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discretion1007 · 1 year

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Title: The Lavender Rose and It’s Thorns

Rating: Explicit

Ao3 link: Read Here

Relationships: Shinsou Hitoshi/Bakugou Katsuki, Toga Himiko/Ururaka Ochako (Side), Kirishima Eijirou/Midoriya Izuku (Side)

Tags: Slowburn, Bullying (Not by Katsuki), College AU, Underground Boxing, Enemies to Lovers, Poet Shinsou Hitoshi, Bakugou Mitsuki is overbearing, Financial Abuse, Bakugou Katsuki is depressed, Jock Katsuki, Poet Hitoshi, Shindo Yo is a dick, angst with happy ending, will add more tags on each part

Word Count: 3,054

Chapters: 1/14

Status: Ongoing

Summary: This is my submission for ShinBaku Holiday Week 2022for @shinbakuevents ! Each day of this prompt week will be a new chapter and I do not promise to be on time because I have other projects as well.

Bakugou Katsuki has to live up to his mothers expectations by day, the dutiful student and the perfect grades, but at night it’s different. He helps the local bookie with his friends to encourage and discourage bets for the underground boxing fights on campus. His life was normal, and this was one bit of control he had until he met one violet haired man that pulled at the frayed edges of his memory.

“I have a test on Friday…and then tutoring is one Sunday morning, I think?” Katsuki held the phone in his hand as he walked around the room to find a shirt. The speaker button was on and he could hear his mother clanging pots and pans in the background. The silence on her end was deafening- she was purposely making sounds to let him know that she was there and actively not answering him. She wanted more. More. Always more.

He forgoes the shirt to scramble his planner out of his desk and pull out all of his recent reports and grades. “My last test was a 92 in biochem, and the TA said it was one of the best reports he’d read this term.” That had to get him some brownie points, this was the best damn report he’d ever written. Katsuki didn’t want to look back on the amount of sleep he didn’t get and the hours he spent writing, editing and rewriting the report to be sure that it was perfect.

His mother was hard to please, that wasn’t new information to him. Still, like a child begging for another slice of cake at the party, he searched and craved for her praise. Katsuki desperately clawed at any chance of approval from his mother, so when her words came through the phone, he could feel the cracks in his heart spread just a hair further. “If it was so great, then why wasn’t it a perfect 100?” She said these things to push him, something she’d always done, always wanting the best for her son. Knowing that didn’t stave off the feeling that sat heavy on his chest each time she did so, though, and the weight spread to his muscles and ultimately into his limbs as they dropped to his sides.

Each time this happened, he looked to the sky, the pebbled ceiling of his dorm room suddenly interesting and not at all an excuse to use gravity to keep his tears at bay. The paper dropped to the ground as he walked back over to his bed, the dread and hopelessness swallowing him inch by inch as the timer on the call ticked by with each passing second. She was talking still, probably asking him another question, but his mind was already whirling, already spiraling into an abyss of reprimands and questions. This time, it wasn’t her voice in his mind, but his own. Why couldn’t he do better? No matter how hard he tried, there was just no way to make himself perfect enough.

“Mom, I have to go, but I will call you tomorrow.” He needed off the call, not caring that he was already typing a message out to tell the guys he wouldn’t be coming out with them tonight. Suddenly, the urge to sit with his friends in a crowded bar just didn’t sound as appealing to him.

“Katsuki, you need to get the other grades back up before the end of the month, or I won’t be reloading your cards.” She would, too- she’d done it before when she had thought that his work was less than satisfactory. “Not having to work is a privilege, not a right. We are not paying for you to go to college so far away just for you to fuck around. Get your shit together and then do what and who you want.”

Already, Katsuki’s eyes searched out the box in his room that he kept hidden, the little black box that was sealed tightly with a lock that he’d gotten from his friend. In it, he kept his emergency cash, the only thing that he cared about in that entire room because of months like this, it was the only thing that would keep food in his fridge. It was a rock and a hard place being the dutiful son in exchange for not having to pay for school— but sometimes, it was just a hard place. Katsuki wasn’t an idiot- he knew that he was better off than most, not having to work three jobs and scrape by in order to stay in school— but it was also the shackles that chained him to his mothers side with no key in sight.

“I know, I promise the next batch of grades will be better.” She didn’t say anything back to him, just a soft hum of disbelief before the line went silent. Mitsuki always had high expectations, never wanting her son to struggle and starve the way she had to.

But at what cost?

He rolled her words over in his mind, letting it settle like an incurable poison before falling back onto his bed. Katsuki just laid there, letting the tears fall where they may while he watched the blank white wall of his bedroom- a bedroom his mother paid for. What right did he have to pity himself? He was so much better off than most of his peers and he still had the nerve to sit and cry about it. Pathetic.

Quickly, he got dressed, going for warm and plain as he grabbed his phone that was already vibrating on his desk with a call. He knew better than to think that his friends would let him miss tonight, it was too important to worry about his mother or his grades. Tonight was the final bets and it wasn’t something he was even allowed to miss if he really wanted to. Pressing the phones to his ear made him wince before the yelling even started, the sound of his boss’s loud ass voice was enough to make him consider shoving a screwdriver in his ear for shits and giggles. “Bakugou! Where the fuck are you?!” He was late already, but damn, this was bad. The moment he knew it was really bad was when Dabi snatched the phone away from him the minute he got to the waiting car in front of his apartment complex.

“Mr. Yamada! Thank you so much for kicking Kat’s ass into gear- we were getting worried.” He rolled his eyes as he signaled Tomura to drive, his finger circling in the air as he let the phone fall a inch away from his face. His brows furrowed at Katsuki in question, a clear question without having to say a single word. He pressed the phone to his ear again lazily. “Hear you loud and clear, boss man! We will be there in less than ten beautiful minutes!” The lazy sarcasm wasn’t lost on Katsuki, always laughing at the way Dabi just didn’t care that he managed to irritate powerful people as easily as one would consider breathing to be. He didn’t wait for the boss’s response before hanging up, an obvious sign of disrespect, but it's not like he cared.

When the car grew silent, Katsuki looked up to see more than one pair of eyes on him, each holding the same question writhing their gaze as if it were physically floating in front of him. “I was just running late is all! Mom called and was having a bit of a fit.”

Himiko laughed from beside him, her face covered by her pale hands as she tried to stifle the mocking laughter like a covered faucet. It stung, but Katsuki didn’t dare show it, he just really needed to learn to take a joke. “I still cannot believe you haven’t told that bitch off yet! Like sure, she pays for your shit, but she doesnt fucking own you! When are you gonna be a fucking man?” That comment earned him a slap on the back of the head from her. He hadn’t even said anything, but he’d definitely earned it.

They were right, she didn’t own him, but still, he gave in and didn’t say shit about it. “Oh, fuck off Himiko. When are you gonna stop being a pussy and ask out that Ururaka girl?”

Katsuki immediately regretted his words, that secret being one she had told him in private, but all he’d wanted was to snap back at her. She never considered his feelings when shit and secrets spilled from her mouth like venom, so why should he? But he did care, the look of hurt that crossed her features before the whole car began howling with laughter made him cross his arms in front of his chest and look out the window. Maybe that would protect him from the guilt.

“Dang! Himiko, I didn’t know you were into the fucking annoying’ type!” Dabi was the worst of them without even trying, the off handed remarks feeling worse coming from someone who didnt genuinely care about things. It was easy for him to make someone feel stupid and useless in less than three sentences. Katsuki hated this part about his friends, the part where shit was always taken too far, jokes were made to hurt and if they saw the wounds, they would rip them open. Weakness wasn’t a thing with them- you could take a joke or you couldn't, but he still cared for them enough to keep them around.

Tomura had seen him after Mitsuki had come into the school library and started yelling at him. He’d followed him outside as he threw his textbook to the ground and screamed. His weakness was loud that day and on display. It wasn’t something that should have screamed for friends to most people, but Tomura mocked him and told him if he needed to find a release, he could help. That was when their group came into view, and over the next few weeks to months, Katsuki had worked, trained and befriended them all.

Now, this was something he was good at, something that he had enough bottled emotion to win without trying much. The world they lived in was dark, the rawness of their world bled at the edges of his psyche and Katsuki couldn’t get enough. Now, he was one of the top underground fighters, currently on a streak long enough that he had new challenges almost everyday.

When they finally pulled up to the venue, Katsuki could pick their other friend out easily, his black hair and height were a dead giveaway in the crowd. Shindo, ironically, was usually the last to arrive, which only told them how late they actually were this time. Katsuki grimaced as he imagined what would be coming after the fight was over if they didn’t get enough, on top of the fact that they were late. As they walked up to Shindo, they saw that he had a smaller man with him, green unruly hair framed his freckled face as he tried to keep his glasses from falling. Shindo’s grip was tight, and the man looked visibly uncomfortable, but Katsuki couldn’t quite place him no matter how hard he looked at the shorter man.

“Look who I found walking in by himself?” Shindo was practically dragging the smaller man with his thick bicep, his face and body language showing his discomfort as he hugged himself protectively. “Lil Deku here didn’t remember the buddy system at all. Let me help, sucks to suck all by yourself, huh?”

“No, I’m not by myself—“

“It doesn’t matter, because here you are and ..” Dabi looked around to the crowd of people and then back at Deku. “No one cares who the fuck you are. So, why not come play with us?” This part was always so fucked to watch, but Katsuki didn’t have the energy to argue with his friends about them being assholes to the lower classmen.

The man’s eyes flicked to Katsuki for a moment, his jade eyes seeming familiar for a second and it wasn’t until he was already turning away that he remembered. This was Izuku Midoriya, the kid that used to chase after him in grade school up until high school. Their parents were friends, and so the little green haired kid was always around and putting him on a goddamn pedestal growing up.

Now, it made sense- he wasn’t popular then, and he certainly wasn’t popular now. His small stature made him an easy enough target. Katsuki sometimes wondered if he should step in, especially if it was his friends doing the hazing, but it wasn’t his business. He never laid a finger on the man, never once saying shit to him since high school and so he walked past him. Katsuki ignored the way the hope died in those jade green eyes that he’d grown up with, and the way his body deflated in defeat. He wasn’t responsible for his friends' actions, so he went to their normal area to hang out while waiting for the flow to open up.

Another man came out from the crowd, timid and quiet as he wordlessly pulled at Izuku’s hand to try and get him to walk away. Pathetic. Shindo always picked someone to fuck with at these events, but no real harm was done other than general humiliation, so Katsuki didn’t bother. They were the ones that got them there, so why was it his problem? The man had his hair split in a half tone and was almost as small as Izuku was, but now Shindo had his eyes on his, too.

“What, pretty thing? Jealous your friends getting all the attention?” With an arm as quick as a striking viper, he pulled the other man under his other arm. His tall stature made keeping them by his side too easy, and the rest of them just laughed.

Camie called from the other side of the wave of bodies before running over with Ochako in tow. Immediately, Katsuki and Dabi’s eyes flicked to Toga. The usually loud and aggressive blonde was now as quiet as a mouse, her eyes glued to the ground as if it held the winner of tonight’s match and not dirt and cracks on concrete. Katsuki didn’t say anything, it wasn’t his business, but that never stopped Dabi and Tomura.

“Ochako! Why don’t you chill with us tonight? Your friends can meet up with us afterwards!” Ochako was about to answer when her eyes flicked over to Izuku, and Katsuki could feel something off the minute her eyes hardened.

“What are you doing with Izuku-kun?” Her tone was harsher than any of them had heard before, but before they could answer there was a deeper voice that spoke up from behind her.

“Proving that they think the dick in their personalities will make up for their lack of one in their pants.” The deep voice came from behind Ochako as a tall form came into view. Katsuki couldn’t tell where he’d seen him before, but the look in his eyes had him shifting in his seat under the weight of it. Hitoshi knew exactly who this group was and clenched his fists when he saw Izuku and Shoto in the brute’s grasp. “How about you display your lack of decency and morals another time, asshole?” Hitoshi had promised not to fight tonight, the look in Izuku’s eyes reminded him of that, but that didn’t mean his words couldn’t cut any less than knives would.

Violet eyes looked over the group once more, memorizing the faces and names for the next challenge bowl, until he came to meet Katsuki’s carmine gaze. He thought maybe he was mistaken before, but now he knew, the same face he remembered from all those years ago. That cocky sneer and that annoyed look in his eyes were unforgettable. He didn’t say shit, and didn't want to give him the satisfaction of Hitoshi recalling a version of him that was obviously long gone. “You know Izuku from childhood and this is how you treat him? That may not mean shit to you, but the idiot still looks up to your dumb ass, still talks about you to Auntie Inko. It’s disgusting to think you can’t even treat him like a human being in return.”

Without another word, Hitoshi pulled his friends from Shindo’s grasp, his eyes boring holes into the brown ones that challenged him. There was a small moment that he really thought that Shindo would swing, his promise to Izuku broken the moment he defended himself, but it would have been worth it. “Let them go. This is getting irritating, Shindo.” Tomura spoke around the smoke that slipped from his lips, the cigarette dangling between to relaxed fingers in the shadows of their little area.

When they left, Katsuki couldn’t rip his eyes away from the tall man with deep violet hair, the look he’d given him burned into his memory. Katsuki leaned forward, his words finding the ears he was looking for, but his eyes never strayed. “Dabi, who the fuck is that?”

A laugh that came from the other man made carmine eyes snap to cerulean ones, the question held within them obvious. “Nobody. Honestly, he’s just some loud mouth that really needs his ass kicked. Fucker came out of nowhere and started chillin’ with my loser brother and them.” He lit a new cigarette, immediately moving the subject away from his own family problems. Dabi wouldn’t have let Shindo fuck with Shoto like that for a second longer even if grape head hadn’t stepped in, but he wouldn’t admit to that out loud.

Katsuki shoved at Shindo’s shoulder as Tatami came to sit on his lap. “Hey fucker. How about you not be a complete asshole for more than five minutes?” He hopped down from their little perch to head to the parking lot, ignoring the mocking and belittling words the people he called friends said. They were horrible, he knew that, but he figured if he didn’t partake in their bullshit, then it was better to be lonely with people than to be lonely by himself. A little bubble of laughter caught his attention in the distance and he saw Izuku sitting on the hood of a car. Grape head, round cheeks, dunce face, and the tape dispenser were all with him, just having a good time.

Once again, violet eyes found his, daring him to do something, but that wasn’t Katsuki’s schtick. He broke eye contact, finished his cigarette, and walked back into the venue to help get all the bets in line before the first round bell rang.

#shbkholidayweek2022 #ShBk #shinbaku #mha shinsou #mha bakugou #shinbaku fic #shinbaku week #dani writes #shinsou hitoshi #bakugou katsuki #college au

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julek · 3 years

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my kingdom for a kiss (upon your shoulder)

read on ao3 | rated T | 6.2K | no warnings | for @asweetprologue <3

The sun shines soft in Toussaint.

Geralt can’t remember whether it’s always been like that — if the golden tint that falls over the city as gently as wind-blown petals is genuine or just a product of his imagination. Spring isn’t in full bloom yet, timid flowers peeking at him from the side of the road, proud birds carrying twigs and feathers to their newly-made nests, the tree branches still cold after the last snow.

They’re not far from the main square, their pace steady and unhurried since they set out to Beauclair in the morning. The midday commotion fills Geralt’s senses, spices and bread and frantic conversations making him shake his head in discomfort — busy cities always take a while to grow used to; thankfully, he never stays long.

Next to him, Jaskier sneezes.

“This weather, I tell you—” he starts, but gets immediately cut off by another dainty, kitten-like sneeze. He wipes his nose on his sleeve, then makes a face at it. “Be the death of me.”

Geralt rolls his eyes. “It’ll take more than pollen to take you, I fear.”

“It doesn’t stand a chance against me,” he says, and strikes a pose, like one of the heroes in the silly novels he insists on buying, but the puffy eyes and red nose dampens it a bit. He doesn’t seem deterred, though. “Besides, I wouldn’t let pollen, of all things, keep me from performing at tonight’s ball.”

Geralt hums, flicking a fly off Roach’s mane. They were in Spalla when Jaskier was approached by a passing servant and asked to partake in some baron Geralt couldn’t care enough to retain the name of’s early spring ball — naturally, Jaskier had jumped at the invitation, eager to be among the distinguished crowds that frequent such events, even more so after a long winter tucked away at Oxenfurt.

“By the way,” Jaskier says, picking an inexistent piece of lint off his doublet, aiming for casual even though he knows Geralt can hear the curious lilt to his voice, “will you be attending tonight?”

“I might not make it in time,” he says truthfully. He rubs his thumb over the contract he’s holding in his free hand, the sharp edges digging into his skin. “I will hunt this afternoon.”

Jaskier nods. “Well,” he says, his voice soft as he bumps his shoulder against Geralt’s. “You’re welcome there. I’ll vouch for you, you know.”

Geralt smiles at him solemnly — then bumps him back, laughing when the bard accidentally crashes into an old woman perusing the wares of a silver-tongued merchant.

“Geralt!” Jaskier says indignantly, smoothing out his doublet and shooting the woman a sideways glance that’s more annoyed than apologetic. “You can’t just push people.”

“Apologies,” Geralt says, not sounding sorry at all. “My balance seems to be off, lately. You know how it is.”

“With your old age, yes,” Jaskier says and pats his arm sympathetically. “I fear you’re showing signs of decay already.”

“Hmm?”

“Oh, yes.” Jaskier takes his arm and loops it through his, a steadying hand at his back. “Your gait is off— look, even Roach looks concerned for your wellbeing.”

Roach looks unfazed.

“And all the lines on your face!” Jaskier gasps in mock-horror. “My, Geralt, we should take you to a healer. Perhaps you’ve been cursed— There! Those dreadful frown lines you sport, old friend… Have you considered retirement? I hear there are great Witcher-friendly settlements in this area, and— hey!”

Geralt smirks as Jaskier rubs the side of his head where Geralt’s innocent and weary hand slapped it. He can see the worn-down sign of the inn he favors when they’re in the city a few steps ahead, can already taste the fresh ale on his mouth.

“Whoops,” he says, trying to school his features into something that isn’t a smug smile. “Seems I’m losing control of my limbs, too.”

The Rose and Thorn is as it has ever been. Clean wooden floorboards that creak as they walk in, the blossoming vine hanging over the kitchen door, the innkeeper’s old dog napping in a spot of sunlight pouring in through the window.

It’s good.

Geralt likes routine. He thrives on it. He likes familiar faces and comforting smells and the sound of pans and pots banging together as the cook murmurs a string of expletives that would be considered indecorous on a lady’s mouth. He likes knowing where he stands, likes the well-loved booths and the tankards that are cracked around the edges, the face of an unruly lion faded on the ceramic. He’s pleased with the way the innkeeper’s eyes crinkle with recognition as she nods at him and Jaskier, as she wordlessly takes his coin and points her head in direction of the room he always takes.

They move upstairs, Jaskier’s lutecase hitting the narrow walls as Geralt pushes the door open. The room is simple — two beds and a small table under the tall window, light pouring in through the thin linen curtains. He sets his bag on one of the beds — the closest to the door — and puts his sheathed swords next to it before allowing himself a moment to sit and wind down.

“I’d say lunch is in order, don’t you think?” Jaskier says after a while, even though his words are muffled by the pillow he’d thrown himself face-down onto and he doesn’t seem to be moving any time soon. “I’m aching for something other than apples and jerky, if I’m honest.”

Geralt’s stomach rumbles in agreement. “Too coarse for your fine palate, bard?” He teases.

“Never,” Jaskier says, lifting an accusatory finger at where he supposes Geralt is sitting. Then, because it isn’t as dramatic as it should’ve been, he rolls over, facing Geralt, his hair sticking up at odd places and his face flushed a pretty shade of pink. “I’m well used to all kinds of provisions, but the soul wishes for something a little bit more substantial every once in a while.”

“Hmm,” Geralt concedes. He laces up his left boot tighter than the right one and stands. “Let’s go, then, man of substance.”

Jaskier grins up at him, bright and easy, and leaps out of the bed so fast the wind gets knocked out of him.

Downstairs at the bar, there are steaming bowls of pottage being sent to the patrons that are starting to overflow the room, bread and cheese abundant at every table. It must have been a fruitful winter, Geralt reasons as he nods to the barmaid and gestures to the plates.

“Ale as well, Sir Witcher?” She says as she wipes her forehead, no trace of fear in her voice. She’s probably too busy for it.

“Two, please.”

He makes his way to the table where Jaskier’s already tearing a loaf of bread in two, tapping a rhythm with his fingers on the hard wood as he looks out the window at the passersby. There’s a neatly-made arrangement of wildflowers on the wall by his side, larkspur and thistle with a touch of baby’s breath, Geralt thinks.

“Here,” he says, passing the half-full tankard over to Jaskier and taking a sip of his own.

Jaskier hands him a piece of bread. “So, what are we slaying today?”

“The only thing you’ll be slaying today is your audience’s eardrums,” Geralt says, smirking at Jaskier’s huff of indignation. He takes a bite out of the bread. “There seems to be an archespore around the vineyards.”

“An— the—” Jaskier’s face does a complicated thing and Geralt wants to point out that he looks like a gaping trout before he says, “An archespore?! This mythical— magical— never before seen creature—”

“It’s been seen plenty of times,” Geralt points out.

“Not by me!” Jaskier thumps his fist on the table, defeated, and his ale sloshes dangerously. He wipes a hand down his face. “Ugh. And I can’t even fight you on it, because I’ve got, uh, what do they call it— Geralt, help me out here, what’s the word—”

“A compromise.”

Jaskier gags. “Yes. That. I shall honor my, uh, compromise to the arts and leave you alone and defenseless before such a legendary creature. Naught but two swords and the strength of” —he looks Geralt up and down appreciatively— “roughly twelve men built like bulls to keep yourself out of harm’s way.”

Geralt lifts his eyebrows, unimpressed, and leans back on his seat as a barmaid approaches them with a bowl in each hand. “Thank you,” he tells her, and digs in.

