us?" Abbacchio fumes. "Does Bruno think he's protecting her or something? He's a fool."

"If I may, Abbacchio, it is most uncharacteristic of you to speak ill of Signor Buccerati," a voice from behind protests. Abbacchio turns with a jolt to see Giorno standing at the entrance of the alleyway along with a very bewildered looking Trish. They each have a couple of shopping bags in their hands.

"Are you spying on me?!" Abbacchio shrieks.

"Not at all. I simply thought that going after dark would be a much safer time for Trish to do her shopping, so I was taking her out," Giorno explains. "I overheard your voices and came to investigate, but I really haven't heard much."

"(Y/n)'s pregnant and Buccerati's hiding it from us," Mista fills him in.

"Wait, I'm lost. Did Buccerati get her pregnant? Because if so, what in the actual hell?" Trish comments.

"Fucking christ. Could you imagine?" Narancia remarks. The group soon devolves into a mess of interrupted shouting.

"All of you quiet!" Abbacchio yells. He holds up his hands in desperation. "We are going to get to the bottom of this and we're going to do it now! We are going right home, and we are getting (y/n) to explain herself, whether she likes it or not. Agreed?"

::::::::::::

You had an awful eery feeling getting out that shower would be a mistake. The last thing you expected tonight was being hounded by your dear teammates while you're half dressed and wet haired, particularly on such an outlandish concept as pregnancy.

"Slow down! What the hell are you accusing me of again?"

"You're having a baby and you aren't even telling us! Do you have any idea how much those cost?" Trish accuses. You don't even have an answer for that one, it's just so completely wrong there's no way to refute it.

"We aren't looking to judge, we just want to help," Giorno assures you, though his voice is drowned out by the rest of the rabble.

"I don't need help, I'm not having a baby!" you protest. Narancia opens his mouth.

"But the leaflet says-"

"What on god's earth are the lot of you doing?" Bruno calls from the hallway. "Why are you all hounding (y/n) all of a sudden."

"You think we don't know what you know, Buccerati?" Abbacchio confronts him. "You're complicit in this. You're helping to hide this- baby!"

Buccerati breathes deeply.

"Ah. I believe I know what this is about. Mista, I want you to take that leaflet you found and read the front page out to me. In full."

Mista complies.

"Parenthood... for the Parents of Hospitalised Children. Oh."

"You made the same mistake I did," Buccerati explains. "You saw the first word and immediately jumped to your own conclusions. But in regards to the full title I have carried out some follow up and have confirmed it is exactly what it sounds like. (Y/n) has a young daughter who is unfortunately quite sick at present, and she has understandably been taking time off to be with her."

"You know about her?" you exclaim in panic.

"Apologies (y/n), I was acting only in concern for your health. It was admittedly due to my poor caution that the others found out and, well, it went from there."

"Look," you protest, thoughts spiralling into panic. "I didn't mean for you to know. You said I could do what I wanted with my money so I did. There- there was no other way I could afford to treat her," you justify, tears starting to leak from your eyes. "Please don't kick me out. I swear this doesn't affect my work, all I need is a few hours a week to check on her!"

You collapse against the door in tears. The crowd goes into a shocked silence. Buccerati pushes to the front.

"Hey, hey, I'm not going to kick you out so don't worry," he promises. "I would never cut off a member of my squad like that, especially not when they have such a vulnerable dependent. We can talk about helping you with the money tomorrow, but now, let's get you calmed down okay?"

You nod through your tears. Buccerati guides you to your feet and leads you gently into the kitchen. The remaining group in the hall look at each other with pressed lips. Fugo takes the leaflet from Mista and reads through the front cover once more. He hits him.

#team buccerati #team buccellati #bruno buccerati x reader #bruno buccellati x reader #bruno buccerati #bruno buccellati #leone abbacchio #leone abbacchio x reader #giorno giovanna #giorno giovanna x reader #guido mista #guido mista x reader #narancia ghirga #narancia ghirga x reader #pannacotta fugo #pannacotta fugo x reader #trish una #trish una x reader

[spencers-renaissance]

you look after everyone, but who looks after you?

Summary: Penelope is sad and lonely and thinks nobody can see her struggling, but Emily does. When she shows up at her apartment unannounced, one thing leads to another, and soon a miserable evening turns into one of the best in Penelope's life.

Tags: hurt/comfort, sad penelope, angst w a happy ending, cuddling, tooth-rotting fluff, getting together, first kiss, friends to lovers

Pairing: Emily Prentiss x Penelope Garcia

Word Count: 1.7k

Masterlist // Read on AO3

I'm imagining s5/6 penemily for this one!

Penelope's small and bright apartment is her only source of comfort tonight, and although she does absolutely everything in her power to maximise the cosiness, to feel as safe and warm as possible inside its protective walls, it still doesn't feel like enough.

She's sad, and she's tired, and a larger part of her than she'd like to admit is bitter, which is an icky emotion, and she hates more than anything that it exists inside of her but tonight, it does, and there isn't anything she can do to stamp that stubborn little flame out.

She has always prided herself on the way she acts towards others. She makes sure that people are okay, and she bakes homemade muffins and puts them on their desks with one of her colourful toys when the bad stuff is getting to them, and she gives out hugs like there's no tomorrow; that's who Penelope Garcia is, and it's something that will always be important to her, no matter what.

But sometimes— sometimes she wants her own Penelope Garcia. It's easier to cheer other people up, to make them smile on a sad and rainy day, than it is to pick herself up out of her own all-consuming, utterly inexorable funks that creep up on her every now and then. And because happiness, colour, and bright smiles are who she can't help but be, people don't always see through that facade when it's no longer an instinct but a mask.

And because she would never dream of putting her bad mood or her sadness or her heavy, weighty grief on the shoulders of anyone else, she's left on her own.

When the last candle is the living room is lit, and her favourite lamps are on; when she's taken a hot shower, and she's put on her favourite pyjamas; when she's placed the order for her dinner-for-one, she sits down slowly on the sofa and pulls her knees up to her chest, staring at the inky blackness of the one window she forgot to draw the curtains over. As she stares, the inky blackness she feels on the inside only grows until it consumes her, swirling aggressively until tears are streaming down her face, and she's choking back sobs that threaten to rip her chest in two.

She's only brought out of her miserable, desolate stupor when the intercom buzzes with a visitor that she supposes is probably the delivery man with her Chinese order. She'd fancied Indian, but it reminded her too much of the team dinners Spencer always dragged them to, and that was just a little too painful for a lonesome night like this.

"Come on up," she says into the intercom, not bothering to hide the tiredness in her voice from a stranger she'll never see again, and without waiting for a response, she sits back on the sofa, staring at the purple walls of her apartment until there's a soft knock at the door.

Almost on auto-pilot, she stands up and opens the door, and her eyes widen as she stares in shock at Emily Prentiss standing in her hallway.

"You're not the delivery man," she whispers, still staring at her with wide eyes.

Emily chuckles sadly. "No, Pen. I'm not."

Penelope nods, blinking a couple of times, very unsure of what to do next or why the woman she's secretly in love with is standing in front of her at 10pm on a Tuesday night.

"Can I come in?" Emily prompts.

"Oh, uh— yes, of course." She opens the door wide enough for Emily to slip into her warmly lit living room and takes the opportunity of Emily's back briefly turned to scrub fruitlessly at her makeup-less, tear-stained face.

"This is cosy."

"Yeah, I just reread my favourite book about Hygge."

"Hygge?"

"It's uh. It's a Danish thing." Usually, she jumps at the opportunity to talk about Hygge and all the things she'd learned from her trip to visit her Danish friend last year, but right now, she's far too tired.

Emily nods, dropping her handbag by the door and walking over to take a seat on the sofa. "Come sit."

Penelope obeys and curls up in the opposite end to Emily, pulling a blanket over her lap and cuddling into it in another vain attempt to cheer herself up. Still, when pretty candles and the promise of takeaway can't make her happy, there really isn't much hope.

They stare at each other for a couple of minutes before Emily speaks, leaning forward a little. "How are you feeling, Penelope?"

Penelope blinks. "I'm fine."

Emily smiles, and again, it's sad. "No, Pen. How are you really feeling?"

She continues staring but doesn't say anything in response.

Emily scoots a little closer on the sofa. "Listen, I've watched you over the last couple of days. I know you're having a hard time, and I know that you won't say anything to anyone because you're brave and strong and quiet in your suffering. You look after everyone, Penelope, but who looks after you?"

Immediately at hearing those words, her face crumples, and she descends into the tears she'd only just managed to stop moments earlier. This time, though, the sobs she'd been choking back spillover, wracking her shoulders as she hugs her knees to her chest, desperate to hold herself together as she completely falls apart.

"Oh, Pen." Emily moves even closer and pries Penelope's hands away from her knees until she's able to guide her into a hug. Penelope usually tries to keep her physical distance from Emily, too scared of what she'll do if given a chance to touch her, but right now, she can't help but bury her face in her neck and cling on to her for dear life as Emily holds her back just as tightly.

"Shh, you're okay, honey," she soothes quietly, running her hand up and down her back gently as she lets Penelope fall apart in her arms. "I'm here. I'm not going anywhere."

She says everything Penelope needs to hear as she cries herself out, sobs eventually receding to tired sniffles as she pulls away from Emily slightly, a little embarrassed of her actions.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to cry on you like that."

Emily brings a hand to her chin and lifts her face gently until she's looking directly into Emily's warm, kind brown eyes. "You have nothing to apologise for, okay? I'm just sorry you've been having such a rough time and haven't had anyone to talk to about it."

Penelope nods, still embarrassed that she fell apart so easily but feeling soothed and comforted by Emily's warm words and gentle hands.

Just then, the buzzer goes again. "That's, uh, that's my dinner."

"Ah," Emily says, nodding in understanding. "Is that who you thought I was?"

Penelope looks away sheepishly. "Yeah."

"That explains the abrupt invitation upstairs," Emily says, smiling at her as she gets off the sofa and buzzes the courier up. "You mind if I stick around while you eat?"

"No! Please— please stay," she says, hating the desperation that bleeds into her voice.

"Okay, I'll stay, of course I will," Emily promises, rushing to soothe her again as she hears the agitation and distress in Penelope's voice. "I'm not going anywhere, I promise."

Penelope nods gratefully. "You can even have some of my eggrolls," she says, managing a little smile as she references the well-known fact that Emily despises eggrolls and makes such a big, dramatic deal out of it every time any of them order Chinese.

Emily laughs, her head tipping back a little. "You're so generous."

She opens the door for the delivery man and takes the bag from him, before bringing it over to the coffee table and laying it out in front of Penelope.

"You should eat up, sweetie," she says in that kind, concerned way of hers as she comes to sit next to her on the sofa, "I'm sure that crying took it out of you, hm?"

Penelope nods tiredly and tucks into her dinner as Emily flicks through the TV channels before settling on a rerun of Will & Grace. They sit in comfortable silence for a little while as the familiar sound of a 90s laugh-track sitcom fills the room and Penelope eats her dinner.

"You need another hug?" Emily asks once she's finished her food and is inching closer on the sofa, and Penelope might be delusional but she swears she sees an inkling of hope on her face, so she doesn't hesitate in nodding.

Emily beams and pulls her closer, arranging them until they're lying horizontally on the sofa, comfortably tangled up in one another, idly watching the TV while they enjoy the comfort of one another's company.

"Pen?" Emily whispers, after a good couple of episodes; after most of the tealights Penelope had lit earlier have burned themselves out. "You know I love you right?"

There's something in her voice that makes Penelope feel brave. "Yeah," she whispers back, burying even closer into her side. "I love you, too, Emily. More than you know."

The last four words are uttered with a weight the fragile air in the room can't hold, and they crash back down between them, making Emily shift to look at her properly. Her face is a myriad of earnest emotions, and Penelope can't look away.

"When I say I love you," Emily says, nerves and anticipation and hope in the whisper of her voice, "I mean it. I don't— I don't love you like a friend, Penelope. I love you more than that."

Penelope stares at her, her heart pounding in her chest as she looks at the woman lying next to her, anxious, hopeful features illuminated by soft candlelight.

"I love you more than that, too."

Emily's nervous features smooth into something warm and eager and happy. "You do?"

Penelope nods, and she's sure her face holds a similar expression. "I do."

"Can I kiss you?" Emily whispers, lifting her hand to rest in Penelope's blond, tangled hair.

"Please," she whispers back, and not a second later she's being kissed like she's never been kissed before; like the ocean's dried up and she's the last gulp of water to be found; like all the world's oxygen's disappeared, and she's the only gasp of fresh air left behind. She's kissed like she is Penelope Garcia and that is enough for Emily Prentiss, she's kissed like she doesn't need anything else but to exist in this moment, right here, right now.

She doesn't want it to end, but when it does, when they've pulled away and their faces are inches apart and they're breathing heavily, when she looks into Emily's eyes and sees everything she's always wanted to find in them, she's glad it did, because the first kiss ending means that they can do it again.

Yes, I'm gonna keep writing that Penelope is very invested in Danish culture okay, it's my fav headcanon, leave me alone. I hope you liked this one! <3

taglist: @makaylajadewrites @iamrenstark @hotchseyebrows @temily @enbyspencer @criminalmindsvibez @suburban--gothic @reidology @spencerspecifics @hotchedyke @marsjareau @oliverbrnch @physics-magic @anxious-enby @kuolonsyoja @reidreids @sapphic-stress @wifeyprentiss @cmily @notevanbuckley (add yourself to my taglist here!)

#my writing #penemily #penelope garcia #emily prentiss #criminal minds #cm #penemily fic #penemily fanfic #penemily fanfiction #criminal minds fic #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds fanfiction #penemily fluff #sad penelope garcia #hurt penelope garcia

[iliveiloveiwrite]

Fire Burn and Cauldron Bubble

A/N: A Draco fic no-one asked for! I’m rereading A Discovery of Witches so it’s got me inspired. I don’t plan to post anything over the weekend, I want a couple of days off before I post every day next week. This wasn't requested but I was inspired, so I hope you enjoy!

Title: Macbeth, Act 4: Scene 1

Summary: Draco needs a new stockist.

Pairing: Draco Malfoy x Fem!Reader

Warnings: FLUFF - SO MUCH FLUFF.

Word count: 2.2k

Of all the avenues of employment open to Draco Malfoy after his graduation from Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry, he surprised everyone by staying on at the school to apprentice under Professor Slughorn.

Horace Slughorn had retired once before and was eager to do so again; already fantasising about his golden years in the countryside. Draco Malfoy was his first and only choice for successor to his post – his grades in class rivalling those of Hermione Granger.

Draco’s training took two years where in that time he became able to rattle off ever potion ingredient and method just from hearing the very name of the potion.

Three years into his career and his first year teaching without Slughorn at his side, Draco’s stockist retires – also desiring a life in the country.

It leaves him in a lurch. 

He spends an entire month of his summer holiday researching potion shops before discovering one off the beaten track in Diagon Alley – closer to muggle London than the rest of the shops. So much so that the shop wasn’t protected by the enchantments surrounding Diagon Alley and as a result, the shop seemed to have a steady stream of muggle customers.

Draco enters Cauldron Bubble and is immediately taken back by the sheer amount of stock. Potion ingredients, materials for poppets, prayer candles are just a few of the items that catch his attention. The intoxicating scent of myrrh and sweet orange washes over him. A heady smell that soon opens up to more delicate notes such as vanilla and tansy.

Draco doesn’t immediately seek out the items on his list, but instead walks slowly around the shop, committing it all to memory. There are shelves of books dedicated to the craft of potion brewing but also in the art of divination; particularly tarot readings and palmistry. The entire back wall of the shop is dedicated to what could be hundreds of small draws; each filled with their named herb or plant.

He wanders through the store, feeling entirely at ease with the idea of spending the rest of his day here, discovering the shop’s deepest secrets.

A voice greets him as he finishes his circuit of the small shop, “How can I help you today?”

Draco smiles in greeting, “I’m hoping you have these ingredients,” he says, handing you his long list.

You read over the list, “I do. I have all of these – would you like to take them now or would you like them delivered…” you trail off, looking at him for his name.

“Draco Malfoy. I’m the Potions Professor at Hogwarts.”

“Draco,” You confirm, “I can get these for you now unless you’d like them sent to Hogwarts?”

“Now is fine,” he smiles, “I’m intrigued by your collection if I’m honest.”

You laugh, nodding knowingly, “It’s my pride and joy.”

Draco agrees, leaning on the counter, “It’s bigger than my stockroom if I’m being honest.”

“Now that makes me even happier.” You declare, pointing at the Professor.

The ingredients take time to be collected, but the silence that should be awkward, isn’t. It’s filled with conversation after conversation about the curriculum at Hogwarts and how long Cauldron Bubble has been open.

Draco admits to himself, as you finish tying the final string bow on his parcels, that he feels a little sad about leaving. He had enjoyed his time with you regardless of how short it had been; he felt as if he knew you. He felt as if he could form a friendship with you.

You hand him his parcels in a paper bag, smiling, “I hope to see you again soon,” you say in goodbye.

Draco smiles at you, “I hope to come back soon.” He offers as his parting.

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

On a bleak January morning, Draco walks into your shop, stamping his feet to get the last of the sharp, winter cold out of his body.

“To what do I owe this pleasure?” You smile.

Draco grins in reply, handing over his list, “Another stock up.”

“Another? You came in before Christmas as I remember.” You smirk at the blonde-haired man, “Did someone miss me?”

Draco blushes, stuttering out his answer, “The… the students have had a few weeks off, they’ll have fallen into old habits with potion ingredients.”

You laugh, “You are one smoother thinker, Draco. It’s a good job I knew you were coming; I have your usual stock set aside.” You read down his list, checking you have everything put away, but you stop at one item. “Agrimony?”

“It’s coming up to Valentine’s Day.” Draco offers as explanation.

One of the properties of Agrimony is that it can break enchantments. Draco uses the yellow flower in his antidote for love potions. He frowns at the thought of how much antidote he would have to brew for those on the receiving end of an unwanted love potion. If he could ban any potion, it would be Amortentia. Not that he didn’t believe in love or anything along those lines, but the effects of Amortentia are never real and the aftermath is often worse than being under its spell.

Through his last two Valentine’s Days at Hogwarts as Potions Professor, he had to comfort countless students through the aftermath of the potion as well as deduct house points and hand out detentions to the students who think it funny to unknowingly drug a fellow student.

In his antidote for students, Draco also sprinkles in the petals of Feverfew and Boneset to ensure protection from enchantments or a broken heart, Draco never knows but he makes sure that his students are protected, nonetheless.

You nod at Draco, understanding the need for a potion to break enchantments through this particular holiday. “Here’s your Agrimony as well as your usual stock, is there anything else you need?”

Draco thinks it over, “I better stock up on Boneset, Feverfew, and Adder’s Tongue too.”

You raise an eyebrow, “It’s a very thorough potion you’re making here, Draco.”

He nods, “Too many students are drugged with the Amortentia potion and little is done to control it so I do what I can to protect any student I can.”

“That’s a wonderful thing to do, Draco.” You say quietly; touched by his words.

“I don’t just make potions with the plants and herbs. I make charms to go in their bags and to hang in their rooms too. Anything to protect.” Draco states; thinking back to a group of fifth year girls who had become targets by a group of sixth year boys; each girl suffering through a love potion before coming down from its high. Draco had made sure they each had a charm to carry in their bag as well as a vial of the antidote should one of them ingest the potion again.

You nod silently; overcome by the emotion in his words. You know then and there just how dedicated Draco was to his profession and the students he sees every day. You hand him his bag of herbs and plants with a smile which he returns before walking to the door.

He’s almost out the door when your voice calls out again, “Draco, I know we don’t know each other very well except for when you need to fill your stockroom, but you’re a good teacher and a good man – you know that right?”

He turns to you with his hand on the door handle; silver lining his eyes, “Thank you.” He whispers before opening the door and leaving.

-----

Your words play on his mind through the week leading up to Valentine’s Day and the week after the holiday too. He spends all of his spare time in the hospital wing with Madame Pomfrey; offering the antidote and words of comfort to each and every student that come in with symptoms of being drugged with Amortentia.

From Madame Pomfrey’s ceaseless ranting through those two weeks, Draco knows that she feels just as strongly about the need to rid the world of a potion like Amortentia.

Draco starts to think of you more and more, especially after each visit to Cauldron Bubbles where you go through his ingredient list with the practiced precision of a Potioneer.

His feelings for you really do take him by surprise. It comes with elation as he finally has a name for the butterflies in his stomach and the racing of his heart whenever he thinks of your smile or your focused look as you check and recheck the ingredients on the list.

He starts to visit Cauldron Bubble more often; making his way through the Professors at Hogwarts to see if they may possibly need something for their class. Professor Trelawney always has something for him to pick up, and Draco feels the urge to apologise to her for every time he was rude to her when he was a teenager.

Draco’s feelings for you only increase with each visit. He craves to see your face light up when he walks in the door; the bell above the door announcing his arrival. The light flirting with each visit was pushing him towards something more.

If only he could think of how to tell you.

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

Draco ropes Madame Pomfrey into his plans to woo you; though she doesn’t necessarily know that

“Please, Poppy, you must have something you need to stock up on… I mean Madame Pomfrey,” Draco corrects when he meets her glare.

She raises an eyebrow, unimpressed with the former student, “You’re awfully interested in my stock cupboard, Mr. Malfoy. Whatever for?”

“Call it my New Year’s Resolution.”

“It’s May,” Madame Pomfrey nonchalantly reminds him, replacing the water jugs at the side of each hospital bed.

“Of the New Year,” Draco emphasises, following her, “And mine is to help more. So are you sure there is nothing I can’t get you?”

Madame Pomfrey sighs, bustling back to her desk. She notes down a few ingredients, “I’m running low on these herbs and plants for a tea I brew so you can get these for me.”

Draco beams, taking the list, even going so far as to kiss Madame Pomfrey on the cheek before sprinting back to his private quarters where he can floo to Diagon Alley… and to you.

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

“Draco!” You call, “Back already? You aren’t due another visit for oh… another week or so.” Your eyes alight with mirth as you pick fun at the Professor.

He blushes, waving his list in the air, “Sent on an errand by Madame Pomfrey.”

“Don’t keep it to yourself! Hand it over, let’s see what Madame Pomfrey needs.” You cover your mouth to stifle the laugh as you read over the list from Draco, “Madame Pomfrey gave you this list did she?”

“Handed it to me herself, why?”

“Draco, to say you’re a Potions Professor, you can be quite dense.”

He frowns; you laugh at his puzzled expression. “Madame Pomfrey sent you to get the ingredients for a tea that curbs the menstrual cycle. A form of contraception.”

Draco doesn’t need to look into a mirror to know he’s blushing; he can feel the heat radiating from his cheeks – he’s sure it could heat his own cauldron. “Ah,” he begins, “Well, that’s a very responsible thing to have in a school like Hogwarts, wouldn’t you say?”

You nod, “Very much so. Madame Pomfrey to be admired.”

“Yes, I agree.”

“And you as well. For being her humble servant for this task.”

Draco rubs his hand across the back of his neck. “It was nothing. Truthfully, I pestered her until she gave me a list of ingredients.”

“Now why would you do that?”

“To see you,” He admits, eyes shining with truth.

“You pestered the Matron of Hogwarts for a list of ingredients… all to see me?”

He nods silently. Your eyes crinkle with your smile, “That has to be the cutest thing anyone has ever done for me. How long have you been coming here to see me as well as to get potion ingredients?”

Some part of Draco wants to scream as he admits, “Since January.”

“That long?” You ask, eyes wide.

He nods again.

“Why didn’t you just ask me to dinner?”

“I didn’t want to offend you and lose you as my stockist.”

You laugh, “I’ve been waiting for you to ask me out since January you know?”

“No, I didn’t know.” He almost shouts; hating the fact that he could have been dating you all this time but was too scared to make a move.

“And you wouldn’t lose me as your stockist even if we did date.”

“No?”

“Haven’t you noticed that I’ve been undercharging you for your ingredients?”

Draco does the quick math in his head; thinking of how healthy his department budget had been when he handed it in to McGonagall back in March. “No… I didn’t notice.”

You nod your head slowly, “That was my way of flirting as well as the open ended questions.”

Draco rubs a hand over his face, “I can’t believe we’ve been dancing around each other for this long.”