The stew is pleasantly hot and thick with spices and vegetables, the potatoes sweet and the meat tender, and he lets a pleased rumble escape his chest.

He doesn’t get to indulge in good meals very often — when he gets the opportunity to sit down at a proper table and have a proper plate placed in front of him, the food is usually sizable and filling, but never particularly appetizing. It’s mostly overcooked, tough meat — if he can afford it — and out-of-season vegetables that remind him of dried-out fields rather than a lavish banquet.

Jaskier is used to them, though. Or was — right before he was hit on the head with a chunk of stale bread and had the brilliant idea to trail after a Witcher, to trade comfortable beds and roasted pheasants for a hard bedroll spread on the forest floor and charred squirrel, at best. It still intrigues Geralt, watching Jaskier roll up his sleeves and dig into the pottage like it’s the finest meal he’s ever tasted, like it doesn’t pale in comparison to what he’ll be served tonight. Like he doesn’t see it — the immensity of the gap between Geralt’s world and his own.

There are moments of hesitation — moments when Geralt thinks Jaskier will wake up. When he thinks the bard will look around and shake his head in astonished confusion, and his blue eyes will widen comically like they do when he’s caught slipping treats to Roach, and he’ll see through the desperately-sewn seams of Geralt’s life. He’ll see that behind the so-called heroics and martyrdom there’s nothing more than a Witcher and a horse and a lonely road ahead.

But then, just when Geralt’s doubts start to creep into his hairline and show on his face, Jaskier will prove him wrong. Like now, as Jaskier lets his spoon fall into his empty bowl and leans back on his seat, sighing happily, nothing but contentment and warmth on his scent. As he watches through the window again, with a smile that dimples his cheek and sunlight crinkling his eyes.

Geralt feels something touch his leg. When he looks down, the innkeeper’s dog is resting his chin on Geralt’s thigh, his eyes big and pleading.

He picks up a hard bit of bread Jaskier had set aside earlier and carefully brings it up to the dog’s nose for inspection. After a few curious sniffs, the dog gently takes it out of Geralt’s hand, tail wagging excitedly. His fur is soft where Geralt smoothes it out with the flat of his palm, softer than Roach’s mane.

When he looks up, Jaskier’s eyes have abandoned the window, and he’s watching the two of them with a smile that’s half fond, half soft. Too tender.

Geralt’s never been looked at like that. With care. Like he’s something precious, something to be treasured.

It feels inadequate, and he pats the dog’s head to hide the almost imperceptible tremble of his hand. Jaskier’s smile reaches his eyes, and doesn’t waver.

It’s good.

The soft breeze wafting through the window as Geralt straps his swords to his back is tempting.

Jaskier yawns.

“You sure you don’t wanna get a nap in before you,” he yawns again, “go?”

He’s sprawled on his bed in a position that just can’t be comfortable, limbs long and bent at weird angles, pants unbuttoned and doublet resting on the back of a chair. His hair is ruffled and his cheeks are pink from the meal and the impending sleep that will follow.

“I’ve read, somewhere,” he continues, forcefully wrestling with the blankets that are firmly tucked into the bed, “ah, that napping increases, um— aha!” He wiggles under the covers. “It increases your strength, sharpens your” — a yawn — “mind, and whatnot.”

“Hmm.” Geralt adjusts his potion belt. “And how’s that worked out for you?”

Jaskier squints at him, managing to stay awake just to be annoyed. “See? You just continue proving my point! That,” he says, gesturing vaguely at Geralt with a half-covered hand, “would easily be fixed with one tiny nap!”

“Your naps are never tiny.”

“Well, no, because as a bard, I require more energy than a Witcher. Besides,” he says, closing his eyes, “I never seem to get enough sleep, you see, since I keep getting assaulted by this beast of a man who thinks dawn is already late.”

Geralt snorts and walks over to his bed. “Should put a contract out, then. A Witcher may come across it.”

Jaskier turns around, facing Geralt. “Oh, no, thank you. One Witcher is enough for me.” Geralt can hear the smile in his voice, though.

Checking he’s got everything he needs, and closing the open windows for good measure, Geralt turns to Jaskier. “I’m going. Stay here.”

This time, it’s Jaskier who has to snort. “Napping, remember?”

Geralt hums. “Don’t sleep through your performance,” he says, closing the door behind him, and the sounds of Jaskier tossing and turning while making indignant sounds makes him smirk.

The walk to the vineyard doesn’t take long. He passes the district alderman’s house on his way over, discusses the payment and whatever information he has to offer about the vineyard itself and the archespore sightings. The man’s face goes white when Geralt asks about any late violent crime.

The sun is still high in the sky when he gets to the heart of the vineyard, the earth uneven and freshly dug up. The victims’ bodies aren’t there anymore, he knows, but the archespore can’t be too far away from him. He draws out his sword and walks deeper into the field, watching the ripe grapevine sway with the wind.

There’s a vine in particular that calls his attention, thinner and bare, no grapes clinging to it. Just as he gets closer to it, it disappears under the ground. Geralt crouches and backs away, waiting to see it come back up — except when it does, it’s not just a lonely vine anymore.

The archespore stands tall and imposing, growling at Geralt as he signs Igni at it and aims for its trunk — he only gets one good blow before it buries itself under the earth. He waits again, looking for the green-brown color, and it shoots back up with renewed force, surrounding Geralt with acid-filled pods.

He casts a quick Quen and gets closer to it, choosing Aard this time as Igni causes it to relocate, and seizes the way it trembles minutely to get behind it and run his sword through its flesh. The creature growls, its jaw-shaped leaves curling around Geralt’s limbs. He struggles and manages to cast Igni at it, freeing himself as the plant relocates itself. When it sprouts back up, one of its pods blows up next to him, making him fall to the ground as the creature towers over him, its screeches deafening.

The archespore opens its forked mouth and screeches louder this time, acid shooting through its pores before Geralt can shield himself. The acid burns his skin where it reaches it, but the creature seems satisfied enough that it misses the opportunity to pin him to the ground. He reaches for his sword and lunges, casting Aard and tearing its leaves and damaging its thick stem.

This time, when it goes underground, Geralt has a feral smile on his face as he takes his Golden Oriole and upends it in his mouth. The venom stops burning for a second, and, when the archespore comes back up, its tendrils reaching for Geralt, he ducks and rolls, positioning himself behind it. The archespore screeches one final time as Geralt runs his sword from its head down to its core before it collapses to the ground, lifeless body still twitching. Geralt throws the severed head far enough that it won’t be able to reattach itself and slices up the remaining pods, their venom oozing sluggishly onto the torn-up ground.

He makes his way back to the city, the head of the archespore dripping slightly from its bag. The sun is setting, painting the walls golden against the pink sky, the shadows cast over the buildings helping the buzzing in his brain. He takes the less-traveled roads to avoid the commotion of the streets, but it seems the city is already mellowed out.

He thinks of Jaskier.

The first star of the night is twinkling against the pink-blue sky, the moon translucent. The baron’s residence is distant, surrounded by a stretch of the city’s walls, but Geralt imagines it’s close, close enough that Jaskier’s voice can carry through the night — that his soft melodies can reach them all.

He thinks of Jaskier, dressed up in his finest clothes that he had especially tailored — because I’ve filled out in the winter, Geralt! — drinking sweet wine from the vineyard he’s just left behind, mingling with the nobles and regaling them with honeyed tales of the Witcher’s heroism. The Witcher who is currently covered in muck and sticky with dried acid, carrying a severed head across the streets of Beauclair.

But Jaskier would disagree. He’d see a knight in shining armor, coming home triumphant after saving a family’s livelihood, the scars of the ferocious battle showing on his face. A defeated beast and a courageous warrior. A tale worth telling.

After dispatching the head and collecting his coin — what they’d agreed on, thankfully — Geralt heads back to the inn. The humming in his veins has simmered down, leaving behind a hint of exhaustion that clings to his bones and makes itself known. He calls for a bath, ignoring the innkeeper’s knowing look — she’s seen him trudge inside wearing worse.

Once he’s in his room, he takes his time unbuckling and sets his armor aside, a filthy pile that he’ll have to tend to eventually. After, he thinks, and sinks into the steaming tub. The room’s windows are open despite him closing them before leaving, tacit proof of Jaskier’s aversion for closed spaces and feeling oppressed, Witcher, and his distinct lack of self-preservation. Geralt’s chastised him enough about being easy prey, but there’s something in the way the bard moves that makes him want to protect, rather than prevent — he’d rather be the one to free Jaskier from his cage than be the one to lock him there in the first place. Not that Jaskier would ever let himself be locked away — he’s feisty enough on his own — but something about him screams freedom.

Geralt can’t take it away — wouldn’t ever want to. So he lets the cool air enter the room.

His bed is neatly made, pillows fluffed and sheets crisp. Next to it is Jaskier’s — somehow, pillows are on the floor and the sheets are turned inside out, twisted like a serpent around the blanket. His side of the room looks like it’s been a victim of a cruel whirlwind — clothes and accessories are strung about the room, picked up only to be frowned at and then put back down.

It’s tempting enough; to crawl under the covers and blow out the candles and get a half-decent night of sleep. Maybe get something to eat from the bar downstairs. Maybe drink some ale. But—

I’ll vouch for you, you know.

He knows.

It’s a beautiful night, in truth.

The ball is being hosted in the halfmoon-shaped garden, the cool spring breeze dancing around the guests as they dance themselves, carried away. Moonlight and candlelight alike wash over the cobblestone, a few delicate and intricate paper lanterns placed over a wooden railing casting gentle shadows on the whole scene. There are flowers all around — on tall vases in every corner and on the small centerpieces at every table, on the open hand of every statue and weaved into delicate crowns for everyone to wear.

It isn’t like anything Geralt’s seen before. He’s been to many balls — begrudgingly — but never one in which everyone carries themselves so freely, where raucous laughter is allowed if not mandatory, where not one person sits alone at their table, instead gathered around savoring the food, where there are chairs but no one sitting on them because they’re so busy prancing around the yard, marveling at the flowers and the outfits and the beauty of the night. Where everyone seems to be there because they want to be — because they belong.

He’s standing by a pillar, not hidden but not in plain sight, either. He tightens his jacket around himself, half to fend off the chill of the night air and half to hide the stain on the chemise underneath — a dangerous encounter with a drunk Jaskier and a goblet of wine. His leather band is on his wrist tonight, his silver hair tickling the spot behind his ear and catching on the high collar of his shirt. People are still coming in through the garden gates, the path to the grounds lit by small candles by each side of it, couples strolling hand-in-hand across the grounds and children running around, their flower crowns hanging off their heads.

There’s no music yet, just conversation carrying the night away. He can hear Jaskier’s heartbeat somewhere in the gardens, but hasn’t seen him yet — perhaps he’s encountered one of his old dalliances and is catching up, as he’s often done before.

Geralt moves to the balcony with the stone railing, the one looking out to the lake. The waves are calm tonight, gently rippling back and forth, shimmering under the stars. He leans his elbows on the railing, feeling very small as he looks down.

Heights used to scare him when he was a child. It’s one of the only things he can remember. His house sat on a small hill, and every night, after his mother went to sleep, he would tiptoe across the kitchen and open the window, and he would look down and feel terror beat inside his chest, gripping his heart like a vine.

Now, as he looks down, he can see the scrape of the stones jutting out of the earth, the clear beach beneath him. He can see the boats resting on the shore and the stars reflecting on the water. Looking down, he just feels at ease.

The sound of children protesting catches his attention. When he looks back to the courtyard, he can see two small children — siblings, he presumes — looking at their mother with very exaggerated frowns on their tiny faces.

“You mustn’t use your sister’s dress as a cleaning rag, Petyr,” she says to the boy as she tries to wipe down the girl’s gown.

“But the floors here needed cleaning!” Petyr responds, petulant. “You told us things should be squeaky-clean.”

His mother is about to reply when suddenly a voice cuts in. “And your mother is right, of course,” says Jaskier, winking at her and meeting her smile of relief with one of his own. “But this is a party! You’re meant to have fun, you and your sister! Don’t you like to dance?”

Petyr and his sister shake their heads. “We don’t know how to,” she admits.

Jaskier’s grin is wide. “Well, then you must be born singers!” At that, the girl smiles.

“Mama says our singing sounds more like a dying wyvern’s last breath,” she says simply, and it makes Jaskier laugh, “but we like to sing anyway.”

“And you should! Singing is the way our soul gets to have a laugh,” he says knowingly, and slowly takes his lute out of his case. “I don’t suppose you know what this is?”

The children’s eyes light up. “A lute!”

Jaskier laughs. “That’s right!” He holds it out to them. “Here, try a strum.”

The children look at each other, then at the lute like it’s something precious. Geralt knows it is. “You go first, Fiona,” the boy whispers to his sister.

Fiona approaches the lute carefully, and holds out her little hand. Jaskier takes it on his own, then gently, very gently, he runs her hand through the strings. It’s a simple chord, and Jaskier’s holding the note, but Fiona looks blown away. “Wow,” she whispers. “It’s so… pretty.”

Geralt can see the way Jaskier’s mouth quirks up and his eyes go soft at the corners. It tugs at his heartstrings.

“Now,” Jaskier says, “Do you want to try, Petyr?”

The boy nods, coming forward. He knows what to do, having watched his sister, so he simply lifts his hand and strums. Jaskier’s changed the chord, a lower one now.

“Wonderful!” Jaskier exclaims, and applauds the both of them, making their cheeks flush. “Naturals, the both of you.”

Petyr’s hand is still on the lute, feeling the strings and reaching the pegs. “And what do these do?” He says just as he turns one of them, the string deflating slightly.

Geralt wants to laugh at Jaskier’s pained grimace as he tightens the string back as he explains to Petyr that he should leave those to the adults, but suddenly he feels a pool of warmth in his stomach, an ache in his chest he hasn’t felt before — as if all the spring’s air has been stolen from him.

He watches Jaskier play a silly little ditty for the children to dance with their very amused mother, and he can’t look away. Can’t stop staring at the way Jaskier’s eyes crinkle with joy and his face is full of laugh lines and his own flower crown threatens to fall down, small yellow petals gathering at his feet.

And the thing is — he knows Jaskier. He knows he’s kind, and thoughtful, and painfully honest. He knows he feels everyone’s pain as his own, everyone’s joy as his own.

Everyone’s love as his own.

He knows that he’ll play silly made-up songs for bored children just as he knows he’ll gather herbs for Geralt’s potions without being asked to, just as he’ll buy treats for Roach, just as he’ll carefully avoid the fork on the road to Blaviken.

He sees it, now — the way his face is lit up but not from candlelight but from within, because he’s so in love with the world that he can barely stand it.

And he’s seen him before — has watched his furrowed brow illuminated by wavering candles as he writes well past dusk, has seen the curl of his mouth and the freckles on his nose and the scar that goes through his left eyebrow and yet—

Yet it feels like he’s seeing him for the first time.

There’s a smudge of ink on Jaskier’s cheek. There always is. There always has been.

Geralt’s never wanted to wipe it off.

He wants to wipe it off, wants to tuck his hair back behind his ear and kiss the spot where his jaw meets his neck. He wants to hold him close to his chest tight enough that maybe he’ll crawl into his heart and never leave.

It should scare him. It should feel like standing at the top of a hill and looking down.

It doesn’t.

Jaskier walks into the stage, a space of elevated marble he supposes a statue had been resident of. It suits him, the small pedestal — the way the golden thread of his dark green doublet glitters when moonlight catches it makes something ethereal of him, the few fallen flowers of his crown tangled on his hair — now tousled and matted with sweat — making something beautiful of him.

“Yes, yes, I’ve returned with more!” He exclaims at the whistles and cheers from the crowd, who’ve undoubtedly fallen in love with his first set. “We’re changing things up a bit now— How would you feel about something softer for a change?”

People cheer again, and Jaskier’s face breaks into a blinding grin. “Perfect! Now,” he looks around, “I want you to find the people you love. Your spouse, your lover, your friend, your sister, your child— everyone and anyone your heart beats for.”

The crowd starts gathering around in different groups, and Geralt smiles at how mismatched they are — tiny children and their grandparents, groups of single maidens hugging each other tightly, couples tenderly embracing each other.

Jaskier’s smile is softer, this time. “There,” he whispers. “Because love is something to share— This song I’m sharing with you.”

And then he’s gone — all his stage-borne facade falls away as he starts to play. His fingers are plucking a gentle, easy melody, and he’s humming along. People start slowly swaying to the sound of his voice, their eyes bright and shiny with mirth and love. Then, very softly, his voice barely above a whisper, he sings,

“Wise men say

Only fools rush in

But I can’t help

Falling in love with you…”

It’s incredibly gentle, and Geralt feels drawn to it immediately. He watches as Jaskier sways with the music, eyes closed and brow furrowed, completely lost on it. There are buttercups on his hair and love in his mouth and Geralt suddenly wants to reach for him, put out his hand only for Jaskier to hold.

Jaskier opens his eyes as the last verse comes in. “Take my hand,” he sings, and he does a brave thing and looks into Geralt’s eyes. “Take my whole life, too.”

He would.

“For I can’t help,” he says with a smile, and looks out to the public. “Falling in love with you.”

The song ends, but Jaskier keeps playing the chord progression softly. The crowd isn’t there anymore — they’re all somewhere else, holding their beloved in tender arms and swaying to the tune of their love. As Jaskier’s playing slowly fades out, there is no applause, no enthusiastic cheering nor plea for an encore.

They all know.

Geralt’s looking out to the waves when Jaskier joins him by the railing.

“Hey,” he whispers.

Geralt turns to face him. “Hey,” he whispers back.

Jaskier’s smile is soft as he takes him in. “You came.”

“I did,” Geralt says, voice low. “Was told someone would be waiting for me.”

“And here I am.”

The waves crash against the rocks.

“That was a new one,” Geralt murmurs, looking at the scar on his knuckle. “The song.”

“It was,” Jaskier replies simply.

Geralt looks at him. “I liked it.” It’s no big compliment, but Jaskier seems to understand him all the same.

He always does.

“I’m glad,” he says. “I like it too.”

He leans his elbows on the railing, their shoulders almost touching. Jaskier’s cheek is still smudged with ink.

“You have…” Geralt says, gesturing to his own face, and Jaskier frowns at him. Geralt shakes his head. He licks his thumb and reaches, Jaskier’s skin soft as he swipes the ink away, his mouth slightly parted.

“There,” he whispers, but his hand doesn’t leave Jaskier’s cheek. “Do they really say it?”

Jaskier frowns, confused. Their shoulders are touching. “Who?”

Geralt reaches for Jaskier’s flower crown and looks at him, a silent request. Jaskier nods. Geralt takes it in his hands and gently tucks the loose stems back together, the way he’d seen girls do it in the town square. He doesn’t lose a single petal.

“The wise men,” he says, placing the crown on top of Jaskier’s head, where it belongs. He doesn’t know what to do with his hands.

Jaskier takes them in his. “It is foolish to rush in unprepared. You taught me that.”

“Am I wise, then?”

Jaskier laughs, shakes his head. “I never said that.”

Geralt doesn’t know what to say, so he stays quiet, watching Jaskier’s rings as they glint in the moonlight, watching Jaskier’s fingers as they play with his.

“I love you, you know,” Jaskier murmurs, looking at their joined hands.

“I know.”

“You’re my best friend.”

Geralt looks at him. “I know.”

He needs the weight of his swords strapped at his back. He wants to be brave.

He looks down.

“I love you,” he says. “I can’t help it.”

Jaskier smiles. “Well, now you’re just being mean— plagiarizing my song right in front of me.”

“Jask.” It sounds like a prayer. Geralt squeezes his hands, amber meeting cornflower blue. “You know what I mean, when I say—”

“I know what you mean,” Jaskier says. “I know.”

They drink each other in, and Geralt knows this is the first time they’re seeing each other. Gently, he places one hand on the small of Jaskier’s back, the other on his nape, and brings their foreheads together.

Jaskier’s hands find their way to Geralt’s waist. Nobody’s ever held him like that. With care. Like he’s something precious, something to be treasured.

His nose grazes Jaskier’s cheek and he whispers, “Can I kiss you?”

And Jaskier’s smiling when he says, “I wish you would.”

So he does. Soft lips against chapped ones, lute-calloused hands against scarred ones. Jaskier kisses him back tenderly, unhurried, and it’s honey-sweet like the wine he can taste on Jaskier’s mouth, like the love he can feel on his scent.

When they pull apart — only because they have to — Geralt circles Jaskier in his arms, pressing small kisses to his cheeks, his jaw, his nose, his forehead. It makes him laugh.

“Tickles,” he says, and there’s a smile in his voice. “Your beard.”

Geralt presses a final, lingering kiss to his mouth. “Sorry,” he whispers against his lips.

The party has carried on without them, as it is wont to do. There’s a harp player on the stage now, plucking a soft melody from its strings.

Jaskier’s eyes are bright when he looks up at him. It feels right, to be holding him like this, to drown in his warmth and press love into his hands like it’s all he can do — and it is. All he can do is watch into Jaskier’s eyes and try not to get lost in them and stop a smitten smile from curling on his lips.

He’s helpless, he knows. It doesn’t scare him anymore.

“Home?” Jaskier murmurs against his cheek.

The inn, he means. “Aren’t you playing?”

Jaskier’s mouth curls into a mischievous smile, one of Geralt’s favorites. “They’ll survive without me, I reckon.”

Geralt narrows his eyes. “Jaskier—”

“Yes, yes, I know,” he protests, rolling his eyes. “We need the coin. Ugh— one would think the guy confessing his undying love—”

“Now, undying is—”

“His undying love for me would change things, would buy me some indulgence— not at all!” He buries his face in Geralt’s neck, letting out a long-suffering groan. “Why must you be so responsible all the time?”

There are many reasons. Looking at Jaskier’s flushed face and capricious frown, Geralt can’t remember any of them. “Go,” he says softly, nodding at the stage. “For me.”

Jaskier groans louder. “That,” he says, poking Geralt’s chest, “is a very unfair card to play.”

“And why’s that?”

Jaskier tangles their fingers together. “Because you know I would do anything for you.”

Geralt’s face softens. He knows. “Go. I’ll wait for you.”

Defeated, Jaskier looks at the stage, then at Geralt, pouting. “Won’t you at least kiss me farewell? I’ve a long journey ahead.”

It’s Geralt’s turn to roll his eyes — still, he reels Jaskier in and presses a chaste kiss to his lips.

“Great start!” Jaskier says cheerfully. “Now, like you mean it.”

“Insufferable,” Geralt murmurs, but he gives in. The kiss is deep and slow, and somehow full of promise. He can feel Jaskier sigh happily against his lips, his scent gone sweet and warm as Geralt’s hands find Jaskier’s sides.

They part, begrudgingly. Jaskier’s cheeks are deep pink and his flower crown sits askew on his head once again, so Geralt fixes it for him.

“We should get one for you,” the bard says, watching him.

“Hmm.” Geralt presses a final kiss to his lips. “Go.”

“I’m getting you one,” Jaskier says stubbornly, ignoring Geralt’s wish, and Geralt loves him too much. “Just wait here.”

He lets Jaskier go, and watches as he runs over to the stand where a young woman is weaving tulips and baby’s breath together into a crown. He watches as he excitedly gestures at it and cradles it in his tender hands, a look of genuine joy on his face. He watches as he turns around, his lips stretched into a too-wide grin as he waves at Geralt, pointing at the crown.

He watches as he walks toward him.

He waits for him to fit into his open arms. He waits for him to place the crown on top of his head and adjust it once, twice, before it’s deemed perfect. He waits for him to kiss his cheek and groan about having to return to his duty as entertainment for the evening.

He waits for him as he plays.

“I love you,” he tells him later, when they’re both tucked in bed and their fancy clothes have been folded and their legs are tangled together.

Jaskier grins. “Say it again.”

Geralt can’t hide the smile that curves his lips — he doesn’t want to. “I love you,” he says, and kisses his cheek. “I love you,” his forehead, “I love you,” his eyelids. “I love you,” his mouth.

He says it so much the words sound foreign in his mouth. He says it until they belong in his mouth again.

“Thank you,” Jaskier says after a while, candlelight framing the tenderness in his eyes. “It’s been good.”

Geralt smiles.

It has.

#mywriting #geraskier fanfic #geralt x jaskier #the witcher fanfic #geraskier fluff #jeff buckley lyrics my beloved

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farm-witches-fic-recs · 3 years

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What a Friday it has been already! The coven is all atwitter with the exciting news that our adorable patron Patrick is making his Broadway debut next year! You can bet we will be there, will you?

As if that wasn't enough fun for one day, we're also bringing you another list of carefully curated fics to kick off your weekend right.

Alexis Rose (@forbescaroline) *GIF SET* "Feast your eyes on this beautiful set of Alexis gifs."

Every Rose has its thorn (@kiranerys42) "Everything's the same - except for the flowers that appear whenever David and Patrick, ahem, connect."

I fell apart in that bed (@blackandwhiteandrose) "This gorgeously introspective fic is a truly original take on the night at Stevie's, where David has some demons to wrestle with."

I'm hoping it might (@5ambreakdown) "This pure soft sweetness of a newly-married Stevie and Twyla gives all the feels. (Be sure to click the links in the story for visuals)!"

Just breathe (olivebranchesandredwine/@judithandronicus) "Need a hot and sweet AU? When David starts going to yoga to help with his anxiety he gets a little more than he bargained for in the form of one button faced instructor."

-------- FROM THE CAULDRON

Sometimes, you just want to go for it in the kitchen and bring something that no one is expecting.

Farm witch family, we have got you covered. Just trust us on this one.

Pumpkin Bacon Mac & Cheese

You'll need:

1 pound pasta

8 ounces bacon (diced)

1 large shallot (diced)

2 tablespoons butter

3 tablespoons bacon fat (save it when you make the bacon)

1/4 cup flour

3 cups milk

1 15-ounce can pure pumpkin puree

1/2 cup grated Parmesan cheese

2 cups shredded medium white cheddar

1 teaspoon Dijon mustard

1/4 teaspoon ground nutmeg

1/4 teaspoon paprika

3 tablespoons chopped fresh sage

Sea salt and pepper

To make:

* Salt a large pot of water and bring it to a boil. * Cook the bacon until crispy over medium heat. * Using a slotted spoon, move the crispy bacon to a paper towel-lined plate. * Carefully pour the bacon fat into a small bowl. * Dice the bacon. * Lower heat to medium-low and add 1 tablespoon of bacon fat back into the pan. * Cook the shallots until softened and beginning to caramelize. * Once the shallots are cooked, add in 2 tablespoons of butter and 2 tablespoons of bacon fat. * Melt until bubbly, and stir in the flour. * Cook the roux mixture until it gets a little darker in color - about 5 minutes. * Add the pasta to the salted, boiling water and cook until al dente. * Slowly add the milk to the roux, whisking or stirring constantly while pouring to avoid lumps. * Once the milk is completely incorporated, season to taste with sea salt and pepper. Allow the sauce to gently simmer and thicken slightly. * Stir in the pumpkin, paprika, Dijon, and nutmeg. Bring back to a simmer, and slowly stir in the Parmesan and cheddar cheeses. * Stir the sauce until the cheese has fully melted, and the sauce has thickened. Turn off the heat, and stir in the sage. * Drain the cooked pasta and return back to the pot. Pour the cheese sauce over and gently stir the pasta and sauce until completely combined. Stir back in the crispy, cooked bacon, reserving a bit for garnish. * Divide the Pumpkin Bacon Mac and Cheese between bowls and top with additional bacon, fresh sage, and a sprinkle of Parmesan. Be impressed with yourself and enjoy!

#farmwitchfaves #sc fanfic #sc fic rec #schitt's creek fic #schitt's creek fanfic #david x patrick #alexis rose #patrick brewer #david rose #stevie budd #stevie x twyla

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aitarose · 3 years

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ROSES | ZUKO

PAIRING: Zuko x Reader x Azula [fem]

PLOT: Zuko’s main focus was always Azula’s health, that was until he reconciled with the girl behind all of her improvement—from then on, all he saw was Y/N. companion piece to thorns

WARNINGS: angst, fluff, mutual pining, unrequited love (azula)

WORD COUNT: 5.1k

A/N: this connects to the events that occur in thorns. this piece can be read as a standalone, but thorns gives more detail to the reader’s feelings and struggles with azula

ALT. END: Blossoms | AZULA’S POV: Thorns

MY MASTERLIST

orange · roses : a symbol of love in the sense of enthusiasm and passion. bright colors denote life, energy, passion, and excitement—whilst softer hues speak of sincerity and gratitude.

Year three, day twelve.

Zuko groaned, facepalming as he listened to the pattering footsteps of his advisors leaving the throne room. His shoulders dropped, the formal demeanor he usually wore dissolving almost immediately.

Meetings with his advisors were far from his favorite of the Fire Lord duties, but they were necessary to reassure the people that he was doing right by them. Their trust and support was what held the dignity of his rule in balance.

This meeting in particular had gone on for far too long. His advisors were always able to drone on about his least favorite topic, the topic of Azula’s mental state of health.

His sister had been in recovery for a little over three years now, keeping her promise to him that she would learn to be better. Azula’s goal was to understand compassion and honor—and maybe even love.

Zuko had been taken back by the idea at first, Azula having brought it up during her time in the Fire Nation’s most secure prison cell. He didn’t think she was capable of knowing guilt, but happily obliged to her wishes.

He and his advisor’s had determined that she’d be given a total of five years to begin her rehabilitation. Five years to prove to his nation that she was no longer the monster that they knew her as.

It’d been going fairly well as of yet, only a few tantrums and outbursts here and there, but overall well. Azula’s progress was undeniable, she had finally begun to leave her demons in the past.

As he entered the kitchens which were empty of any royal staff members, Zuko heaved a deep sigh. It seemed as if there was very little time that he was able to have to himself these days, constantly being bombarded with his duties.

He felt like his mind was in chaos, millions of ideas and plans storming in his head like a hurricane. The storm brewing beneath his facade was overwhelming. His only wish was for a simple breath of air.

While Zuko sat in silence, leaning against the large counter with his head held in his hands, his ears perked up to the sound of the door opening.

Without bothering to look up, he waved his hand in admission, not interested in whatever servant had come to fetch their leader. “Not now,” he called out, “the Fire Lord is out of service for the day.”

Whoever had accompanied him began giggling, their voice ringing in Zuko’s ears like the melody of a choir. His head shot up, knowing full well that it was no servant interrupting his time alone.

“Y/N!” He smoothed out his wrinkled robes, fixing his hair in a hurry as she gracefully stepped into the room—gracefully meaning that she ran into a pile of pots and pans before tripping over her own feet.

Zuko rushed over to help her stand, taking one hand in his while the other supported the rest of her body. This wasn’t uncommon, Y/N had a tendency to make a mess wherever she went, unintentionally of course.

She’d been working in the palace for the past three years to help Azula honor her promise to the nation as the advisor’s were unable to put all of their trust into Zuko alone.

Which had actually been an extremely helpful conclusion. Without the help of Y/N, Zuko didn’t think Azula would’ve been able to make any progress, let alone the amount she had made now. Y/N was the light to Azula’s darkness.

She was also the girl that Zuko had a little bit of a crush on, which he’d admitted to himself early on in their relationship—not that he’d call their relationship a “relationship”. Zuko wasn’t actually sure what they were.

When he’d met Y/N, she was nothing but a tool that he was forced to provide for his advisors. There hadn’t been many applicants due to the dark cloud of Azula’s stigma, but Y/N had shone against the few that’d applied.

He’d selected her himself, reading through her resume and immediately liking what he saw—and after speaking to her in person for the very first time, he knew that if anyone could help Azula, it’d be her.

What he didn’t know, was that he’d begin to notice how utterly and undeniably amazing Y/N was.

She was kind to the servants, never failing to remember their names. She’d wish each and every one of them a happy birthday, even if she’d never spoken to them before.

The nation’s people were in love with her, thankful that she was brave enough to take on the challenge of spending one-on-one time with the princess, and for the pure goodness of her heart.

Zuko had become enthralled by her mentality and love for life on the first day of Azula’s treatment. However, he’d still been involved with Mai, leaving little to no room to explore friendships with other women.

But now that he and Mai had broken up, Zuko was free to make his own decisions without having to worry about her constant attitude. Mai was in no way a bad person, but she was a bad person for Zuko.

As he helped Y/N to her feet, Zuko’s face was flushed bright red. If he was being honest, she made him nervous—more nervous than any person had ever made him.

“That was a pretty bad fall,” he said sheepishly, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his robes to avoid Y/N seeing how much he was shaking. “Are you alright?”

Y/N smiled, her expression warming Zuko’s heart. “I’m perfectly fine, Fire Lord Zuko. You don’t need to worry, I’m quite used to falling over.”

He laughed, dropping his head to hide the deepening blush dawning his face. Zuko took a breath, preparing to end the disaster of an interaction so he couldn’t embarrass himself any further.

“Well then,” he started, beginning to back away from Y/N in the most natural way he could manage. “Is there anything I can do for you before you’re on your way?”

Y/N nodded her head, gesturing to the large kitchen space surrounding them. “There is actually!” She exclaimed, pulling out a wrinkled piece of paper from her bag.

“I wanted to surprise Azula with some of her favorite treats, but I’m afraid that I’m not sure what those are. This is all I have to work with.”

Zuko peered over her shoulder, studying the various names of deserts and snacks that had been carelessly written across the page. He knew by the handwriting that it’d been Azula that had given Y/N the list.

His sister hadn’t made it easy on Y/N, only providing a few of the many Fire Nation delicacies that she enjoyed—but Zuko was going to make sure that Y/N’s plan went perfectly.

“I’d be honored to help you with this, Y/N.” He grinned, taking the list from her hands and heading towards the exit. Y/N stood still behind him, shocked that Zuko would jump to the task of her aid.

She stumbled, doing her best to follow along without causing more havoc. “Are you sure?” She asked, concern laced in her voice. “Don’t you have any Fire Lord duties to attend to, Fire Lord Zuko?”

Zuko shook his head, stopping to a halt in order to be beside her. He looked into her eyes, trying to show that he was unbothered by his titles and that his duties could wait.

“Call me Zuko.” He requested, hating the way his authoritarian name sounded coming from her lips. “And of course I can join you. The Fire Nation can miss me for one day.”

Y/N’s face lit up, excited to hear that she had the honor of calling her leader by his first name. “Okay Zuko,” she trailed on, grabbing one of the woven baskets sitting on top of the counter. “I guess we’re spending the day together.”

Zuko nodded, grabbing a basket of his own before holding the door open for Y/N, which she gladly walked through, proud of herself for befriending the most famous member of the Fire Nation—who’d finally come up with his response.

“Then, I guess it’s a date.”

Year three, day eighty-seven.

Zuko cursed to himself, pricking his fingers on yet another rose bush. Little scratches and marks graced his fingertips, encouraging his hatred for the thorn covered stems.

He’d been in the royal gardens for what had seemed like hours, searching for the most perfect flower he could find. However, with spring time just beginning, there were few plants that had fully grown.

Normally Zuko wouldn’t be caught dead in the middle of the gardens, dirt all over his formal wear, and leaves caught in his traditional bun—but for Y/N, there was no telling the lengths Zuko would go to make her happy.

They’d been seeing each other romantically ever since their trip to the market in search of deserts. While their goal had been to provide food for Azula, he and his love had ended up spending all of their time at the beach.

Distractions had come early on, intrusive thoughts and worries erupted in Zuko’s mind. Y/N, having noticed this, had suggested that they worry about Azula another time.

He’d wholeheartedly agreed with her, happily getting to know and understand Y/N for the entirety of their night, quickly falling for her natural charms. It wasn’t long after that when Zuko had asked her on a real date, one without the original nerves.

Which brought them to now. He and Y/N’s relationship had progressed beautifully, Zuko could confidently say that he’d never felt as seen as he did with her.

His flaws complimented her strengths and vice versa. They both knew that they were nowhere near perfect on their own, Zuko could pick out each and every one of Y/N’s flaws without hesitation and he was positive that she could do the same for him.

Y/N wasn’t held on some high pedestal where she could do no wrong in Zuko’s mind. She was just a human girl with human qualities that he happened to fall in love with.

The girl that he loved who deserved the gift of the most amazing, gorgeous, and beautiful rose in the royal gardens. A rose of only the highest quality that Zuko’s eyes had finally landed on.

He reached down into the thorn filled bushes, wincing as he plucked out a single flower. His face lit up at the sight of the petal’s soft orange hue, seemingly in the midst of bloom.

The stem was free of the pesky thorns, smooth and welcoming of his grasp. The flower itself seemed to embody his love for Y/N perfectly, his love that he was planning on admitting to his girlfriend later in the day.

He hustled out of the gardens, quickly heading towards the kitchens where he’d informed the staff of his evening plans. Zuko had asked for the whole night off, wishing to be free of his lordly duties, and thankfully getting his wish granted.

The fresh breeze whipped across his cheeks, rejuvenating his senses as he rushed through the halls and past the courtyard, barely taking notice of the two hysterical girls sitting under Y/N’s favorite cherry blossom tree.

Zuko’s steps halted, being frozen in awe at the contagious beauty that was emitting from his girlfriend. Her smile lit up the whole space, outshining the sun itself in his eyes.

As Azula took notice of her lurking brother, Zuko frantically stuffed the rose in his pocket, crossing his fingers that neither his sister nor Y/N had seen his surprise.

He waved sheepishly at Azula, hoping that his posture looked natural and not at all shuddering in complete nerves. Zuko was counting down the seconds to which Azula would call him out for his strange behavior, silently thanking the spirits when she chose not to.

“Zuzu?” His sister called out, her voice echoing among the wind. Y/N perked up at the sound of his name, curiously looking out to see Zuko’s awkward position. “What is it that you need, brother?”

Zuko shrugged, internally panicking and attempting to come up with a reasonable excuse for interrupting Azula’s time with Y/N. Normally he’d never intrude on Azula’s Y/N hours, believing that she deserved to have fun with her best friend without his presence.

His feet began to rock beneath him, his heels alternating positions on the stone ground. Zuko gestured to Y/N, pointing at her in response. “I need to speak with, Y/N. I have some business that we need to cover, it’ll only take a second.”

Y/N stood up as fast as lightning, nearly falling over in doing so. Zuko chuckled at her eagerness, eager to talk to her as well not having had any time together earlier in the day.

“I heard that the Fire Lord requested me?” Y/N grinned, standing beside Zuko at a comfortable distance, not wanting to flaunt their relationship in front of Azula for some unknown reason.

Zuko brushed it off, knowing that whatever it was that Azula and Y/N had was nothing but a friendship. He didn’t want to be jumping to conclusions, no matter how confused he was about it all. Y/N would tell him whenever she was ready.

“What could the infamous Fire Lord need with someone such as myself?” Y/N pondered jokingly. Zuko rolled his eyes at her ridiculousness, ruffling her already unruly hair in doing so.

He felt a smile bear his cheeks, unable to contain the utter joy that came with being with Y/N. “I just wanted to tell you that you have plans for tonight.”

Y/N raised her eyebrows, giggling at the information she’d been given. “I have plans?” She repeated, her eyes sparkling in the sunlight. “And who might these plans be with?”

Zuko laughed as she went along with his ruse, her humor was also one of the million things that he loved about her. “I guess you’ll just have to wait and see, Lady Y/N.”

She shook her head in amusement while beginning to turn away from Zuko, feeling the need to return to Azula. She’d already kept the princess waiting for far too long, finally having gifted Azula with her surprise deserts. “I suppose I will.”

As her figure began to retreat, Zuko’s mind was at war with itself. On one hand, he wanted to wait until that night to reveal his gift to Y/N—but on the other, he couldn’t contain his excitement.

Choosing to follow his latter instinct, Zuko reached out to take hold of Y/N’s forearm. She let out a gasp, nearly running straight into his chest. Her eyes radiated with confusion, wondering what Zuko could possibly still need.

He took one of her hands into his, relishing in the feeling of the perfect fit, before revealing the blooming rose that had been stuffed into his robe’s pockets and offering it to the girl in front of him.

Y/N’s cheeks flushed bright red, becoming a much deeper hue than the rose itself. “What’s this for?” She asked, gently taking the rose from Zuko’s light grip.

Zuko watched as she spun the stem around in her palm, studying the beauty of the flower. He once again contradicted himself, most likely ruining his evening plans in doing so.

“For the sole reason that I love you.” He admitted shyly, praying that she felt the same. His heart thumped in his chest, jumping at the idea of her being in love with him.

Y/N reached forward to wrap her arms around his neck, her hands playing with the stray hairs on Zuko’s head. She pulled him in for a tight hug, before whispering into his ear.

“I figure you’d meant to save that for later.” He could hear the grin on her face through the tone of her voice. “I suppose I might as well save my words for later, considering you couldn’t yourself.”

With that, Y/N pressed a light kiss to his cheek, lingering slightly before skipping back towards Azula—who’d begun to look bothered by their intimate interaction.

Zuko’s hand caressed his own cheek, his mind doing a dance of its own at the news that Y/N felt the exact same way. This day was amazing, he’d determined. She was amazing.

Year four, day two-hundred and one.

Fear. That was the only emotion on Zuko’s mind. Fear of rejection. Fear of being alone. Fear of losing the person that mattered most in his life. The person who he considered to be up in the ranks of Iroh and Ursa.

It’d been over a year and a half since he and Y/N had begun dating and about one year past the date in which they’d admitted their unconditional love for one another.

Their relationship had only gotten more close and intimate since then, causing Zuko to come to the realization that he wanted to spend the rest of his life by her side. There was no one else for him, he was sure of it.

Of course, the only logical thing to do would be to propose, which had caused an immense amount of stress on Zuko’s life.

He’d gone and gotten Y/N’s parents blessing, his own family’s blessing, and his advisor’s blessing before going out to prepare for his proposal. Zuko had picked out the finest jeweler in the Fire Nation, helping design and create the perfect ring for his beloved.

Now, the only thing left to do was actually propose. Which was one of the few things Zuko was certain would happen that night. What he wasn’t certain of, was if Y/N would accept.

“Please, please, please.” Zuko mumbled to himself, standing outside of Y/N’s chambers, itching to knock on her door. Every nerve in his body was screaming with positivity. “Please let this go to plan.”

The entrance swung open, Zuko’s hand still midair. Y/N was bouncing in excitement, having suspicions of the big question Zuko was meaning to pop. She’d been waiting for hours for his arrival, sitting by the door with anticipation on her mind.

“Y/N!” Zuko yelped in surprise, nearly falling over at the sight of her face so close to his own. She laughed at his unbalanced posture, glad to see the tables had turned for once.

She held out her hand, taking his in her own and led him out of the hallway and into another. “So what’s the big surprise?” She wiggled her eyebrows, trying to suppress the large smile forming on her lips.

“A little bird told me that you asked the entire staff to keep out of the kitchens tonight?” She let out her smile at the sight of Zuko’s flushed face. He shook his head in disbelief, loving the fact that his staff adored her as much as he did.

“That little bird can’t keep a secret.” He wrapped an arm around her body, leading her towards their destination—the place where they’d first discovered their connection.

As they entered the kitchen, strong smells of freshly baked bread, warm wood logs, and most prominent of all—roses, filled the room. The aroma was overwhelming, dominating all of Y/N’s senses.

Zuko pulled out her chair for her, making sure that she was comfortable before taking a seat of his own. He took a deep breath, feeling the weight of the ring box in his pocket, before continuing on as if everything was normal.

His plans went off without a hitch. They shared a meal, some laughter, a few kisses here and there—now came the time for Zuko’s big question. The question that would determine their entire future.