Laughing you make your way from behind the counter. You pull his hands from his face, keeping them in yours, “Hey Draco, want to go to dinner with me?”

He grins down at you; letting the joy run through his body, “I’d love to.”

******

General (HP) taglist: @chaotic-fae-queen​ @obsessedwithrandomthings​ @harrypotter289​ @dreamer821​ @kalimagik​ @heloisedaphnebrightmore​ @nebulablakemurphy​ @the-hufflefluffwriter​ @figlia--della--luna​ @bforbroadway​ @idont-knowrn​

Draco Malfoy taglist: @the--queen-of-hell​ @obxmxybxnk​ @obx-beach​

#draco malfoy x reader #Draco Malfoy #draco malfoy fanfiction #draco malfoy fanfic #draco lucius malfoy #draco malfoy one shot #draco malfoy imagine #draco malfoy x you #draco malfoy x y/n #draco x reader #draco x you #draco fanfiction #draco x y/n #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter fanfic #draco fluff #draco fanfic #draco malfoy fluff #harry potter imagines

[aelin-world-walker]

Some headcanons I have post-ACOSF

(don’t ask where this comes from i’m just aching because i finished rereading acosf and thinking headcanons is my coping mechanism)

(i wrote “some” in the title but they are like a million????)

(like now this is a master list of headcanons i have...)

BE AWARE OF ACOSF SPOILERS!!!

*Probably I’ll edit it pretty often because headcanons come whenever they like.

*i’ll probably add feysand headcanons in the future but not now because there’re A LOT out here but know I have some like feysand beign parents is too cute to ignore.

*sorry if there are some spelling errors, English is not my first language.

The cabin headcanons

(yes the cabin has its own subtitle)

Cassian takes Nesta to the cabin after their mating bond ceremony and then happens chapter 55 but Nesta adapted. There’s no soup but a biscuit.

When Nyx is a little older he starts participating in the snowball fight. Rhys, Cassian and Az let him win.

In one of her visits, Feyre paints her sisters and Nyx’s eyes beside the IC ones, because they are now part of the Court of Dreams (this one made me cry a little honestly)

Whenever one of the IC’s couples wants to take a break they go to the cabin. Sometimes Az goes too to play chaperone. Spoiler: it doesn’t work (especially NOT with Nessian) (this one made me laugh)

Nesta likes the cabin’s vibes to read, so she goes often. Sometimes Cassian joins her but he bores to death so he wouldn’t let her read (if you get what i mean)

I can imagine the IC visiting it, long nights bonding in front of a fire and playing board games. Rhys, Nesta and Azriel are so competitive that stay awake til one of them wins. (actually Rhys and Azriel competitive spirit over board games is canon) (i just imagine Nesta playing the courtier to win) (then she loses and is cranky for a day). Meanwhile, Mor and Cassian drink themselves silly, and Feyre and Elain play with Nyx. Amren just purrs sitting in Varian’s lap. (Amren as the house cat)

The girls decide to do their own snowball fight honestly i don’t know why this is not canon yet. One year they decide to do girls vs. boys. The girls win and the boys don’t want to play against them again.

Nyx and his cousins learning to fly in a summer vacation there. (yeah because nessian’s children are happening in the future and they are in some of my headcanons sorry)

Nesta, Gwyn and Emerie go there sometimes (not so often because they prefer staying with the House please never forget they are all friends) and go hiking.

When Nyx and Nessian’s children are older and misbehave their parents send them to the cabin. Then whoever of them didn’t got to be grounded slips alcohol to the ones inside. (Actually i can see them doing this??? Rhys and Mor did the same. Also I can see Nyx and his cousins having a relationship similar to Rhys and Mor’s and Aelin and Aedion’s)

Inner Circle couples and the sauna. Not gonna say anything else, but just know it’s hella weird there’re no scenes in there...

The House of Wind headcanons

(big house deserved its own headcanons)

Nesta installs a dance studio in there and whenever she can she goes and dance for hours.

Nesta, Gwyn, Emerie and the House start a monthly sleep-over in the private library. The House always conjures the miniature pegasus without being asked.

Can we talk about the fact that in the future the House of Wind will have a nursery???? because i have to talk about it. don’t know if i’ll be able to do so without crying but just- nessian’s babies nation

When Nessian’s children are born the House would conjure anything just to please them and will protect them at all costs. The House as a babysitter and mother-hen.

The House starts talking to Cassian and recommends him smut books. He reads them and find them pretty interesting. He also recommends the House books but as they are of warfare the House finds them boring.

When Cassian and Nesta fight the House would be angry with Cassian for some days and would serve his food cold.

The House of Wind is Nyx’s favorite place in the city. Cassian and Nesta even give him a room when he is older. He loves it for the same reason Rhys did: flying. He also likes asking the House ridiculous things -the House loves his petitions-

Azriel keeps his room of course, but playing the chaperone is useless now (it always was)

Mor befriends the house and together they plan jokes to Cassian.

Feyre loves going to the House because it reminds her that her sister is happy and will never be alone.

Nessian headcanons

(of course there are nessian’s headcanons)

While sleeping, Cassian is very restless while Nesta sleeps in a ball, but they make it work. Also, Cassian takes all the blankets so Nesta ends up beside him and his wings.

The two of them loves sleeping in. Cassian would never admit it because he would never hear the end of it from the ic. (i know he said in acomaf that daylight is precious but now that he has found his mate he has change a liiitle his opinion about that. like now wake up beside his love is more precious than anything!!!!!)

I think it’s not fair we didn’t got a smut scene in the bathtub.

And in Windhaven.

Aaaaand in the cabin.

When Nesta has a nightmare, Cassian would hug her and comfort her while remind her it was a dream, and now she got out, and is loved and cherished by a lot of people.

Nesta loves that Cassian strokes her head, more when her hair is down. (i really like that nesta prefers updo hairstyles tho)

Nesta sitting on Cassian’s lap. That’s all I need for a next book. (i also need more domestic scenes between them like the one in Winter Solstice when Nesta hangs their coats) (also i need to read nessian from another pov i want to know how they look like from outside their pov)

Nessian dancing into the darkest hours, losing themselves into the music and their embrace. (i need a slow dancing fanfic thx)

Nesta is still a little uncomfortable to venture into Velaris so she asks Cassian to fly her over the city whenever she needs to go out and doesnt want to tangle in the multitude.

Cassian reading an Illyrian report while Nesta reads a romance book. Domestic mates part one hundred.

Nesta loves flying (WHY THIS IS NOT CANON SARAH) (like i would have been awesome to read nesta liking flying after that scene with rhys in acowar)

I love that is canon they like chocolate cake idk just wanted to say that.

Nesta headcanons

(my daughter deserves them)

Every Starfall, Nesta would take the stairs down and up just to remind herself the way up is long but by the end she would find happiness.

She is really protective over the House. She wouldn’t let anyone spill anything or mess around.

She starts taking dancing lessons again, even though she doesn’t need them. It’s her favorite part of the week. I can imagine Gwyn joining her. Emerie prefers watching them and smirk while drinking tea.

She visits her father’s tomb more than her sisters, and tells him every aspect of her life because she didn’t do it when he was alive.

She doesn’t like the Court of Nightmares, but the Winter Solstice ball in there is one of her favorites events of the year.

She goes back to being a courtier/emmisary for the Night Court and loves tormenting the people she has to deal with. (just imagine Nesta in Vallahan, they would sign the treaty in a second)

She continues working in the Library because she is still healing and the Library is such a big part of that. She continues fighting with Merrill too (gwyn is please of that)

Also she starts practicing with Amren to use her powers, even if there is not a lot to master (tho i think she is still very powerful but let’s wait for the next book to confirm this)

ALSO Nesta as a mother: she gives her children a lot of love because she remembers how it is to have a cold mother and doesn’t want to repeat the story.

Nessian’s children headcanon

(tho i imagine they have at least a daughter so she is gonna appear a lot in my hc sorry)

I can imagine them having an unexpected pregnancy idk why they would be very happy tho (like chaolene’s) (not so soon after acosf, they would enjoy some free-of-babies-years)

Now I want a fanfic about nessian finding out they are pregnant please writers do it

Tho I can imagine its during training.

Nessian’s baby would sleep between them. Cassian loves that and even though Nesta says the contrary, privately she loves it too.

Nesta teaching their daughter to dance, while Cassian teaches her to fly. Together, they teach her to fight. Their daughter wants to be a Valkyrie like her mom and aunts.

Also Nesta reading her daughter to bed and then getting asleep. Cassian would find the two of them sleeping and would cover them with a quilt.

Their daughter loves to hear the stories about Nessian’s Blood Rites, and would ask everyone about them.

Their daughter is their number 1 fan im crying in softness

She also wants to hear the stories of her uncles and aunts even though some are sad, because she knows they are happy and together now.

I can see Nessian wanting another baby tbh but let’s stop in one until Sarah shows us the contrary.

But just imagine Nessian’s children + Nyx playing hide-and-seek on the House of the Wind and the House helping them hide.

Nessian’s daugther loves hearing Gwyn sing, and is particularly obsessed with Emerie because she sees herself in Emerie (like they are both Illyrians i’m crying nessian’s daughter doesnt understand why her aunt can’t fly).

She has spring allergies too.

#thinking headcanons is my coping mechanism #in case you didnt notice i sink with nessian #i sink with nesta too #azriel didnt even try to be a chaperone #a court of silver flames #nesta archeron #cassian #headcanon #a court of thorns and roses #a court of mist and fury #a court of wings and ruin #a court of frost and starlight #acotar #acomaf #acowar #acofas #acosf #feyre archeron #rhysand #inner circle #night court #nessian #feysand #the house of wind #velaris #azriel #acosf spoilers

[elriel-oblivion]

So it's been four days so here's part two 😁 Just wanted to say a huge thanks to everyone who read/liked/commented/reblogged the last part! It was such an amazing response, especially given it was my first time posting my writing here, so thanks for all the love you shared 🥰🥰

Heads up, this part is actually part one from Elain's pov. Initially I wanted to continue from where the last part left off in Elain's pov, but as I was writing the background, I realised I'd written too much to just skip when Az gets to the estate and cut straight into a continuation of part one, so I ended up rewriting the whole thing in her view. So there's no new elriel moments, but you'll get a lot of new stuff anyway 😅 I would've said you don't have to read this part to understand part three, but when I was rereading the later parts a few hours ago, I realised there's some stuff that alludes to things in this part, so I strongly recommend you don't skip this 😅😅

Also, wow, some of my fave paragraphs I've ever written are in this part 😁 Bonus points if you can find them; there are four I'm thinking of in particular 😉

Word count: ~ 3.1K. Lemme know if you'd like to be tagged/removed 😊 Next part up in two or three days 😊

AO3

Ashes from the Deep

Part II

__

It had been a pretty uneventful day as Elain worked through her new plant textbook. Feyre and Rhysand had decided to spend the weekend away at the mountain cabin, Cassian and Nesta were away doing things she wished not to think of, and Mor was at the Winter Court.

Amren had only been round in the mornings, probably to check Elain was still alive. She'd glance round the living room, examine some of those fine crystal glasses in the display cabinet and then leave. There was no difference today, though Elain always felt Amren's scrutiny upon her even when that muted silver gaze was directed elsewhere; perusing Rhys' wine collection had become a tired ruse.

So besides preparing and taking her meals with Nuala and Cerridwen, Elain had spent her afternoon with her book, making notes and copying drawings. The twins had gone off on some errands, so she'd wandered into the garden at some point to tend to her many plants, telling them how lovely they each were. The crocuses looked particularly stunning this autumn day, their pale violet colour breathing life into the shades beneath some of the trees.

With her book, she'd identified new weeds, digging into the soil to rip some pesky ones out. Sometimes she didn't want the help of a tool; sometimes she needed to feel those roots on her bare skin.

Harvesting the carrots and beetroot was also on the agenda today, along with seeding for some spectacular displays next year. She'd been collecting the seeds from some of her summer blooms, like those soft clouds of baby's breath, saving them to replant. These she sowed directly into ground she'd prepared days before, her fingers digging into the crumbly clumps of earth.

Autumn onions she'd plant tomorrow, perhaps. Feyre always remarked on how their strong taste complimented meats well, so Elain wanted to harvest some fresh for her sister for once. It'd take a few months of waiting, but there was little else better than picking out and eating food one had grown with their bare hands and the essential ingredients of love and care.

Setting her book on the patio table, Elain surveyed the garden. It was a good day's work. Plants watered and sown, weeds uprooted, and hands sweaty and soiled, Elain was proud of what she'd achieved today. There were no distractions, nothing to take her from the one thing she always found satisfaction in.

After a long shower, she found herself back in the garden with a cup of tea and a blanket. The sunset washed the sky in a blaze of red and orange glory before it yielded to the cool tones of twilight then night. Elain sat in silence, hands wrapped around her mug. How long would it be until someone's arms were wrapped around her, until she felt the warmth her sisters finally had?

Silly, these thoughts. Immortality stretched far ahead, there would be time to develop that companionship. Months and years were but a heartbeat in the life of a High Fae. She wouldn't even notice the years pass.

Or so everybody else kept saying.

With her tea finished, she perused the book of recipes she'd borrowed from Nuala. Some recipes jumped out, ingredients for which she'd been growing for a few months now. Pumpkin pie sounded especially delightful, the gourd having almost darkened and hardened to ripe quality just a couple days ago. They should be ready for harvest tomorrow.

A chill wind sent Elain inside to prepare and have her dinner in pleasant silence. Even her mind was quiet tonight. After washing her dishes, she stood by a bay window, fingers idly tapping the windowsill.

Faelights bobbed like tiny lamps, dotted through the garden. The full moon was now high in the sky, its ghostly glow illuminating the datura flowers she'd seeded half a year ago. She pulled on her blanket and went out again for a better look at those gorgeous blooms, the petals opening only at night.

Elain couldn't be happier she'd found seeds of a triple-flowered variety. They'd grown to produce large trumpets, three layers of petals ruffled against each other. Somehow she thought of her sisters as she crouched and stared at the flowers, each layer so similar, yet fighting for space and breath as it unfurled before another. It was only when they were all fully open that they could sigh along the night breeze as one, an ethereal song of togetherness, tinged with notes of poignancy, only heard by those with the will to look deeper.

The white petals were stained with velvet violet, a true vision in her garden. While the others had given her passing compliments on the flowers, Azriel had seemed stunned the first time he saw them, citing them his favourite of all the plants Elain had grown so far. Something about their shape and contrasting colours, he'd mentioned.

She smiled fondly at the memory, where his eyes sparkled as he reached for one of the soft petals.

Her hand lashed out to grab his wrist. 'Don't touch them; the leaves and stems are highly poisonous.'

His brows rose. 'You wouldn't think that at first sight. But they're beautiful, Elain. Truly magnificent,' he said, his smooth voice so low, a voice that was night given sound. And how befitting, as even those datura flowers seemed enraptured by his presence, one shy petal finally unfurling towards him.

She beamed at him. 'They like you. Flowers like it when you talk to and compliment them - but these ones haven't given me the same reaction as they have to you. I think they really like you, Azriel.'

His answering smile was heartbreakingly tender.

A few more seconds passed before she realised she still held his wrist. She silently let go.

It was a shame she'd have to dig out the datura shrub and move it inside for the winter; it did look magnificent in the moonlight.

The sky shifted past its midnight velvet, and still Elain crouched, admiring the flowers. She shivered in the night's chill. The stars above twinkled and glistened, cold and distant as ever, yet stunning - infinitely more striking than they'd ever been when she was human. A thousand different colours sparkled in that vast expanse, the moon a phosphorescent queen in the centre of her court.

The Night Court truly lived up to its name in the wee hours of the day. Its opulence never failed to mesmerise her; the enhanced Fae eyesight was at least one thing she was grateful for from this body.

Her eyelids became heavy and she yawned. Why was she still out here? It was late into the night; she should be in bed by now. But the night was so beautiful and it was so quiet and she wanted to appreciate it all just once. Just once without the expectations of others, without having to wear that miserable smile all the time.

Of course, it didn't look miserable, which is probably why almost nobody ever bothered to look deeper into Elain. She should be used to it by now, but it still felt - wrong. That most overlooked her so long as she wore a smile. That most didn't think her capable of feeling the utter bitterness and loneliness she had once seen so plain on her sisters' faces.

And in acknowledgement of her sisters' hardships, Elain didn't fault them for not looking, for not seeing her. To see past the thick blanket of darkness in one's own mind was a trial in itself. But it had been years since the war now. And still they didn't notice.

They didn't notice that Elain was being shredded from the inside out.

It was almost laughable. But not funny enough.

No, it was not funny that people still treated Elain like a child, that people wanted to keep Elain in some weird impasse of a stage between child and adult. She'd thought finally carrying out her duty and giving her hand in marriage would show everyone that she was growing up: Elain Archeron, middle born but first married. Of course it was still on her own terms, to a man whom she'd loved. A man who'd seen her through the rubble of her family's lives. But she'd overall hoped doing what was expected of her would be enough.

Clearly not. She didn't even know who she was any more. Did she ever? Everything she'd once yearned for, gone. That fragile human life would soon be just a speck on the horizon of her past.

She sighed. Rebuilding herself was going to take a long time.

But what would she have to do for people to see her, to listen to her? Throw a rage? Fall into a drunken stupor and break a few dozen bottles?

She definitely could, but those were not her. She was Elain Archeron. And so she would wait. Patience wasn't a bad thing at all; she saw it on the shadowsinger's face all the time, that tranquility and calmness she so wished to feel inside.

Azriel. Her heart softened as he entered her mind again, and she dug her fingers into the soil, if only to occupy her fidgety hands. As sure as the chaos of her visions these days, there was a mess of butterflies related to him she wasn't willing to show. Or understand.

Elain and the spymaster? Now that was laughable. Truly laughable. He was wise and patient, while she - well, everyone already thought her a child, and though he listened like no other around her, surely even he couldn't glimpse the adult she so desperately wanted everyone to see.

No, it was foolish to entertain the idea of a relationship with him. No matter how much he saw.

No matter that he was the first to see her since Graysen.

Elain exhaled. She stifled another yawn, smoothing out the soil, then brushed her hands clean. She wrapped the blanket closer around herself and stood. Twinkling stars and velvety darkness and -

There, a knot of shadows materialising at the far edge of the garden, collecting and swirling into a larger mass before Azriel himself stepped out and sagged against a tree. His shadows whirled and obscured him, a dark fire with him burning at the core.

Elain's voice left her throat before she even thought to call him and she ran over to his figure slumped in the dimness.

She couldn't help but say his name again as she neared. 'Azriel!'

Those beautiful hands fiddled with a Siphon, but he looked even worse up close. Fatigue dragged at his body, a second weight to all the muscle and armour he already had to carry. Sweat and dirt clung to him, his hair. At least the shadows were parting, swallowing each other and misting away as they often did around her. Perhaps she should ask someday why they did that. But not today, not when his breathing was so laboured.

She raised a hand - to do what, she had no idea. She couldn't just touch him right now. 'You don't look okay.'

Something else limned his features as he huffed a light laugh and said, 'I'm fine, don't worry.' His voice was raw, so starkly different to its usual icy smoothness. It was common for him to guard his emotions, but in his state, this kind of thinking was just unhealthy. What would it take for him to be honest with her?

'You don't have to pretend with me, Azriel,' she said, lowering her hand. She studied the ground, embarrassed that she'd come up to him. What could she even offer in her pathetic childlike state when he was so clearly affected by his mission right now?

His hand rose. Her heart faltered, she had to do something, and she blurted, 'Can I wash your hair, please?'

His eyes widened, his entire composure crumbling. It wasn't often that the shadowsinger looked startled, but Elain was far too shy to show that she quite liked the effect her question had on him.

'You want to wash my hair?'

His face was so exquisite, it hurt to look at it. His eyes would be even worse; it wouldn't be the first time she was rendered speechless by their kind gaze. A myriad of colours swirled in their glistening depths - gorgeous greens and brilliant browns, all so natural and rich, if only she could look at them long enough to find their matches in the garden around her. Though, his eyes were an entire spectrum of colour in their own right. How would she ever pick out each and every shade?

And if she somehow did have the courage to meet his eyes now, what would she see of herself in their reflection?

A lovesick puppy? A doe-eyed, fearful fawn?

No, she didn't want to know.

So she swallowed and focused on his hair. Perhaps this Fae eyesight was a curse, for even his hair was shockingly fascinating. Only flat black from a distance, the faelights bobbing about the trees highlighted layer upon layer of silky raven locks up close. His hair was so dark it seemed to absorb the surrounding light. Mud stained one side of his head, and it was an effort to keep her hands from brushing it away, so she said, 'I'm positive that's mud and you shouldn't sleep with that in your hair. It'll only take a few minutes.'

He ran a hand through his hair, clumps of dirt falling out.

'You've managed to get some on your face, too.' There were light specks of mud and blood across his face, a more noticeable patch along his cheekbone, thrown into sharper relief by the faelights and his own weariness. Was that a cut beneath the patch? And another on his temple?

She leashed her arms.

What had happened? He wore the signs of a fight, but why would he come here when he knew Elain was the only one home?

His eyes bored into her face, but she refused to meet them. He seemed to lean forward then, stumbling.

Ridiculous, absolutely ridiculous that he wouldn't even acknowledge he was in need. Azriel rarely stumbled. Any fatigue Elain had felt just a while ago was now burrowing down a little longer. Her voice was firm when she spoke. 'I'm washing your hair. It'll help relax you into falling asleep.'

His brows rose, but if Elain stood there one more moment she wouldn't have the courage to do anything for him. For herself - she could take care of someone else. She could do for Azriel what she hadn't done for Feyre all those years as a human.

And for Azriel, she could tend to the male who'd provided her with comfort and safety in this world of distress and danger.

So she pulled him along, clenching her jaw and refusing to look back. Her heart hammered in her chest but she continued, hand wrapped round his armoured arm. Her hand slid down to his wrist but just as she was about to replace her grip, he grabbed her other hand and pulled her into him.

The shadows instantly began to ensconce them, dozens of those cool tendrils twining like vines. The estate loomed huge before them, and Elain gripped Azriel's hand tighter. 

'My bathroom,' she said. Beneath the low whisper of those shadows, her blood thrummed, her heart so painfully obvious against her ribs now. It would be a wonder if the spymaster wasn't aware of it. Though she did hear another flutter above, right by her ear. But as expected, the shadows made quick work of their journey and she didn't have the chance to dwell on it further.

Now out of the comfort of Azriel's hold, Elain set down her blanket and made to grab a chair from her bedroom. His dark presence was so overwhelming that she exhaled lightly as she entered the room and took the chair. She dragged it to the sink, avoiding his gaze, and pulled a towel, soap and a large jug from the cupboard by the door.

As she settled the soap and jug on the sink, she dared a glance at him. He was still clad in full armour, those black scales gleaming like obsidian over his skin, his Siphons glistening jewels across his body. 'I think you'll have to collapse your armour for this,' she said.

He inclined his head and tapped a Siphon, those scales lashing back into each other with cruel elegance. They were a mirror of their master: cold, controlled and unyielding, forged from scintillating darkness. He was a night sky riddled with stars; light existed if only one bothered to look for it.

Azriel's great wings righted themselves as he stood straight, now looking smaller in just his black tunic and trousers. Something about him seemed vulnerable without the armour, so Elain breathed, 'It's beautiful, all of it.' The hulking armour, the classic simplicity of the tunic and trousers, and the male who wore them all.

He was just so wonderful, Azriel. An enigma that could see her own. Her heart clenched.

Azriel rustled his wings, colour blossoming on his cheeks.

Elain blinked and pulled the chair out a little. 'Please sit.' As he sunk down, she rested the towel on his shoulders, hovering her fingers above his forehead. Her body tensed and her fingers remained suspended. It was like a spark of tension flickered in the space between their skin, teasing her, tempting her, taunting her.

After all, she'd offered to wash his hair, an act that would certainly require touching. But why was she so hesitant? She'd touched him before - kissed his cheek, even. Although that had been in the heat of adrenaline, a mark of her gratitude where a simple thank you wouldn't suffice, not for risking his own life for hers.

This was - what was this?

She finally lowered her fingers through that tense spark, pushing his head back against the sink. It was exhilarating, this contact, but he lowered his wings, shifting on the seat. Elain moved into the space he gave, turning on the tap as he went still. Just as her body was taut, taut as the skin of a drum.

She checked the water. Warm. It was time to start.