“I love you so much.” Zuko breathed out, sitting beside her at the small table. He held her hand, pressing a light kiss to the back of it and stuffed his own into his pocket.

He took out the ring box, placing it on display in his grasp above the table. “I’m well aware that you know what I’m going to ask you.” He smiled, biting his lip and looking into her beautiful eyes.

Her expression was indescribable. Tears welled in her sockets, dripping slowly down her cheeks. Her hands were covering her mouth, trying to prevent any soft sobs from escaping her lips.

“And I just want to lay everything out, before you say yes.” He explained, furrowing his eyebrows. “I don’t want you agreeing to something that you may come to hate.”

Zuko set down the box, now taking both hands into his. He squeezed them, trying to calm down Y/N’s rapid breathing. “By saying yes, you’d not only become my wife, but a leader of my people.”

“They already look up to you so much, but as the Fire Lord’s wife—their expectations could get out of hand.” Y/N nodded at his words, taking in his reservations and understanding his concerns.

“I want you to accept this proposal for the sole reason that I love you.” He confessed, having confessed it a million times before. “I love you, and I want to spend the rest of my life with you.”

Y/N leaned forwards, cupping Zuko’s face in her palms before kissing him deeply. She poured all of her emotion into the single act, expressing her feelings and acceptance of his proposal.

“You are everything to me, Zuko.” Her eyes sparkled with tears, her hands shaking. She let her arms hang loosely around his neck, bringing him even closer. “I’d love to marry you.”

Zuko felt his eyes begin to water, sweeping her into a large hug, causing the both of them to lose their balance and fall to the floor. They laughed together, radiating happiness as Zuko slipped on the ring—marking their engagement.

Year four, day two-hundred and two.

Zuko rushed through the hallways, his footsteps rapidly hitting the pavement in urgency. Staff members and servants swerved to the side, trying their best not to get in the way of the famous Fire Lord.

His hair had come undone in the midst of his sprint, his robes flapping behind him in the wind. The rain was pouring outside of the palace, washing away the clear skies that had taken up the day’s morning.

The thunder rumbled, echoing down the vast walkways, filling the palace with dread. Worry had overcome Zuko’s mind—worry for the girl who’d become his fiancée just the night before.

“Please be alright.” He mumbled to himself, stepping into their shared bedroom which was filled with the sound of her beautiful soft sobs. Zuko dropped the soaking robes, letting them fall from his shoulders before calling out. “Y/N?”

The cries began to settle, quieting for only a moment before picking up again. “I’m in here!” He heard Y/N exclaim, choking back her sadness. “Although, I’m afraid I look like quite a mess.”

Zuko shook his head, his royal mannerisms being thrown out of the door the minute his love came into view. He knelt down beside her, holding her close as she continued to let out her agony.

“One of the servants interrupted my meeting earlier.” He said quietly, his arms wrapping around her shaking figure in an attempt to calm her nerves. “They said you made a bit of a ruckus at the beach.”

He pressed a kiss to her cheek, resting his head on top of hers. A deep sigh escaped his lips, confusion and concern being his only emotions in that moment. “What exactly did happen at the beach?”

Y/N breathing began to even out, her sobs subsiding as she relished in the feeling of being in Zuko’s warm arms. She stared at the engagement ring resting on her finger, as she began to give the explanation that she’d been dreading.

“I told Azula about what happened last night.” Her voice sounded numb, the usual merriment and joy was void from her tone. She gulped, preparing herself for Zuko’s inevitable shock. “And she wasn’t happy, at all.”

Zuko’s eyebrows furrowed, trying to piece together why Azula wouldn’t find excitement in their happiness. Their engagement was a definite sign of love between her brother and best friend. Why wouldn’t she want them to be happy?

“What’d she do?” He asked, trying to get definite answers that would suffice the questions on his mind. “Yell? Scream? Did she hurt you?”

“No.” Y/N shook her head absentmindedly, she turned to face Zuko in his embrace, her eyes bloodshot. She bit her lip, preventing any more cries from escaping, before taking a shallow breath.

“She kissed me.”

Nothing. That was all that was running through Zuko’s head. Absolutely nothing. He had no thoughts on the matter, no opinions, no ideas that had ever even come close to that explanation.

He’d always known that Azula and Y/N were close, far closer than typical best friends would be—but he’d never guess that his sister had had feelings for the love of his life.

He’d never have guessed that his love used to have feelings for her as well.

“It just happened, I don’t know how.” Y/N explained, her eyes beginning to brim with tears once again. Zuko shushed her, bringing her closer to his chest to show her that he would always be there to comfort her.

“One second we were laughing and talking and the next thing I know she kisses me and I’m storming away.” Y/N clenched her fists, closing her eyes whilst trying to repress the anger she’d felt in that moment.

“I just don’t understand why she did this now!” She exclaimed angrily, slamming her hand onto the soft floor of the carpet. “I don’t understand why she did this after she told me that she didn’t love me, two years ago!”

Zuko felt immense rage bubble up inside of his chest. Not at all angered at the idea of them loving one another, but at the notion that Azula had intentionally broken Y/N’s heart.

He took a hold of her shaking hands, suppressing her anger with the natural comfort his presence brought her. They sat in silence with nothing but the sound of the thunder outside, holding each other as if they were all they had left.

Year five, the last day.

Serenity. That was the only thing left to feel on the wide spectrum of Zuko’s emotions. He’d found the person that brought him inner peace, someone who could calm his fire, rather than smother it.

Y/n was his soulmate, there was no denying that. He knew it, she knew it—spirits, the entire world knew it. There had never been two people more overwhelmingly compatible in all of Fire Nation history.

With the support of his people behind him, Zuko and Y/N had felt no need to keep their engagement a secret. Their only reservations being the topic of Azula, which was a sore subject on both of their minds.

Neither of them had been in contact with his sister in the past few months, afraid of pressing the issue further and making more of a mess. Y/N wanted to be on good terms with Azula, perhaps even friends again.

Azula, however, had refused Y/N’s requests for any meetings or sessions. She’d caved herself in her room, only allowing servants to come in and out with meals.

Zuko hadn’t seen his sister behave in such a manner since they were just the two little children of royalty, pitted against each other. He hadn’t seen her like this since she had her spiral.

In all honesty, Zuko was worried about Azula. He saw his sister’s improvements and the good nature breaking down her bad—but without Y/N, he didn’t know if she could continue the path upwards on her own.

Her struggles would come witness later today as Azula had accepted their formal invitation to the wedding. The wedding that they had specifically scheduled on Azula’s last day of rehabilitation for the sole purpose that she could attend.

Not that Zuko was even positive that Azula wanted to attend the ceremony. He feared that his sister was still lost in her feelings for Y/N, and wouldn’t have the strength to be present.

That’d been on the back of his mind all morning. While he was getting his robes fitted, his hair tied up—even while he was reuniting with his old friends, the friends he hadn’t seen in months.

Azula was the only thing he could think about, because while he never openly admitted it—his sister did matter to him. She actually mattered more than most things, and her feelings for his soon-to-be wife brought Zuko a sadness that he would never be rid of.

Knowing that his little sister would never be able to be with the person she loved most in the world was heartbreaking, and knowing that he was the reason behind that—it was just wrong.

Their lives hadn’t been fair growing up and he’d expected adulthood to be somewhat better than the hell they’d lived, but life wasn’t like that. It simply wasn’t.

There’s good and bad in the world. Sometimes the good outshining the bad and other times where the bad overwhelms the good, crushing it under its darkness—but despite that the world still needs balance, never tipping the scale too far one way.

With these thoughts constantly running through his brain, taught to him by Iroh in his own darkest moments, Zuko knew that Azula had a happy ending. Someone, somewhere out there, would be the person to make her happy.

He knew this by simply knowing her, and knowing the new person she’d become. He knew by the look on her face as Y/N walked down their rose covered aisle, her veil trailing behind her against the petals.

Azula’s expression was solemn, heartbreak and sadness rolled into one. However, there was a gleam in her eyes at the sight of Y/N’s smile, knowing that she’d never been the one to make her grin like that.

One glance, one second of eye contact between the two siblings gave Zuko the notion that Azula would be okay. She’d grow from this and continue on with her life, loving every second as the new and improved person she’d become.

The feeling of serenity had finally devoured Zuko’s concern, inklings of content reached his soul, settling his worries and letting his full attention focus on the beautiful girl standing in front of him.

The beautiful girl who was the perfect fit to his broken puzzle. Y/N, his perfect person—that he was now able to call his wife.

TAGS: @practicallylivesonline @cherryskyies @shell-bells-ringding @xapham @mochminnie @bombardia @lammello @user12345321 @xxspqcebunsxx @missmorosis @mysticpeacecrusade @akiris

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ragingbookdragon · 3 years

Text

The Start Of Forever

Asra x M!Apprentice

Word Count: 1.8K Warnings: Explicit Language

Author’s Note: *Me banging pots and pans around to attract readers* GET YOUR ASRA FICS! COME GET YOUR FIRST MEETING FICS! HOT AND FRESH! Enjoy! -Thorne

The mask fit uncomfortably across his face and he reached up, but quickly clenched his hand into a fist to keep himself from touching it. Quit adjusting the mask. He thought critically, smiling at a young couple that walked in front of him. Their eyes drifted to the silver sword hilt peeking above his shoulder, and with a quiet gasp, they shuffled out of his way. He wanted to assure them he wasn’t there to harm anyone, but after taking in the wide berth they gave him, he thought better of it and he kept his mouth shut. He continued to smile at those who made their way past, hoping they ignored him, but given that he was wearing black leather armor with silver accents in the middle of a party full of richly dressed patrons, he knew they weren’t going to. Where is he? Scanning the floor for his older friend, he inwardly sighed, reminding himself that masks were meant to hide identities, not make them known.

He planted his feet firmly in the ballroom floor and shut his eyes, feeling the energy of his magic pool around him before he let it ebb outwards, hoping it would pick up his friends’ aura. It met something cool, not the one he was looking for, and he felt his brows furrow as the two auras began to mingle together. It guided him forward and with a curious step, he followed, but before he could move any farther, a hand clamped onto his shoulder and despite his training, he jerked, eyes snapping open to look at whoever had him, and whether he needed to remove their hand for them.

At the sight of the gray bearded man, a relieved smile crossed his lips and he greeted, “Mettius! I’ve been looking all over for you!”

The older man grinned, shifting to shake the others hand. “(Y/N)! It’s good to see you!” Mettius let go of (Y/N)’s hand, turning him by the shoulders to march him forwards. “Come, there is someone important I must introduce you to.”

“First you make me come to the masquerade, then you drag me around to meet your friends. Are you trying to drive me back home?” (Y/N) snorted at Mettius’ expression when he turned, catching sight of the glare.

“It’s one night, (Y/N). You’ll survive the flow of the unknown for a mere few hours.”

“I’ve better things to do though. Jobs to finish, hunts to complete. Coins to—”

“You’re going to take it easy for one night and enjoy the Vesuvian Masquerade whether you like it or not. Then you can wander back to the store and monster hunts.”

(Y/N) rolled his eyes, but conceded, asking, “So, who’s this someone you want me to meet?”

“He’s right here.” As they stopped, (Y/N) turned back around, eyes going wide as he stared at the Count and his party.

Immediately, he bowed his head. “Count Lucio, my Lord. It’s an honor.”

The haughty laugh that left the Count irked him deep inside, though he didn’t let it show on his face as he lifted his eyes. “So Mettius, this is the hunter you’ve been speaking of?” (Y/N) cast a quick glance to his friend, letting him speak.

“Yes, my Lord. May I introduce (Y/N) (L/N), hunter and sorcerer.”

The eyes of the entire masquerade seemed to follow (Y/N), who simply offered a polite smile in return; Lucio looked him over, holding out his hand for him to shake. He did so, the corners of his mouth threatening to fall when he felt the violent aura merge with his. As soon as he could, (Y/N) let go of Lucio’s hand, hoping his magic would purge the evil crawling up his forearm.

“Mettius has spoken of you quite a lot (Y/N). He says you’re a hunter who slays mythical beasts.”

(Y/N) frowned at that, turning to his friend. “I’m afraid Mettius has given the wrong impression, Count Lucio. I do hunt mythical beasts, but I don’t slay them.”

The Count barked a laugh, the others following in suit. “Why not? They’re beasts! Don’t they deserve to be slain?”

The irritation he had felt began to boil into something worse, but he countered coolly, “A majority of the beasts I hunt have been cursed, Count Lucio. I don’t slay them because I would be murdering the innocent people who’ve been given such a fate.” The laughter felt silent as Lucio stared (Y/N) down, but he didn’t yield, meeting the glower head-on.

“Hardly ever do I have to raise my weapon to a contract I’ve taken. There are always other options rather than needless slaughter.” (Y/N) opened his mouth to continue when the cool aura he’d met moments before returned, beckoning him away.

His mouth snapped shut when Mettius’ hand curled around his shoulders and the man offered, “I apologize for the boy’s tone, my Lord. He means no disrespect. Simply takes the job very seriously.” Lucio cocked an eyebrow and sneered, disregarding the two of them with a wave of his hand.

The older man pulled him away and spun on him, hissing, “Have you no care what comes out of your mouth (Y/N)? People have been imprisoned on less than what you’ve said!”

(Y/N) clenched his jaw, turning to glare out the window as he muttered, “It wasn’t my intention to offend, simply offer correct explanation.”

“Your explanation might cost you your reputation.”

He glanced back at Mettius, fingers twitching with the unfamiliar aura again. “My reputation precedes farther than Vesuvia. Even if he ruined me here, I’d still have jobs all across the lands.” His gaze drifted to his hand where he visualized the aura, a light lavender.

Mettius sighed. “It’s not about being ruined here. It’s about—What are you looking for?”

(Y/N) looked back at him and tipped his head. “I’m sorry Mettius, but I’m sensing another magician somewhere in here.” He raised a hand, waving him off. “I’ll be back around soon.” Despite his friend’s pleas, he spun on his heel, weaving in and out of the masqueraders to follow the aura.

The arches of the garden came into view, and with a slip against the wall to avoid the patrolling guards, he stepped in, quietly following the path. As the stone walkway began to widen, he caught sight of a fountain beneath a willow tree, but what was surprising was the young man sitting at the edge, fingers softly gliding through the water. (Y/N) crept over, taking in his image, the fluffy ivory hair and golden-brown skin. He wore a refined lilac robe, embellished with rubies and gold accents, and while it was beautiful, (Y/N) could tell a glamor when he saw one. The thing that caught his attention the most was the mask the young man wore, that of the fox. Sly, cunning, tricky.

The descriptions swam through his mind as he stood behind him, and he bent over, whispering into the man’s ear, “I’m sure you’ve got a hold on your magic well enough, but I’ve never seen someone call out to another magic wielder as desperately as you are.”

The ivory haired magician let out a startled yelp as he spun around, (Y/N) leaned forward, curling his hand in the front of the man’s robe to keep him from falling back into the water. They stared at each other from behind their masks, (Y/N)’s eyes meeting lilac ones.

He grinned, pulling the magician forward. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

A dusting of red crossed the man’s cheeks and he retorted, “You didn’t scare me.”

(Y/N) loosened his grip, gesturing to the stone edge; the magician nodded, and he took a seat, immediately reaching up to his face. “I hope you don’t mind. I’ve had enough of this mask for one evening.” The silk ties came undone from behind his head and he pulled the mask off, sighing contently.

“You don’t like masks?” the young man asked curiously.

(Y/N) shook his head as he set it beside him, then motioned to the sword on his back. “In my line of work, it’s best to be as honest as one can be.” He eyed the magician’s robes. “I don’t have time for glamor’s and tricks, though I know how to use them.” The man huffed a laugh and (Y/N) stuck his hand out. “(Y/N) (L/N).”

The magician stared at him a moment then took his hand, squeezing it as he responded, “Asra Alnazar.” He pulled his hand away. “What is your line of work?”

He shrugged and reclined on the stone edge, hands on either side of his body as he looked upwards. “Which job do you want to hear about? The easy one or the hard one?”

Asra chuckled and crossed one of his legs underneath his robes. “How about both?”

(Y/N) grinned and glanced at him. “When I’m in Vesuvia, I’m a part-time apothecary for my aunt. When I’m away, I’m a master hunter.”

“Hmm,” the magician cooed, eyes narrowing with interest. “And what do you hunt?”

“Monsters, mythical beasts, animals.” Shrugging again, he said, “I hunt pretty much everything.”

Something bitter twisted in Asra’s face. “Seems like you’d be a perfect fit for Count Lucio’s triage of nobles.”

(Y/N) barked a laugh and countered, “Hardly.” He frowned. “That bastard has his head shoved so far up his ass he can’t even tell the difference between a monster and a person that’s been cursed.”

“Ah, I take it you’re an ethical hunter then.”

“I prefer the term neutral good, but yes, that’s essentially it.” He met Asra’s gaze. “I prefer to save those I can. Whatever the cost.”

Asra frowned. “Seems like a good way to get screwed over.”

(Y/N) nodded. “Oh, it is, but I know my way around people like that.”

“Oh? And that is?”

He grinned. “By demanding my payment first.” That made Asra laugh and (Y/N) felt something flutter in his chest at the sound. Before he could say another word, his name was yelled over the hedges.

“(Y/N)! Where are you!”

They glanced towards the sound of the voice and he sighed before he rose to his feet and began tying the mask back around his head.

“Apologies Asra, but I’m needed,” he offered and Asra stood as well.

“No, I understand.” He stuck his hand out. “It’s been a pleasure to speak with you, (Y/N).”

He glanced at Asra’s hand, and with a smirk, he took it in his and raised it to his lips, pressing a kiss to the back of it. “The pleasure’s all mine, Asra,” he flirted and as he pulled away and turned, he called over his shoulder, “My aunt’s shop is in the Center City district. I’ll be there until the end of the week. See you around.”

#asra x reader #asra x reader imagines #asra x reader imagine #asra imagines #asra imagine #asra #asra alnazar #asra x mc #asra x apprentice #asra x apprentice imagines #asra x apprentice imagine #the arcana #the arcana imagines #the arcana imagine #arcana #arcana imagines #arcana imagine #lucio morgasson #count lucio

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reigning-rhapsody · 3 years

Text

Bittersweet

Strifesodos, past Gengeal; 2841 words

No TWs

The ear piercing noises of pots and pans and what sounded like now unusable plates briefly silenced the patrons crowding Seventh Heaven and let about everyone in the bar flinch in unison- all but one. Cloud merely quirked up a brow as his head shot towards the kitchen where the newest member of the staff, though it had been months since he’d joined and kept some work away from the ever so eager-to-work Tifa, had been on duty to cook for the evening.

I am, by no means, a great cook, he’d warned them at first, which turned out to be more than true, but his tastebuds didn’t lie, nor did his memory. He could tell what needed more salt and what had to stay cooking on the stove just a bit more until it was at its best, and he knew quite a few recipes for someone that, apparently, was no good as a chef. He wants to evade working any more than just as a bartender, Cloud assumed at first exactly because of that, but as good as the man was when it came to acting, as he had proven quite a few times, what he told was no lie.

Tifa insisted he should try cooking, and Gaia, it was worse than Marlene’s mud-pies from when she was younger. According to Barret, at least, who entered the establishment with a growling belly longing for a meal right as their chef in the making had finished his… attempt. A burnt pot and sore stomachs were the victims in the aftermath of Genesis Rhapsodos’ cooking despite everyone who passed him in the process paying attention to him wearing the glasses he was supposed to have sitting on his nose.

If one wanted to trust the promises given by Tifa, who insisted that teaching her new co-worker how to make some proper dishes was essential, he was a fast learner, and occasionally he even suggested to make a few meals he had memorized. No one knew as to why it was that he had recipes in mind, but no one bothered to ask either. One thing was clear though, the guy sure liked apples.

“Cloud, can you check on him?”, Tifa’s voice rung behind the blond addressed by it, barely able to be heard as the chatter and laughter picked up among the patrons again. She was busy, carrying two trays with food and drinks and a plate on one of her outstretched arms on top of it, so it was understandable she didn’t even wait for an answer and moved to the table that awaited their order. His next delivery would be in about twenty minutes and as slow as he could make himself walk, to evade whatever mess just occurred behind that door a few feet ahead of him would was impossible. Better get it over with quickly.

With a sigh, Cloud turned fully to face the direction of the kitchen and closed the gap that separated him from the door with a few swift steps slipping past filled tables. The blond swung the door open while his unoccupied hand rested in the pocket of his baggy pants. “Hey, the hell-?” He started, cutting himself off as his Mako infused gaze fell upon a kneeling Genesis staring at the floor like he was about to propose to it. Or rather, to the soup on the ground surrounding an upside down pot, porcelain pieces of what once upon a time were bowls circling the romanticized mess like ivory rose petals.

Genesis didn’t look up, nor did he answer, nor did he acknowledge Cloud and pretended the delivery boy wasn’t even present. He picked up the shattered vessels meant for the customers to eat what he begrudgingly prepared out of, seemingly doing his utmost to keep his eyes averted, or fully hidden to begin with.

Cloud narrowed his eyes and stepped forward so the door could fall shut behind him, swaying in and out of the room a few more times and allowing whatever curious mind sat in the much busier space of Seventh Heaven to catch a last glimpse of the scene playing out in the no-customer space, although who was sunken on the ground being covered by Cloud standing in front of him. He approached Genesis, both hands now in the confided space of his roomy pockets as he simply stared down at who he usually had to crane his head back for to make eye contact. Seeing someone who held himself so highly on the floor picking up shards with his own hands, it was amusing in a slightly sadistic way to say the least.

He knew that speaking up would only end in a discussion, then an argument and then a passive aggressive verbal fight that could break out into something physical at any given second. At least it sounded like that, anyway, but if it was the truth stood in the stars since the pair usually got interrupted when they got into another of their near daily banters. So he kept quiet and stayed put until the slender ginger would say the first word. And so he eventually did, pausing his task to exhale a defeated sigh and with what was left of his pride for the day.

And yet, he didn’t look up. “Not. A word.”, Genesis punctuated with a clearly irritated voice and Cloud just replied with an entertained huff. “Need help?”

“No.” “Uh-huh.” He didn’t have the time to put up with the mage’s stubbornness and crouched down, reaching out to grab the pot whilst his eyes remained on the culprit of the ruined meal. Finally eye-to-eye, Cloud noticed the missing black frame supposed to reach behind Genesis’ ears, “So, let me guess…”, the younger man started, turning the pot around and holding it by the handles, “You knocked this all over because you’re not wearing the glasses?”

That earned him a venomous glare, but an exposed one. Unlike Genesis’, his own vision was just fine, and thus not spotting the black supposed to be added to the color scheme around his face wasn’t just an illusion. “I don’t need them,”, the redhead barked back, “As I’ve told you before. You all are being dramatic over nothing at all.”

Hearing him out of all people judging what crosses the line of being too dramatic made Cloud snort and shake his head at how ridiculous that was, much to the wannabe-cook’s further annoyance. They locked eyes, three triplets and one glassy, milky-white outcast cataract.

The cracks scarring the porcelain skin roped themselves from his left eye over the same side of his cheek, shimmering through the applied makeup that attempted to hide them in vain as it had been vanishing with the sweat glistening on the man’s face from standing in a hot kitchen for hours on. Like veins dotted with thorns, they reached down his neck, reaching over the visible parts of his equally pale chest that was exposed due to the button up Genesis wore being partially undone. He could only guess how much of his body they tainted. They are what caused that vision problems too, as he’d been told by Genesis.

“I know I’m just mesmerizing, but make yourself useful if you refuse to let me handle this on my own.” An arrogant voice pierced Cloud’s zoned out thoughts and he blinked himself back into reality, not having the best experiences with anything piercing him. If it wouldn’t have been a vocal trigger that brought him back though, it would’ve been the smell of something burning.

“Agh- shit!” Genesis cursed under his breath and got on his feet again, groaning at his aching legs that fell asleep staying in the same uncomfortable position for some time. Cloud followed and watched the man place down the pieces of the bowls he’d already picked up next to the stove where a pancake was smelling like the victims of his flames- although it wasn’t on purpose for once.

Another swear muttered as he turned off the heat, or at least what Cloud assumed to be one since it was spoken in the ginger’s native language, and grabbed a spatula that rested on the workspace to his right to try and scratch the pitch blackness off the bottom of the pan. After some hard work was put into saving what could be saved, or what he hoped to save at least, that being the pan, Genesis put the inedible dessert on a nearby plate flipped over.

Both pairs of eyes in the room stared at it in silence, Cloud approaching with caution like what was sitting there was a Behemoth about to jump up and eat both of them whole whilst minding the puddle of broth, veggies and meat on the floor. He then stood next to the creator of the ��food’ and stared it down. Roasted darker than his outfit, the smell was absolutely unappetizing and nothing looked appealing about it at all. It even took he blond a bit to figure out that there were apple slices mixed into the darkness, swallowed by it like stars during a cloudy night sky.

“Well… not that it was satisfactory, anyway.” Genesis admitted in defeat, much to Cloud’s surprise, although his ego must have been knocked down a few from their earlier confrontation. He might even go as far and claim he saw the slightest, embarrassed blush tinting the ex-SOLDIER’s pale cheeks, though mentioning it would only result in more than just a pancake ending up scorched.

“How the hell did you survive this long?”, Cloud asked with a wrinkled nose.”

“Thank you for your, as always, comforting words.”

“And what do you want me to say?”

“Nothing. It’s-”, Genesis took a deep breath, tightening his ponytail by dividing it into two strings in his hands and pulling, “There was never a need for me to learn how to cook. As a child, we had someone that cooked for us, and when I went to Midgar I first lived off of cafeteria food.. which I, eventually, resented and blatantly refused to eat. Then it was takeout, mostly, and once we became firsts we got an apartment together, so I had Angeal cooking for me.”

The drop of his name briefly silenced Genesis who still had his leer cast upon the failed attempt of a pancake. His lips thinned and he swallowed dryly, hands placed flat on the surface of the workspace. He exhaled a breath through his nose and his shoulders twitched weakly in a half-chuckle. “‘You’ll stay out of the kitchen when I’m cooking. You’re banned from the stove, Gen.’”, Genesis mocked a deeper voice to the best of his abilities, a bittersweet smile curling on his lips, “Sugar sweet, no? I never needed to learn how to make anything for myself. It was a thing I had done for me, and people never minded, either.”

“Not that that would have gotten me to start learning.” He added after another few seconds filled with nothing but the mechanical whirring of the fridge a few feet away from them. “Angeal, he uh… He loved cooking, but baking even more. The pie he made was to kill for, and whenever he made it, I would sit there and watch. Talk to him, sometimes even help. Providing he let me, that is.”

Finally, he looked up again and turned his head to look at the other swordsman. “No matter what I will make, it won’t live up to what he did.”, his head then hung low once more, “Nor would it satisfy him.” The normally so confident and boasting voice, teasing and preaching highly poetic metaphors nobody but him understood, grew lower in volume, quieter with every word vocalized and brought to live by it, although it sounded dead, unenthusiastic. It wasn’t a voice that fit Genesis.

“Or me.” His hands visibly gripped the edges of the big table harder, like he was trying to ground himself so he wouldn’t fall into a void that existed to eat him up from the inside, fill him with the worst of what life had to offer. His eyes fell shut, knuckles turning white and his fingers shook ever so slightly until he straightened his posture to one that equaled that of a candle and let out a shaky breath between agape lips, mismatching eyes fluttering open again. “I should clean this up now. Don’t you have a delivery to fulfill, hm?” Genesis ushered, his intent to get Cloud out and not show any more weakness than what just occurred beyond noticeable. It went under his skin, let the hair on the back of his neck rise and spread goosebumps across his arms.

It was… so damn depressing to witness.

“Ah. Ah- yeah, right.” Cloud reminded himself and reaches for the PHS in his pocket, flipping it open to check the time. He had a few more minutes. Watching Genesis move to a cabinet where a few kitchen towels were stored from the corner of his eye, the blond warrior pocketed his phone again, ran a hand through his artfully spiked hair, took a deep breath that let his chest puff out, counted his blessings and took off a glove with his teeth to grab the round little mistake sprawled out on the plate. Leather glove dropped in his lowered hand once it returned from brushing back the sunny mess on his head, he made sure the golden-brown side was the one facing the floor and placed it against his lips. He swallowed, opened his mouth and took a generous bite.

The first few times of chewing were experimental, eyebrows knitted together and eyes nearly pinched shut, though he discovered that keeping the part which wasn’t tainted by the lord of the Underworld and all evil himself judging by the pitch blackness trademarking it did make it a lot more bearable. Whenever some of the burnt bit brushed over his tongue he just gave it his best to swallow that piece, his tastebuds welcoming the sweet flavor of the apples dancing over it whenever he was lucky to have some in his mouth the more bites he took.

Two down, about two or another three to go. It wouldn’t be a chore to eat it if it weren’t for the burnt side, he had to admit, so Tifa wasn’t lying when she said he improved and was indeed a fast learner.

“You’re insane, Strife.”

Cloud nearly choked on the load of pancake occupying his mouth the moment Genesis caught him forcing down the food. He cleared his throat and properly swallowed what was left on his tongue. He ‘tch’ed, glaring at the dessert like it was his worst enemy. “I didn’t eat anything yet today’s all. Don’t want Tifa to get on my ass for not eating again.” “And how would she know?” “She… just does- you should be glad I’m making what she’ll say to you less worse.” The sunny haired man silenced himself by ripping another huge piece out off the pancake, so much it only left one last bite instead of a possible three. Although his angles eyebrows raised into a less hostile expression when he saw the slightest bit of a smile growing on the auburnet’s plush cherry lips. He stopped chewing for just a moment, taking in- no, admiring what he did by refusing to let someone sulk and keep self loathing. “Get out, or I’ll tell Tifa all of what just occurred was your and only your fault.”

Cloud playfully rolled his eyes, though did as told and moved towards the door, no intentions of a further exchange made- not on his side, at least. “Oh, also-”, he was stopped by Genesis speaking up once more, coming to an abrupt halt and half turning around, “You should pay me a visit when I am on cooking duty again sometime, maybe I have more blissfully tasting food for you to devour.”

Cloud snorted, “No promises.”

“Don’t you speak to me with a full mouth, learn some manners.”, Genesis retorted with a playful hum before truly dismissing the other with a flamboyant wave of the hand that didn’t hold a soup-soaked towel.

This time truly exiting, Cloud pushed the last small bite of the pancake into his mouth and chewed with stuffed cheeks, hands returning to his pockets as he eyed the bar counter where the delivery was stored. Forcing down the rest of the half-bitter-half-sweet mistake, he glanced over his shoulder one last time to see Tifa hurriedly moving into the kitchen. He exhaled in amusement at the distant chatter coming from behind the door swaying door before it fell shut completely and blocked out the conversation though. Cloud moved behind the bar to crouch down and grab the package that needed to be driven to Junon and set on his way out of the warm and cozy confinement to let the cold air hit him full on.

Genesis sounded more like himself again, he noted.

#book of scintillation | writing #savior's sickness | cloud strife #and in the end all that kept me sane was you | strifesodos #I FINALLY GAVE THEM A TAG #not my proudest but it works #no idea if cloud is well written i am Not a cloud mun #forgive me cloud muns that read this #but STRIFESODOS!!!!#they live in my brain my fucking god #recalcitrant redemption | sideverse #burning passion | shipping #strifesodos #genesis rhapsodos #cloud strife

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wistfulcynic · 4 years

Text

The Eternal and Unseen (2 of 3)

(there is additional chapter art from the amazing @carpedzem further down, I just wanted to use this one again because I love it so ❤️❤️❤️❤️)

SUMMARY: Misthaven University is an ancient place, and as all ancient places do it guards some secrets. Secrets such as Emma Swan and Killian Jones, a fae princess and her royal guardian, whose true identities are well concealed behind the guise of average college students—if not quite well enough to foil the plot their enemies have hatched against them. Now their friends will have to come together, putting their own differences aside to battle an enemy that threatens them all—fae and vampire and werewolf together… plus one very baffled human named David.

For @cssns

a/n: This chapter fought me every step of the way, and it’s a beast at nearly 9k. Settle in, and I hope it doesn’t disappoint. All manner of love and adulation to @thisonesatellite for being the rock she is, and to @ohmightydevviepuu and @katie-dub for their brilliance and encouragement. And @spartanguard and @optomisticgirl for the prompts that this monster of a fic now barely resembles, but hey what can you do?

Finally, please everyone flail like mad at @carpedzem and her perfect eye for detail and characterisation in the art for this chapter:

(WHAT’S IN THE BEAKER, YOU ASK? LET’S FIND OUT)

AO3 | Tumblr part one

CHAPTER TWO:

The sunlight shone through the window and right on his face, bright and warm, though not enough of either to wake him up. It was Harriet who managed to rouse him, finally, after several minutes spent stroking his forehead with her fronds and patting his cheek with her leaf. When this produced no effect aside from some incoherent muttering and limp attempts to push her leaf away, the plant rustled with a botanical sigh and gave him a sharp smack upside the head. With her thorns out.

“Ow!” cried Killian, jerking into abrupt and painful consciousness. “What the bloody hell—Harriet! Lass, I thought we were friends.”

Harriet smacked him again.

“Oi, seriously! What—” He broke off as Harriet unfolded her larger leaves from where they had been wrapped around him, cradling his body protectively, and Killian realised he was lying sprawled on the floor of Emma’s dorm room and that his head ached like a son of a bitch.

“What happened?” he groaned. Harriet’s leaf brushed his face again and then caressed the back of his head and Killian followed its path tentatively with his fingers. They encountered a tender, painful lump at the base of his skull and a nasty gash in his scalp, coated in a springy, jelly-like substance that he recognised by its texture and aroma as Harriet’s sap.

“Harriet... did you heal me?” he asked her. She inclined her leaf in a gracious nod, and Killian felt a lump rise in his throat that could almost rival the one on his head. “Thank you, lass,” he said, stroking the edge of her frond with his fingertip as Emma had taught him. “I’m very grateful. But why did you need to? What happened here?”

Harriet tapped him on his temple, gently but with a clear rebuke. “Aye, I’m trying to remember,” he replied wryly. “But cut a man a bit of slack, would you, when he’s been thoroughly coshed and spent the night on a cold stone floor.”

Harriet shrugged and Killian pressed his fingers to his eyes, willing his brain to kick into some kind of gear. “I remember going to the pub last night with Emma,” he said slowly. “We had a few drinks and we wanted food, but the pub kitchen had closed so we came back here... we were going to order pizza but then there was a knock on the door... I went to answer it, and she joked that maybe the pizza place had read our minds… I turned to look at her as I opened the door, and then… then… oh, bloody hell.”

His eyes had been scanning the room as he spoke, taking in the upended chair and the books fallen from their shelves, the overturned plant pots and shattered glass vials. But this chaos, though alarming, was not what caught his attention.

Beside the door, half-buried beneath spilled soil and shards of glass, lay an object. A small, purple object, roughly round and attached to a long and slender strip of leather. An object that Killian had last seen glowing faintly against Emma’s pale skin as he’d trailed kisses down her belly.

With a choking cry he scrambled on his hands and knees across the room and picked it up. The power within it hummed through him, and agonising terror sank its claws deep into his chest.

“Bloody hell, Emma,” he whispered.

David was lingering over his coffee with a gentle smile on his face, listening to the bright sound of Snow and Ruby’s voices as they chatted over breakfast. Snow’s voice in particular with its sweet tones soothed him as much as it did her birds. If he could start every day like this, David thought, watching as the bird on her shoulder hopped down her arm to peck at the pile of seeds she’d left next to her plate—with good coffee and Snow’s voice and the occasional trill of birdsong... well, he wouldn’t hate it.

That thought had barely even crept into his mind when the door to the dining hall burst open and Killian appeared, one hand pressed against his head and the other clenched in a tight fist. He took two steps forward then stumbled, groaning, swaying precariously on feet that seemed reluctant to hold him up. Coffee sloshed over David’s hand as he moved to stand but Ruby and Graham were far quicker, darting forward with inhuman speed and managing, barely, to catch Killian before he collapsed to the floor.

“What happened to you?” cried Ruby, as she and Graham took Killian by the arms and helped him into a chair.

“Emma,” Killian gasped. “Emma.”

“She’s not here—” Ruby began, but Killian shook his head.

“Gone,” he whispered.

“What?”

Killian closed his eyes and appeared to marshal his strength, and when he opened them again they were frantic. “Emma’s gone,” he said, in a far stronger voice. “Taken.”

The room went utterly still and utterly, utterly silent.

That vague sense of unease, of foreboding, that had been simmering in David’s gut for weeks flared now into a full and rolling boil. He set his coffee cup down on the table with a thunk and glared at Killian. “What do you mean she’s been taken?” he demanded.

“More importantly,” said Snow, her voice barely audible and her eyes wide with fear. “Who took her?”

Killian’s expression darkened and his closed fist clenched tighter. “I don’t know,” he said. “I never saw their face.”

The eerie silence shattered as everyone began to talk at once.

“But that’s impossi—”

“No one could just—”

“—even with magic!”

“How could someone just take her?” Graham’s voice rose over the din. “How did they get past you?”

As quickly as they rose up the voices fell silent again, awaiting Killian’s reply.

Killian’s expression went, impossibly thought David, darker still. “They coshed me,” he snarled.

“They what?” David demanded.

“Hit me on the head with something hard, a stick or a bat or—hell, it could have been a frying pan, I don’t bloody know.”

The silence in the room took on a baffled quality as Killian’s glare was met with a wall of blank and uncomprehending stares.

“And that… worked?” ventured Ruby.

“Of course it worked!” Killian snapped. “I’m immune to magic, not blunt objects.”

Victor’s face wore an expression that David recognised as one he often had himself, whenever he tried to do math in his head. “But they just—” he gave his hand a vague wave. “Hit you?”

Killian shot him a mocking look. “Yes, they ‘just hit me,’” he sneered. “It was a more than adequate measure, I assure you.”

Snow placed a steaming cup of tea in front of him and Killian’s sneer faded to pained gratitude. “Thanks, love,” he murmured, and took a long sip before turning back to Victor. “It’s a human strategy, yes, but you have to admit an elegantly simple one. You lot would have tied yourselves in knots trying to work out a way to defeat me by magic, they just whacked me upside the head. I’d admire it if it weren’t so bloody painful.”

“Emma gave me a jar of headache powder a while back, let me go get you some,” said Ruby sympathetically and Killian once again nodded his gratitude.

“Thank you, lass, I’d appreciate it.”

As Ruby hurried out the door Graham looked at David, his brow furrowed. David was by this point mightily confused and so full of questions they tumbled over each other in his brain. Before he could even begin to sort through them, Graham spoke.

“So whoever took Emma was human,” he mused. David frowned, surprised to hear his friend wasting time with such a remark. Of course they were human. What else would they be?

He fully expected to hear another mocking reply, but Killian simply nodded. “Aye,” he said. “One of them, at least.”

Graham’s expression sharpened. “There were more than one?”

“There had to have been.” Killian’s clenched fist trembled as he pressed it against the tabletop, his knuckles stark white. “No single human could have taken Emma, not alone. Not from her own bloody room. There are distinct signs of a struggle—it’s pretty clear both she and the plants fought back.” His mouth pressed into a grim line. “I don’t know what we’re dealing with here but it’s big,” he said hoarsely. “And what’s more, Emma knew it was big.”

“How do you know that?” asked Graham.

“She left this.”

Killian wrenched his fist open to reveal a stone, a deep purple stone with a shimmering glow that seemed to hover over his palm. It was roughly round, as though carved hastily by hand, with a small hole hewn through it slightly off-centre, threaded with a leather cord. It looked to David’s eyes thoroughly unremarkable aside from that unsettling glow, the sort of pendant you find on a three-for-one sale in a shop that also sells patchouli candles and things woven out of hemp.

“What is it?” he asked, but his words were drowned out by the collective gasp from the others.

“Is that what I think it is?” Victor’s voice held genuine fear.

“So Emma has it,” Snow breathed in awe.

“She did,” Killian replied grimly. “She wore it around her neck. She never took it off, and I mean never, not for anything. Until now.”

“But what does that mean?” Victor’s whispered question was drowned out by the sound of the door opening. Ruby strode through it, trailed by a rumpled and sleepy August.

“Hey guys. I woke August up and filled him in,” Ruby said casually, as though August wasn’t the one person in the dorm she actively avoided and never spoke to except in anger. She strolled over to Killian and held out a small paper packet. “Here’s your powde—fuck me sideways.” Her eyes went wide and the packet fell from her nerveless fingers. “Is that—”

“Aye,” said Killian, “it is.” He picked up the packet and tore it open, tipped the contents onto his tongue and chased it with a swallow of tea.

It’s what, damn it? David’s brain screamed, but his mouth refused to form the words.

“So Emma has it,” August echoed Snow’s words but in a very different tone of voice, his expression now sharp and alert. “I should have guessed. Sky tribe, of fucking course.”

“And just what is that supposed to mean?” Ruby snapped, rounding on August with her teeth bared.

“Ruby, now is not the time,” said Snow sharply, as Graham leapt to his feet and took Ruby’s arm.

“It’s not the time,” Killian agreed. He stood as well and fixed them all with a steady gaze. The haze of pain had cleared from his eyes, David noted, and he seemed much steadier on his feet.

“You all know what this is,” he said, holding up the purple stone. “You know its significance and the vital importance of keeping it safe. And yet Emma, the woman tasked by her birthright with its protection, deliberately left it behind.” He paused to let his words sink in. Even David could feel the solemn weight of them settling into his bones. “She would not do such a thing,” Killian continued, “unless she thought that leaving it behind was safer than risking it falling into the hands of whoever took her. She would not do such a thing unless she trusted us to keep it safe. She did it because she knew it was the one thing guaranteed to make us understand that the danger she’s in is serious.”

The air in the room felt heavy as lead, holding them still and silent within the moment. It pressed on David’s shoulders on his chest, holding him frozen until after an interminable moment Snow spoke. “So… what are we going to do?”

A smile spread across Killian’s face, a sharp and dangerous one. His eyebrow quirked. “We’re going to rescue her, of course.”

“Oh, well,” mocked Victor, “of course.”

Killian’s smile faded. “Listen to me, all of you,” he said firmly. “I know that we have our differences and I know how deep they run. But you all understand the enormity of this and how it affects every single one of us. We have have no choice but to act, and act now. Fast and united, before it’s too late.”

He scanned their faces, making eye contact with each in turn. “Are you with me?” he asked.

His answer came from the last source any of them expected. “You can,” said August, and I think I speak for all of us when I say that.” Snow, Ruby, and Graham all nodded in agreement then turned expectantly to Victor, who rolled his eyes and heaved a sigh.

“Fine,” he said. “What do you need us to do?”

“They’ll take her to the forest,” said Snow.

“Do you think so?” Ruby frowned. “That’s seriously risky.”

“So is hauling her across the campus,” Graham pointed out. “Even if they managed to restrain her, there’s no way to move a body without looking suspicious.”

Graham sounded like he was speaking from experience, which was surely impossible—or so David would have said half an hour ago. His definition of ‘impossible’ had shifted pretty dramatically since then and he was no longer certain anything could be ruled out.

“I agree with Snow, they’d go to the forest,” Graham continued. “Remember we’re dealing with at least one human, they might not know what the forest is to Emma.”

“Hmm, that’s a point,” Ruby agreed. She looked turned to Killian. “Okay, we three will go to the forest and see what we can find there. Can you give us an hour?”

Killian nodded. “That should be enough. Keep your phones on. And be careful.”

Ruby’s smile flashed. “Always am.”