Azriel was looking up at her. Something like yearning swirled in his eyes.

He looked so tired. It made her heart ache.

'You can close your eyes,' Elain whispered. And he did.

___

Feedback's welcomed; thanks for reading 😊

If anyone wants to know what the datura flowers look like, CTTO:

@illyrian-lover-flower @julesherondalex @nooriee @mis-lil-red @verifiefangirl @tswaney17

#elain archeron #azriel #elain x azriel #elriel #acotar

[cupidhaos]

underneath the cherry blossoms

pairing: vernon chwe x reader

word count: 1.8k

genre: straight up fluff, slice of life, first meetings, highschool au

summary: first meetings and first love - we go back to the moment where vernon experiences both at the same time.

warnings: swearing

a/n: i was going back to edit these to add in the genre and a link and i was rereading this and thought that this was probably my favorite one i’ve written so far just because its so cute and fluffy it hurts it pains me actually

[part of my What is Love? series]

“come on vernon! we’re gonna be late!” seungkwan yelled as he ran ahead of his friend towards the school gates. vernon mindlessly nods as he checks his book bag for the tenth time - making sure that he had everything that he needed with him.

“i’m coming just wait!” vernon answers once he realizes seungkwan was already on school grounds as vernon hurriedly tries to catch up to his friend. but as soon as he looks up, seungkwan was already gone and out of sights.

letting out a frustrated breath of air - vernon aimlessly begins walking around the unfamiliar campus grounds. he looks up at the buildings as he starts to study the area. he turns and walks down the pathway that was lined with trees on either sides of them.

it was mid march, and the cherry blossom trees were just beginning to bloom. vernon stands in place as he looks up at the trees in awe - watching as they slowly move with the wind in a nice harmony.

“mingyu! eunwoo! come on! the others are probably already there waiting for us!” a voice yelled from a distance, breaking vernon from his trance. he snaps his head forward at the calming - but very loud - voice. he stares at the end of the pathway in curiosity.

“y/n what are you running so fast for? trying to get the first years to fall in love with you or something?” another voice asks as someone else laughs. he hears - who he assumes is y/n, huff angrily before yelling at the two of them two shut their mouths.

it was then that vernon finally saw the identity of the person who had just been yelling not too long ago as they run in front of him. the entire moment felt as if everything around him had slowed down.

as a gust of wind picked up - the cherry blossom trees surrounding the pathway released an enormous amount of petals as if they were snow gently falling from the sky.

not too far ahead of him - vernon watches as y/n runs past with a smile on her face that made anyone feel at peace. she looks behind as she continues to yell at two boys who walk slowly behind her. vernon couldn’t make out the words she said as everything surrounding him seemed like a blur.

as the cherry blossoms continued falling around - y/n turns her head and the two finally meet eyes. a shocked look covered her face, but it was soon replaced with a large smile. vernon’s eyes widen as he makes eye contact for the first time with the person that he would refer to later on as his first love.

just like that - she was gone within a blink of an eye and everything seemed to have picked backup again. he was able to hear her distant yelling getting further and further and before he knew it, he felt his feet begin to move towards the direction. he was stopped though as he felt the back of his shirt being tugged harshly.

“how many times do i have to tell you to pay attention to your surroundings?! the entrance ceremony is already starting and we’re late! first off - you’re going the wrong way you already passed the gym. ALSO -” vernon slowly begins to tune out seungkwan’s scoldings as he’s being dragged towards the gym. his eyes lingering towards where y/n ran off to.

during the entire entrance ceremony, seungkwan and chan sat on either side of him and the two of them were silently arguing back and forth about something he didn’t quite care about. yet all vernon was able to think about was that moment. where the two of them had saw one another while the cherry blossoms fell around them. he couldn’t stop thinking about the familiar feel that he got when they had both locked eyes.

once the ceremony was done - he immediately went to go look for her.

“i’m going to excuse myself now - i’ll catch up with the two of you later.” vernon tells his two friends before quickly exiting the gym. sooner or later, he found himself in the exact same spot that he stood before a couple hours earlier. only this time the pathway was crowded and filled with other students - making it harder for vernon to find who he was looking for.

he looks around, trying to find her within the sea of people crowding the wide pathway. weaving and excusing himself through others in order to find the person who wouldn’t leave his mind for the last couple hours.

with no luck in finding her, he finally makes it out of the crowd and towards the sides. he hands his head low in defeat as he stands by one of the cherry blossom trees. feeling someone bump into him, he raises his head to apologize before feeling his breath stop once he did.

“sorry! oh! its you! the guy from earlier!” y/n gasps excitedly as she points at vernon. all vernon could do was simply nod at her since he wasn’t able to muster up any actual words. two unfamiliar boys stand behind her. “y/n do you know him?” one of the boys asks.

y/n opens her mouth to say something before quickly closing it. a sheepish look covers her face as she scratches the back of her head. “uh… well you see… not particularly… i just kinda saw him earlier before meeting up with hao and the others.” she explains and the other boy with silver hair just shakes his head.

“stop harassing the first years y/n”

“jeonghan be quiet! he’s gonna get the wrong idea about me! joshua tell him!” “haha um well…”

vernon watches the exchange between the three of them before speaking up. “i’m hansol vernon chwe but you can just call me vernon but some of my friends call me nonie” he introduces politely. loud gasps come from y/n and the guy named joshua as they looked at him.

“chwe?! like studiochwe?!”

“the popular anime account on twitter with like sixteen thousand followers?!”

vernon feels his face heat up - never had he expected to be exposed like this in public. “um, uh, yeah -” “wait yeah! it totally is you! i recognize your face!” joshua claims and vernon just starts to laugh nervously at the sudden exposure of his twitter account.

y/n suddenly grabs ahold of both of vernon’s hands as joshua places one of his hands on his shoulder., catching him way off guard. joshua was the first one to begin talking. “join our club! we’re an anime club and if we want to stay as a club we need five members to be official or-”

y/n cuts him off, “ - they’re gonna shut down our club! i’m a member and joshua’s a member and and so is this silver hair wannabe victor nikiforov! our other member seungcheol is off trying to flirt with some girl right now but i swear you won’t regret joining our club we’re all really cool and we watch animes together and we also -”

her ramblings were cut off as the silver haired boy covers her mouth with his hand. “y/n. joshua. calm down. you’re overwhelming him. and my name isn’t ‘silver hair wannabe victor nikiforov’ it’s yoon jeonghan. join our club, don’t join, i don’t really care.” he tells vernon.

vernon immediately wanted to decline the invitation since he didn’t really want the first club he joined in high school to be the anime club. yet as he looked at the hopeful look on y/n’s face and the warmness that it gave his chest, he couldn’t bring himself to say it.

“...okay i’ll join”

joshua and y/n immediately erupted in cheers and the two of them pull vernon into a celebratory hug. jeonghan just sighs from where he stood and shakes his head at the two of them while a soft smile plays at his lips.

“you saved us vernon chwe!”

“you’re our hero thank GOD!”

the two continuously praise him and the blush on vernon’s face doesn’t seem to go away. his eyes never left y/n and he couldn’t bring himself to look away from her even if he wanted to. after awhile the two finally let go of him and vernon was finally able to catch his breath.

“i have two other friends that watch anime as well. i think that one of them would be interested in joining your club actually” vernon speaks up after awhile. coincidentally, the two other friends he had been talking about had showed up.

“vernon…you left me alone… with chan… ” seungkwan seethes as he stalks up to their group. vernon sheepishly laughs as he looks at his friend. “speaking of the devils…”

seungkwan opens his mouth to say something before chan cuts him off  “are you guys upperclassmen? do you know if theres an anime club around here?”

soon enough, joshua and chan are engaged in a deep conversation about their favorite character from demon slayer as y/n interrogates seungkwan into joining the anime club.

“you’re one of vernon’s friends that watches anime right? join our club!”

“like hell i AM. vernon. first you leave me TWICE now you’re exposing my weeb tendencies? whatever happened to loyalty?”

one heated argument and two new anime club members later. the group along begins walking towards the school entrance. a defeated seungcheol joins them along the way as vernon walks behind the group. stopping and noticing this, y/n slows her step and leaves where she stood next to jeonghan to stand by vernon.

she smiles up at him and vernon returns it. the feeling that he gets when he looks at y/n is something that he has never felt before. it felt like the moment the protagonist meets the person that they fall in love with. it felt like an instant connection when the two had met eyes. it was as if he was seeing and meeting someone from his past even though he knew it was their first time meeting.

“we’re gonna get ice cream to celebrate our new members - you coming with?” y/n asks him, looking up at him with a curious look on her face. again, vernon couldn’t help but agree immediately.

“great! i can’t wait to eat some strawberry ice cream!” “strawberry? i’m more of a vanilla guy.”

“pfft you gotta keep it fruity dude. vanilla’s so plain!”

a sudden feeling of deja vu washed over him as they continued onto their walk towards the nearest convenience store. the smile never left her face though throughout their conversation.

vernon didn’t know what this feeling was - but he knew that he always wanted to keep that smile on her face. even if it meant having her smile be directed towards someone else, he felt the urge to protect it no matter what.

-

moments of love masterlist

#seventeen #svt #seventeen scenarios #svt scenarios #vernon chwe #vernon x reader #seventeen x reader #seventeen oneshot #hansol vernon chwe #hansol x reader #what is love? au

[project-rosewood-476]

House of Gold

Okay, so this is strictly fluff. This is the fluffiest thing I have ever written for this AU and probably will be the most fluff you all will get for this.

This fic is based on the song House of Gold by Twentyone Pilots. I wanted to explore and explain the relationship between Tabby and her stepdad before everything went to shit. And I feel as though that song suits them.

"Kitty" is a nickname that she had for her stepdad when she was younger because her real dad and stepdad were both named Michael so to avoid confusion but she slowly dropped the nickname when she got older.

Summary: Tabby is six at the time and she is left home alone even though she's not supposed to be due to her mother's A+ parenting choices. When she's bored out of her mind she goes looking around for shit that she's not supposed to. But what happens when she takes a trip down memory lane and remembers all the good times she had before she was left all alone. Will it fill her with despair? or renew her sense of hope?

She asked me, Son when I grow old

Will you buy me a house of gold?

And when your father turns to stone

Will you take care of me?

She asked me, Son when I grow old

Will you buy me a house of gold?

And when your father turns to stone

Will you take care of me?

The lonely six-year-old paced around her small apartment relentlessly. Being left home alone yet again, she was pretty bored. She was looking for something to do. She was tired of TV, books, and she wasn’t hungry, so that she couldn’t eat her boredom away. Not that there was much to eat in the house anyways. She couldn’t go outside alone because she didn’t know where anything was, and the outside world scared her. Usually, the person she would consider her dad would be here by now. He would have taken her to the park, play pretend, play fight, or colored with her. It’s boring playing by yourself. But since he wasn’t here for reasons unbeknownst to her for a year now, she was left with her own devices.

What do you do as a child who’s left home alone and bored out of your mind? You snoop around. Tabby went through the drawers in the kitchen. Maybe she could concoct something to eat if she looked hard enough or find something new to play with. She found nothing interesting. Nothing but silverware, junk mail, and odds and ends of a miscellaneous drawer that didn’t hold her attention for very long.

She walked down the narrow hallway, altogether skipping over her room since she knew everything that she had in her room. She went straight into her mom’s room. She took in her surroundings. She saw a couple of unfinished jigsaw puzzles on the floor. Sometimes her mother and her would try to finish them when her mom had the time. She saw the miniature wolf sculptures and figurines that her mother adores on her dresser. She went through her drawers to see if she found anything interesting or to remind her mom to do laundry if she saw that she didn’t have clothes in there. The good news is that her mom didn’t need to do laundry. The bad news was that she found nothing to hold her interest. She took one of her mom’s green work shirts and just inhaled her scent. It calmed her down and took her mind off of her boredom. She missed her mom a lot. Tabby decided to stay buried in her mom’s scent for a few minutes later before moving on.

Tabby decided to raid her mom’s closet at least help her organize that godawful mess in there. Her mother’s closet was on the same length as most middle school and high school lockers. She began to separate the piles of clothes from clean to dirty based on smell until she came across an old blue folder. Finally, something to cure her boredom. Tabby opened it up to have a look and couldn’t believe what she saw.

“So this is where he’s been hiding the stuff that I make for him while he’s been here,” she realized in thought as a couple of pictures, a few short stories, and a couple of fathers days cards that were still all in pristine condition. Even a couple of years later.

That brought a smile to her face and brought back memories.

A little girl four years of age was sitting on the floor, focusing intently on a drawing that she was making on the coffee table. An older man in his late 20’s plopped down onto the couch lazily as he looked over to what the girl was drawing.

“Whatcha drawing?” he asked as he peered over.

“Remember the house by the candy shop that we always pass on our way to the park?” she asked, still not looking up from her drawing.

“The one that’s always on sale on hill street?”

“If that’s what it’s called, then yes.”

“Yeah, what about it?” he asked, still not getting the picture

“Well, someday when I’m all grown up, I’m going to buy that house, and I’m taking you with me. It will be our house!” she said proudly.

He raised an eyebrow in surprise.

“Really? What about your mother? Aren’t you going to bring her along too?” he asked, struggling to find the words to speak.

Tabby grew quiet and looked down.

“We all know with the lifestyle mommy is living, she won’t live very long. You’ll last longer,” she said quietly.

“Yeah…” he trailed off, a little disturbed at the child’s eeriness. But she wasn’t far off from the truth either. He was aware of the type of life and choices that her mother led and made. Some of them left him scratching his head, and a lot of the time, they made his blood boil. What kind of a mother would do that to her kid. Tabby was a lot more perceptive than what she’s given credit for. He knew that.

“Besides,” said Tabby bringing him out from his angry thoughts,” You’re my best friend. It would be weird to plan my future and not have you in it. It’s only natural that you would be a part of it.”

“You think that I’ll be around that long?” he asked, amused playing along with the girl’s plan.

“You’d said that you would be around forever, right?”

“Of course, kiddo I-I gave you my word,” he was taken aback by the fact that she took his promise so seriously.

“Okay then,” she went back to drawing.

“How do you think that you’ll pay for the house, huh?”

“I’ll get a job when I’m old enough to work, duh,” she said it like it was the most obvious thing ever.

“You’d have to be 15 to work legally.”

She stopped to look at him in horror.

“But that’s so old.”

He couldn’t help but let out a hearty laugh at her concept of old age. It was so fascinating to listen to what the four-year-old thought of the world around her. Sometimes she had solid points and saw the world for what it is at its base. Simplistic and so full of good and hope. Other times her ideas were so bizarre that they showed just how innocent she was.

Tabby looked at him, confused. Had she said something funny?

“Oh, I’d hate to break it to ya, kid, but if you think 15 is old, then it would take even longer to save up money to buy the place.”

She looked at him even more confused.

“How hard can it be?”

He let out another hearty laugh.

“Oh, kiddo, you have no idea.”

I will make you

Queen of everything you see

I'll put you on the map

I'll cure you of disease

Tabby took out one of her short stories that she wrote starring him as the hero and god that she saw him as. She worshipped him. She was rereading her work, a masterpiece at the time; now, she cringed at how godawful it was. However, she remembered beaming with pride when she handed him her finished product that she worked on for a month. It was the first story she ever wrote.

“Kitty, look! Look at what I made for you!” Tabby ran to him as soon as he walked out the door.

“What is it?” he asked as he kneeled to be on her level.

“I made you a story,” she said shyly as she handed it to him.

He was a little shocked at the gift. This was the first thing she’s ever given him. It was one of the nicest things anyone has done for him in a long time.

“Will you read it?” she inquired excitedly.

“Sure, after I take my nap. Then I’m all yours, and we can talk about your story.”

“Awww,” she sounded dejected.

“I’ll tell you what. I’ll put it right beside me so that way it will be the first thing I’ll do when I wake up. Fair enough?”

“Okay,” she sighed. She wasn’t happy with the compromise, but she took what she could get. She went back to play with her stuffed animals to keep herself occupied in the meantime.

However, he did not nap that day like he said he would. He spent his allotted two hours reading her story and just taking it in. She showed a lot of talent and promise with writing. Even with her limited vocabulary, she put so much passion and emotion behind what she was saying and trying to express that it was easy to get what she was saying. What moved him to the point of a few stray tears streaming down his face was how evident she thought so highly of him. She viewed him as a hero and thought he was a good person that he was better. It was so moving when he didn’t even think of himself like that. Knowing that someone out there in the living room loved him enough to see past that and had so much to give left him speechless.

Let's say we up and left this town

And turned our future upside-down.

We'll make pretend that you and me

Lived ever after, happily

Tabby was grinning from ear to ear, sitting on the floor, looking through her old drawings and stories she wrote for him that he still kept in pristine condition. She had a few stray tears from happiness leaking out, but she didn’t care. This was the closest she felt to him in a long while. She took out another picture. It was of her and her dad running through trees on some sort of adventure. There’s a story behind that one.

Tabby was drawing furiously at the kitchen table while her dad made her some spaghetti to eat for dinner. Her dad peered over her shoulder.

“I see that you’re overflowing with creative juices again. What are you drawing this time?”

“You and me we’re going on an adventure, but I can’t decide what the rest of the picture should be,” she said, frustrated.

“What about trees?” he suggested

“Like the woods?” she asked

“Yeah, like we’re going on a hike and camping. That’s an adventure, and we’ll come back when we’re done,” he said as he turned away to finish making dinner.

“Oh, I don’t want to come back,” said Tabby quickly as she went back to drawing.

He almost dropped the hot pot of boiling spaghetti at her statement.

“Why wouldn’t you want to come back?” he asked slowly.

Tabby stayed quiet for a few minutes before slowly turning to face him.

“Is it bad that I don’t want to stay with mommy?” she said in a voice that was barely a whisper.

“I- Uh- W-what makes you say that? Don’t you love mommy?” he didn’t know how to answer that.

She shook her head furiously, sending her long strands of black hair all over the place while moving her little hands in a ‘no’ motion “, No no, no, that’s not it at all! I do love mommy, I do! It’s just- she never listens to me. I tell her that I don’t like it when she brings home strangers, and she still does it anyway. I tell her that I don’t like it when she sleeps all day, but she does it anyway. If you love someone, then you would listen to them. It’s like I’m not here! I am unwanted and unloved, and I don’t belong!” she looked down as her bottom lip quivered like she was going to cry.

Oh boy, he didn’t know what to say or do. He bit off more than what he could chew. He was aware of her mother’s questionable life choices, but he never knew just how badly they affected Tabby. He gathered that they made her sad and lonely and neglected, but he never knew how deep her hurt ran. His burning hatred and anger at her mother quickly turned into heartbreak for the child in front of him.

He went back to plating her spaghetti and set it down in front of the sulking child. He petted her hair in an attempt to comfort her. He continued to do so until he noticed that she was feeling a little better to turn around and eat. Satisfied, he went back to plating his meal.

“You know for what it’s worth; I can promise you that the bad things are only temporary even if they don’t feel like it at times. If anyone can get out of this town when you’re old enough to, I have absolute faith that it would be you.”

“You think so?” she asked excitedly and hopefully.

He ruffled her hair.

“I know so.”

She asked me, Son when I grow old

Will you buy me a house of gold?

And when your father turns to stone

Will you take care of me?

Tabby grew bored and put the pictures and clothes neatly back as best as she could and got up to explore the other rooms in the apartment. She went to the bathroom and opened up the cabinets to see what was in there. Her mother often told her not to look through the bathroom cabinets, but she wasn’t here to say no. Tabby concluded that if it were that bad, she would be given a sign that would tell her no. She found nothing of interest. Just chemicals that she knew better to play with and in the upper cabinet various cold medicines, band-aids, anti-bacterial ointment, nail clippers, the thermometer, her mother’s happy pills as she called them, and bandages. Tabby felt a twang of nostalgia that hurt her stomach when she looked at the bandages, and she knew why.

Tabby was sitting on the couch waiting for her dad to come back and babysit her. Where was he? Her mom said that he would be here in two hours. It’s been more than that. She jumped when she heard the sound of the front door opening and closing. Tabby turned around quickly only to be greeted with the horrific sight of her dad staggering in, out of breath, bruised and bloodied.

“Oh my god, what happened?” asked Tabby, horrified as she ran towards him, tripping over her own feet.

“It’s nothing, honey. I just got into a fight; that’s all” He made his way to the kitchen and sat down in the chair as he grimaced.

“Well, we have to get you cleaned up,” she fretted, struggling to figure out what to do.

“Good Idea. Do you know what to do?” he asked

Tabby slowly shook her head no.

He sighed “, That’s okay. I’ll walk you through it. First, get a cloth and wet it with warm soapy water. That will help clean off the blood and kill the bacteria.

“Got it,” she said as she ran into the bathroom to grab a dishcloth from the pile, put on some warm water and used hand soap, and rubbed it into the cloth to make it soapy. She came out waiting for further instructions.

“Good now, gently pat clean up all of the blood as best as you can, okay?” he sounded tired.

Tabby went slow and tried to be a gentle as she could with a few reminders. Laser focusing on the task at hand. His hands revealed minor cuts and shallow gashes.

“Is that good enough?”

“Yes, now go get the ointment. It should be in the upper cabinet in a blue and white packet in the bathroom.”

“On it,” she ran back to the back to the bathroom as fast as she could and grabbed her stepping stool that she uses to reach the sink to brush her teeth. She stood on her tiptoes on the chair to get the cabinet to open it. She looked for anything with blue and white packaging until she found the tiny ointment packets he was talking about. She grabbed a few and ran back out into the kitchen.

“Okay, now what?”

“Now open the packets and gently smear the ointment on just for extra precaution for infection.”

Tabby struggled to open it with her tiny hands, so she had help opening it. She spread the ointment all over his hands as gently as she could.

“Now what?”

“Now, I need you to go into the junk drawer and get two safety pins.”

“Okay,” she knew where the drawer was in the kitchen. She rummaged through to find what she thought were safety pins since she had no idea what they looked like. She pulled out a paper clip and showed it to him for confirmation.

“No, that’s a paper clip. Try again.”

She rummaged through the drawer again and pulled out a thumbtack.

“No, that’s a thumbtack try again,” he sounded exasperated.

Tabby whimpered and held her head down like a scolded puppy. She didn’t like how he sounded displeased with her. She rummaged deeper in the drawer and finally pulled out a safety pin,

“There we go!” he encouraged.

She pulled out another one and set them both on the table.

“Now go get those bandages in the upper cabinet. They are long and white.”

She nodded and went back into the bathroom once more to grab the bandages and ran back out.

“Good, now wrap them around my hands,” he walked her through the process of doing that, and he put on the safety pins to hold the bandages in place himself.

Tabby grabbed his hands and kissed both of them. He jerked back in surprise and was a little taken aback by her actions. She looked just as confused as he was.

“What are you doing?”

“I was just kissing your boo-boos to make them feel better. That’s what mommy does with me. I thought it would work for you.”

He hugged her tightly and tried to choke back his tears at how sincere and pure she was. It was only then, when she calmed down enough that she realized that he stunk. Specifically of cheap whiskey and liquor. Tabby tried to push away and scrunched up her nose.

“You stink,” she complained bluntly.

He burst out laughing. “I suppose I do. I’ll tell you what, let me take a shower, and we’ll have a movie night, and I’ll let you stay up an hour past your bedtime.”

“Okay!” Tabby said excitedly with a giggle.

“As long as you don’t tell your mom.”

“My lips are sealed” she made a zipper mouth motion.

I will make you

Queen of everything you see

I'll put you on the map

I'll cure you of disease (Ooh)

Tabby closed the bathroom cabinets and went back out to the living room. Right back to where she started. She stared out the window at the busy street down below. It became part of her daily routine to stare out the window and see if her dad was coming back. She didn’t know. It could be any day now. She hasn’t lost hope yet. She continued to stare, being lost in her thoughts.

“And the pirate kingdom of Aiwratha is saved from the mutant octopus by the rebel pirates!” she held her stick that she used as a sword up in the air in victory.

Tabby and her dad were currently at Maplehood park on the wooden play pirate ship in the middle of the playground section of the park. With Tabby as captain of the rebel pirate team and her dad as her first mate. Since no one else wanted to play with Tabby, they have played this multiple times with different storylines. Secretly they both never tired from it.

“We did it! We did it! We did it! We are the heroes!” he cheered as he picked her up and spun her around.