“Killian,” David croaked, finding his voice with effort as he watched Snow follow the Ruby and Graham from the room, bluebirds hovering worriedly around her head. His mind was still churning and he stumbled over his words. “What—what exactly is—what are they—why are you—why are you all talking about humans like you aren’t… one?”

Killian regarded him with a curious blend of exasperation and empathy. “Because we’re not,” he said bluntly. “Well, they’re not.” He waved his hand at Victor and at August, who gave David a small bow. “I am, more or less.”

“Is this some kind of joke?” David asked faintly. Victor snorted and Killian sighed, running a hand over his face.

“David, look, mate, we tried our best to ease you into this and let you figure things out on your own,” he said, “but honestly I’ve never seen anyone fail to pick up on hints as comprehensively as you can.”

“What—” David rubbed his throbbing temples. “What does that mean?”

Killian turned to Victor. “We’re going to need something to open his mind,” he said. “There must be some magic that’s keeping it closed, I have a hard time believing even he can be this clueless. Have you got some sort of potion or something that might work to soften him up a bit?”

Victor scowled. “I don’t do potions.”

“What the bloody hell do you always have on those damned burners, then, or are you just making the whole floor smell terrible for your own entertainment?”

“Those are experiments.”

“And you can’t experiment with potion making?”

“I do sometimes, but Emma’s really the potion expert. If I need one I usually just get it from her.”

“Well, Emma’s not bloody here, is she?” Killian hissed through gritted teeth. “What have you got?”

“Um, well, I mean, not much for opening minds,” stuttered Victor, recoiling from Killian’s glare. “Heads I can open. Minds are trickier.”

“I’ll open your head in a minute—”

“I can do it.”

Killian and Victor turned in unison to stare at August, who was lounging against the door frame, casual and nonchalant. “Influence him, I mean,” he drawled, in a careless tone that sent a shiver up David’s spine, like tiny spiders dancing down the back of his neck.

“Um,” said Victor, with a frantic glance at Killian.

“Not too much, of course,” continued August, soothingly. “Just crack him open a bit, you know, make him… receptive to your input.”

Killian looked at David, with a look that sent the spiders scattering all across his skin. “That…that could work, actually.”

“Seriously, Jones?” cried Victor.

“Look, we can only use the resources we’ve got and if you can’t produce a potion we have to come up with something else,” Killian snapped. “Can you produce a potion?”

“I already said no!”

“Well then. These are the resources we’ve got.”

“And just how are you going to give him this ‘input’ once he is ‘made receptive’ to it?” Victor sneered.

“If I’m right about him I won’t need to,” said Killian. “It’s already there. All I need to do is trigger it.” His expression turned calculating and David's skin-spiders grew claws.

“Do I get a say in—” he began, but Killian cut him off.

“No you don’t,” he said shortly. “We haven’t got the time. Victor, do you suppose you might be able to locate a basic solvent, one able to emulsify plant sap and willow powder? Can you do that, at least?”

Victor nodded. “That I can do.”

“Do it, then. And August, you make whatever preparations you need. I’m going to go grab some things from Emma’s room, we’ll meet back here in ten.”

“Killian,” David tried again, “I’m really not comfortable—”

Killian rounded on him with a glare, dark and intent and terrifying. “Emma is in danger,” he said, spitting every syllable. “Serious, life threatening danger. I know you can understand that, David, if you understand nothing else, and I know you can’t ignore it. I know you’ve come to care about her.”

“Of course I have—”

“Then help me save her.” Killian’s voice broke. “Please.”

The look in his eyes—raw vulnerability and soul-deep terror bolstered by a core of iron David would never have dreamed he possessed—struck a chord somewhere deep within him and resonated there. For the first time he felt that he was seeing Killian as he truly was, and there in that brief flash of kinship David understood, as surely as he’d ever understood anything, that Killian loved Emma, that he would do anything for her, and that he was deathly afraid his anything would not be enough.

“All right,” said David, clasping Killian’s shoulder and giving it a squeeze. “Just tell me what you need me to do.”

Ten minutes later David was waiting anxiously in the common room with August sitting in the chair across from him, legs crossed, watching him with a cool stare that did nothing to calm the energetic gyrations of the skin-spiders. When the door opened to admit Killian and Victor he leapt to his feet, desperate for any excuse to escape that unwavering gaze.

“Did you get what you needed?” he asked, struggling to keep his voice steady and disguise his nerves. “I’m ready for... er, whatever.”

Killian was carrying another paper packet similar to the one Ruby had given him and a small, grey-green leaf. These he set on a table as Victor produced a beaker half-full of a milky substance. Killian tore open the paper packet and tipped its contents—a few ounces of dusty grey powder—into the beaker. He then took the leaf and squeezed it until it began to express thick, clear sap, then dropped that in as well. The liquid in the beaker began to make a faint popping noise and Killian looked satisfied as he picked it up by its narrow neck and held it up to the light. He swirled the liquid in a deliberate manner, first clockwise then counter, then clockwise again, counting under his breath, until it turned a dark, swirling purple and began to smoke—rather ominously, David thought.

Killian turned to him with a slight smirk and a raised eyebrow. “I hope you mean that whatever,” he said, holding out the beaker. “Because the first thing I’m going to need you to do is drink this.”

“Er—” said David.

“Then look deep into August’s eyes.”

“Um—”

David jumped as he realised August was now standing directly behind him, grinning widely, the tip of his fang catching a shaft of bright morning sunlight with a distinctly mocking gleam. He ran the tip of his tongue along it as his eyes flashed red and at least three impossible ideas began to coalesce in David’s brain, coming together to form a conclusion that within his new definition of ‘impossible’ was in fact anything but.

“How—” David cleared his throat, still unable to quite believe he was entertaining any of this. “How are you out in the sunlight?” he asked. “Aren’t you—doesn’t it—burn you?”

Killian and Victor chuckled and August’s grin widened. “That’s a myth, I’m afraid,” he drawled. “Sunlight doesn’t harm us, we’re just not morning people.”

“It might be best if you operate from the assumption that everything you think you know is wrong,” said Killian. “Start with a clean slate, so to speak.”

“My mind is a clean slate,” David echoed faintly.

“Exactly.” Killian smirked at him. “So are you ready?”

David hesitated. “You’re sure this is necessary to help Emma?”

“It’s the only way.”

“All right,” David sighed. “Give me the damned potion.”

The purple of the potion rises up, engulfs him, dark as smoke, only the red of August’s eyes as shining beacons to guide him. He follows them through the swirls and eddies of the smoke until abruptly it is gone and he is standing in a forest of tall trees reaching straight up to a cloudless sky.

He hears a noise behind him and turns to see a woman, beautiful and terrifying, wreathed in smiles and swathed in darkness. As he watches she waves a wand of blackened wood and a substance, viscous and dark as tar, begins to bubble up from the ground and ooze from the trees, to drip from the very air itself. It twines around her in glistening ropes, hissing its displeasure, a slave to her whims, and she throws back her head in peals of triumphant laughter.

“The Black Fairy,” says Killian’s voice in his ear. David spins around but no one is there, and the dark woman takes no notice of him. “I’m not actually there,” says Killian, an edge of impatience now in his tone. “And neither are you. Remember that. What you’re seeing is long in the past, shadows of your history. You can’t touch or change it. Just watch.”

As the dark substance swirls about her the woman draws it, slowly, into herself, absorbs it. Her eyes turn black, and her hair and her gown; the colour drains from her skin until she is pale as a moonbeam in the night. Her lips curve into a satisfied smile and David, though he is not within his body, shivers.

The image fades away, replaced by another. A village in flames, the agonised shrieks of people—yes, people, David sees and knows them to be humans like himself—as they try in vain to flee. The cackle of the Black Fairy, appearing in their midst.

“Surrender,” she hisses. “And your lives will be spared.”

“At what cost?” spits a woman, glaring contempt as her children huddle in her skirts. “Our freedom?”

“You will give your lives in service to the fae,” says the Black Fairy. “Or you will give them to the flames.”

“Burn us then,” says the woman, her chin raised in defiance. “For we will never serve you.”

The scene blurs again and resolves into another forest, lush and green. Tall trees surround a large, flat rock in the shape of a circle, around which many beings are gathered. Some have the appearance of humans, others anything but, and still others combine human-like forms with horns or feathers or fur or leathery skin. Some have wings, others tails, all are angry. And scared.

“We must act!” cries one, slapping the rock with his tail to punctuate his point. “The humans no longer believe she does not speak for all of us! If we do nothing she will wipe them from existence in our names!”

“Perhaps we should let her,” retorts another. “These humans breed quickly and their numbers are ever growing. Their settlements already threaten our lands.”

“Not threaten,” says a third. “We can live peacefully alongside them, as we have done for centuries.”

“Oh yes indeed, when they were but few.”

“Their numbers are beside the point!”

“Enough!” shouts the first, banging his tail on the rock again. “The qualities of the humans as a species are not germane. We simply cannot allow her to wipe out an entire race of beings. It is unconscionable and a breach of the ancient covenants!”

A chorus of agreement rustles through the assembled crowd. The second speaker observes her fellows in silence for a moment, then gives a shrug. “I will stand with you, Elisedd, in accordance with the covenants and for the moral strength of your argument,” she says. “But I wish for my warning to be noted: The human race will be the end of us, if we allow it.”

“Your objection is so noted, Eigyr,” says Elisedd with a nod. “Now let it hereby be known that we the Fae Council stand in agreement, and shall act with due haste and taking all necessary measures to stop the Black Fairy in her slaughter of the humans...”

The image blurs again and David finds himself in the midst of a raging battlefield. Human warriors stand shoulder-to-shoulder with fae, against the Black Fairy and the army of demons her dark magic called into being. He feels a hum of energy in the air to his left and turns to see a woman who he thinks at first is Emma—the same golden hair with a life of its own, the same deep green eyes. But this woman’s nose and chin are pointed, as are her ears, and her fingernails when she raises her hand in the air are long and sharp as talons. She holds up her hands to the sky and sings out, a haunting tune and words in the language Emma uses when she sings to her plants. She stands at the centre of a circle of her kind, blonde and green eyed, pale-skinned and sharp-featured, themselves encircled by the battling warriors. They chant a rhythmic beat as she sings, and though the Black Fairy is far away David can see her face clearly as alarm flares in her eyes, as slowly the thick, black substance begins to ooze from her, hissing as it goes, swirling and twisting into a single thick and oily strand.

“No,” she whispers, then her voice rises to a shriek.“No, it can’t be! It’s impossible! Nooooooo!”

She clutches frantically at the magic but it slips from her grasp and when she gropes at her belt for her wand she finds it gone.

“I don’t imagine you’ll have much further use for this, milady,” says a voice, and both David and the Black Fairy turn to see a human warrior with bright blue eyes brandishing the wand in a mocking salute.

“Insolent cur!” she snarls, and the human laughs.

“Would you believe that’s not even the worst thing I’ve been called?” he asks, and darts away into the heaving battlefield.

The Black Fairy lets out a scream of rage, turning back to look up at the sky and the coiling rope of magic as it sails over the heads of the warriors and towards the circle where Emma’s ancestor stands, calling it to her with her song. It heeds her call with typical ill humour, hovering malevolently and obediently above the circle as the fae woman holds up a small, purple stone.

The darkness shrieks as it is pulled into the stone, writhing and twisting in concert with the impotent howls of the Black Fairy, but Emma’s ancestor neither flinches nor wavers. She pulls in every particle of the darkness and when the last traces have been absorbed she waves her hand over the stone with a few final, whispered words and then collapses, stumbling forward into the arms of her kin.

“It is done,” she breathes. “It is done.”

The scene fades once more and when it resolves David is back at the circular stone in the forest, this time surrounded by humans and fae alike.

“Then we have an accord,” says the human man who captured the Black Fairy’s wand, placing his prize upon the circle.

“Yes,” replies Elisedd. “The human race agrees to relinquish all claim to magic. The fae peoples agree to keep the Black Fairy’s darkness bound for eternity, held in the tywyll stone and guarded by the Awyr people. Fae magic and cures shall remain available to any humans who seek them and no human shall encroach on lands the fae hold sacred. We are in agreement on these points?”

The human nods. “We are.”

“Then let it be done.”

“Not yet, Elisedd, if you please,” says a third voice. “There is one more thing.”

These words are spoken by another blond and green-eyed fae, this one male. “My people, the llwyth awyr, agree to guard the tywyll stone” he says, “but this task is a heavy burden upon us. My wi—” his voice breaks as pain flashes across his delicate features. “My wife, Arianrhod, chosen by the moon herself to lead our people, has given her life to contain the darkness,” he continues gruffly. “And now my daughter Morcanta must carry the weight both of her legacy and the stone. Though we accept to bear these burdens gladly, we respectfully request not to bear them alone. We would ask that a human representative agree to take up at least a part of the weight alongside us, for the sake of our people and of the covenants, and for the sake of all our descendants.”

“That seems fair,” says Elisedd. “Cynbel oCymric? What say ye?”

The human man nods. “We agree,” he says. “A similar thought had occurred to us as well. But humans are far more vulnerable to magic than the fae, and so in shouldering this burden we will require some protection.”

“Nynniaw? Is this condition acceptable to the Awyr people?”

Emma’s ancestor nods. “We can place a shielding spell upon you,” he replies. “One that shall fuse with your blood and pass on to your descendants, removing your susceptibility to any magic. And in order that the location of the tywyll stone not be made too plain to see, we propose that such shielded human guardians should be paired with each fae tribe, to further protect the stone and ensure the covenants are kept.”

The crowd hums with murmurs of agreement. “These are fair terms,” says Cynbel, “which we gladly accept.”

Smoke swirls up again and David is yanked from the vision. He gasped and stumbled and nearly fell, reaching out blindly for something to hold on to.

“Steady on, there, mate,” said Killian, catching him by his arm, but David’s head throbbed and the room begin to spin around him, and the sound of Killian’s voice grew fainter as his eyes rolled back in his head and he tumbled into unconsciousness.

When he opened his eyes again the first sight to meet them was Killian, dressed as usual in his black leather jacket and black t-shirt bearing the faded image of a skull, belting a long sword around his waist.

“That’s—” David gasped, blinking hard and giving his head a firm shake. The images from his vision were still swirling in his mind, and though he did feel he now had a firmer understanding of just what, precisely, the fuck, some things he suspected would still require some getting used to. “That’s a sword,” he sputtered.

“Naturally,” said Killian, pulling the blade from its scabbard with a flourish and examining its edge. “You didn’t think I’d be going in armed with nothing but my good looks?”

“Well, no, but—”

“Speaking of which, you’ll be needing one too. Belle!”

The air next to him shimmered and Belle resolved into it, a large, leather-bound book in her hand and a bright smile on her face. “Hey, David,” she said. “Killian tells me you’ve been having a bit of an adventure.”

“Uh, yeah, I guess that’s one way to put it.”

“Oh I’d love to go back and see the ancient times,” said Belle dreamily. “I don’t suppose you’d let me have a sip of that potion?”

“I’m pretty sure it only works on the living, love,” said Killian, and David barely resisted the urge to smack himself in the forehead. She haunts the library. Duh.

“Typical,” pouted Belle. “I haven’t had any fun in nearly five hundred years. But I have” —she held out the book, open to a brightly illustrated page— “acquired some serious research skills in that time, and I’m pretty sure I’ve found it.”

Killian peered at the book. “Where the devil is that supposed to be?”

“It’s one of the old classroom towers. When I was alive we used to learn magical defence there.”

“Well that would at least make some sense. Victor, mate, do you suppose you might rustle up something capable of dissolving a mystical lock or two? I mean, I know it’s a potion and all, but this one does seem to be rather more in your wheelhouse.”

Victor ignored the sarcasm. “On it,” he said.

Killian turned back to David. “Ready then, mate?”

“I—” David wished mightily that he could say yes, of course he was. “I genuinely have no idea.”

Killian laughed. “That seems reasonable, given what you’ve just been through.”

“It might help if I actually knew what we were doing now.”

“Oh that’s quite simple.” Killian gave him a wide grin and the worst wink David had ever seen. “We’re going to fetch your sword.”

Emma regained consciousness then promptly wished she hadn’t, as nausea roiled in her stomach and some unseen force attempted to drive an ice pick through her skull.

Instinctively, she knew not to move or groan or do anything that might alert her abductors that she was no longer unconscious. Anyone powerful enough to incapacitate her in this way was an enemy to be reckoned with, and despite feeling like how she’d always heard hangovers described Emma was determined to find out who the hell these people were and what they thought they were going to do with her.

She could feel the forest around her, the soft, peaty ground beneath her cheek and the rustling of the leaves in the wind, the power of her connection to the land and all the things that grew from it. She sank her fingers deep into the dirt and prepared.

“Mother, we don’t even know what we’re looking for!” a voice exclaimed, with a note of petulance and an underlying quaver of fear that caught Emma’s attention.

“We’ll find it,” replied a second voice, flat and coldly confident.

“How?” pressed the first one. “How will we find something we have only the vaguest ideas about?”

“She’ll tell us what we need to know.”

“Mother, you don’t understand! We only managed to capture her because we took her by surprise! We have no means of getting her to talk, and her Guardian—”

“I took care of him.”

“You hit him on the head, he’ll survive,” the first voice retorted. “If you had actually read the tribal histories you’d know that it takes more than a big stick to eliminate a fae Guardian!”

“She’s right, Mother,” said a third voice, dry and wicked. “You should have killed him.”

“Perhaps,” drawled the second, “but there wasn’t time. If he is as and what you say he is, Regina, he’ll come for her. And we will be ready for him.”

“Ready for...” The first voice, Regina, trailed off in exasperation. “How will we be ready? In case you forgot, we don’t even know what we’re looking for!”

Emma knew, though. She knew exactly what the histories of the fae tribes hinted at, just enough hints to catch the attention of the clever and the ambitious, not nearly enough to give them what they would need to know. These three were hardly the first to come in search of it and they would not be the last. She’d recognised them last night for what they were and though she doubted they would actually recognise the thing they sought, Emma hadn’t hesitated for a moment to leave the tywyll stone behind, trusting that Killian would find it and understand the message that she sent by leaving it in his care.

He would be on his way now, she knew that too. Her Guardian would die to protect her as he was duty bound by the covenants and his heritage to do, but even beyond that Emma knew that Killian Jones would never not fight for her.

She cracked her eyelid open just far enough that she could see the women attached to the voices. Only the three, she was relieved to note, and apparently without backup. Two younger and one older, a mother and her daughters, the mother with a haughty expression and brown hair beginning to show streaks of grey. Her daughters did not much resemble each other; one had a tawny complexion and dark hair falling in soft waves around her shoulders, while the other’s hair was red and wildly curling around her pale, sharp face. Half-sisters, at a guess, thought Emma, and unless she was gravely mistaken both half-fae. A human woman with two half-fae daughters whose fathers were of different tribes. That was very interesting.

Also interesting were the piles of scrolls she could see poking out of an old trunk behind them, scrolls she recognised as library copies of the more well-known tribal histories. A little knowledge is a dangerous thing, she’d once read, and it appeared these women had a very little knowledge indeed. And were all the more dangerous for it.

She closed her eyes again then pretended to wake, letting out a long groan as she sank her fingers further still into the soft soil and felt the forest stir around her.

“Ah,” said the mother. “She’s awake.”

“Where—where am I?” groaned Emma. “What happened?”

“What happened is that you are now our prisoner princess,” cooed the mother’s voice, and despite herself Emma felt icy fear twist around her heart. “And you are going to tell us where the Black Fairy’s magic is kept.”

“I—” Emma groaned, cracking open her eyes again to see all three women watching her expectantly. Regina’s expression was apprehensive, her red-haired sister’s triumphant. And their mother… her face wore an expression of naked greed that made Emma’s skin crawl. This human woman had no magic but her daughters did, and she, oh, she wanted what they had.

“I—” she said again, and the women leaned forward, their attention so captivated by Emma that they failed to notice the tree branches bending and closing in around them, or the grey-green roots of the forest plants breaking through the ground, rising up and curling around their trunk full of scrolls and crumbling the fragile parchment into dust.

“I don’t think I will,” said Emma.

The old classroom towers, David had been firmly informed by the assistant director of the university’s Office of Residency Affairs, were closed. Had been closed, she told him, for some centuries now, at least since the Hall had been renamed. Andersen students were to attend their classes in the academic buildings and that was all there was to it. David had shrugged and agreed and signed the form she gave him, not entirely clear on what made her so extraordinarily adamant on the point.

Now, as he trailed up a spiral staircase made of stone, with dips worn into the centre of each step by the feet of many generations of students long past, he thought he might have some inkling as to why. This place was dangerous, and not just because the steps were worn. There were whispers in its very walls, centuries of magic infused into each minute mote of dust, and that dust and those walls and every other thing in and around them was not best pleased by the appearance of interlopers.

Despite this he pressed on, for Emma and because he doubted that Killian, his hand gripping the pommel of his sword and his jaw set, would allow anything to deter him from his goal. Victor followed at Killian’s heels, carrying another steaming beaker, with August behind David bringing up the rear and Belle, glowing with an otherworldly light, serving as their beacon through the shifting shadows.

Around and around they climbed, through the darkness and the whispers until David’s head was spinning and he’d lost all sense of time, then quite suddenly a door appeared in front of them. Belle pushed it open and led the way into the room beyond, and David followed eagerly, glad to be out of that interminable stairwell.

The room was large and circular, quite as you would expect a tower room to be. It had four tall and pointed windows with four columns spaced evenly between them. There were no desks, but smallish wooden tables arranged in a circle and one larger one in front of the largest window, upon a raised dais.

Killian began to move around the room in what David could only describe as a prowl, muttering to himself as he went. He appeared to be measuring the size of the stones in the floor, the distance from window to window, and the position of the stairs they had just ascended.

“If this is what I think it is,” he said to Belle, “it’ll be aligned to the eastern point.”

Belle nodded. “That seems likely. But how will we know where to look? None of us has the right kind of magic to detect it.”

“That might not be entirely true.” Killian looked at David and Belle followed his gaze.

David had to suppress a flinch. What now?

“How are you holding up, mate?” Killian asked kindly.

“Fine,” replied David. “So far, at least.”

Killian grinned. “I’m glad you’re catching on.”

David sighed. “So what do I have to do?”

“Just be yourself.”

“And what is that supposed to mean?

“Close your eyes,” Killian instructed, “and tell me what you feel.”

David let his eyes fall shut, shivering as the spiders tangoed across the nape of his neck. “Like something’s watching me,” he said frankly.

“Like it’s calling to you?” Killian’s voice was sharp.

The whispers in the walls grew louder. “Yeah,” said David. “I can hear... something.”

“Can you tell where it’s coming from?”

“From all around.”

“Are you sure? Concentrate.”

David focused on the loudest whispers. “From… below us? Somehow?”

“Good.” Killian sounded satisfied. “Can you follow it?”

David frowned, concentrating hard. He felt an odd tug just behind his bellybutton, urging him to move, which he did, opening his eyes to see that he was being led towards the largest window and the raised table. He followed the pull until it stopped, abruptly, replaced by an overwhelming urge to go down. “There,” he said, pointing at the large, square stone beneath his feet. “It’s coming from there.”

Everyone gathered around, peering at the stone he indicated.

“Victor,” said Killian. “Do your thing.”

David stepped back to make way as Victor took his steaming beaker and dripped its contents carefully onto the mortar that held the stone in place. Nothing happened, to David’s eyes, but the others waited tensely and with bated breath until all the mortar was covered. When the last drop dripped from the beaker a faint click sounded in the air and they all exhaled.

Killian unsheathed his sword and placed the tip just in the centre of the stone. Closing his eyes, he murmured a few words David couldn’t quite make out, then gave the sword a sharp 90-degree twist. The stone made a groaning noise and shifted, shimmered, then faded away to reveal a set of steep stone stairs leading downwards to—

“Where do they go?” David demanded.

Killian caught his eye. “Below,” he replied.

The stairs were pitch black and endless. David kept his eyes trained as best he could on Belle, but even her glow began to fade the deeper they descended into… wherever this was. He wished he knew where they were going, if only so that this strange and powerful pull he felt would have some destination, some explanation of just what the hell it was.

After a small eternity the stairs ended, so abruptly that Killian stumbled, and David had to grab at the wall to avoid crashing into him. “Ugh,” Killian groaned, leaning his own hand against the wall to get his balance and bearings. “I guess this is it.”

As he spoke a faint glow appeared, a small flicker in a vague distance, and with his jaw set grimly Killian began to walk towards it, the others on his heels. The glow grew stronger the closer they came, and then with a flare as bright as daylight it encompassed them. They blinked for a moment and when their eyes adjusted they found themselves in what was by all appearances a forest clearing. A very familiar forest clearing, David realised, with tall trees that reached up to the sky and a large, round stone at its centre.

Belle gasped. “Is this…”

“Aye,” said Killian. “The chamber of the Fae Council. If the sword is anywhere, it’s here.” He turned to David. “Mate?”

David nodded. He had no idea how he knew what to do, only that he did. The knowledge came from somewhere deep within him, the same place as the images he’d seen after drinking the purple potion. He knew that if he laid his hand on the stone just so, if he then pressed against it gently, that the shielding spell would fall away and his sword would appear. He knew this, and yet he still couldn’t quite believe his eyes.

The sword was breathtaking. Longer than he would have imagined and viciously sharp, with an ornate hilt and symbols carved into the blade… symbols his brain wanted to understand, insisted that it should understand, but which hovered stubbornly just beyond his comprehension.

“Take it,” said Killian, nodding at the sword. “It’s yours.”

How is it mine, David wanted to ask. How is this, any of this, even possible?

The moment his fingers gripped its hilt, the symbols on the sword began to glow, as though molten metal were flowing through them. As David lifted it from the table he felt a weight around his waist, and looked down to see a sword belt much like Killian’s appear around his hips.

He turned to meet Killian’s eyes. “How?” he whispered. “I know we don’t have time for explanations, but please, just tell me—how?”

“You’re a Guardian,” said Killian, with a small smile. “Like me.”

The trip back from the council chamber to the classroom tower and then out of the Hall and into the forest felt as though it took no time at all. Or more likely, David thought, he was just too preoccupied to take notice of it passing.

Killian’s words kept echoing in his ears. You’re a Guardian.

David had no idea what that meant, but he couldn’t deny how deeply he knew that it was true.

They entered the forest just as Snow, Graham, and Ruby were leaving it, looking shaken and anxious.

“What did you find?” Killian asked them.

“There are very clear tracks,” Snow replied. “Clumsy ones. Whoever took Emma doesn’t know this forest at all. They must just have chosen it thinking it would make a good hideout.”

"We followed them as far as we could, but there was no sign of them ending," Graham added.

"All right,” said Killian, removing the purple amulet from his pocket and holding it up. “Lead the way.”

David wasn't sure whether he was addressing Snow or the amulet, or possibly both, but it didn’t seem to matter as they pressed deeper and deeper into the forest, further than he had ever dared venture before. With each step Killian’s face grew more grim. He gripped the amulet tightly by its leather strap as it began to glow and hum, an endless, atonal hum. It hung from Killian’s hand at a sharp and unnatural angle, seeming to pull him along behind it as they grew closer to wherever Emma was.

Snow shivered and wrapped her arms around herself. “Where did they take her?” she whispered. “How did they even get so deep into the forest?”

“I don’t know,” said Killian. “Everyone, stay on your toes.”

Without warning the ground beneath their feet began to rumble and shift, the thick, damp soil cracking open as the roots beneath it moved, slithering like snakes beneath the surface and heading in the very direction they themselves were following.

“Emma,” muttered Killian, as he broke into a run. “Bloody hell, woman!”

The others ran after him, leaping over the roots and the shifting soil with a nimble speed that David was hopeless to match. He tripped and stumbled and barely managed to keep his feet under him until Graham and Ruby appeared at his sides, each catching one of his arms and propping him between them as they ran.

The forest before them was a blur of movement, twisting roots and waving branches, magic spitting and hissing through the air, and David was just about to cry out in protest—there was no way they could enter that melee and come out alive—when a figure emerged from the chaos, golden hair whipped to a frenzy by the wind and red cloak swirling around her.

Killian raced to her and caught her in his arms, lifting her feet off the ground and burying his face in her hair. “Bloody hell, Swan,” he whispered. Emma clung to him, her fists tight in the back of his jacket, as the rest of the group gathered around them.

Killian set Emma on her feet and loosened his hold on her, stepping back just enough to give her a glare that even David could see held no heat. “What the devil do you think you’re doing, love?” he grumbled. “Depriving me of a dashing rescue.”

“I told you,” retorted Emma. “The only one who saves me is me.” She smiled softly and caressed his face, fingertips brushing his cheekbone. “But I’m glad you came, Killian.”

“I’ll always come for you, darling,” he said with a smirk. “In all senses of the word.”

She snorted and gave the back of his head a feeble smack, but didn’t protest when his arms tightened around her again and his hand tangled in her hair.

“Well this is adorable,” said Victor. “If a bit sickening. But would you mind telling us just what exactly you've been up to here?”

The movement in the forest had ceased the moment Emma and Killian embraced but the space behind them was still in chaos, with unearthed roots and tree branches bent at unnatural angles, forming a very effective-looking cage.

“I’ve bound them,” said Emma. “In magic it will take them some time to break.”

“They?” demanded Killian.

“Yeah, three of them. A human woman and her half-fae daughters. I can’t keep them trapped forever but we should have enough time to figure out what to do with them.”

“You can’t just kill them?” asked August.

“No!” said Emma and Killian in unison, as Graham punched August’s shoulder.

“Hey, just putting it on the table,” August protested.

“We’re not going to kill them,” said Emma firmly. “There’s something about them... something that I can't quite put my finger on, but honestly it troubles me. I need to know more before we decide how to act. Let’s get back to the dorm.”

“The dorm?” asked David. Emma turned to him and her eyes lit with amusement.

“Well, you must have had a rough few hours,” she said, nodding at the sword he held.

David grinned a bit sheepishly. “You could say that.”

“Welcome to the team,” said Emma, smiling warmly. “And yes, back to the dorm. I need my plants, my books, a scrying mirror, and a cup of tea, not necessarily in that order. Let’s go.”

___

#cs fic #cs ff #cs ff au #captain swan #magic au #supernatural elements #magic #alternate universe college #college au #magical swords #oh yeah #heavily influenced by cursed #i won't lie #the eternal and unseen #profdanglaisstuff #carpedzem #cssns20

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revrevrew-writblr · 4 years

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Sidekick and the Vision

CONTINUATION OF OUT OF THE FRYING PAN(-ISH)

Order of Reading - More to Come Sidekick ‘Clued In’ Sidekick and the Vision Out of the Frying Pan

Content Warning for abusive themes, death, and slight acceptance of death.

What future did Hero see?

Sidekick put a pot of water on to boil. Cooking anything ‘paleo’ was an arduous task that took hours, one that Sidekick usually tried to ignore. Instead opting to snack on cheeses and nuts or just not eat at all. But today Sidekick didn’t mind. They needed something to occupy their hands; the mindless cooking with numbing music playing made it the perfect atmosphere for extrospective thinking.

Hero Probably saw my death. Maybe it’ll be a relief. To end it all. It seems to be the only evident way to escape.

Sidekick’s hand unconsciously made its way to their abdomen, covering Hero’s handprint burned into their flesh. A souvenir from their first escape attempt. The flesh would never be the same, not even the best of healers could restore it.

With Hero’s far reaching influences they had made Sidekick’s life a living hell. Sidekick’s jaw clenched; they were determined to return the favor. They tried to justify their thirst for revenge, the city shouldn’t be run by a villain. It’s a worthy goal! But every reason they came up with was only partially true.

Seeking revenge is wrong. It messes people up inside.

With a roar, Sidekick threw their stirring spoon at the wall, the rage covering their guilt. They couldn’t live up to their beliefs. Taking Hero down was too important to drop, but it was too personal for them to shake their desire for revenge.

Taking a deep breath Sidekick grabbed another spoon, and repressed their thoughts, changing the topic from the ethical to the relevant.

Hero will never ‘let’ them go. Sidekick’s own powers had revealed to Hero exactly how far Sidekick’s intentions went. The only way out of this was death, all of Sidekick’s dreams to take Hero down, were just that. Dreams.

The worst part of it all? The part that makes it all so damned maddening? Is that Sidekick would win. If they had their powers, Hero wouldn’t stand a chance. Sidekick could lay a cunning trap for them, either to expose them for what they really are, or kill them. Sidekick hadn’t made up their mind-

This world would be a better place if they weren’t breathing.

Sidekick shook their head, as if they could shake the thought.

Back on track with the relevant, Sidekick guessed they might have approximately three days based on the standard range of a vision. If Hero had seen a vision--it could just be some elaborate prank to psych them out.

If Hero wasn’t making their move now, then Sidekick had another few months to prepare. At nineteen most sidekicks threw parties to celebrate their new ‘hero’ status. For Sidekick, there would be no parties. At nineteen they would graduate out of their contract. Hero couldn’t allow that to happen.

Sidekick’s hand made it back to their abdomen, they remembered the violence Hero could inflict... Then they couldn’t stop remembering.

It was their first training session; their contract made no less than three days ago. Hero had been charming, charismatic, and they’d really hit it off.

“Are you ready?” Hero smiled. It reached their eyes.

“Yes!” Naive, Sidekick had fallen for the act, hook, line, and sinker.

Hero released the comforting prophetic powers. It flowed through Sidekick, calming them. Totally worth living without gluten.

Usually.

Then the vision hit them. It wasn’t like other visions. A feeling weighed them down, as if the magic attested to its conspiratorial undertones. It felt… slimy.

Sidekick collapsed, the vision taking an unusual toll on them. They didn’t feel themself hit the mats; their senses were overtaken by the scene playing in their mind.

“At least before I die, I will have had the satisfaction of killing your sidekick,” Other Villain roared the words, blood and spittle flying from their mouth. Their lips pulled back; their teeth bared.

Hero looked petulant, almost child-like. “It’s always so sad when my toys break.” They suddenly sneered, dropping their child-like act-- they looked like a different person. A vein popped out of their forehead when they swung a brutal fist across Other Villain’s face.

Hero’s roaring matched Other Villain’s, “you shouldn’t have killed First Sidekick.” A hysterical laugh came out of Other Villain as they righted themself. Hero smirked and jutted their chin out; they crossed their arms as they leaned back. “I’m not the only one who was hurt because of it.” Hero had a cruel grin on their face. Other Villain’s laughing died at that. Tears welled up in their eyes.

Other Villain’s mouth turned down in a miserable frown, their voice filled with contempt, “I was just finally living up to the title you bestowed upon me!” For a moment, Other Villain’s chest puffed out, like they were trying to look tall. It didn’t work. It was hard to look tall while kneeling. Other Villain abruptly moaned, their head slumped, posture sinking, “It doesn’t matter anymore.”

“That’s right. For you, it doesn’t. They’re dead.”

Rampant sparks flew Hero’s fingertips, the electricity casting the scene in a sinister blue light. Other Villain’s head rose, their unblinking eyes bulged, betraying their fear. They were transfixed on the light; they made no move to run and no plea crossed their lips.

Hero, paused, as if to savor the moment. Other Villain trembled and forced their eyes shut. Then abruptly Hero’s hands landed on Other Villain's cheeks. The Hero had a wicked gleam in their eyes as electricity flowed through them to Other Villain. Other Villain let out a blood curdling scream, their eyes snapped open against the pain.

The blue light faded; Hero removed their hands from Other Villain. Other Villain shuddered then collapsed in a heap of twitching, they stopped breathing. Hero frowned down at their hands, covered with charred and burnt skin from Other Villain.

Thrust out of the vision, Sidekick struggled to breathe. They rolled over quickly, their stomach losing its contents. Hero was at their side in an instant, holding them steady. Instinct made Sidekick scramble away, horror clogging the logic in their brain that told them not to give anything away.

Hero was more perceptive than most and understanding crashed onto their face in the form of a hard glare. Hero rose slowly, stalking towards Sidekick’s cowering form, looking every inch the predator Sidekick had come to know. Hero hauled Sidekick up by their collar, shoving them towards the nearest wall. They stumbled backwards nearly tripping over their feet. Their stomach rolled. Hero loomed over them, seizing their collar again, they slammed them against the wall. The impact made Sidekick’s head swim.

“This isn’t going to cause any problems, is it?” Hero’s eyes widened, eyebrows raising, to get the threat across.

Sidekick gasped for air, the change in Hero’s disposition as shocking as the vision. “You’re… you’re evil?” their voice came out shrill and wobbly. Finally, they shook themself out of their shock, they looked around desperately, searching for an escape. They breathed heavy; their eyes wide. They began to scramble, bringing their hands up to Hero’s arms, they dug their nails in and scraped. Hero let go of Sidekick’s collar and seized ahold of their arms. Sidekick kicked out at Hero, landing a blow to the side of Hero’s leg. Hero’s leg faltered and they stumbled backwards, clutching at it with bloodied arms.

“Dammit!” Hero shouted, spit flying from their mouth.

Sidekick stumbled, regaining their footing. They rushed past Hero, their world tilting a little. Sidekick didn’t make it very far before Hero’s arms clamped down around their waist. Sidekick kicked uselessly in the air as they were lifted. They scratched at Hero’s arms digging into the previous wounds.

“You’re going to be a thorn in my side, aren't you?” Hero grunted out; sidekick could barely hear them over the blood pounding in their ears.

Sidekick thrashed, their elbow connecting with Hero’s chin.

Hero dropped Sidekick as their head flipped back.

Sidekick’s feet hit the ground first at an awkward angle, the pressure twisting their right foot. They plunged to the ground, their hands absorbing the impact. They barely felt the pain as they scrambled to right themself.

Before they got off their knees Hero was in front of them a back hand striking them across the face.

Their head whipped to the side; the impact threw them to the mats. They clutched at their face, willing the pain to recede. Black spots formed in their vision; their ears filled with ringing.

Sidekick let out a scream, hoping to get someone, anyone to come save them.

A brutal hand covered over their mouth in seconds, cutting them off. Hero’s fingers dug into Sidekick’s bruising face. Sidekicks nostrils flared as they desperately tried to take in air. Their nails dug into Hero’s hand. Sidekick’s legs thrashed, trying to push themself away from Hero.

“You just don’t know when to quit do you?” Hero slammed Sidekick’s head into the mats, the impact stunning Sidekick. Sidekick regained consciousness; Hero was straddling them, taking their time at finding their balance. Sidekick shoved their shoulders into the mat and thrust their middle up, bucking Hero off. Hero pitched forward, pushing their hand off Sidekick’s face to catch themself.

Sidekick breathed in distressed gasps of air through their clenched teeth. They shoved at Hero; Hero collapsed partially on Sidekick. Sidekick pushed and scrambled out from under Hero. They turned around on their belly and hastily began to stand.

Hero’s hand clamped down on Sidekick’s twisted ankle. Sidekick gave a startled cry. Hero yanked Sidekick towards them. Sidekick turned around prepared to stomp at Hero’s face. A small shock rocked through them and burned at their ankle. Adrenaline covered most of the pain, but still they let out a cry of terror as their limbs flopped uselessly.

Hero dragged themself over to Sidekick. Sidekick whimpered when not even their fingers moved at their command.

Hero straddled Sidekick again, this time finding their balance with ease. “I guess I’ll just have to teach you then.” Blood dripped down from Hero’s arms. A welt was forming on their chin. Their hair stuck out straight up and down, charged with electricity. Their brows furrowed accompanied by a sneer on their mouth. Their wide eyes made them look crazed.

Sidekick’s stomach threatened to come up again. They swallowed hard.

“What other rules and secrets are you hiding about your powers?” Sidekick wouldn’t answer even if they could move their mouth accordingly. Hero brought their hand back up and across Sidekick’s face. The metallic taste of blood filled their mouth, their head wouldn’t move from where it had been directed. “You’re not going to hide something like this from me again. Understand?”

Hero grasped Sidekick’s mouth again bringing their head back to face them. The grip wasn’t as hard as before, but tears still slipped out as Hero moved Sidekick’s head up and down in a nod. As if Sidekick’s cooperation wasn’t needed. Which, it wasn’t.

Hero leaned in. “You’re not going to change the outcome of the vision, are you?” Hero’s eyes closed and Sidekick could feel Hero skimming their thoughts with Sidekick’s powers.

Sidekick desperately thought ‘no’ over and over, letting their terror fill and empty their mind of everything. Sidekick desperately tried to rid their mind of any damning thoughts. They would never let someone like Hero cow them into doing the wrong thing.

But oh, they did not want to die.

Hero’s hand left sidekicks face, a small laugh bubbling out of Hero.

“Perfect. Glad we had this talk.” Hero gave a tight smile and patted Sidekick’s cheek. They stood, limping away from Sidekick. Sidekick tried not to let their relief show until they were sure Hero was gone. The paralysis wore off after a few minutes.

Stumbling out of the memory left Sidekick’s hands shaking, the feeling of being trapped still wore on Sidekick. A sizzling filled their ears, the pot of water and noodles overflowing and burning on the stove. It was too much stimulus. They squeezed their now wet eyes closed, ignoring the pot, they flexed their fingers, reminding themself that Hero wasn’t here.

The snapping of the electric stove heightened their panic, and they slammed on the button connected to the burner. They jerked the pot of water off the burner, the water slopping out and nearly burning their hand.

So much for trying to make food.

Taking a few deep breaths, Sidekick furiously wiped their cheeks free of stray tears, not allowing themself to break down. With shaking hands, they grabbed a handful of almonds from the cupboard and sat at their small table.

They clung to the thought that some good had come out of that vision.

Sidekick had changed the whole vision. Thanks to Sidekick’s meddling Other Villain died in an entirely different place at a different time and in a much more gruesome way. Though they didn’t fault themself for that. They theorized that Hero had always planned to change the vision.

At the end of the vision, Hero had looked down at their hands with a frown, like they had mistook. Sidekick thought maybe they had let their powers get away from them and adjusted accordingly. Hero had taken too much pleasure out of hurting Other Villain to have meant to kill them so quickly.

It doesn’t really matter. Dead is still dead.

Even so, I still beat Hero at their own game. I rescued Leverage. Though maybe too late.

The thought of Leverage’s beaten body and broken spirit haunted them.

Will I be like that one day? Not able to remember my own name? Cowering at the sight of Hero? In need of someone to save me?

Shut up! While it could be true, Sidekick certainly didn’t need any reminders.

After their successful ‘win,’ Hero had kept them on a short leash, invading Sidekick’s thoughts almost every day with a sharp tooth comb.

Hero didn’t make the same mistakes twice.

Likewise, when Hero saw a vision, they didn’t want to share with Sidekick they didn’t do practice. Well at least Hero didn’t do a real practice session where Sidekick got to use their powers.

It mostly consisted of Hero reminding Sidekick to be subservient to them.

That they hadn’t done that this week added to Sidekick’s suspicions. Was there a reason Sidekick shouldn’t be reminded to obey Hero? Death seemed like a good enough one, though recalling Leverage, there were other possible explanations.

The only positive reason being that maybe Hero had seen Sidekick losing their powers? It was rare, but it did happen. If they didn’t have their powers then the Hero’s Association wouldn’t want them, and they could flee once and for all. Sidekick didn’t give into hope.

Sidekick relied only on the one thing that mattered.

Knowledge.

Only those with knowledge of the future could change it, even knowing that there was a vision could allow you to change it. Every time Hero didn’t have a proper practice with Sidekick, Sidekick was ‘clued in.’

And this time, Sidekick was going to do whatever it took to change the outcome.

A knock at the door jarred them from their thoughts.