“Of course we are! Why wouldn’t we be? We are a team forever and always! Together nothing will get in our way! There’s nothing we can’t do!” she squirmed to be put down.

He took a minute to look at her eyes that were too big for her face. But they were so full of hope, adventure, optimism and had that bright lightning in her eyes. Ready to take on the world. He chuckled a little as he put her down and let her run free.

Maybe he didn’t do a bad job with her after all.

And since we know that dreams are dead

And life turns plans up on their head

I will plan to be a bum

So I just might become someone

Tabby sighed and rested her head on her thin arms on the window sill gloomily. She perked up when she saw somebody that looked like her dad. Only to sink back down when she realized that it was a false alarm. Here she was all alone. So much for his promise of sticking around forever. So much for a future with him in it. That dream is dead.

She slowly sat up with a confused realization.

What was she thinking?

Sure he wasn’t here now, but that doesn’t mean he won’t be here until later, right? She recently discovered that dreams do die, but maybe just maybe, dreams can come back to life. Perhaps he will come back, and those dreams can soar again. Yes, that’s right! This train of thought filled her with renewed hope, and she was bouncing in her seat in eagerness. Sure she and her mother aren’t in a good place right now, but that would be her responsibility to bring them both out of this dark place. She believed that she was strong enough to do so. All she knew was that she had to fight to survive for herself and her mother alive long enough so when he does come back, they will be a family again, and her dad would be proud to see just how far she’s come. She’ll be a hero once again.

She asked me, Son when I grow old

Will you buy me a house of gold?

And when your father turns to stone

Will you take care of me?

I will make you

Queen of everything you see

I'll put you on the map

I'll cure you of disease

She didn’t have an exact plan to go about this, but she decided it would be best to start small with stuff she could do. First, she could clean up the apartment as best as she could. After all, she can’t have him come back to a dirty apartment. She was leaving the heavy-duty cleaning to her mom, such as chemical cleaning, laundry, and dishes since she didn’t know how to do any of that. However, she could pick up a little and sweep. She knows how to pick up after herself and has seen her mom sweep multiple times, so she has an idea of what she’s doing. She was too small for the real broom, so she would just use her pink kid one. She got to work right away.

She will do everything in her power to help him come home to her.

All for him.

#every rose has its thorn #erhit au #fanfic #creepypasta fandom #creepypasta #tabbyanderson #tabby #house of gold #twenty øne piløts #send me requests #please flood my inbox #please and thank you

[catcze]

Oh, Catte, my beloved... The bracelet is so beautiful. Goodness, did I cry when I took it out of the envelope. It's almost as beautiful as you are, I love it so much! I'm never ever taking this off. Oh starlight I'm so happy, you may as well have just proposed! I love you so so much, thank you💜💜💜

I'm glad Cyno is doing well for himself these days! It's not really that complex of a spell, simple transmutation really, but I'm sure he didn't want to overwhelm you. He may not talk a lot but trust me; he cares. I should write him sometime, if only so the next time an emergency arises he won't think I only remember he exists when I need his help, hehe... I'm joking of course, he's not the kind of person to care. I do still owe him a favor though. Two, now that he's gone out of his way to teach my girlfriend magic, and specifically for helping you make me this wonderful present. Send along my thanks please, but please don't mention that I said I'd write him, just in case I somehow forget to. You know me, heh..

Also I'm a little surprised to hear that name again! Collei was quite the visitor when she was here a few years ago, it's a long story, and one I doubt very much she'd want me to tell. Suffice to say she and Amber are good friends, but I'm sure she already asked you about her as soon as you mentioned Mondstadt. I'm so relieved to hear she's safe, and studying medicine no less! Tell her I'm proud of her. She'll do great things in her life.

I must admit I'm slightly bothered to hear that so many scholars accosted my poor babygirl to ask if I'd return, I'm so sorry darling. If they give you any more trouble, oh I'll come visit alright. To dispense punishment(although I'd definitely grab some food on the way as we left). Speaking of food, that's so sweet of you to offer to learn the local cuisine just for me~ you're so thoughtful, it's one of the many many things I love about you. My reputation around the school is honestly the only accomplishment you'll find though sweetheart. I wasn't really all that social there, aside from talking to the professors and scholars. I couldn't afford to procrastinate if I wanted to learn everything I could. Funny, that sounds completely unlike me, now doesn't it~ Those lectures can be tiresome at first, did they provide you with the appropriate reading materials, or are you only listening? I still have my copy of the first semester alchemy textbook--it's only about 800 pages, but they're packed to the brim with knowledge. I still reference it sometimes.

Like I mentioned though, most of my time in Sumeru was spent at the Academy or at the local restaurants. If you wanted food recommendations, those I can provide, but unfortunately I won't be of much use otherwise. Sorry cutie~

[the next page of the letter is a list of local restaurants, many with recommended dishes written next to them. There's also a fair number of heart shapes and "I love you"s doodled around the edges of the paper]

I hope you'll try at least some of those and tell me what you think. The more you talk about it honestly, the more it's beginning to grow on me. I do want to go back and visit with you, my love. I miss it, even if I don't want to admit that. It would be so much fun to sight see with you, being able to just meander aimlessly through the city, not a care in the world, and with you by my side... That sounds amazing. I'd want nothing more. Perhaps for our honeymoon~? [the last sentence of the paragraph is crossed out with a single streak of ink cutting through it]

Your photos are all amazing, darling. I just wish I had as many to send you in return, but unfortunately I don't own a camera, nor can I afford to leave the library long enough to travel to Liyue and buy one. That being said, Albedo does have one, and he already took that first photo. Darling, I'm curious, and please, *please* say no if it would bother you even slightly. If I... Perhaps wanted to take some... Pictures, just for your enjoyment~ ...would you mind if I had Albedo continue to serve as the photographer? I want my baby to be thinking of me, especially since I'm not there to pleasure you myself~💜 again, PLEASE say no if you'd have any problem with that. Or I could ask Jean if that would be better. I just want to treat my princess to some candy~

That line is going to have me up all night, I swear. I do wish I was there for you in every sense, but goodness does my heart ache for you. I miss the way you taste so much, my precious little munchkin~ you're not going to sleep at all the first night you're back in my arms, I hope you know that. I'm going to edge you so hard you'll cry for me, hehe~ I'm a little peeved you didn't take notice of my comment about punishing you! There will be ropes involved when you return to me. Just the way you always like it, cutie~ tell me, how bad do you miss me? Miss my tongue you love so much~? Don't worry baby--you'll get everything you could ever want for when you come home. I can't wait to taste you~ goodness, excuse me a moment baby... I need to scratch an itch before I finish writing this letter, hehe...~

Okay, I'm back. That was quite the itch, it just kept coming back~ that picture you sent with this letter may have helped with that... Celestia, you're so so beautiful, my rose..~ I love you so much.

Where was I... Ah yes. I'm very glad you've been eating and sleeping properly. Such a good girl you always are~💜 and don't worry; I'm taking care of myself as well. I've been becoming more adjusted to the late nights lately, since your letters often arrive around this hour(it's 11:30 right now, although up until a page ago it had been 10:15, hehe...). I don't mind it at all, since you know I love to sleep in anyway. I love reading your letters sweetheart. They truly do carry your love across the distance. I'm so happy that you're my partner. I love you so so much. I reread your letters every day, they put such a smile on my face.

Also, what's this about ideas you're having ever since I mentioned the uniform? Tell me!! Pretty please~? 💜

I'm going to call my letter to a close here, before I end up needing a bigger envelope, hehe~ I love you so much, starlight. Please take care, and I hope you're well rested when you read this. Hopefully I can put a smile on your beautiful face. I just wish I was there to see it. I love you so much, take care and write me back when you can, promise~?

Yours Always,

- Lisa 🌺💜

Milddd nsfw here muaH <33

Hi, love, I’m so happy that you like your gift! I love you very much as well— hopefully it can give you comfort on some particularly hard nights where I cannot be with you, dearest. Sort of like a reminder that although I cannot be there with you in person, you always carry a piece of my heart with you, you know?

I’ll be sure to relay your message to Cyno and Collei! They were rather surprised when they found out I was your girlfriend, haha! In a good way, of course— they’ve been great company so far.

And don’t worry about the other scholars, Lisa dear. I can handle them plenty fine. I’m sure they’ll go running if I even so much as imply that you wouldn’t be pleased with them for their behavior, my love. They wouldn’t want to mess with one of the best sorcerers to ever roam those halls, you know?

Regarding the lectures, they offered to loan me some textbooks actually, but I had to turn them down since, well, I am just an observer, and carrying so many books with me to and fro would weigh me down. Still, although I sometimes get confused while I observe, It’s such a fun and interesting experience! I can’t say I’m remembering every bit of knowledge I hear, but I’ve definitely learned at least a thing or two.

Just yesterday, there was a bit of a lull in lectures that I was attending— something about one of the scholars who had agreed to host me taking their class out to fieldwork, and I was unable to accompany them. So I took the time to check out some of the restaurants you listed for me! I went to just one of them for lunch, since I didn’t want to get too full throughout the day, and I enjoyed it very much!! I included a picture of one of the dishes you noted for me (a best seller of theirs, apparently) and I didn’t regret purchasing it at all. It was so good! In my free time, it’s one of the recipes that I hope to familiarize and bring back home to you— I think you’ll rather like it, especially since there’s no meat. Hopefully I’ll get good enough at making it that you’ll be able to savor the flavor too!

Though, I don’t mind either if you’d rather return with me next time, and we can have a dinner date here? I really like the ambiance of the place— its both romantic and private. And the view from the balcony here is absolutely magical. Or we can maybe visit a couple of the other restaurants you’ve recommended to me? I doubt that I’ll be able to try all of them this time, and being able to experience it with you would make the experience a million times better.

Also, regarding the photos you mentioned— well, I’m fine with it if you are. As long as you’re comfortable with whoever is photographing you love, then it’s perfectly alright with me. Besides, I know that we’re devoted to each other, so there’s no cause for me to be uncomfortable 💞 If you so wish to grant me such photos, I eagerly await them, love! They’re not the same as you being here, of course, but I’m sure they could help me with how much I miss you.

And ah, sending such things only makes me miss you more! Perhaps I should take a good, long rest before I come back to Mondstadt, if you plan to keep me up all night. And who says I didn’t notice your comment? Perhaps I was just teasing you by keeping quiet about it, especially if I know what’s awaiting me back home. And yes, I miss you so so much, I miss your tongue and you lips, your touch on my skin, the way you hold me and make me feel so good each and every time— Love, really, if your intention with that letter was to get me all worked up, then safe to say you’ve succeeded. My, I doubt I’m going to be getting any sleep tonight, thinking of you.

And regarding that bit about the Academy uniform… well, I might have found a local seamstress who was willing to make me a version of it, tailored to my measurements. It’s not ready quite yet, but hopefully I can send you some photographs soon 💞

By the way, love, there’s no need to have to wait up for my letters, not if you’re not getting enough sleep! I don’t mind waiting a bit for your reply as long as I know you’re sleeping on time. I worry about you as much as you worry about me, so for both your sake and mine, promise me you’ll get enough sleep? Either way, though, I’m glad you’re taking care of yourself, dearest. It makes me happy, knowing that you and the others are doing well. I love you very, very much you know? Please continue to stay safe, dearest, and know that I’m always missing you.

And, well, regarding a proper proposal, though I can’t say I haven’t thought of it before (how could I not? I can fully envision spending the rest of my life with you) I would much prefer if I were able to give you the ring and ask you in person, love. That being said, take the bracelet as a promise that I’ll return to you soon— and hopefully with a ring that I think you’ll like and a question that I plan to ask you.

All the best wishes, dearest. I love you very much 💞

—Catte 💞

#Character anon 💌 : Lisa #Kisses from Catte 🦩 #Catcze.Lingerie 💦 #liSA anon ily <333 please get enough rest babes!!! #muAH 💞💞 #ALSO have a nice day!!!! ILYSM <33 #Alsooo regarding your other ask I'm so glad you liked the bit about the bracelet aaAA 💞👉👈

[soundofseventeen]

We Belong Together (Part Eight)

Who’s watching In-Complete??? But I’m also tired lmao.

Word count: 1741

It seemed that Jihoon had a hard time keeping secrets because when you scheduled an impromptu delivery for them, 12 other boys had ambushed you with questions and concerns for your new home, all the while hugging you as if they hadn’t seen you in decades, and answering everything. You gladly gave them your new address, letting them know that they were still welcomed anytime, even going as far as presenting Seventeen’s leaders with keys in case of anything. After all, some things just never changed, and you felt your home would’ve been much too quiet.

You quickly regretted it when you saw the housewarming gifts that you pretty sure cost more than the house itself and you hid those somewhere you hoped wouldn’t break, only taking them out when you found somewhere you knew wouldn’t hurt anyone’s feelings.

You didn’t know where you and Jihoon stood at the moment, but if he wasn’t asking questions, neither were you. He often asked you out to dinner with the guys and made a show of sitting next to you, mostly just to monopolize the conversation, and you weren’t complaining about that either. You liked hearing him talk someone’s ears off with the mindless babble his brain often came up with and you saw a lot of smiles directed at you every time you broke eye contact with Jihoon. He also liked to hold your hand a lot, usually taking your hand right back in his when you let go, though you would’ve appreciated it if he didn’t tell you in front of everyone why you were so shy..

He also (finally) gave you first listens from demos to completed albums, although he rarely took your advice for some things. Most nights, when it was too late to go back to the dorms, he would come home with you, the pullout couch becoming his fastest friend to date and many times, leaving your place as soon as there was light out, but purposely left things behind so he’d have an excuse to come back, and it happened more as the months progressed. He liked staying up late with you on the couch, watching movies until you could barely keep your eyes open. On several occasions, he put the blanket over you in an attempt to keep you from escaping to your own bed and it worked most of the time. 

Sometimes when he noticed you were gonna actually sleep on the pullout with him, he’d adjust himself so he’d be facing you, and he couldn’t help himself when he traced the features on your face, smiling to himself. When you’d wake up from the tickling he caused, he’d retract his hand, but the smile stayed on his face and he talked to you quietly about everything in his mind. His favorite part was when you’d reach for his hand, and twine it with yours and with your other hand, brushing the hair from his face. 

The nights you went to your own bed, he’d call you the second you were gone from his sight, and played 20 questions until one of you stopped talking. He never hung up on you and he never went to your room unless he had permission from you. It was the only place he considered your space in its entirety and he respected your boundaries (even if he would’ve liked to go in many times). 

He didn’t like being faraway from you, though he wouldn’t admit to it outloud. He’d wake up earlier these times, not liking how cold he felt without you, even though he wouldn’t say anything either. He’d just wait until you woke up to be close to you again. His favorite part of the mornings he stayed a little longer was how you made him a cup of coffee before you went to shower to get ready for work. You often had to fight him so he wouldn’t leave without the coffee you swore he’d like and he liked being in the middle of something when you realized he did exactly that.

Seventeen continued to stop by where you worked, only with the ever growing money in their pockets and wallets, they paid for everything instead of charging and crediting it for another time. And every time, they made sure that you got something to get you through the rest of your shifts. They sidetracked you a lot but your bosses were friendly with them, only scolding them when they joked about taking you with them. 

Your workplace seemed a lot better now too. Ever since said bosses decided they trusted you with their funds, you went to the bank and became a check signer for deliveries that required a prompt payment and you deposited twice a week for them. It seemed that shitty customers became a little more pleasant once they saw you in a position of power. Oh and when your annoying coworker quit, it called for a big sigh of relief, and fast worry about how you were gonna train a newbie. Through that, you wondered why you even wanted to quit when you knew you loved it there, even on your bad days. Your other coworkers respected you, your bosses treated you as part of the family, and you made some pretty reliable connections, such as sponsoring ISAC for one of the events. 

You’d been thrilled to tell your bosses the news, a few tears spilling out when they figured out that the small publicity could cement the business for them and they wouldn't have to worry about foreclosing or selling or letting employees go. If anything, they’d be able to expand! But you didn’t tell the boys this news either, because secrets and surprises were the only thing you always had the upper hand in. So you continued going on about your daily life, almost spilling the beans multiple times when some of the members caught you loading some things and finding you in places that you normally wouldn’t be in. But finally the day arrived and you breathed a collective sigh of relief that you could finally let this go and focus on other things again.

You set up your booth, snacks and everything pretty early, the only thing you needed to do was wait for literally everyone else to show up, so you put on your sunglasses whenever the glare caught you off guard and prepped any snacks that may have needed extra time. Due to you spending so much time around Seventeen, it was a lot easier for you to see the idols and actors without losing your composure (much), and catering to them was -mostly- a cinch. You knew a couple of their friends so you waved to them quite a bit. But you hadn’t seen the boys in question yet, so you opted to read one of the books you bought, this time being in the mood to reread the Twilight series, so you cracked open the book, skimming your favorite part a couple of times before you picked up where you left off.

“Hi excuse me,” you peeked up at the annoying customer, nearly reiterating when you recognized him, but you stayed put. “I’m sorry, but do you have any limes?”

“How many?”

“Uh,” Jooheon held up his hand to count, then turned back to count his friends, counted his fingers once more and then smiled at you. “A handful would be great.”

You nodded once, taking off your sunglasses and got up from your seat to comply with the strange boy’s request.

“Not to be creepy or anything, but do I know you from somewhere? You just seem really familiar.”

“I live near Pledis and the commute to where I work is a b- pretty long, so maybe that?” You found the citrusy fruit and placed them in his palm until he couldn’t fit any more.

Jooheon’s hands twitched soon after and sent them flying on the counter. “I’m so sorry! I didn’t think my hands would spasm!”

You resisted the urge to blow an annoyed sigh and smiled instead. “It’s fine. Let me help you with that.” You gave him a little less when you put them back in his hands and waited for the thank you...that never came. His hands once again sent the green things flying and this time you didn’t hold back an eyeroll. He was one of those guys, huh? You’d be lecturing Seventeen about their friend choices next time you saw them.

“I’m sorry….I’m just bad at pick-up limes.” And then your brain registered the joke around the same time Jooheon laughed at your confused expression and you couldn’t help but giggle at that. “Oh my god, that actually worked?”

“No,” you shook your head, “but you get points for trying. I….” you couldn’t make the words come out to tell him about Jihoon. Even with all your years of knowing him and being together, there wasn’t an official thing for you yet, but you also couldn’t just not tell Jooheon about the situation. “I’m already seeing someone.” You spotted Seventeen just then, Mingyu no doubt scoping the place to find something to drink and you waved at them.

“No worries, I hope you’re happy with him, uh?”

“Y/N.”

“Cool. I’ll hopefully see you around Y/N. it was nice meeting you.”

You nodded as the boys caught up to him and you, all but Jihoon going to greet Monsta X.

“Y/N?”

“Hi, surprise!” You waved at him happily and quickly caught him up to speed. “A while ago, someone asked if we were interested in sponsoring the event. Not the whole thing, of course, but you know. I asked my bosses and they said yes.”

Jihoon snuck a peek around in case eyes were on him, and quickly squeezed your hand before passing it off as handing you a lime. “You really do amaze me. I’m glad your doors just keep opening. Um, is it okay, if I come over tonight? I want to talk to you about something. It’s nothing bad, don’t worry, but I need to hear your thoughts.”

You nodded, though you could already feel the anxiety creeping up on you. He squeezed your hand again, and smiled at you. 

“You have nothing to worry about, I promise.” He would’ve kissed your fears away, but with everyone watching, all he could do was give you his word.

“Okay.”

#seventeen fic #seventeen series #seventeen imagines #seventeen angst #seventeen scenarios #seventeen fanfic #seventeen fluff #seventeen x reader #seventeen x you #woozi fanfic #woozi scenario #woozi imagines #woozi angst #woozi series #woozi scenarios #woozi fluff #woozi fic #woozi x reader #woozi x you #jihoon scenarios #jihoon fanfic #jihoon imagines #jihoon angst #jihoon series #jihoon fluff #jihoon fic #jihoon x reader #svt fanfic #svt writing #kpop angst

[eclecticanalyst]

Studying “A Study in Emerald”

At my grandmother’s house, stacked together with other books underneath a side table in her office, was a thick leatherbound volume with golden engraved lettering. SIR ARTHUR CONAN DOYLE, it said, in large letters on the cover. And in smaller print: The Celebrated Cases of Sherlock Holmes.

I was eight or nine years old, and as soon as I opened the volume I was hooked. I brought it along as I rode with my grandmother doing errands. I asked her if I could have the book, and with her permission took it home with me. I hadn’t finished it by the time summer camp rolled around, so I tucked it into a suitcase and read bits of it at the end of activity-filled days before going to bed. I hardly even glanced at any other books until I had turned the last page.

Since I have re-read the stories so many times over the years, the solutions to the mysteries are no longer a surprise to me. I had read them for the mysteries, the first time. But now I read them for other reasons—the relationship between Holmes and Watson, the atmosphere of horror and dread that ACD does so well, the breadcrumbs of character arcs in the main and recurring characters, and the way the characters seem both dated and modern, sometimes in the same sentence.

All that is to say, I love Sherlock Holmes. And several months ago I found that Neil Gaiman had written a Sherlock Holmes story. I’ve read a few Gaiman works and was curious to see how he treated some of my favorite fictional characters, so I downloaded it. And read it. And loved it. And in this analysis, I will convey my enthusiasm by explaining just how amazing this story is.

NOTE: this will be a multi-part analysis, with one post for each part of “A Study in Emerald.” (Parts 2 and 3 will be covered in one post.) There will also be some follow-up posts with additional thoughts at the end.

You should 100% read the story before continuing because A) it’s awesome and B) there is a twist that I will be getting into pretty quickly that is much better if you experience it for yourself first.

Part 1: The New Friend

The beauty of this story is that knowing the Sherlock Holmes canon works both for and against the reader. If you’ve read the canon, you will recognize the references to certain characters or details or plot points—but at the same time, those moments of recognition can lead you to draw conclusions that Gaiman fully expects you to make but are in fact inaccurate.

Right off the bat, the title of “A Study in Emerald” is just one word away from the title of the very first Sherlock Holmes story. This, along with the first page or so of the narrative, primes us to approach the tale as a straightforward Sherlock Holmes pastiche, like the countless others that have been written: “Sherlock Holmes in space!” “Sherlock Holmes as a kid!” “Sherlock Holmes in the far future!”, where everything is basically the same, just with a natural transformation of entities to match the “hook” of the pastiche—so instead of smoking, kid Holmes sucks on lollipops or the like. The “hook” of this particular pastiche first manifests with the narrator’s war wounds being the result, not of bullets and fevers as in the canon, but of underwater creatures that suck the vitality out of one’s limbs.

“Okay,” we as readers familiar with Sherlock Holmes say to ourselves. “So Holmes and Watson, but in a world of the supernatural. Got it. Nice twist, Gaiman. I’m ready to see what you do with this.”

As I said, Gaiman uses your Sherlock Holmes knowledge against you in constructing this tale. The narrator has a shoulder wound as a result of his wartime experiences, just as Watson does in A Study in Scarlet—the circumstances of his injury are changed to be more fantastical, of course, but we accept that because we have acclimated ourselves to what we think is the whole of this seemingly straightforward premise (Sherlock Holmes, but with Lovecraftian elements). After all, we have the two men meeting in the university laboratory, both interested in sharing rooms, and we get the iconic line, “You have been in Afghanistan, I perceive.” We get the familiar prospective-roommates-share-vices exchange. It’s not the same as the original, but we don’t read Holmes pastiches for the exact same lines we could get by rereading the original stories. Besides, the exchange hits enough check marks for what we already know about Holmes (since we’re familiar with canon) that instead of the change setting off alarm bells, we’re busy patting ourselves on the back for recognizing references and approvingly nodding in response to Gaiman’s demonstrated knowledge of the stories. After all, Holmes did shoot bullets into the wall once. And he is private and easily bored, and selfish as well at times. These are revelations about Holmes’s character that are shared in later stories, after A Study in Scarlet, but they match the whole of his character that we know since we have the entirety of the canon under our belts, so it’s quite clear to us that this man the narrator meets is indeed Sherlock Holmes.

By condensing the characteristics of Holmes that were originally revealed over the course of several publications into one dialogue exchange, the plot is able to move speedily along while reinforcing our initial understanding of this man’s identity. However, presenting these characteristics in this manner also leads to some contradictions with canon, which means that things are just a little bit off. Holmes is established in later stories as having irregular habits, but in A Study in Scarlet, the specific story that this dialogue exchange is echoing, it’s Watson who “get[s] up at all sorts of ungodly hours.” Here the one who admits to “keep[ing] irregular hours” is the non-soldier, when in A Study in Scarlet Holmes is actually quite regular in his schedule (he doesn’t really maintain that behavior beyond that first story, but still). On a more complex level—and I might be reading too much into this particular point but it is striking to me as someone who has spent several years with roommates—there is the detail that the detective in “Emerald” informs the narrator right off the bat that he will need to use the sitting room to see clients. In A Study in Scarlet, Holmes does not inform Watson of this fact in the initial cross-examination. It’s only after they move in together and Watson starts getting (politely) kicked out of the sitting room on a semi-regular basis that Watson even learns Holmes is a person who has a visiting clientele. This is a rather major thing for a prospective roommate to know. Failing to mention this to Watson while still detailing his smoking habits and propensity for chemical experiments is a rather egregious omission on Holmes’s part, as anyone who has had to get used to a new roommate will tell you. So we have two instances where the information about the detective matches our overall conception of Holmes, but it is presented in a way that goes directly in opposition to how it was originally presented in canon—where what we are reading is both right and wrong at the same time.

Let’s continue on in the story. Our “heroes” move into the same old apartment on Baker Street, which further solidifies the straightforward Holmes in a Lovecraftian world explanation we as readers have formulated for the story. We go through the same “narrator wonders what his mysterious roommate does for a living” steps that we remember from A Study in Scarlet, albeit, again, condensed. And the mystery plot begins as the two roommates eat breakfast, just as in that very first story.

Keen readers might take note of the fact that it is Inspector Gregson, not Inspector Lestrade, who brings the mystery in A Study in Scarlet to Holmes’s attention. Considering that Lestrade made more appearances in the canon and became Holmes’s default police contact, Lestrade’s presence here can simply be chalked up to Gaiman paying homage to the whole of the canon, not just the first story. Alternatively, this is yet another instance of things being ever so slightly wrong when compared to the events we are all familiar with.

You’ll notice that, having successfully (because on first read you are likely not reading as critically as I am now with this analysis) lulled us into a false sense of security regarding the premise of this story and the identities of its characters, Gaiman starts to drop more references to other specific stories besides A Study in Scarlet, as well as more direct hints (which require much less complex analyzing than I have done in previous paragraphs) as to who our narrator and his detective friend truly are.

The first* direct hint is so subtle that I don’t think I even picked up on it the first time I read the story. It’s when Lestrade suggests he talk to the detective privately. The content of the exchange is, once again, familiar to a Sherlock Holmes reader—how many times have we seen Holmes assure a client that Watson can be confided in just as well as himself (see: “A Case of Identity”), or refuse to let Watson excuse himself as a case begins to unfold (see: “A Scandal in Bohemia”)? The hint lies in the description of the narrator’s friend when he dismisses Lestrade’s suggestion: “his head moved on his shoulders as it did when he was enjoying a private joke.”  Gaiman can’t show his hand too early, so this hint is extremely oblique. The key is the phrasing: “his head moved on his shoulders” is a rather odd and roundabout description, which could much more easily be rendered as “he shook his head” or something to that effect. But in using this wording, Gaiman ever-so-lightly echoes the description of a certain someone a couple pages into “The Final Problem”:

His shoulders are rounded from much study, and his face protrudes forward, and is for ever slowly oscillating from side to side in a curiously reptilian fashion.

We have some more general Easter egg references to the canon—the detective’s slight dissatisfaction when someone (Lestrade in this case) remarks on the simplicity of his reasoning after it is explained, and the Study in Scarlet-specific “only one in the world” consulting detective explanation. And then we have this terrific bit. Our narrator asks the detective if he really wants him to come along. The detective’s response is as follows:

“I have a feeling that we were meant to be together. That we have fought the good fight, side by side, in the past or in the future...from the moment I clapped eyes on you, I knew I trusted you as well as I do myself.”

It’s terrific because it’s a summation of how Holmes and Watson are viewed by their fans. They belong together. Victorian London, World War II, 21st century New York, 22nd century London, as mice, as dogs, we’ve seen them in countless adaptations, and despite the change in locale or era or gender or species or countless other circumstances, they are always inseparable, always a force unto themselves, incomplete without the other. Of course this is Holmes and Watson. How could these words apply to anyone else?

The detective’s speech here appeals to our Holmes devotee sensibilities much more than canon Holmes’s response to Watson asking much the same question in A Study in Scarlet:

“You wish me to come?”

“Yes, if you have nothing better to do.”

Which is a rather unexceptional start to a partnership for the ages. The way “Emerald” tugs at the heartstrings, however, is dangerous—it pulls us further down into acceptance of the twisted world and characters that surround us.

*I will come back to this in a later post!

#sherlock holmes #a study in emerald #a study in scarlet #neil gaiman #analysis #in depth

[virtueangel]

limitless.

chapter seventeen.

wc: 2,176. original publish date: november 9, 2020.

"Jack!" Van Gogh yells.

JFK rolls over in bed, rubbing his eyes. "Hm?"

"Come here and look at this!"

John sits up, pulling his red and white sweater over his head before standing and crossing over to the bay window.

"What are we looking at?"

Vincent points. "Look, we can see the sun!"

JFK smiles. "It's rather pretty, isn't it?"

The smaller boy turns around to face his boyfriend, an eager grin plastered across his face. "It's such a nice day. We have to do something."

"We do something every day."

"Is that a problem?"

JFK grins now. "No."

Van Gogh reaches up to kiss the taller boy on the cheek. "Let's go on a road trip."

"Darling, we are on a road trip."

"Well, I've already got a destination picked out for us. But I think it's a couple hours away."

Kennedy raises an eyebrow. "I thought we weren't using our phones to pick locations."

"Well, it isn't specific..." Van Gogh shrugs. "It's just... logical?"

JFK takes a minute to think this over. "Did you use your phone to find it?"

Vincent shakes his head. "No. I don't know how that would be useful, considering I don't even know which state we're in."

"I think we're in Utah."

Van Gogh scrunches up his nose. "We are not!"

JFK laughs. "No, we're not. We drove in the opposite direction."

"I thought we weren't looking at GPS," Vincent replies, but he's wearing a playful smile.

"No, I just know basic geography."

"Touché."

***

"So, what is the secret destination, exactly?" JFK asks, spreading some cream cheese onto his bagel.

"It's a secret."

"But I have to drive us there."

"I can drive," Van Gogh offers casually, looking down into his glass of orange juice.

JFK quirks an eyebrow. "Vincent, you don't know how to drive."

Gogh shrugs. "You could teach me."

"My car is a stick shift. Most people learn to drive automatic first."

Vincent swallows his orange juice and wipes his lip with his napkin. "I'm not most people."

Kennedy laughs nervously. "Minivan," he stops, waiting for Vincent's objection to the name. It doesn't come. "Of course you're not most people. But do you really think I could teach you how to drive? I mean, you remember the accident I got into from driving over a rock earlier this year, right?"

Vincent sips his orange juice. "Okay, but you're careful now. You hate getting scratches on your car."

"Darling," JFK waits for Van Gogh to pick his head up. He opens his mouth to add onto the sentence, but thinks better of it. He changes his thought at the last second. "Someday, okay? I'll drive today. I can't teach you to drive in a day and you can't get a license in a day, either, but I'll teach you. I promise."

Vinnie sighs. "Okay."

Kennedy flashes his model grin again. "Okay, perfect. Now, will this trip require packing?"

"It's only for the day, JFK," Van Gogh responds, smiling at the boy's enthusiasm. "But I guess there are a few things you need... Did you pack a swimsuit?"

JFK's jaw falls slack. "Vinnie, it's April."

"April isn't winter in every part of the world."

"But it isn't summer in any part of America."

Vincent gestures to the window over the kitchen sink. "If we can see the sun in Marshtown, you can bet your ass the skies will be cloudless everywhere else."

Kennedy laughs at the boy's subtle swearing. "Yeah, okay, I'm down. But you know you actually have to tell me where we're going since I'm driving, right?"

Van Gogh finishes off his orange juice and holds up a finger excitedly. "I'll be back in a second," he says before pushing his chair out from the table and running up the stairs. JFK leans back in his seat, giggling and shaking his head. How can a boy like Vincent exist? Someone so smart and talented, who also likes to have fun? Granted, Kennedy has never seen Van Gogh smile with anyone besides himself, but John is glad to play along with his "secret destination."

Vincent comes back into the kitchen two minutes later, holding a pad of Post-Its and a pen. He slides into his chair, one leg tucked beneath him and the other planting its foot on the floor. The boy begins to scribble something, but even his scribbling comes out in elegant loopy cursive. After thirty seconds or so, he peels the Post-It off from the rest of the pad and sticks it to JFK's forehead.

John reaches up to detach the Post-It from his skin. He reads the handwriting scrawled in the middle, perfectly centred across the hideously bright green paper. "What's this?"

"That's where we're going. I didn't want to say it out loud because that ruins the surprise, but you still have to know. So boom. A perfect middle."

Kennedy laughs. "I don't think this is a perfect middle, but I'll give you points for trying."

"Gotta get my approach grade up," Vincent replies.

JFK gazes at his boyfriend, his face soft. He smiles affectionately, and Van Gogh searches for a telling look in his eyes. He looks like he wants to say something, but no words come out of his mouth. Vincent smiles back.

"Well," he says. "If we want to get there at a reasonable hour and still get home before too late, we should go soon."

"I'll wash the dishes," JFK offers, but Van Gogh slaps his hand away when he tries to pick up the plates.

"No, silly! You made breakfast. Give and take, okay?"

John nods and retreats his hands. "Give and take," he agrees.

Van Gogh clears the table, humming to himself the whole time. JFK is gone from the kitchen, making the bed upstairs. When he's done, he walks over to the bay window and slides it open to step out onto the balcony. He holds the railing, gazing out over Marshtown and marvelling at what little sun manages to break through the heavy fog. Today is one in a  million.

Kennedy's thoughts are interrupted when he hears footsteps behind him. He turns around. Van Gogh is crossing the bedroom and stepping through the bay window to join his boyfriend.

"Ready to go?" He asks the taller boy.

JFK can't help but smile when he makes eye contact with Vincent. His brown eyes seem deeper today, fuller with... something. A secret, but the kind he wants to share with John, so they can have something just for the two of them.

Kennedy reaches out for the boy's hand and gives it a squeeze. "Yeah," he says. "I'm ready."

The boys walk through the house and out to the car side by side, never dropping hands until they have to split to climb into their separate sides of the vehicle.

"Are we allowed to use a map?" JFK asks after they're out of Marshtown.

Van Gogh thinks for a minute. "Well, I guess that's not a cell phone..."

"Just because I need to know which highway to take."

Vincent nods, opening the glove compartment to get the map that the girl way back in Blackbox had given them. "Yeah... Looks like we keep following the one we took to get here."

JFK activates his turn signal. "Rad."

"Can we listen to the radio?" Van Gogh asks after a while.

Kennedy glances at the boy. "Really? I thought you liked radio silence."

Vincent shrugs. "Maybe there'll be something good on."

John smiles. "All right. I think that would be okay."

Van Gogh flips through some channels, not satisfied with anything playing until he finds a song that he knows is by Queen. He hums along, knowing some of the lyrics, but not the title of the song. JFK hums along too, and for those five minutes, they are the only two people in the whole world.

"Can I ask you something?" JFK asks once the song is over.

"You may."

Kennedy hesitates, phrasing the question. "You've been old enough to drive for a while now, so how come you never learned before?"

Van Gogh scoffs. "You really think my parents would've taught me?"

Jack shrugs. "You could've asked me."

Vinnie shakes his head. "No, there's a reason I never tried to before."

The question lingers in the air, the silence charging it until the electric shock burns into JFK.

"Are you going to tell me?"

Vincent takes a deep breath, pondering. He'd never said it out loud before. He'd only ever written it down in journals. He has a rule when he writes about himself: he doesn't start on the first pages of the journal, because then anyone could flip the cover and learn his deepest secrets. He always opens to the middle of the book, a random page that nine times out of ten would go unnoticed. Sometimes it trips him up when he chooses another random page and the entry is so long that it bleeds into another one, but that's okay. He never rereads his journals. He doesn't need to be disturbed by thoughts that are already in his head.

This is the first time he'll ever speak one of those thoughts out loud.

"I can't drive a car because I'm afraid -- no, it's more than a fear, it's just knowing -- that I'll go right off the edge of a cliff and you'll never see me, or the car, again."

JFK goes silent. "I know a lot of people get into accidents, but cars are made to be safe. The only reason why crashes are so popularised is because no one talks about the safe drivers. That's not a story. 'Oh, look at this population of people who follow all the driving laws and never get themselves into dangerous situations!' That's not newsworthy. Accidents are something to report. Everything else is... mundane."

Van Gogh blinks, thinking. "That actually makes a lot of sense," he says.

Kennedy smiles. "Yeah, it does." After a second, he asks, "But what changed your mind?"

"Hm?"

"Why is driving suddenly okay now?"

Vincent shakes his head, laughing at himself. "It's stupid."

"Tell me," JFK smiles assuringly. "You can trust me."

Van Gogh blushes. "I feel bad that you're always the one... doing stuff. You're the one who cooks, the one who drives..."

"But you're the one who remembers to lock the house and put away the clean dishes."

Vincent giggles. "Our house doesn't lock, Jack."

JFK grins. "I know it doesn't. But you always go back to check. I hear you walking down the stairs at night, right after we've turned off the light to go to sleep. You go back through the house and make sure all the lights are off and the door is locked."

Van Gogh looks away, suddenly embarrassed. He pretends to be fascinated by the plastic bags and styrofoam take-out containers strewn about the highway shoulder. "You know that I do that?"

"Vinnie, it's nothing to be ashamed of. It's good practise."

"Yes, but it isn't normal practise."

JFK has no verbal response to that. Instead, he extends an arm and cups his hand around Vincent's shoulder. He rubs back and forth comfortingly, and Van Gogh reaches across his body to rest his hand on top of the boy's. He suddenly feels at ease, unashamed of the way he needs to go back through the house and make sure everything is the way it's supposed to be before he can fall asleep. He takes a deep breath and settles into his seat. This is exactly where he's supposed to be.

But then he remembers something.

He sits up and turns abruptly, throwing JFK's arm off of his shoulder.

"You okay, Minivan?"

Vincent glares. "One, don't call me that. Two, have you seen my sketchbook anywhere?"

Kennedy scrunches up his face and shakes his head. "No, I don't think so... You can't find it?"

Van Gogh frowns. "No. It's so funny. Everything else is sprawled out on the vanity -- my coloured pencils, my watercolours, the books I brought to read on this trip... but I can't find my sketchbook anywhere! I was drawing in it one day and now I have no idea where it is!"

JFK twists up his lips in thought. "That's so weird... maybe you put it down somewhere?"

"I was on the balcony. I don't remember anything after that."

"Hmm..."

Gogh sits back in his seat, plunging his fists into the pocket of his letterman jacket. "Keep an eye out for it though, okay? I was working on a drawing in there."

Kennedy grins at the boy's reflection in the rearview mirror. "Of course you were."

Van Gogh looks down at the map on his lap, changing subjects but not forgetting his sketchbook. "Ugh, still one hundred fifty more miles?"

"God, why'd you pick a location so far away?" JFK fake-whines.

Vincent shakes his head, but he's wearing a smile. "Because we have to tour the whole damn world."

John flashes his blindingly white grin. "I'm in."

#clone high #clone high jfk #clone high van gogh #jfgogh #limitless.

[lyssismagical]

you were my new dream

A Parkner & Irondad - Tangled AU 

*

The paintbrush sweeps over the wall gently, adding wispy clouds to the light blue backdrop, and definition to the castle.

He could hear his father’s footsteps making their way down the staircase, shoes clicking against the stone. Shoes meant his father was going out. Again. Leaving Peter alone in the tower.

He drags the paintbrush once more across the newest addition to his walls of paintings, before tugging the curtain down over it just as his father rounded the corner.

“Hop on down from there and get some breakfast,” his father calls out, tossing an apple in Peter’s direction.

Barefeet easily hopping down to the floor, Peter catches the apple and takes a bite, slipping into his designated chair.

His father looked angry this morning, creases deepening between his eyebrows and along his forehead, curving down around his mouth.

“I’ll be out today,” he says shortly, dragging his chair up behind Peter’s and laying a hand flat in Peter’s hair without need for instruction.

Peter makes himself sing the song, feeling the power thrum in his very veins, glowing bright and young. Flower gleam and glow…

As soon as he finishes, looking over his shoulder at the wrinkles disappearing along his father’s forehead and mouth, grey hairs turning back to its regular dark brown.

“Father-”

“I have errands to run,” his father interrupts, standing up and stretching his shoulders.

Peter frowns, shoulders slumping. “It’s my birthday coming up.”

His father lifts an eyebrow, face set in annoyance like he couldn’t be bothered with trying to guess where Peter’s going with this. He tries not to let it hurt his happiness.

“Yes?”

“I’m going to be eighteen.”

Beck rolls his eyes, mouth curving down. “Yes? I’m well aware of your birthday, Peter.”

Frowning, Peter rises from his chair, following his father across the room as Beck prepares what he needs for his journey and errands.

“I wanna see the lights,” Peter blurts, freezing in his steps when Beck turns on him, anger flashing in his eyes like he already knows exactly what Peter means.

“The lights?”

Peter swallows thickly, anxiety thrumming in his chest. He rubs his hands on his old paint-splattered overalls. “The floating lights. They- They go up every year on my birthday, they fill the sky. My birthday is in a few days, I want to see them up close.”

Beck’s always looked scary when he’s angry, intimidatingly taller than Peter and shoulders broad. “Are you asking me to take you out of the tower?”

Don’t fight back, he knows that much. He knows not to fight back in these kinds of arguments, and it’s normally fine. He’s okay with not asking to leave the tower, with hiding behind the brick walls and saying goodbye to his father every week or two when there’s errands he runs without Peter. But this is his eighteenth birthday watching the lanterns fill the sky through the window.

“Just for one day. Just to see the lights. And then we’d come straight back and I wouldn’t ask to leave again,” Peter bargains, unable to stop himself from clumsily backing away.

Beck lifts an eyebrow. “You wanna try that again?”

His breath hitches, fighting back tears. He hates arguing with his father, hates losing every argument he does try to have, hates that he’s backing down again, but it’s not like he has much of a choice against Beck.

“I- I think I want new paint for my birthday?” Peter tries again gesturing at the walls filled to the very brim with his paintings. He wipes his sweaty hands on his overalls again. “The nice stuff you got for my sixteenth?”

Beck runs a hand harshly over his face with a long, exasperated sigh. “You know I’m not trying to be the bad guy here? I just want what’s best for us and that means staying here, where it’s safe, where you’re safe.”

Peter forces a nod. “I know.”

“Paint? That’s a three day trip, at least.”

“I know, I just- It’s better than what I thought before. I shouldn’t have suggested that, it was stupid. Paint is smarter.”

Beck sighs again, carefully brushing back Peter’s curls. “I’ll get you paint, you’re right. You’ll have enough food here to last you three days time. Stay here, stay safe, alright?”

Peter doesn’t say anything as Beck rounds up a new, bigger basket, filled with more essentials for the longer trip out. But soon enough, Beck is ready to go, sitting on the edge of the windowsill.

“I know you don’t quite understand right now, but the outside world is dangerous, Peter. Especially for you, especially with all this power. I’m just doing what’s best for you, alright? Keeping you safe.”

“Of course, father.” Peter offers a soft smile, slipping his hands into the worn fabric of his long sleeve under his overalls, hiding the shaking. “I’ll be here.”

“And I’ll be back in three days time.”

Three days.

He stands at the window, watches as Beck climbs down the side of the tower using the web ladder Peter made, walks to the edge of their hidden enclosure, turns back and waves at Peter, and then he disappears through the vines.

Turning back to his home, Peter tries to cheer himself up. Three days with the tower alone means he can sing as loud as he wants to, climb the walls, paint, and practice baking. He can even reread the three books on his bookshelf.

Three whole days.

*

Harley runs a hand through his hair, gently cupping his little sister’s face.

“I know you don’t like me doing this, but this is for the best, okay? I’ll be back before you know it, Abbie.”

She sighs, too young, too little, to be dragged into the politics, into the mess Harley’s in.

He knows what he’s doing is wrong. He knows he shouldn’t steal from the castle, from the King who’s still grieving the loss of his son, The Missing Prince. He knows it’s wrong to be pawning off the jewelry he steals from the castle for money or food or things to keep his baby sister happy, but he’d do anything to keep his sister safe.

“And if you get caught?”

“There’s plenty of food to last you here, and after that, I trust you to take care of yourself, to find help in the city. You know what the king would do if he found out.”

His fingers are careful, gentle as he twists a strand of her hair between his fingers. He doesn’t use her power, he doesn’t dare exploit her for her magic. He’s not cruel like that.

It was a bad situation. He was four, too young to be put in the situation he had been in. His mother was pregnant and very ill. The doctor they called in said it was likely that both her and the baby would die. But then word spread about the Queen’s pregnancy and how they found a magic flower that would heal her.

That’s where the thieving began. He snuck into the tower and stole just a few drops of the golden liquid. It wasn’t enough to save both of them, so now it’s just him and his little sister, now seventeen years old.

“Stay safe, you hear me?”

Harley offers a lazy smile, tossing his satchel over his shoulder. “Always am, Abbie. Hold down the fort.”

It’s not that the world is full of evil people, that’s nothing like the city, especially with the watchful eye of the Queen, keeping everything in order, but he worries about her. He worries that if she were caught, they might punish her for the Keener’s history of thieving. If anything, they were the bad guys, not the city folks. The only person who’d ever tried to exploit her magic was Quentin Beck, a man who wanted to use Abbie’s hair for his own good, nobody else’s.

He doesn’t keep her locked up in their rickety little home on the outskirts of the island, she’s free to do as she pleases, but she chooses not to go far, instead leaving the work to Harley. She prefers sticking to their little home, taking care of the sick people who come seek them out for her magic hair. She makes housecalls occasionally for those who can’t make the journey to find her and she never charges them, the only heart of gold in the Keener bloodline.

“I’ll be back as soon as I can. Don’t be worried if I’m not home in a couple days. I don’t know how long this will take.”

She grins, corners of her eyes crinkling and blue eyes shining in the morning sun. “I know. I’ll be here.”

Harley finally turns to the forest, back to the ocean curling up the sand. He takes a deep breath, promises himself he won’t look back, and starts his trek towards the city.

* Peter’s hands are shaking where they grip the stupid frying pan. There’s a man tied to a chair in the next room over. He knocked out a man who tumbled through his window that wasn’t Beck.

He was making himself some lunch and then the man had fallen through the window and Peter had panicked, swinging the pan.

And now there was a man in the next room over, tied to a chair, unconscious.

“Hello?” The stranger calls out.

Peter curses a few times under his breath, turning in a circle as he tries to come up with something. When he comes up blank, unsure what to say or what to do, he steels himself and walks into the main room, taking a deep breath.

The boy tied to the chair looks bored, if anything. Not scared by the synthesized webbing pinning him to the chair, not worried about the bruise forming on his forehead where Peter had hit him with the frying pan, not even vaguely concerned about his satchel missing from his side.

He simply lifts an eyebrow when Peter steps into his line of vision, corners of his mouth quirking up in a half-smile.

“How did you find me?” Peter demands, crossing his arms over his chest, trying to appear more confident than he is. “What do you want?”

“What do I want? What do you want?” the boy says, nose crinkling. “I’ve got places to be, darling.”

Peter can’t help the flush that touches his cheeks. He’s only ever spoken to his father, Beck, and to the animals that occasionally crawl up to his window like squirrels or birds. The closest thing he’s ever had to somebody calling him darling is reading the romance book on the shelf.

He runs a hand through his hair, relaxing at the power that runs from his fingertips to his chest. “How do I know you won’t tell anybody about me? How will I know that you won’t bring anyone else here?”

The boy sniffles like this whole conversation is boring him, but he’s starting to tug at the restraints holding him to the wooden chair.

“Why would I care about you?” the boy says, rolling his eyes. “Can you just give me my bag and let me get on my way?”

Peter takes a step back, hands on his hips. “You want your bag that bad?”

“It’s mine.”

And then an idea hits him with a brilliant clarity. “What do you know about the floating lights?”

The boy lifts an eyebrow, sinking back into the chair and giving up on trying to get out of the webbing. “The floating lights?”

“The- Uh, the lanterns?” Peter repeats, levelling his gaze like his heart isn’t about to beat out of his chest. “The ones that go up every August 10th.”

“The one’s for the Missing Prince?” the boy says, tipping his head to the side. “Eighteen years ago, the King and Queen’s son went missing. They send up lanterns every year on his birthday in hopes he’ll make it back to them.”

Peter ignores the way his chest tightens at the potential coincidence. But it wouldn’t make sense. Beck is his father. Not the King.

The boy looks intrigued, mouth tipping up in a sort of amused smile, fingers tapping incessantly on the arm of the chair.

“I want you to take me to see them,” Peter says, holding his chin high. “If you do, I’ll give you your bag back.”

“That’s not a fair trade.”

Peter shrugs, bottom lip sticking out. “What do you want?”

“You live here alone?”

It’s a strange question and Peter doesn’t know how much he wants to tell the stranger about Beck, but he figures it’s only fair. “My father lives here. Beck.”

“Beck? Like Beck? Like Quentin Beck?” The boy demands, eyes widening. “If so, then that’s what I want. I want your father to never hear that I was here or that you met me or that you know anything, okay?”

Peter nods. “Yeah, of course, your secret’s safe with me. Can I ask why?”

The boy smiles coyly. “Nah, better not ask questions you don’t want to know the answer to. Anyway, you wanna get me out of these? If I’m taking you to see the lanterns, we’re going to need to make the trek all the way to the castle.”

Peter scrambles to find the web dissolvent from under the sink, helping the boy up from the chair.

“I’m, um, I’m Peter.”

The boy smiles, corners of his blue eyes crinkling. “Harley Keener.”

* Harley watches Peter with a sympathetic sort of curiosity.

He’s only a few months older than Abbie, a couple years younger than Harley, but he looks at the world like he’s a child who’s never experienced any of it before.

The way Peter’s barefeet touch down on the grass, toes curling in the dirt like it’s incredible. The way he moves and laughs and dances in the yard like this is the most amazing day of his life, uncaring of Harley waiting for him at the edge of the field.

The way Peter smiles brightly, practically glowing in the midday sunlight, laughing as he splashes through the little pond, grinning up at the sky, rolling through the grass.

The way Peter takes it all in like he’s scared he’ll never get to see it again.

Harley would be lying if he said he didn’t think Peter looked like a god, beautiful and smiling brightly like nothing could hurt the happiness radiating off him.

He wasn’t about to get attached to this random boy he found in a mysterious secluded tower, especially since the boy happened to have Quentin Beck as a father, apparently. Beck who’d been trying to get his hands on Abbie for as long as he could remember. When Beck found out that Abbie had a tiny bit of the magical flower’s abilities, Beck had wanted her for his own, to use her capabilities of curing illnesses and keeping people young.

Briefly, he worries about Peter, but he figures it’s not his problem to worry about the strange boy.

“You ready?” he calls out, arms crossed and leaning against the stones.

Peter lights up even more, excitement shining on his face, and he skips, literally fucking skips over to Harley, grabbing his hand and turning to race through the thick vines hiding the field from the rest of the forest, dragging Harley along with him.

On one hand, Harley adores seeing Peter radiating this kind of joy. It reminds him of a different time, a time where he wasn’t thieving, wasn’t parenting his little sister, wasn’t trying so hard just to get food on the table every night. It reminds of a time when his parents were still alive and he was allowed to be childish and innocently happy like Peter is.

But on the other hand, it makes Harley want to take Peter back to Abbie and his home, to hide Peter away from people like Beck who he knows is a bad man despite what Peter might think about his father. It makes Harley want to keep Peter safe from the true horrors of the world, from grief and ugly dark emotions, because he wants, terribly badly, to keep that shining joy on Peter’s face.

“This is the best day ever!” Peter exclaims, touching absolutely everything he can get his hands on. “Oh my gosh! Thank you so much!”

Harley tries his best to suppress a smile. “Only keeping my end of the bargain, darling.”

He watches Peter flush, a gentle blush spreading across his cheeks and nose, brown eyes sparkling beautifully.

This is considerably low on Best Days Ever for Harley. Getting chased through the forest by the guards after stealing a crown from the castle, isn’t exactly ideal, especially since he’s now met the son of the guy who’s been making Harley’s life a bit hellish lately.

They’re walking through a forest. That hardly ranks as a great day, but apparently it’s Peter’s best. That says something about the life he’s lived. It makes Harley’s chest ache thinking about a life spent cooped up in that dark tower with Beck.

So he makes a stupid joke about how circumstances brought them here of all places, reveling in the way Peter lights up in a smile, hands brushing over the trees as they walk together.

He makes it his personal goal along this strange journey they’ve embarked on, to make Peter smile as often as he can.

* “This is no longer the best day ever,” Peter admits, words echoing in the cave they’ve ended up in.

Chased by royal guards who are after Harley. Peter had no idea he’s on a journey with a Wanted Man, but he finds that he doesn’t care too much. He doesn’t really have the capability to make informed decisions about Harley or about the guards who chased them if he hasn’t spoken to anybody outside of his father ever. So, he finds he doesn’t mind.

What he does mind is the water slowly filling up the cave they’re trapped in.

Harley, eyes wide with panic and hands fumbling against the rock walls for an exit, sends a glare in Peter’s direction.

“I guess he was right,” Peter mutters, pushing himself higher up the back wall of the cave as the water continues to rise rapidly. There’s only a matter of minutes before they’ll run out of space.

Harley dives beneath the water, searching for an exit, a way out, but they’re trapped.

Peter, for his part, isn’t as scared as he thought he would be. He’s always been trapped. Maybe not in a life or death situation like he is now, but that tower had been the only four walls he knew for his entire life. He got to feel grass under his feet, he got feel the sun on his skin, he got to touch the trees, he got to meet Harley, a real human being that wasn’t Beck.

This isn’t the worst way to die, he figures. He could’ve died in that tower without having experienced anything.

On the other hand, though, if he had never left that tower, if had just let Harley leave without making any bargains, they wouldn’t be in this situation at all. They wouldn’t be dying.

Harley resurfaces, gasping. “It’s pitch black down there, can’t see anything… Who was right?”

“My father,” Peter says, head touching the cave’s roof as the water rises to their hips. “He was right about not leaving the tower.”

“He was not right,” Harley spits. “He had no right to keep you locked away from the real world.”

Peter shrugs, blinking back the tears as he accepts their fate. “If I had listened, we wouldn’t be dying. You wouldn’t be dying.”

“Your father’s been trying to take my sister from me for the past couple years,” Harley admits. “The truth may as well come out if we’re on our death beds.”

The water’s up to their shoulders now, rising fast.

“What? Why?”

Harley looks over at him, barely discernible in the darkness of the cave. “I don’t know how much you know about the city’s history, but my sister had some of that magic flower juice. Now Beck wants to use her for selfish reasons.”

“Magic… I have magic hair that glows when I sing!” Peter exclaims, eyes widening. “Flower gleam and glow, let your power shine-”

And the water goes over their head, completely filling the cave.

But Peter’s curls light up, filling the cave with golden light. Harley spots a section of the wall that’s filled with loose rocks, tightly packed together with a thin stream of water slipping between them.

He swims over, Peter in quick pursuit, and they both claw at the rocks, pulling them out of the way.

But Peter didn’t have the time to take a breath before the water had risen over their heads, so his lungs are burning and his hands are too slow and uncoordinated as he pulls another rock out of the way.

He watches the rocks fall, the water turning into a waterfall as it rushes through the exit, before his vision goes dark.

It’s not long before he jerks awake, coughing up the bit of water he’d inhaled. He’s held against Harley’s chest, curled up in the mud right beside the water that he assumes Harley had pulled him out of.

He can’t help the laugh that escapes him as soon as he’s through with his coughing fit, and his fingers curl into Harley’s soaking wet shirt.

“That was insane,” Peter says, breath catching on another laugh, probably more hysterical than anything.

“You’ve got magic hair,” Harley replies.

“Yeah. Always have.”

“My little sister’s does too.” Harley’s arms tighten around Peter, chest still heaving for air. “I tried to cut it off when she was little, tried to make it normal, but nothing worked. That’s why Beck’s been trying to take her from me.”

Another person with magic hair, with powers, like him. Beck always told him he was the only one, that the city would think of him as a mutant, as a freak and they’d use him for their gain.

He doesn’t want to turn on Beck, he doesn’t want to know of the life Harley’s sister lives with the same powers, but he needs to know.

“Is she- Is she allowed this freedom?” he asks, voice quiet and weak. He’s always just blindly believed Beck, believed that the world was a scary place and that what Beck was doing was for Peter’s safety. But he never once mentioned Harley’s sister, he lied about Peter being the only one with powers.

Harley swallows thickly, looking over at the river. “Yeah. I’m her only guardian and I let her do whatever she wants to as long as she promises to be careful. The only one who’s ever tried to hurt her was Beck.”

Peter’s chest aches, mind blurring through all of the lies Beck told, all of the times he’d made Peter believe that he was alone, all of the times Beck told stories of the cruel world.

As much as he wants to ask Harley for advice, ask him how he’s ever supposed to go back to the way he lived after they see the lanterns, ask him if he’s meant to leave Beck, he can’t. Harley doesn’t like him. Harley’s only tolerating Peter for his own benefit.

So instead, he pulls himself out of Harley’s arms and drags himself to his feet, tucking his shaking hands into the pockets of his soaking wet overalls.

“We should keep moving,” he says, clearing his throat.

He kind of wants to cry. This was supposed to be a one time thing. Just a short trip to the city and back with Harley before he’d go back to accepting his life with Beck in their tower. But now?

Now he doesn’t even know whether or not Beck is a good guy. He doesn’t know who to believe. He doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do. And worst of all, he feels like he has nobody to turn to. He only knows two people to begin with, but he doesn’t know if he can trust either of them.

“Yeah, of course,” Harley murmurs, following Peter to his feet. His eyes narrow and his mouth is set in a frown, crossing his arms in a standoffish way like he doesn’t know what to say or how to say it, like he wants to ask questions but doesn’t know if he can.

Peter sets off again, keeping a few feet ahead of Harley to hide the tears that threaten to spill.

Harley doesn’t say a word.

* “We should stop,” Harley says after a long few hours of walking silently through the forest. “Get some rest. We’re nearing the bridge to the city and we won’t be able to sleep there.”

He nods at the tree they’ve stopped at, where a picture of his face is pinned. A Wanted Poster.

“We’re almost there,” Peter argues. He’s upset and he’s tired and his chest is still aching, hands still trembling.

“The lanterns go up tomorrow night. There’s no point in going into the city until then.”

Harley reaches for Peter’s shoulder, probably to try to comfort him, but Peter moves away from the outstretched hand, digging his fingernails into his palms to try to stop the tears that are dangerously close to falling.

He offers a pathetic attempt at a smile, and nods. “Yeah, okay, we’ll spend the night here.”

“Peter-”

“I don’t wanna talk about it,” Peter mutters, finding them a clearing to set up. “Could you get us some firewood?”

Harley frowns, obviously wanting to say more, but he thinks better of it and turns away.

As soon as Harley’s out of sight, far enough away that Peter can’t even hear his footsteps in the crispy leaves, a shadowy figure appears just in Peter’s peripheral vision.

He spins around, eyes wide as he takes in the cloaked figure.

“What do you want?” He says, voice cracking and showing his fear. He can’t really protect himself. Harley might as well be the weapon, the only one capable of negotiating or running or fighting if they have to. Peter’s got nothing.

The shadowy figure steps into the barely-there light of the rising moon. He pulls his hood back and reveals his face. It’s Beck.

“Father?” Peter says, voice lifting an octave as nerves and fear flood through him. He had one rule to follow: stay in the tower. And yet, here he is, soaking wet, chest aching, and in the middle of the forest.

“I’ve been tracking your movements since you fought those guards a few miles back,” Beck says, keeping his voice low. “I didn’t think you’d run off at all, let alone run off with a criminal. You know that’s what he is, don’t you?”

Peter nods silently, tears threatening to spill as he shoves his shaking hands into his pockets.

His father takes a step forward, expression softening. “I’m sure you’ve had a good time skipping through the woods with a wanted criminal, but come home, honey. We can put this whole stupid trip behind us.”

“No!” he says, surprising even himself. “I think… I think he likes me.”

Peter expects anger, he expects Beck to lash out, to force him home, but none of it comes. Instead, Beck runs a hand through his hair and sighs. “Likes you? He’s just using you, Peter. Once he gets this back, he’ll leave you.”

Beck tosses the satchel at Peter and it lands at his feet, crown glittering offendingly in the moonlight.

“How did you-”

“Give that to him, see how long he stays,” Beck says. His voice is soft, gentle, as he smooths back Peter’s damp curls. “And when he leaves you with what he wants, you can still come home. To me.”

Peter shakes his head, pulling away from Beck’s hands. He hates that Beck’s being nice. It just makes everything more confusing. He doesn’t want to be locked up in the tower but he can’t be sure that Harley won’t ditch him as soon as they’ve made good on their deal.

“He’s not going to leave me.”

Beck offers one final smile, sympathetic and worrying, and then he pulls his hood over his head and disappears into the shadow.

“Hey, darling?” Harley calls out. “Could you come help me with some of this?”

Peter hurries into motion, hiding the satchel behind a tree before hurrying over to help Harley build and light the fire to keep them warm and hopefully dry them before their trek to the city in the morning.

Soon enough though, Peter lies down in the grass, upset that the childish joy of feeling grass has faded away, and upset that he can’t seem to come up with any good solutions to all the problems this journey’s created.

He watches the moon rise into the sky, stars sparkling, as Harley finished up with the fire a few feet away, making sure they have enough wood to last them the night.

Eventually, Harley lies down beside Peter, just enough space between them that they don’t touch, but close enough that Peter can hear Harley’s heart.

“I couldn’t possibly understand what you’re going through, but this isn’t about the deal anymore,” Harley says, eyes tracing the sky. “I don’t care about you keeping your end of the bargain, I’m not doing this for that anymore. I’m doing this for you.”

“Why?” Peter voice breaks, and he lifts his shaking hands to press the heels of his hands over his eyes. “Why do you care? What’s so special about me?”

Harley turns his head to look at Peter. “You’re the nicest person I’ve ever met, Peter. You’re smart and you’re brave and you’ve just been dealt a lot of poor hands in your life, that’s not your fault.”

“I don’t know what to do,” Peter admits quietly, looking over at Harley through his glassy eyes.

“I can’t make that decision for you, darling. For now, you can sleep and tomorrow we’ll see the lanterns, and then you can decide to do whatever your heart desires, whatever your next big dream is.”

Peter frowns because that doesn’t answer any of his questions, but it does help relieve some of the stress that had been tying his stomach in knots. He lets his hands fall away from his face and instead, he grabs Harley’s hand.

The thief intertwines their fingers, sending a grin at Peter before closing his eyes. “Get some sleep. Tomorrow’s going to be a long day.”

And even though Peter doesn’t know what in the world he’s going to after tomorrow, even if he’s terrified that this isn’t going to live up to what he’s dreaming it’ll be, even if he’s scared that after tomorrow he’ll never see Harley again, he still closes his eyes with hopeful anticipation.

* Harley feels like his universe has flipped upside down as he spends the day with Peter in the city.

He’s rarely ever been in the city for good purposes, normally thieving or running from the royal guard or from Beck, he spends most of his free time at home on the edge of the city in their little shack they call home.

But this?

Not only is he helping Peter achieve his dreams of seeing the lanterns, he keeps doing things that surprises even him. He buys a loaf of bread for lunch with the few coins he has. He dances with Peter in townsquare with a few other civilians who either don’t recognize him from the wanted posters that litter the city or choose not to report him.

Harley even takes Peter to the library, explaining quietly that his mom used to read to the children at the library when Harley was little.

And Peter, who’s never seen the city before, is lit up like a star the whole day, grin never falling from his face.

There’s this nagging feeling in his chest that he tries his best to ignore because he finds himself staring blatantly at Peter all throughout the day. Watching him smile brightly or ramble excitedly about everything and anything or watching him dance around the townsquare to the folksy music, smile never leaving his face, laughing breathlessly when Harley trips over his own feet.

Either Peter doesn’t notice Harley’s stare, or he does but doesn’t realize what it means. Either way, Harley doesn’t stop staring. He doesn’t care if Peter sees or anybody else sees him, smiling back at Peter like he’s hopelessly in love.

There’s some anxiety that twists in his stomach. There’s still a good chance Peter’s only using him to leave the tower, and as soon as he’s seen the lights, he’ll make good on his end of the bargain and that’ll be it. There’s a chance that Peter won’t want to stay with him in the city. There’s a chance Peter will choose his tower and Beck over Harley and freedom.

“C’mon, I’ve picked a good spot,” Harley says, reaching out to loop his arm through Peter’s. There’s a flash of confusion that flickers over Peter’s expression, but before Harley can dwell on it, Peter’s grinning again.

“Lead the way, Harley!”

They walk out to the edge of the city where the boats are docked and Harley guides Peter to one of them, helping him into it before he slides in after.

Harley does the rowing while Peter looks around in the same childishly naïve way he had earlier. It’s hard for Harley to even imagine the kind of life Peter’s lived, cooped up without being allowed to leave ever.

Harley’s lived the opposite, growing a garden with Abbie near their home, going swimming in the ocean, running through the forest (away from royal guards, maybe, but still), campfires every weekend.

“Look!” Peter exclaims, attention turning to the sky as the first of the lanterns are raised, the emblem of the city, an upside down triangle in a circle, glowing bright.

He finds that he has a lot of these moments where Peter watches the world with his childlike wonder and Harley watches Peter.

“Here,” Harley murmurs. “I’ve got you another gift.”

From underneath his bench in the boat, he reveals the two lanterns he’d bought in the city earlier without Peter realizing.

Peter’s eyes widen and the browns of his irises are sparkling as lanterns begin to fill the sky around them. His cheeks are flushed a beautiful pink, and he’s sporting a wide smile like his days just keep getting better.

Harley’s never participated in the lanterns, not since the first year after his mom died and he took Abbie, just a baby at the time, out to see them. They couldn’t afford lanterns, but it was nice enough to watch. Sometimes, they’ll still sit out on the beach just beyond their cabin to watch them, but even then, it’s not really tradition.

“I figured you’d want to participate,” Harley says, offering a smile as he lights the lanterns and hands one of them to Peter who’s practically glowing with excitement.

Peter’s smile is one Harley doesn’t think he’ll ever forget as they lift their lanterns into the sky together. They watch as their lanterns join the thousandth of others that join the King and Queen’s in the sky above, lighting up the city.

“Listen,” Peter says, eventually. His hands are trembling, just enough that Harley notices, and the thief takes one of his hands, intertwining their fingers. “I was scared before, I didn’t think you’d bother sticking around once you had what you needed, but, the thing is, I’m not scared anymore, you know what I mean?”

From under his own bench, Peter lifts up Harley’s satchel. The one he’d taken when Harley had mistakenly stumbled into his tower to hide from the royal guards. The one that contained The Missing Prince’s Crown, the same crown that would feed him and Abbie for weeks.

But Harley doesn’t care. He doesn’t want the stolen crown, he doesn’t care about the deal they made. He cares about Peter. No matter how much he tried to convince himself it would be better if he didn’t.

“I’m starting to,” Harley says, pushing the satchel away.

Even if Harley grew up with all the freedom in the world, Harley never knew what it felt like to care. He only ever let himself care about Abbie, anybody else was too much of a hassle, there was too much to bargain.

But Peter grew up loving everything and anything, heart so full of love to give.

Harley’s starting to get it.

With his free hand, Harley cups Peter’s face watching the younger boy blush, a shy smile touching his face. Harley leans forward, recklessly uncaring about consequences.

Their lips are about to touch when Harley sees two figures on the land across from where they’d started. One of the figures points at Harley, crooking their finger.

Harley squints and he makes out both their faces. Beck and Abbie.

Abruptly, he pulls away from Peter, hands fumbling for the oars. “Sorry, I just- I remembered something. Got places to be, people to see, you know.”

It’s obvious that Peter doesn’t know and there’s hurt flashing in his eyes as he nods like he gets it.

But Harley doesn’t have the time to explain it all to Peter. As much as he was starting to like Peter and as much as he really did want to kiss him, Abbie comes before everything.

“Stay here,” Harley says, almost beggingly because as much as he’ll play it off as nonchalant, he doesn’t want to lose Peter to Beck. He doesn’t want Peter to go back to living, cooped up in that tower. He doesn’t want to stay goodbye. “I’ll be back. I promise.”

For good measure, he picks up the satchel. It doesn’t have much, but he hopes he can bribe Beck into giving Abbie back.

“What do you want?” Harley demands as soon as he’s out of earshot of the boat and Peter.

Beck steps out of the shadow, flipping a knife in his hand. “What I want is simple, Mister Keener. I want my kid back. The one that you took from me.”

“I didn’t take him. He asked me to show him to the city.” Harley barely manages to stop himself from rolling his eyes. He has to play it safe with Abbie on the line.

“Well, I have a feeling he’d choose you over me, and we can’t have that, can we? I need a magical child, so it’s either Peter or Abbie, Mister Keener. It’s your choice, really.”

And it’s unfair, it’s cruel to ask Harley to pick, and it’s worse that he knows who he has to pick. “What do you want me to do?”

Beck laughs coldly. “Take your precious satchel and take the boat back to the city. Turn yourself in to the guard. In return, I’ll send Abbie on her merry way and take Peter back to the tower with me.”

“And if I don’t?”

Beck snaps twice and two men show themselves from nearby. They’re both tall and broad, sporting the same cold smiles as Beck. “I’ll track you both down. I’ve got plenty of contacts within the city.”

“And what? You kill us?”

One of the men shrugs. His voice is low when he speaks, “Turn you in and keep the girl. I could use some extra cash with that hair.”

Harley squares his shoulders, clenches his jaw and nods. “Fine. You win, Beck. I’ll go.”

“Good. It was nice doing business with you, Mister Keener.”

*

Harley lied. He got on a boat the moment he got his stupid satchel back. Didn’t even bother to say goodbye.

Peter only had to make it a few miles into the forest, alone and hurt, before Beck found him, wrapped him up in his cloak and a warm hug, and escorted him the rest of the way back to the tower.

As much as Peter desperately wants to believe Harley, wants to believe that there had to be a reason behind Harley disappearing like he did, there’s no reason he should believe a criminal over his father, the one’s supposedly been trying to keep him safe for his entire life.

“I’m sorry this happened to you, Peter,” Beck says when they make it back to the dark safety of the tower. “I really wish he was a good guy, but you shouldn’t have gotten your hopes so high. He’s just a criminal who wanted to sell that crown for money. He didn’t care about you, but I do. I care. And I’m not going anywhere.”

Peter tries to offer a grateful smile through the tears that fill his eyes. “I know. It still sucks.”

In an attempt to help, Beck reveals a box on the table. “I got you that paint you wanted. You’ve got enough to last you at least the year.”

It doesn’t make Peter feel even remotely better. Painting for the year, means that he’ll be in the tower for the year. Cooped up and trying to waste his time painting the walls.

But he sees the attempt at a peace offering. “I’m going to, um, head up to my room. I just want to be alone for a little bit?”

His father smiles gently and brushes back Peter’s curls. Peter can’t help but to miss Harley’s touches. “Of course. I’ll make you some dinner.”

Peter nods and tries to smile back before he ducks off to his room.

He collapses into his bed, trying to stifle his cries as best as he can in his pillow. Harley lied, he betrayed him, he made Peter feel like he really cared. And despite all that, Peter misses him.

His hands are shaking again so he stuffs them in the pockets of his dirty overalls, only to feel something.

A handkerchief. One that Harley had bought him in the city that morning. It’s just a simple blue cloth with the city’s symbol, an upside down triangle in a circle, embroidered into the center in gold.

He holds it up above his head, squinting at it through his tears.

A memory of a man with the same symbol on his shirt, smiling down at Peter. There’s a crown sitting on his head, a crown that looks remarkably similar to the one Harley had stolen.

Peter jerks, blinking up at the ceiling where the same symbols shine down on him, incorporated in all the paintings covering his room.

“That’s The Missing Prince, it’s what the lanterns are for,” Harley had said when he saw Peter looking at the mural. “He disappeared when he was a baby. The King’s still hoping he’ll make his return one day.”

“I’m going to keep you safe, il mio bambino.” It’s the King, the one in his memories.

Peter, clutching the square of fabric in his shaking hands, stumbles up to his feet. It’s the answer to all his questions, but he doesn’t know if it’s the answer he wants.

“I’m The Missing Prince,” he says out loud like it’ll make it feel real.

He remembers the story Harley told of the Missing Prince. How somebody had broken into the tower and stolen the prince right under everybody’s noses, how there were search parties for two years straight through the city and forest in search of the prince before The Queen decided if they hadn’t found him yet, they probably never would.

Peter remembers the stories and if he’s right about being the missing prince, that means Beck kidnapped him. That means all these years of being locked in the tower with Beck were so nobody would find him, not to keep him safe. It was for selfish reasons.

That means that maybe Harley was right all along. That means that he’s living with a villain.

He makes it out into the hallway when he sees Beck, standing at the bottom of the stairs.

“Is everything okay?” Beck says, the picture perfect caring father.

“I’m the missing prince,” Peter repeats, channeling as much confidence as he can. “Aren’t I?”

Peter’s seen Beck angry before. Normally when it had been too long since he’d used Peter’s powers for his own good, but never like this. He’d never seen Beck look this angry.

“Do you even hear yourself?” he asks, glaring at Peter as he starts up the stairs towards him. “What did that criminal get into your head?”

“All this time,” Peter says, clenching his trembling hands into fists as he meets Beck halfway. “All this time, I was hiding from people who would abuse my power, but I should’ve been hiding from you.”

Beck rolls his eyes like Peter’s just a child throwing a stupid tantrum. “And where will you go? Your criminal can’t help you now.”

“What did you do to him?”

“He’s turned himself in to the guard,” Beck replies, voice sickly sweet. He reaches out and touches Peter’s hair. “He’s to be hanged for his crimes.”

Peter freezes, shock running him cold. Harley’s going to die.

The man he once called his father, once loved like family, smiles down at him cruelly, and Peter shoves him away, doesn’t want him touching Peter’s hair, doesn’t want him so close.

Beck stumbles and falls down the stairs into the vanity where the mirror shatters across the floor.

“No!” Peter shouts, frozen in place. “I won’t let you use my power anymore! I won’t let you keep me here!”

But Beck smiles coldly, picking himself up from off the floor. “You say that like you have a choice.”

* “Hey!” Harley shouts, uselessly trying to pull away from the hands on his arms. His wrists and ankles are cuffed, he’s being taken to his death, but all he really cares about is Peter.

Peter, the sweet naïve boy who just went home with an awful man. A liar. Somebody who threatened Abbie and forced Harley to turn himself in. All he cares about is needing to get Peter out of that tower and safe.

They drag him out into the dirt pit where his execution will take place. One of the royal guards starts reading the list of things he’s done, the majority of them thieving and resisting arrest, all of which he’s aware he’s done. He gets that they’re just following protocol.

“Wait,” Somebody calls out, voice calm and commanding.

Everybody turns their heads up to where the voice came from and there’s a collective gasp as they recognize the man standing tall in the stands.

The guards holding Harley’s arms drop to one knee, a sign of respect for the king that stands strong.

Other than the day of the lanterns, the King never makes appearances in public, leaving all of the responsibilities up to the Queen.

“I’m officially acquitting Mister Harley Keener of all charges,” Tony Stark says, expression never changing from the uncaring mask of the King. “I would like to speak with him.”

Harley doesn’t do much but stare at the King as his cuffs are all removed and he’s given a not-so-gentle shove towards the stairs out of the stadium.

“What? I don’t understand. Sir, not that I want to die, but I don’t deserve to be acquitted after I’ve done nothing but cause harm to your city,” Harley argues as soon as he gets up to face the King.

Up close, Tony is obviously unwell. He’s pale and the dark circles under his eyes tell a story of their own. He looks wearily at Harley like he couldn’t be bothered to try to explain his thought process.

But he sighs and beckons Harley to follow as he starts walking. “A certain someone showed up at the castle gates demanding to be heard. She’s well-known around the city.”

“Abbie.” Harley doesn’t need to think twice. There are not many people who would vouch for him. The list had been up to two people as of yesterday, but he assumes Peter hates him too after what went down.

The King smiles. “Yes. She was quite the character. Down to earth, but the most stubborn person I’d ever met. She said you’d been stealing food for her, and you pawned off all the jewelry you took from the castle for food as well. That doesn’t sound so bad, does it?”

Harley has no idea how to answer a question like that. “I’m sorry about your son. I can’t even imagine how hard that would be.”

“That’s actually what I’m here to ask you about,” Tony continues, leading them towards the bridge that connects to the forest. “I know you’re one to do a lot of travelling to make your money and to stay away from my guards. You’re quick on your feet, obviously a smart guy.”

“You want me to find him, don’t you?”

There’s already some thought that it could be Peter. It would be fair to assume as much. Same first name, same magic. But Abbie has magic too, he can’t jump to conclusions. Not with something this important.

Tony offers another weary smile. “I would forever be in your debt. I know it’s been eighteen years, but… I just need closure.”

“Take care of my sister, would you?”

As soon as Tony nods, Harley takes off into the forest, only one thing on his mind.

* Peter flinches when he hears Harley call out.

He’s alive, at least, but he won’t be for long if he does this.

“Peter!”

The prince listens to the sound of Harley scaling the side of the tower, unable to do more than make muffled cries through the gag in his mouth.

Harley lands on the ground, eyes widening at the sight of Peter, chained to the ground and gagged. He’s sure he’s bruised, right eye swelling shut and blood filling his mouth, but he doesn’t care. He just wants Harley to run and never look back if it keeps him safe.

There’s nothing he can do but cry as Beck steps out from the shadows behind Harley and plunges the knife into Harley stomach.

The blood spreads almost instantly, flowering out on the front of Harley’s dirty shirt.

Peter sobs, pulling uselessly at the chains that hold him down. If Peter had never asked Harley to take him to the city, if he’d followed Beck’s rules, maybe Harley would still be okay. He could’ve lived out his life, however long, with Abbie.

Instead, he’s going to bleed out in this awful tower that’s built on nothing but lies.

“Look at what you’ve done, Peter,” Beck tsks, tossing the knife to the floor carelessly. He crosses the room to grab Peter’s chains, pulling him towards the trapdoor that leads out of the tower. “We’re leave and I’m going to take you somewhere where nobody will ever find you again.”

Peter lets out a muffled shout, pulling at his chains and fumbling to get to Harley who’s fallen to the ground, curled up and bleeding.

“Stop fighting me,” Beck mutters, yanking Peter backwards, hard enough that his gag comes loose.

“I’ll never stop fighting you!” Peter cries. “I will never stop trying to get away from you. Unless you let me heal him. Please, if you let me heal him, I’ll go with you. I won’t run, I won’t fight. I’ll be what you want me to be, just let me heal him.”

Harley groans out a muffled argument, but it falls on deaf ears.

Rolling his eyes, Beck grabs another set of chains to match Peter’s, and after making sure Peter’s secure, Beck ties Harley to one of the support beams among the broken glass.

“Just so you don’t get any ideas,” Beck hisses, making sure the chains are tight around Harley.

As soon as his chains are loosened, Peter hurries right to Harley’s side, carefully pulling his shirt up to assess the wound.

“Don’t,” Harley wheezes, pushing Peter’s hands away.

“I can’t let you die.” Peter’s voice breaks and he tries his best to keep his tears at bay. It’s for the best.

Harley’s glassy eyes meet Peter and through his coughs, he lifts one of his hands to cup Peter’s cheek. “You’ll die if you go.”

Peter tries his best to smile reassuringly through his tears. “I have to do this.”

Harley opens his mouth to argue when Peter’s hand closes over a piece of sharp glass and he holds it up, turning to crouch protectively between Harley and Beck.

“You can’t win if we both die,” Peter says, eyes wide and glass trembling in his grip, digging into his palm.

“Darling, please-” Harley chokes out, reaching out to stop Peter.

But Peter doesn’t dare look back, keeps his attention on Beck’s cold gaze. That’s why, he doesn’t see Harley grabbing the bloody knife from the floor.

Without a second thought, Harley throws the knife with the last of his energy.

Beck doesn’t have the time to react and the knife hits it’s mark in the center of his chest. He sinks to the floor, blood pooling beneath him.

“Harley!” Peter gasps, dropping the glass and grabbing Harley’s shoulders. Harley’s eyes are closed already. Harley died for him. “Please, please no. You can’t have him. Flower gleam and glow, let your power shine. Make the clock reverse. Bring back what once was mine.”

When nothing happens, when the wound doesn’t heal like it was supposed to, Peter gives in to the tears and he leans his forehead against Harley’s chest as he cries. His power can heal wounds, it can keep people young, but it can’t bring people back to life. There’s an extent to his power.

“Bring back- Bring back what once was mine,” Peter whispers again, voice breaking as more tears spill down his cheeks onto Harley’s shirt. “Please.”

And then, like a miracle, Harley sucks in a breath, eyes fluttering open.

“Harley!” Peter breathes, eyes widening as the golden magic swirls in the air around them, and they watch as Harley’s wound stitches itself back up. His magic might not be able to bring people back to life, but love is a special kind of magic.

The prince throws his arms around Harley’s neck, tucking his face in the crook of Harley’s shoulder as he tries to get a hold of his crying. Harley’s arm wraps around his waist, and he presses a kiss to Peter’s temple.

“We’re okay, darling,” he murmurs, hugging Peter close like he’ll never let him go again. “It’s going to be okay.”

But it’s not okay. Not really. They’re covered in blood, Harley killed a man, the same man that stole Peter’s childhood from him. The same man who’d stolen the past eighteen years of his life and kept him hidden in a tower when Peter could’ve been with his parents.

“You were my new dream,” Peter admits, hands curling into Harley’s shirt. “After the lanterns, you were- All I wanted was you. You were my new dream.”

“And you were mine,” Harley says, sighing in relief and pressing his lips to Peter’s forehead.

It’s not okay, but they’ve got each other and that’s all that mattered.

* “I’m scared,” Peter says, squeezing Harley’s hand. He’s yet to heal himself, yet to change out of the same pair of overalls he’d been wearing since the beginning of their adventure which are dirty and bloodstained and ripped. He knows he must look like a disaster, but Harley smiles at him like he’s the most beautiful person he’d ever seen.

“It’s going to be okay,” Harley replies, squeezing Peter’s hand back. He’s said that a lot since they left the tower a few hours earlier.

Harley pushes open the doors to the castle where the King and Queen are waiting.

Peter remembers the King. He remembers his dad, even if it is only a single memory.

“Peter?” he says, eyes widening and jaw dropping. He crosses the room slowly as if moving too fast will make Peter disappear.

“Hi, Dad,” Peter says, blinking back tears.

His dad’s there immediately, drawing him into a warm hug, the kind of hug Beck never gave him, and kissing the crown of his head. “Il mio bambino.”

And then his mom is there, hugging from behind and holding him just as lovingly. Peter’s knees buckle at the sheer amount of love he feels, the relief of finally being reunited with his parents, and they all sink to the floor, drawing in close.

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Harley with his arm around a girl’s shoulders, a girl who he assumes is Abbie, both of them pretending to give the family space.

But Peter reaches his hand out, offering a watery smile, and when Harley takes it, he pulls the two of them into the hug.

“You’re part of our family now too,” Peter says certainly, smiling so wide he thinks his face will break. He’s only had this family for sheer minutes, but it already feels so much better, warmer, more loving, than Beck and the tower had ever been.

At last, Peter sees the light. It’s warm and real and bright. The world has shifted.

Now that he has them.

Taglist: @littlemissagrafina @spideygirl2003 @romeoandjulietyouwish @c-artara @shadedrose01 @likeaphoenix13 @tonystarkweneedyou {Let me know if you want to be removed or added}

#lyss writes #parkner #parley #irondad #harley keener #peter parker #tony stark #Irondad and Spiderson #irondad fic #parkner fic #harley keener/peter parker #Tangled AU #this is my first time with a taglist which is pretty cool

[vesperlionheart]

Lady of the Blackthorn Trees 3

Read it all on AO3 Birthday fic for @frostmarris​! It’s finished, happy belated my dear. I hope you enjoy. :D

Part 3

Sasori sniffed, inhaling the dust and ink scent that seemed to hang heaviest in the corners of the store. It was a nice smell, one he associated with only happy memories.

“The Sage of the Six Paths was a hack, you know that right?” Sakura huffed, leaning over his shoulder. Sasori was proud at how he didn’t flinch at the new proximity.

“There is still something to be harvested from the minds of madness,” he quoted.

Sakura sighed dramatically and all but danced away, curling to the opposite side of the low shelves. “You’ve learned too much from me. I have nothing more to teach you,” she sighed.

“And yet you keep me around because you enjoy my company,” Sasori said.

“Maybe.” Sakura shrugged and then pulled a different tome off the shelves. “I think this would suit your style more.”

Sasori accepted the new tome and smirked at the the title. “It’s not subtle,” he huffed before passing the book back.

“You don’t want it?”

“Grand Mage Chiyo was my grandmother, I know more than the author.”

Sakura flipped the book open and turned it around to show off. “But wouldn’t it be interesting to entertain the perspective of someone who wasn’t her family? You were about to read about a stupid hack who stole all his work and knowledge from his mother.”

“I don’t want to know what the lover of my wrinkled, old, dead grandmother has to say about the art of puppetry.” Sasori looked up from the worn spines and frowned at the picture Sakura had stopped at. “And I feel it would only frustrate me to read too many mistruths concerning her legacy.”

“Does that mean you’re not finishing your puppets?” Sakura asked, sounding as casual as ever while Sasori knew better.

Sakura would be far too delighted to see him building more Kugutsu dolls. The first few he had constructed in her tower delighted her even after falling apart from the mess of interwoven enchantments. Without augmenting himself he would never be able to manipulate the dolls to the degree he desired.

It was frustrating to have to watch his work constantly fall apart in front of her. Even after five years in her tower under her tutelage, Sasori still feel far too inadequate to show off his weaknesses where she could see them.  

He hadn’t been able to make perfect puppets since Orochimaru destroyed his ‘mother’ and ‘father’ dolls during the takeover. Even after growing and maturing, Sasori was frustrated about his regression in puppetry or the kugutsutsukai combat magic. It had once felt so natural to him, but now the magic steps fought him at every junction.

It just wasn’t worth the effort anymore, not when he was becoming such a proficient fire mage.

He tried not to think about the third shell that sat at the back of his study’s closet. The body was empty and bare, ready to be designed for his third attempt at a Kazekage model puppet.

“Well, it’s unfortunate that kugutsutsukai and puppetry are two areas where I am unable to assist you, as I have never been trained in the art form or tutored in its theories. I feel like there is little left for me to help you with,” Sakura sighed.

“You help me plenty,” he said.

“I take you places and tell you things you already know.”

“That’s not how I see our discussions.”

“It’s a bit intimidating how fast you picked things up. Five years in and you’re this proficient. It makes me wonder if I’m just that good of a teacher or were your previous instructors the reason for all that you’ve accomplished.”

Sasori smirked. “All I’ve accomplished. What have I done that’s worthy of such praise.”

“So many things.”

“Like what?” he pressed.

“You make the best breakfast out of anyone I know.”

He was caught between amusement and disappointment but, as was often the case with Sakura, ended up chuckling when he saw her face. It was almost unsettling how easily she swayed his dark heart to laughter.

But only her.  

“How many other mages do you have cooking breakfast for you to judge me by?”  he teased back.

“Not enough. I’m hungry now, so I’m going to go look for some pierogi in the market. Will you be much longer?” Sakura asked.

Sasori picked up the book on his grandmother and the other on the Sage of Six Paths, ignoring her knowing grin. “I’m already done here. Let’s pay and go together.”

It was the most natural thing in the world to come up alongside Sakura and guide her towards the front, where the counter waited for them. Sasori didn’t even notice it anymore when his hand found the small of her back and rested like a ghost there.

Sakura made seamless small talk with the book shop owner, inquiring about his family and the town itself while Sasori pulled out the money and counted it out. He was mindful to set aside enough money for a couple of marzipan pierogi-her favorite.

That’s when he noticed the black raven outside.

“Sakura, I wanted to run one more errand. Will you buy us our pastries and meet back our front?” Sasori asked, leaning in close to her ear and turning away from the raven to hide his lips.

Sakura felt the money Sasori tried pushing into her palm and pushed back. “I can pay for the both of us!” she huff. “Just tell me what you want.”

“It doesn’t matter. Get whatever you want.”

Sakura rolled her eyes. “Of course it matters. You want the cinnamon apple, I know you better than that. Don’t be long.”

Sakura took off first and Sasori collated the paper bag of his books and folded it under his arm, crinkling the protective paper before stepping out and heading a few shops south of where Sakura had turned.

The raven followed him.

“A year later and you’re still skulking in the shadows like a gargoyle.” Sasori stopped at the mouth of a natural alley between two homes. At the end of it Itachi was already human formed and brushing feathers off his shoulders.

“A year later and you’re still clinging to the cloak ends of her good graces,” Itachi smoothly retorted. He sounded as snooty and high born as ever. “At least I have a job.”

“What are you doing this time? I doubt Sakura could possibly be needed so soon after your last impromptu abduction.”

“Better than your silly shopping trips,” Itachi muttered before turning to glare at Sasori more directly. “Until how long do you plan to stay at her side? It’s about time you moved on. The Golden Sands are as far from here as they are vast.”

Sasori sneered. “You make it sound like I should want to return to that homely sandbox.”

“You’re a leech.”

“I’m also all but done with this conversation, so if you want to do something more than throw half baked and mediocre insults at my face, say something I haven’t heard before.”

“You should move on before someone moves you,” Itachi said, dark eyes flashing red in the dark where he stood. “Realize what’s good for you and for her.”

“I don’t think I will.”

Itachi drew back his shoulders and his entire frame rippled with passive magic as he glared at the redhead. The action wasn’t unfamiliar, the Uchiha was channeling subtle magic into his eyes in a n attempt to intimidate. Sasori brushed off the action and fixed Itachi with an unimpressed look, above such base cantrips.

“You don’t think you have enemies that wouldn’t love to see you suffer and all your near ones too?” Itachi taunted.

There was a new undertone of assuredness to Itachi words that unsettled Sasori. “You know nothing.”

“Do I, Sasori of the Red Sands?”

The title was one from his princely days, back when he was heir to the falcon throne under his grandfather Ebizo. All who would one day sit upon the throne and wear the headless of their king took up a title to replace their last name. The royals had no simple last names, but earned their titles through conquest or action. The red sands were a testimony to all Sasori had warred for and bled for.

Plenty of people had once known his title back home, but on this strange new continent he was nothing more than a bum and a vagrant someone picked up off the street. How did Itachi know anything?

“You’re speaking of useless things now,” Sasori said. He wished he was back in the bookshop with Sakura, or in line to buy food. He didn’t need a title or a throne, he just…needed her.

“Don’t bring her into your messes thinking you can use her to our own ends. Our council will take a very dim look on things if Sakura dares to meddle in foreign affairs without the empire’s approval. I would not take it well if Sakura’s prospects or reputation suffered because of you.”

“I have no intention of allowing that to happen. I’ve cut ties with my old homeland.”

“But has it cut ties with you?”

Sasori growled lowly. “I’m done with you, retched corvid. Leave before Sakura returns and sees you in all your disgrace.”

“Leave her.”

“I refuse.”

Itachi’s eyes flashed a brilliant red, brighter than fire and thicker than blood. “I won’t let you be if this tarnishes her. Take my advice and move on before that happens.”

Sasori didn’t respond, nor did he flinch as Itachi dissolved into raven feathers.

-

Sakura awoke suddenly, tasing blood on her tongue and damp from a cold sweat. She had bitten through her tongue in her sleep and needed to heal it again. With practiced ease, she calmed her breathing and centered her focus on something to help ground her in the moment.

It was just a nightmare.

Sakura spit out the blood from her mouth and then sat up the rest of the way, realizing she had passed out again in the observatory. She was setting a bad example for Sasori. The huge ass telescope was for studying the stars, not getting drunk and passing out under.

When she moved to stand up her fingers brushed against the letter and crinkled its edge. With a groan she pulled it up to straighten out and reread. A drunk night and some nightmares hadn’t helped with the weight of her developing situation.

Half a century ago she had grown her tower and accepted subjection to the emperor because it was the easiest thing to do. She was world weary and wanted a subdued life after all the damn war and loss. With the right negotiations she could have that within the empire, the only downside to such an arrangement was being necessarily summoned for the random magical puzzle or problem she was contractually obligated to see to. For years it had never been an issue, until the second clause of her obligations was invoked.

“What do they think they’re going to win with this war? Those lands would be useless to anyone other than the tribes.” Sakura tossed the letter aside. “This dynasty is a mess. It might be time to cut and run.”

It wouldn’t be the first time she had uprooted herself and fled across the continent to somewhere just as fast and far. Did Sasori know that her teacher after Tsunade was Chiyo? It had been a long time since she left Chiyo’s tutelage to return to Tsunade’s ancestral lands, but maybe it was time for a change of space.

Alternatively, she could go to somewhere new. There were far flung islands that were barely explored or cultivated. Maybe it would be fun to live on an island with dragon eating creatures for a spell. It would be exciting at the very least, but Sasori would probably miss his book shops.

Sakura stood and then paused as the thought echoed in her mind.

Sasori

Since when did she include him in thinking about her big life changes and decisions? Consciously she could admit that life was better with him around. He made her happy and kept her from being too bored. With his conversations every weekend she felt a little more alive and all their outings to markets and cities had been…the best…oh Sakura turned soft in her thoughts as an uncomfortable truth surfaced.

She liked Sasori. She wasn’t prepared to live her life without him and she wasn’t prepared to suffer through another war with him.

Oh no!

Sakura rubbed at her face and began to pace back and forth in front of the telescope. This was going to get her in trouble, this was such a bad idea. Did he know she liked him? Did he suspect? Is that why he had teased her and asked for a kiss? They lived together so many he noticed before she did-wait!

They lived together- and this was her house!

Yeah joked about being a ‘kept’ man or a giggle or whatever it was called these days, but she didn’t want him to feel unbalanced in this. She was plenty older and stronger, but he had phased into adulthood long ago, so the disparity in their ages wasn’t anything a magic user would look twice at. Plus he was sassy and confident enough around her to likely consider her more an advanced colleague than a teacher since this last year.

Sakura stopped pacing and summoned a decanter of something strong to help her wake up. In place of bourbon or rum the glass was filled with something dark and static. She drank it down and groaned at the taste but finished it off for her own good.

This stupid letter had unsettled her too much and she was worrying over silly things. She didn’t need to unravel herself on her own. It was better to address these feelings, thoughts with him like it was just one more of their weekend conversations.

Where was he?

Right away she knew he wasn’t in her tower, so that meant he was either out running errands or in the grove with the blackthorn trees. If he was out shopping he would have tried to tell her, but since she decided to get plastered on her own with the mail she couldn’t rule out an impromptu shopping trip outside of the property. She almost regretted warding him against potential trackers and scrying eyes. She’d need to reword his wards so that she could find him when she needed to. It was disheartening to realize she was alone in the tower and would have to wait for his return.

This might be better, actually. Maybe she should just wait for him to come back. She could use the time to work on options for where she could go next.

Sakura instead went to take a long and papering bath. Her invisible servants brushed out her long hair and rubbed her skin with sweet oils until she glistened like a polished stone. Then she opened up the doors to her wardrobe room and paused the different rows of favorite dresses. She fingered a lovely lilac dress with a full skirt before her fingers wandered to one of her favorite ‘blooming’ gowns.

The invisible servants dressed her in the skirts first before unrolling the bodice section up and over her breasts. Unlike other dresses, the upper portion that was meant to cover her chest was composed almost entirely of lace and enchanted flowers, complements with a handful of beaded dragonflies, hidden underneath the petals. Most of the dress was a mature blue green, dark with hints of slate gray to complement the blush pink flowers.

“And will you spend a little longer on my hair today?” Sakura asked, watching herself in the mirror be dressed. “Nothing extravagant, just enough to be nicer than usual.”

She hated to admit it, but Sakura always felt a little better when she bothered to spare extra time papering herself. A nice bath and a pretty dress were just the things she needed.

It was also a great way to kill time.

Her servants finished and Sakura checked the time, realizing more than two hours had passed and there was still no sign of Sasori reentering the tower. That was disheartening. She finally had enough sense to figure out what she wanted to say. Maybe he was in the grove. It would be easy to search since it was nearby.

She stepped into her wold walking heels and turned towards he grove, taking a single step before the world went from blurring to stark white.

All the trees were in full bloom and weeping from an overabundance of blooms.

“Sasori!” she screamed, running through the blackthorn trees. Sakura could still feel his magic somewhere but it wasn’t the only magic she could distinguish. Someone else had made it into her grove while Sasori had been there.

There was so much white it was hard to see through. The fallen petals had made a thick carpet on the ground she had to stand atop of. She ran and searched, but the grove was empty.

Where?

Before she could keep from panicking Sakura screamed and the trees started to crackle with her magic, infighting and burning one by one until ever white and fluttering bloom was more like a falling star than a flower.

How could this have happened? What happened? Where was Sasori?

-

At least his cousins were still safe. His first fear upon realizing where he was had been for their safety. Apart from their wellbeing he was less concerned about the other consequences to his capture.

It just sucked this had to all happen after her found something to live for.

“It’s a generous gift,” Orochimaru hissed while standing next to Pein on the outside of the cell doors. “You said this was from the new initiate? How delightful.”

“I see no reason to reject the application of such an accomplished individual. Even if they are a continent away it would help to have someone we could reach out to for such rare occasions,” Pein said.

A dozen years ago Pein had barely been able to control one of his cadaver bodies from the remote shell Chiyo had constructed for him, but now it looked like he was getting along just fine with Orochimaru’s help.

From behind Pein Itachi Uchiha emerged, wearing their signature red and black colors. He said something in a quieter voice that Sasori couldn’t overhear before bowing out.  

“I should have known,” Sasori hissed, still tasting the Uchiha’s magic when he spit blood.  

“You shouldn’t have been bad, little prince,” Orochimaru mocked. “Your parents always used to say your fat mouth would get you in trouble one day, didn’t they? I can’ scarcely believe they’d appreciate it today if they heard how you only managed to make enemies an ocean away.”

Orochimaru talking about the deceased first prince and princess who were also Sasori’s mother was only something to rile him up. He refused to let Orochimaru get a reaction out of him.

“That’s enough, you talk too much,” Pein chastised. “He’s what you need for the inheritance. Do what you need to do.”

The snake faced fellow dropped his leering and instead leaned towards the bars and poured out magic into a spell that hit Sasori like a wave, knocking him back, ass over ankles.

“Ugh, the brat prince had too many enchantments on him. Some of those protective charms will take a few days to break.”

“You don’t have a few days,” Pein snapped. “Now.”

“Would you like to help?”

When Pein didn’t reply Orochimaru muttered under his breath and went back to rubbing off the magical enchantments and protective spells that kept Sasori safe. Until those were gone neither man could kill him the way they wanted to.

Sasori braced against each wave, suffering blow after blow and feeling every loss as it went. Sakura’s anti scry spell, her enchantment against blades, his ancestral fire resistance, all of it was getting stripped layer by layer.

If only had hadn’t been so stupid. Chasing down Itachi when he caught sight of the raven spying obnoxiously from just beyond the barrier’s reach couldn’t have looked more like a trap. Itachi knew Sakura was sleeping or out of it, so his intentions couldn’t have been good. But Sasori hadn’t been in the mood to ‘be good.’ Itachi had been pissing him off since day one. Even now, Sasori wanted to punch his smug little face in and then burn the remains. The guy was such an entitled asshole. He had known Sakura for nearly a decade and they were still only friends. Itachi should have given up and admitted defeat and left Sasori alone with Sakura.

He had been happy.

The realization of all he had loss hit harder than Orochimaru’s magic and he set his jaw against the nausea. His head hurt and his knees buckled when he tried to stand.  He was being stripped of his power now, something that would hurt far more than the removal of a few hexes.

“What now?” Pein snapped in irritation.

Sasori looked up through his lashes to see someone new had entered the room and was interrupting. Orochimaru had even paused, looking tired and winded, to listen to whatever it was the Zetsu clone was saying.

Pein dismissed the clone, melting him into a pile of white ooze to sink in between the floor tiles and out of sight. In that moment of lapsing Sasori felt no more drain on his magic. Orochimaru was also distracted but hadn’t bothered to reinforce the cell-that hex had been left to expire once the draining process began.

It was an opportunity and Sasori wasn’t about to let it go.

He rolled onto his feet and took a single, flickering step the way Sakura had shown him to do without his spell books. Like mist-he was there and then he wasn’t. There were shouts in the previous room as Sasori emerged in the main hall outside the prison cells. It was too familiar not too spur him into a dead sprint towards the main audience chambers.

There was shouting behind him and he turned sharply, knowing all he could do without his spell books was rudimentary cantrips, but he did what he could to throw the sound of him screaming and running in the opposite direction.

He heard Kakuzu and Hidan arguing far off and looked up into the sky once he exited into the outer halls, fearing the shadow of one of Deidara’s clay birds. He had once thought himself a partner to the artist, but they were now his enemies and he knew better than to get caught a second time.

There was a teleportation circle in the main hall as well as several in the gate quarters where dignitaries were to be received. Gate quarters were the best place to be, but they were on the opposite side of the palace and no one apart from the royal family knew about the camouflaged seal behind the thrones in the main hall. It was a cleverly disguised family secret they had kept for generations.

He just needed to-

The floor exploded behind him and he went sailing through the air, rolling across the stone and debris as smoke trailed ever upwards, betraying his position. Overhead Deidara swooped with more bombs ready.

“Little bitch-ass snitch,” Sasori hissed, digging his hands into the mess and grabbing onto loose stone. It was burn so that would have to do. He bit his thumb and bled over the material before invoking the spell, relying on one he could remember without the spell book. It was so much harder without his medium, but he felt the magic catch and a pillar of fire erupted, striking Deidara’s bird. The damage upon contact wasn’t sever, but the clay bird was full of explosives so-

BOOM

The whole palace shook as the sky erupted in combustive fire. It made Sasori stagger and trip. His ears were ringing and he swore he felt blood from one of them.

He picked himself up, gasping for new air, and limped towards the main reception chambers. He just needed to get to the Falcon throne.

But Orochimaru was already there, waiting in front of the throne on the raised dias with a knowing smirk.

“I wasn’t done with you yet,” he hissed before a snake shot out of his mouth for Sasori. He dodge the fangs and rolled away, but choked and staggered when trying to stand. He was still dizzy and fighting was making him sick.

“I’ll bother to make it less painful since you took out one of the others in such a believable way. That’s one less trash article for me to have to take care of later on,” Orochimaru said.

Sasori noticed the other man’s hands were red and dripping, thick with blood. Was it a coup within a coup? Did it even matter if he was going to die?

“I hope you fucking choke,” Sasori coughed into the stone floor, inhaling through wet lungs.

Orochimaru laughed and it was a sound loud enough to fill the whole room. It bounced off the far walls and echoed far beyond.

Kakuzu showed up in the back and was content to lean against one of the far pillars and watch while he cleaned his red and bloody blades. From the sounds of it, Hidan had been put out of commission and maybe even the other members, like Pein’s wife Konan, had also been killed. Kakuzu looked rough enough to look like he had just come from a fight that actually made him sweat. Beside Kakuzu Itachi and another member, the blue one called Kisame, approached.

When Sasori looked for it he saw the small audience of disciples and allies Orochimaru had filled the palace with. There were old servants and house guards too, some who had served his mother and father before him. They were all watching him now, like a crowd outside an execution.

Sasori almost dropped his head, sick at the thought of his people watching him being slaughtered so theatrically. The refraction of colored light off a dragonfly’s wing made him hesitate. There was one perched on the nearest pillar, colorful enough on its own without the additional good crystal growth down its body.

“Sakura?”

The room rippled with new power but instead of quarts and crystals, the floor split open for the rapid growth of a handful of angry, twisted blackthorn trees. Unlike the ones in the grove, these were towering and sparkly planted, so that their branches could reach without feat of touching.

None of them bloomed, but the one in the center of the room swelled wider than the others. Its interior filled with light, throwing shadows out of the growth inside before a vertical scar bisected the front of the tree. Crystal growth filled the wound before the tree shuddered and groaned, almost bending backwards as the scar opened. Two delicate hands pulled the crystal edges back and Sasori could have sworn he was dreaming when Sakura emerged.  

Kakuzu didn’t hesitate but moved when Orochimar ordered him to and it was a simple thing to watch how his body became pierced with the blackthorn tree that grew out of him. All the different parts on his body where his secondary, and tertiary hearts were hidden all bled freely, but Sakura’s magic was no so forgiving as to kill him there. Kakuzu gurgled and struggled on the tree before it slowly began to pull him apart.

“Burn them down!” Orochimaru roared, raising up his own magic to incinerate the room.

Fire flared up from multiple mages as well as himself, but none of the trees burned and the crystals that grew along their edges only seemed to expand with the use of magic against them.

Sakura stepped out of the swollen tree and onto the pink quartz platform waiting for her. The sound of her heels on a smooth surface tickled the base of Sasori’s brain stem, delighting him to almost inhuman levels.

“What is this?” Orochimaru hissed. “Who are you? Did Konan send you?”

Sakura brushed off a stray petal from her shoulder and glanced around the room, ignoring Orochimaru and his fire mages. She glared at the place where Itachi had once stood, recognizing the traces of his magical presence.

Sasori could see from where he lay on the ground how powerful she looked, dressed in splendor and adorned with a halo of pearlescent olive branches that gradely reflected the light. She looked far more suited to a throne than anyone he had ever seen.

Apart from Orochimaru who stood next to the thrones and Kakuzu, there was one last swordsman member of the Akatsuki left in the room. When Sakura looked his way he laughed and backed away.

“I’m not touching this. You’re on your own, snake man. I don’t get paid enough to die.”

“You coward,” he roared at Kisame. “Come back here and finish the job!”

“Sire,” one of the mages hissed, trembling where she stood at the bottom of the dais. “What is it?”

“It’s human enough to die, kill it with necrotic damage.”

Sakura didn’t speak and she didn’t give them a chance to attune but cast through her trees and severed the hands of every mage who gathered magic to follow their leader’s orders. The room filled with hailing and the trees began to bloom red and pink blossoms with the new blood. Several tried to run but ended up like Kakuzu, impaled on a blackthorn sapling that was growing up through their body.

“What do you want?” Orochimaru asked, shouting out with necrotic magic already gathered in his hands.  

“Only what is mine,” she said before lifting both hands and channeling magic there.

Orochimaru struck first and his magic turned her arms black, before the disease peeled and fell off her form in immunity. Sakura’s magic manifested into a single point and then with her forefinger she pointed at Orochimaru’s chest. Before either could see or know what she was going to do, the hole was there and the damage was done. A beam of death had struck him dead on, faster than the eye could track.

Slowly, the hole began to grow, eating more and more of Oroachimaru’s body, even as he howled in pain and tried to counter it with his many spells. Sakura’s trees only bloomed brighter with more pink and red flowers.

Sakura approached the soon to be corpse of Orochimaru and lifted her skirts to step over him atop the throne’s platform. Her heel came down hard on one of his arms and he screamed when it broke off, crumbling to dust.

“You stole from me what was mine, what did you think would happen?” Sakura said.

Before he could answer she lifted her hand and his head splattered against the far wall as a stain.

There was moaning and cries in the room from some of the mages who lost their hands but none of them approached Sakura or made an effort to confront her. One had already bled out and was breathing his last breaths while another sobbed openly about their life being over.

It would have been merciful, maybe even just, to leave them with their wounds and their lives, but Sakura stopped in her steps when she saw Sasori. He was watching her from on his side on the ground. There was still blood from his ear on his face and soot staining his hands. When he managed a weak smile for her Sakura felt her heart break. The moaning behind her abruptly cut off as each mage fell dead, bleeding out to turn the pink blooms red.

“You came for me,” Sasori chuckled, too mesmerized at the sight of her.

“Hush and stay still. I’m going to heal you now,” she said, kneeling down at his side to address not only his ruptured eardrum but also the many broken ribs and bones he had suffered from the explosion earlier.

“You’re very pretty.”

“You need to stop talking,” Sakura said. She focused, trying not to think about his words or how warm they made her. She felt like her stomach was filled with dragonflies.  

“You’re always saving me.”

“Don’t exaggerate.”

“Even when you’re not killing people to free me you’re always saving me. Saving me, cause now I want to live.”

“Everyone wants to live.”

“I didn’t,” Sasori said. He blinked hard, hearing with his repaired eardrum now that Sakura was finished there. “I didn’t want to live before you.”

“You don’t…” Sakura closed her eyes and hiked her shoulders. “Just, let me heal you.”

“Can I kiss you?”

Sakura sputtered. “Sasori!”

Even broken and bleeding Sasori reached up and cupped the back of her skull and pulled her close enough to share her breath with his. “Please.”

She didn’t answer but she leaned in and took his lips first while all around them the quartz crystals glowed with a rainbow of colors as the blackthorn trees bloomed and shed their petals for a drizzle of pinks and red to obscure them from the outside world.

#SasoSaku #Sasori #Sakura #fic #fanfiction #my writing #gore warning #death warning for bad guys #no beta we die like men #I'm so tired #it is finished!

[xwingsandlaserswords]

Stories from a Secret Garden

Collab with @jinkouuart​ for @codywanweek​ day 6, fairytale! Be sure to check out her amazing companion piece! 

Cross posted on AO3

Rey will be the first to admit that Finn and Poe's kids are great. They're smart, funny, and respectful. They don't fight and they know how to clean up after themselves. Her friends are great dads; that's evident every time she babysits. 

The one problem is bedtime. 

The minute she remotely mentions the b-word, all hell breaks loose. Damrus starts begging for one more round in his game. Shara hides in the cupboard. Leia tries to negotiate. Even Annihea, who is too young to understand a word anyone says, starts wailing. The babysitter is supposed to love bedtime; Rey can't help but detest it. 

Tonight is no different. Damrus sulked as he brushed his teeth. Leia hugged her teddy and demanded a thirty minute delay. She had to drag Shara out of her hiding place. Even Beebee seemed upset with her. Beebee is never upset with anyone.  

"My final offer is twenty more minutes," Leia stated, holding out her hand. 

"Or," Jannah, her co-babysitter for the evening, said, "you can get in bed now and Auntie Rey will tell you a bedtime story." 

It was like those four words flipped a switch. The kids perked up and hurried to their bedrooms. Rey looked at Jannah, stunned. "Why did you say that?!" She whispered, "I can't tell stories for the life of me!" 

Jannah shrugged and continued to rock and feed Annihea. "It always works when I have to watch them." 

Rey put her hands on her hips. "You, my love, are an excellent storyteller. I, on the other hand-"

"Will be fine," Jannah interrupted, "if you can't think of one, use a story from your life. They're only going to be awake for half of it; no need to panic if you aren't the next Emily Dickinson." 

Rey still frowned. "Why can't you do it?" 

"Because this baby is almost asleep and there's no way I'm risking waking her up." Jannah moved the bottle to the table and shooed Rey off to the bedroom. 

The brunette flipped her girlfriend off before calling the kids to Damrus's bedroom. The three sat in the eldest's bed and eagerly waited for their aunt to begin.

Rey sat across from them and smiled awkwardly. "What story do you want to hear?" 

"Princes!" 

"Knights" 

"Dancing!" 

Shara and Leia shouted their ideas one after the other. Damrus simply shrugged. "I like flowers," he mumbled. 

An idea came to Rey's head quickly. "Okay, here goes.

"A long time ago, in a kingdom far, far away…" 

                                                      ♤♡♤♡♤♡♤♡

It really doesn't surprise Cody to learn the prince is missing. 

Everyone was frantically preparing for that night's dance. Soon, dignitaries were arriving from all over to meet the king to be. In a few short months, Prince Anakin would formally take his late father's place as monarch of their young country. Cody wasn't concerned: he'd seen the young man grow into a fearless and noble ruler. He didn't have the most conventional way of doing things, but Cody had to admit his methods were effective.

Most agreed that Anakin would settle down and conform to tradition once he was married. Cody thought that was ludicrous; marriage wouldn't change Anakin's foundation. Regardless, a dance was being held with the secondary hope of finding a spouse for the future king. The young man must have hated the idea as much as Cody if he'd been missing since dusk. 

Good luck finding him, Rex, Cody thought to himself. At least my prince isn't missing.

He walked the cobblestone path to a small, secluded place in the Queen's Garden. The sun wouldn't be up for another hour, but the humidity was already uncomfortable. He hated being outside in his formal wear. The armour encasing his legs and right arm made him sweat. The straps on his shoulders made certain movements difficult. The white uniform underneath was thick and stiff. His sword was positioned in an unfamiliar way. Cody understood that it protected and looked better than his usual outfit, but the dance wasn’t for hours! Did he have to wear it now? 

He would only endure this discomfort for one person. That person was currently sitting on a bench and rereading the same book for the fifth time. Cody would never understand why- he already knew all the words by heart. 

Cody was sent to retrieve him for some final inspection, but he couldn't help but take a moment to admire the prince's beauty. The long cape was swept into his lap, creating a pillow for his book. The golden shoulder plates and buttons glistened under the lamp light. The tailor must have modified the suit recently; Cody didn’t recall ever seeing the golden accents on his right leg and left sleeve. He also couldn’t help his slight jealousy: the prince’s outfit looked much more comfortable than his own. 

"If you stand there any longer the birds will mistake you as stone", the prince said, interrupting Cody's thoughts.

He smiled slightly. "I was allowing you to finish."

"Hm, yes," Obi-Wan turned the page of his book, "and I am oblivious to the fact Anakin is currently with the Queen of Naboo."

"Ah, well…" Cody cleared his throat. "The Duke has requested your presence in the ballroom. He would like your opinion on some things."

 Obi-Wan met his gaze, amusement twinkling in his blue eyes. "It is a shame I cannot be found, then."

"Yes, Sir, it is."

They shared a smile before Obi-Wan stood. He put his book in the bench's hidden compartment. How the prince managed to find these hidden places, Cody would never find out. 

He looked back at the Knight and smiled. "Would you care to escort me around the garden before I must see the Duke?"

Cody offered his arm. "It would be an honor, Your Highness."

Obi-Wan took his arm and they began their stroll. It was easy to get lost while surrounded by the beauteous flowers. The path diverged into three different sections: one leading to the castle, one to the stable and the last to the gates. Cody didn't need direction before heading down the path to the gates. 

"The roses are breathtaking this year," Obi-Wan said, breaking their silence. 

Instead of speaking his thoughts, Cody nodded. "Hevy has been working with Ninety-Nine to ensure the garden is ready for the summer. My suspicion is that he wants to show up the Alderanian gardeners."  

Obi-Wan chuckled. "I will never understand their competition." 

"It's a thing between brothers. Cutup did well for King Bail's wedding; Hevy wants to do better for the prince's coronation." Cody replied with a shrug. 

Obi-Wan put a hand on his own and stopped in the centre of the path. "Do you think he's ready?" 

"Oh, I'm sure Hevy is. Ninety-Nine is a great teacher." 

Obi-Wan shook his head fondly. "I have no doubt in that. I meant do you think Anakin is ready? He's still so…" 

"Headstrong?" 

" Young. At his age all I had to do was smile and nod. He is going to be running a country." 

"You did a little more than smile and nod, Your Highness." 

Cody recalled the prince’s marriage with the late Queen of Mandalore. Prince Obi-Wan had just turned seventeen. He proclaimed the union would unite their two countries for years to come. Cody, a teen himself, couldn’t help but feel bad for the elder. For years, it appeared the prince was stuck in a marriage of convenience. 

Later, he learned this was only partially the case. Yes, the marriage was arranged, but Obi-Wan had quickly fallen in love with the Queen. Years later, the couple had a son. Soon after the prince’s birth, King Qui-Gon passed away. Obi-Wan was forced to return to his home country to take over Anakin’s teachings and the role of acting monarch. For Mandalore to maintain its political position, it was agreed the best course of action was to dissolve Prince Obi-Wan and Queen Satine’s union. This was all before the prince had turned twenty-five.

So, no, Obi-Wan did not just "smile and nod" when he was the age of the young prince. 

Obi-Wan continued, "I had years of learning under Father before I was expected to lead, not to mention what I’d learned from Satine. Anakin-" 

"Anakin has known his duty since he was born," Cody interrupted. "He has watched and learned as you acted in the role he was born to take. You fail to give him enough credit, Your Highness. Anakin will be a fearless and noble ruler, just as you taught him." 

It was no secret Obi-Wan was treated unjustly by the former king. As the child of a non-traditional union, Obi-Wan held no place in line for the throne. Qui-Gon still educated him, but all his attention turned to Anakin when he was born. The younger son was the first born to the King and Queen. The throne was his right, not Obi-Wan’s. 

When Qui-Gon passed away, it was agreed that Obi-Wan would temporarily act as monarch. He was to educate his younger brother so one day, when he turned twenty-three, he may take the throne. Several protested this arrangement, arguing that a bastard should have no such power. By the time anyone cared to listen, Obi-Wan's reign was coming to an end. Now their attention is on the king-to-be and his courtship status. 

"I know you do not want to be king," Cody said softly. "But even the moonlight doesn't hide your worry. What is bothering you?" 

"Many things keep me up at night, my dear. You'll have to be more specific." Cody simply tilted his head and waited until the prince sighed. "I know he is ready, but I still feel Anakin is too young for such responsibility. I fear that his and the Queen from Naboo's courtship will be denied. I worry that my son resents me for leaving when I had no choice. I fear…" He looked to the ground for a moment. "I fear that once Anakin ascends to the throne, he will no longer need me." 

Cody gently tilted the prince's head to meet his gaze. "There is no doubt in my mind that he will always need you. You are his brother, his mentor, his beloved friend. He may not need an advisor anymore, but he will always need you." 

Obi-Wan put a hand over the knight's own. "What would I do without you?" 

"Not have a knight to cover your sorry arse." 

Obi-Wan shook his head. He waited a moment more before speaking again. "I've been thinking of moving upstate." 

Cody recoiled slightly in surprise. "Oh?" 

"Yes, once Anakin is crowned and married to Padmé. Nowhere too far: just somewhere to get away from the politics and so-called royal life." 

"Really?" Cody tried not to let his hope build. 

"Yes. I may invite Krokie to stay. It depends how he'd get along with my fiancé, however." 

"Fiancé?" This is the first time he'd heard the word out of the other's mouth. 

"After the coronation I will have no ties to the throne. I will be able to marry whomever I want." Obi-wan smiled cheekily. "Perhaps you've met him; he is in the guard, after all." 

"There are thousands of men in the guard. You must be more specific." 

"Well, this knight is loyal. He is always two steps behind me. Regardless of my rankings and status, he has never feared to speak his mind." Obi-Wan took a step closer. "He is also quite charming. Handsome too, if I say so myself, especially in his formal wear." 

Cody grimaced. He'd almost forgotten about the uncomfortable garments. "He'd only wear them for you, Sir." 

"Soon he may never have to dawn them again." 

"I love you," Cody admitted, tired of the banter that kept them apart. 

Obi-Wan kissed his cheek and pulled him close. "And I you, cyare." 

Soon, dignitaries would be arriving, Rex would arrive with the upset prince, and someone would pull Obi-Wan away for one reason or another. Cody tried to forget about that; right now it was just him, his beloved, and the stars. 

                                                      ♤♡♤♡♤♡♤♡

Rey broke out of her story-telling trance and smiled. "The end!" She said gleefully. 

All three children were fast asleep. Rey looked to the door frame and frowned when Jannah laughed. "How long have they been out?" She asked. 

Jannah shrugged. "Leia fell as soon as you said the first sentence, Shara followed after Cody found the prince and Damrus was out not too long ago." Rey sighed before getting up and gathering Shara in her arms. Jannah came in and followed suit with Leia. "You did well," she continued, "I quite enjoyed your story." 

"Oh, that wasn't a story," Rey called as she exited the room. "That was simply the beginnings of my grandfather and his husband." 

… Well, maybe she had taken some creative liberties, but Jannah didn't need to know that. 

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