#Sidekick and the Vision #Content Warning for Abuse #Death #And Acceptance of Death #Eighth Story #Sidekick Continued #Heroes and Villains #Out of the Frying Pan #Sidekick #Short Stories #Original Content #23455432

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fc5holidayexchange · 4 years

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FAR CRY 5 HOLIDAY EXCHANGE 2019 FIC

John has an unexpected, but far from unwelcome, visitor

John Seed/Deputy Elli Rose

@jackythemoo

Happy Holidays, bb! I hope I did Ellie justice💕

John Seed x Deputy, fluff

It had been a long night. John had expected it, Joseph’s sermons were known for running long into the night; even more so on the eve of such important holidays. Despite knowing this, there was no sense denying the wave of relief that washed over him as the ranch finally came into view. As bracing as Joseph’s words always were, the bitter cold was far more effective in keeping him focused and awake: John could have sworn the church was far colder inside in comparison to the harsh winter snow falling outside.

He spared only the briefest of glances at the Chosen guarding the entrance to the Ranch; nodding slightly at their cheerful greeting as he approached, pulling his coat closer around him in a vain attempt to keep warm. It ultimately proved fruitless, the only additional warmth gained when the door closed with such intensity that it echoed around the room.

John breathed a sigh of relief as he shrugged off his coat, currently dusted with a thick layer of snow: just the walk from the driveway to the entrance had been enough to leave it sodden. He shivered involuntarily as he approached the fire, grateful for the comforting warmth of the Ranch; folding the coat over the back of the couch absent-mindedly as he did so.

He was pulled from his thoughts as his eyes finally landed upon a pair of dirt-encrusted boots resting haphazardly by the fire. If the puddle surrounding them was any indicator, the owner of said boots had apparently been here a while, the snow now fully melted.

It was not a thought that John found comforting.

Instinctively, his hand hovered over the handgun currently sitting in its holster as John scanned his surroundings. Beyond the stray boots, nothing else about the Ranch suggested anything out of the ordinary, much less a potential threat on his life.

Evidently, he thought too soon, as a staggering crash reverberated around the Ranch. The noise appeared to be coming from the kitchen, temporarily dampening his confusion and igniting his curiosity: how this intruder had managed to avoid the detection of his Chosen was beyond him, the commotion loud enough to wake the dead, and why their target was the pantry…

John Seed was not a man easily confused, yet in the space of just ten minutes of returning home, this trespasser had successfully managed to confound him.

Grip tightening on his weapon, he continued making his way slowly towards the source of the disturbance. He paused only briefly, hand hovering before the closed door as yet another almighty crash occurred. He winced at the sound, before bracing himself and pushing open the door, finger over the trigger in preparation.

The sight of his deputy on her knees, outright destroying his home in an earnest fury was not the sight he had been expecting.

Deputy Elli Rose had become an almost constant thorn in John’s side, and it was apparent that tonight was clearly no exception. He lowered his gun, rolling his eyes as he holstered it.

“May I help you, deputy?”

She didn’t even have the audacity to pause, barely sparing him a glance over her shoulder before returning to her task with even more vigour. “No,” she answered, voice curt. She examined a bowl, turning it over in her hands, before scoffing and throwing it behind it her, joining the growing pile of culinary equipment that evidently didn’t meet her high standards.

So that was the source of the noise.

John sighed, his headache only growing worse. “Elli, it’s 10 pm. Forgive my rudeness, but what the fuck are you doing?”

Elli finally around to face him, adjusting herself to sit on the floor cross-legged. “I’m cooking,” she offered by way of explanation as if it were the most normal of circumstances to be in. “Well, trying to. I can’t find anything in this damned kitchen!”

“That’s because it’s not yours, deputy.” Despite himself, John found himself smiling as Elli’s frown deepened. “You are aware that breaking and entering is still a crime, my dear? Surely you haven’t fallen so far from grace as to forget that?”

“I need a pan,“ she answered, “a bigger one.”

John didn’t even attempt to hide his incredulity. "You broke into my home… to steal a pan?” When Elli only nodded, he raised an eyebrow. “Is this your new weapon of choice, my dear? Should I be concerned? I’ve heard… interesting reports about your ‘adventures’ with Charlemagne.” He paused. “And of your proficiency with shovels.”

“Of course not!” Elli stood up, dusting her hands on her trousers. The flame pattern emphasising her toned legs were more reminiscent of Boshaw, but even he couldn’t deny she suited them: by God, was she spirited.

Elli grinned at him, thus breaking his private reverie. Her smile so dazzling that already John felt his resolve beginning to wane as she extended an arm towards the stove. “I’m cooking for you!"

A delayed response, but at her words, he finally noticed the enticing aroma beginning to fill the kitchen reminding him of just how much time had passed since his last meal: a habit he could never quite seem to conquer. There was always sermons to attend; confessions to be heard; baptisms to be performed. The ranch was cold more often than not, a place for John to rest when sleep couldn’t be avoided any longer; a symbol of the successes and happiness that could be found within the Project if it was embraced with open arms.

It had taken the Junior Deputy’s chaotic attempt at a break in to finally realise that it was hollow; the sound of life and the dizzying, almost intoxicating, scent almost foreign to him. They were sights and sounds better associated with home: something the ranch was yet to feel like.

As much as he was loathed to admit it, the woman currently causing havoc in his kitchen was beginning to feel far more like home than the ranch ever did.

He pulled himself from his thoughts with some effort. "You’re cooking. For me?” John echoed, voice tinged with wariness as he made his way over towards the cast-iron pot threatening to bubble over. Eyebrow raised, he returned his attention back to her. “Are you sure that’s wise?”

“Well…yeah. That’s what I said, isn’t it? I wanted to see you."

She nudged at the bowl she had recently set down with her foot, the smile he had already grown to love fading fast. “I just - it’s Christmas Eve, and it’s cold and it’s snowing and well…I guess no one should be alone at Christmas. It was a dumb idea, I know. I didn’t want to spend Christmas Eve at The Spread Eagle watching everyone get blackout drunk.”

John was momentarily taken aback, warmth blossoming in his chest at her words.

Elli opened her mouth to speak but paused, instead crouching down amidst the carnage she had created. She toyed idly with a bowl. “I should go - it’s late and you’re probably tired so -” “Yes."

At Elli’s hurt expression, he suddenly realised his mistake. John cursed himself. "I mean, yes, it’s late and yes, I’m tired but -”

John sighed once more, pinching the bridge of his nose as he did so. “Forgive me, Elli. It’s not a 'dumb’ idea: I’m simply bewildered by this turn of events. I was hardly expecting such mayhem, least of all from you.”

Finally coming to his senses, John approached her, gently coming to caress the side of her face as he crouched down to her height. “The company would be most welcome. Especially from you, my dear.”

The change in her was nothing less than remarkable. Elli jumped up, the smile on her face rivalled only by the sudden brightness in her eyes. John thought her smile could rival the very stars hanging over the Valley; hell, her smile could rival the view of the County from Affirmation. He wasn’t entirely sure how he suddenly become so weak for the woman so hell-bent on causing so much damage and destruction; a woman so stubborn she outright refused his offers at salvation with a fist to his face after he said so much as a sentence…but he found it hard to care at this very moment. Not when he was the cause of such a delightful sight.

Genuine smiles were a rare occurrence around him, John Seed found.

But never from her.

“Great!” her voice was bright, enthusiasm infectious. Despite his fatigue, John found himself smiling in response. It was hard to not smile around her, as he was beginning to discover.

“You can help me then!” Elli continued, once again diving practically head-first into the cabinet. “I still need that pan!”

“Whatever for?”

“Onions, silly.”

John stared at her. “Of course, my dear. How impertinent of me to not realise this.” She fixed him with a hard stare over her shoulder before erupting into laughter at the sight of him; eyebrows furrowed and arms folded across his chest defensively. “I know your family isn’t known for their culinary skills, but come on, John. Don’t tell me you’ve never made a stew in your life before.”

“Stew? That’s what you’re making?”

“If I can find a damned pan,” Elli growled in frustration, attention returning to her raid of the cupboard. “Honestly, how do you even find anything in this kitchen?”

He watched her for a while more; his smile slowly growing as the woman became more ferocious in her seemingly unending search, curse words and threats filling the increasingly empty cabinet as she emptied the contents in annoyance.

When yet another bowl found itself narrowly missing his feet, John gave an exaggerated sigh as he pushed himself up from the counter he had been leaning on. “I find it helps if one looks in the proper place, to begin with, Deputy.”

Without so much as a word, he strode across the kitchen to the correct place, reaching up to reveal the item Elli so desired, hidden the cabinet just above her head. “Ta-da,” he snarked, watching as her look of curiosity turned to one of outright scorn.

John passed her the pan, mouth quirking slightly as she snatched it from his hands. Unable to resist, he went on. “I find it prudent to search everywhere before resorting to outright carnage, Deputy. Although, it explains so much about you and your methods…” “Fuck you,” she hit back, although the obvious lack of malice softened her words. “That’s a stupid place to keep them.”

“As opposed to the darkest confines of a rarely used cupboard, Elli?”

“It’s easier! And far more logical.”

Elli stood up, pout firmly fixed upon her face. She brushed past him, critically examining the pan. Apparently not wanting to give John the satisfaction of besting her, she scoffed.

“This’ll do, I guess.”

“It’s a pan, my dear.”

With a shrug of her strong shoulders, Elli winked. “I was expecting something more… extravagant from the great John Seed!“

She smiled once more at him, appraising him slightly. "Do I need to remind you to take your coat off, John? This is your house, after all: it should be you offering to take my things. I am a guest, after all!”

Despite himself, John laughed. “I would hardly call you a guest, deputy.”

“Yet you haven’t had me removed by your guards,” Elli smirked. “Besides, if you have me removed, you’ll never get to taste my County renowned deer stew.”

She paused momentarily. “You know, I’m pretty sure this is purely the reason Nick and Kim agreed to take me in. Or maybe they’re hoping I’ll teach them."

Elli gave John a wicked glance. "I’ll never tell. Not even to the great John Seed.” She winked, before returning to her task of slicing the onions.

“Where on Earth did you learn to make deer stew?” He eyed her warily. “You have been staying away from the Whitetails, haven’t you, my dear? I do believe Jacob wouldn’t react quite the same way as I if he caught you in his territory.” John’s voice grew softer. “Especially after last time…” “John -”

“I need you to be safe, Elli.” Unable to meet her gaze, he looked away almost sheepishly, tattooed hand running through his hair. “I… still mean what I said to you that night. And you still don’t have to answer!” he stammered quickly, seeing her eyes widen in surprise. “That you believe peace to be an option is admirable, Elli. I - just do be careful in your endeavours, hmm? People would miss you.”

John let his voice slowly trail off, allowing the full weight of his words to come to settle at her feet like the snow softly falling outside.

Elli remained quiet, shuffling slightly. “I know,” she whispered. “But we have to keep this hidden, John. The Resistance doesn’t even know I’m here.”

The silence between them grew heavy. John watched as she worked, her tongue gently poking out in her concentration. He could take in the view of her forever, he thought to himself, as he savoured the sight of his deputy in his home.

It seemed almost remarkable how homely a sight she presented, away from the chaos she normally revelled in: it was almost hard to believe this was the very woman who had once struck him the night of Joseph’s failed arrest. John hardly dared hope, but Elli seemed at peace here; far more relaxed without the weight of a dependant county on her shoulders.

He could watch her like this forever, John thought.

Elli’s brunette locks were slowly coming loose from its ponytail, wisps of chestnut hair gracing her neck. A strand fell over her face, and he smiled as she huffed in an attempt to remove it from her line of sight. Without thinking, he approached her, tucking the rebellious lock of hair behind Elli’s ear.

She smiled at him appreciatively; and, growing bold, John allowed himself to place his hand at the small of her back. Elli tensed slightly, before fully relaxing into his touch.

“My parents were rangers,” she murmured, remaining focused on the task in front of her. John remained silent, content with just listening to the tone of her voice as she went on.

“We owned some land - a fair bit of forestry - even owned hotels and camping sites. It was… nice, you know? I helped out a lot - both my parents were rangers. It was very family-based.” Elli laughed to herself. “Hell, my uncle even taught me how to fly because it was part of the job.”

She grew quiet as she stirred the onions in with the rest of the ingredients. Slowly stirring, Elli’s voice grew distant. “The Whitetails remind me of home, John. I miss it… and my family.”

“Elli…”

She smiled sadly up at him. “It’s okay, John. Really. It - this time of year should be spent with family. It’s not until you can’t that you realise just how much you miss it, y'know?”

“I do,” John replied earnestly, his own voice quiet. “More than I would care to admit.”

Elli nodded. “Christmas is a time to spend with people important to you. Like… you are to me, John.”

She was blushing furiously now, stirring the stew with an intensity to match, almost too nervous to even so much as spare a passing glance at him.

John paused. Unable to stop the smile growing upon his face, his hand rose from her back to wrap around her shoulders, pulling her closer to him. Elli gasped at the sudden touch, before wrapping her own arm around him in return.

Almost shyly, John pressed a chaste kiss against her temple, heart hammering in his chest as she hummed in response. “I’m afraid I didn’t quite catch that, Deputy. Care to repeat yourself?”

“You’re impossible!” she scoffed in mock outrage.

“So I’ve been told, my dear.”

Somehow, Elli’s flush deepened further, a feat that John privately marvelled at. “You mean a lot to me. There! Happy now?”

“Yes,” he beamed, unable to stop himself from laughing at her scowl. “I am. Incredibly so!”

“Well… good,” she replied as she stepped away from him. “Because I think this is more than ready - it’s been stewing for at least three hours! Not as long as I normally like to leave it, but the meat shouldn’t taste like old boot leather.”

He started. “You’ve been here for three hours?”

“I had to make it perfect,” Elli explained, almost bashfully. Like a whirlwind, she spun from John’s grasp seeking out cutlery. “It is Christmas Eve after all; I know you’ve been out for a while and-“

"Elli, my dear?”

She paused, looking at him over her shoulder. Elli raised an eyebrow in response as she leaned against the counter, arms folded across her chest.

John approached her slowly, hands coming to rest at her waist. “Elli, my dear. Tonight is already perfect, simply with your presence. I simply fail to see how tonight could get any better.”

Elli responded by wrapping her arms around his waist, allowing herself to be held in a rare moment of peace.

“You’re a sweet-talker, you know that, right? Maybe I’ll even teach you if you keep this up.”

“I’d like nothing more, Deputy.”

#john seed/deputy #deputy oc #john seed #fluff #gift: fic #fc5holidayexchange #jackythemoo #submission

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therainroguefanfiction · 4 years

Text

🎃 Frightful October Act V, #15 ~ School (Gon F. & Killua Z.)

📑 Table of Contents

Genre: Supernatural, Fluff, Family, Slice of Life, High School AU

Word Count: 3,746

Pairing: Gon, Reader x Killua

World: Hunter x Hunter

───── ⋆⋅🎃⋅⋆ ─────

BANG!

Hearing the loud noise coming from the living room, you shot up from your chair and rushed down the stairs. Your eyes landed on your younger brother. He was on his back on the floor with a vase broken beside him. Killua stood over him, looking guilty. It was obvious to you that they had been wrestling again and it got out of hand.

You kneeled beside your brother, eyes scanning for any injuries. “Are you okay?”

He sat up, rubbing the back of his head as he offered you a sheepish smile. “Yeah, I’m okay!”

You turned your attention to his best friend, whose pale cheeks turned pink at the attention. “And you, Killua? Any injuries?”

He quickly shook his head. “I’m sorry, it was my fault!”

You chuckled, ruffling his white locks. “It’s okay as long as both of you are safe. Go on upstairs, I’ll clean this mess up.”

Gon threw his arms around your neck and kissed your cheek. “Thanks, Y/N!”

You smiled as the two ran out of the room and up the stairs. Being the older sibling wasn’t always easy, but you were happy. Gon is such a sweet kid. He’s the best sibling you could have ever asked for so you were more than happy to look after him. Killua was his best friend and he, too, is a really sweet kid.

Carefully, you picked up the large chunks of the vase and spread them out on the kitchen table. The way it had hit the ground had prevented it from shattering, so it should be easy to patch up. You grabbed the superglue and got to work. It wouldn’t be perfect again, but the cracks just added character to it in your opinion.

After you finished gluing it, you left it to dry, leaving a piece of paper nearby in case someone tried to touch it or pick it up.

‘Now, what should I make for dinner?’ you hummed thoughtfully as you looked through the cabinet. ‘I know, I’ll make some pasta and garlic bread!’ With a smile, you got to work.

When the sauce started to bubble, you reduced the heat so it could simmer. You placed another pot beside it, full of water, and turned the heat on medium-high. The sound of footsteps reached your ears as the two boys descended the stairs. You glanced over your shoulder, seeing the two peeking around the doorway. They quickly pulled back when and you smiled, returning to the task at hand.

The two boys talked in hushed whispers, going back and forth trying to decide who would approach you. They finally decided to use rock-paper-scissors to settle it and Killua lost. With a frown, he slowly stepped into the kitchen while Gon ran back upstairs.

You glanced at him as you stirred the sauce. “Something wrong, Killua?”

“Can I help you?” he asked, shifting his weight from one foot to the other.

“If you want, you can put the garlic bread in the oven. Careful not to burn yourself.”

He nodded and approached the freezer, pulling the box out and reading over the instructions. As he put tinfoil over the pan, he glanced at you nervously. You were now sitting at the table, stretching your arms above your head.

“Ne, Y/N?”

“Yes?”

“I’m sorry about breaking the vase,” he apologized, arranging the bread on the tray. “I hope it wasn’t an antique or something.”

“Don’t worry about it,” you smiled. “Dad brought it home from one of his business trips, but I don’t think it’s special or anything. I fixed it already, anyway, so no worries.”

“That’s good,” he smiled, opening the oven and carefully sliding the tray onto the rack. He hesitated as he turned to look at you, shoving his hands into the pockets of his tan shorts. “Do you have any plans for tomorrow?”

“Janey asked me to come to her movie marathon but there are already five people going, one of which I don’t really see eye to eye with. What about you and Gon? Are you going trick-or-treating with your friends?”

Killua’s nose wrinkled. “We’re not kids anymore, Y/N! We’re in our first year of high school.”

You chuckled at that. “You don’t have to be a kid to enjoy it. Actually, why don’t the three of us go together? I wouldn’t mind bumming some of your candy.”

Blood rushed to his cheeks at the thought and he quickly turned so you wouldn’t see. “Actually, Gon and I already decided what we wanted to do.”

“Ah, I see,” your smile fell a bit, the excitement leaving you like air from a balloon. “Well, just promise me you’ll both be safe and stay out of trouble, okay?”

“Go with us!” he said suddenly, whipping out to meet your eyes. “I-If you want to, I mean…”

You looked at him in surprise, resting your cheek in your palm. “What are you guys planning to do?”

“One of our classmates told us this story about the school. He said that tomorrow is the anniversary of a girl who died in bathroom thirteen years ago on Halloween night,” he took a step forward, eyes shining with excitement as he recalled the tale. “It’s a full moon, too! We’re determined to find the ghost and see if the rumors are true.”

You sweatdropped at his enthusiasm. “Killua, the bread…”

“Shoot!” he whipped around, putting on an oven mitt before pulling the tray out of the oven. You moved to stand behind him, looking over his shoulder at the damage. The bread was darker than it should be, but it wasn’t burnt.

“Not too bad,” you commented, making his body tense at how close you were to him. “If you’re both okay with it, I’d love to join you.”

He nodded. “Gon was hoping you’d come with us. He’s kinda scared.”

You chuckled, wrapping your arms around his shoulders from behind. “Don’t worry, I’ll be there to protect both of you!”

Killua’s heart raced in his chest and he found himself leaning back against you, his hand resting on your arm. He couldn’t stop the smile that lit up his face.

───── ⋆⋅🎃⋅⋆ ─────

The next night, the three of you headed to the school. Killua went to climb the gate but you stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. “If we go in the front, someone will probably see us.”

“How do we get inside then?” he frowned.

“Follow me,” you patted his shoulder before following the concrete wall that surrounded the school. You stepped off the sidewalk, following the alley of grass on the right side of the school until you came to a large set of rose bushes near the back wall. Carefully pushing them apart to avoid the thorns, you place your foot on the bottom of the wall and pushed until a small section gave way, falling to the grass on the other side. “Careful of the bushes on the other side.”

“How do you know about that?” Gon asked, curiously.

“Let’s just say, I was a pretty bad student in my first year.”

The two exchanged a look before approaching the hole. Gon went first, followed by Killua. You did your best to hold the bushes apart while going through, but the thorns did get your legs in a few places.

“Okay, what about getting inside the school?” Killua asked.

“That’s easy! The janitor is a smoker, but the principal doesn’t like him to smoke while he’s on school grounds, so he does it at night while he’s cleaning. He always smokes at the same window on the second floor, and leaves it open so the smoke won’t stick around inside the hallway.”

“The second floor?” Gon tilted his head. “How do we get up there?”

“There’s a cherry tree right by the window. We can easily climb it and get inside.”

“Just how much trouble did you get into as a first-year?” Killua raised a brow at you.

You sweatdropped, choosing to ignore his question as you approached the tree. Most of the orange and yellow leaves had fallen from its branches, littering the earth below. The petals, usually a soft pink in the spring, were now a snowy white, reflecting the cold air that hung over the town.

You swung your leg over the thick branch leading toward the window and held your hand out towards the boys. Gon slipping his hand into yours, placing a foot on the trunk of the tree. You gave a quick tug, helping him up onto the branch. He crouched, holding onto your hand as he slowly moved toward the open window. Once he was safely inside, you held out your hand for Killua. He took the same stance that Gon did, hopping into the window.

Once the three of you were safely inside the building, you set your bag onto the floor, pulling out a flashlight for each of you. You also brought some water, snacks, a first aid kit, and a few other small items.

“Woah,” Killua leaned over, peering into the bag. “You really came prepared.”

Gon reached in, pulling out a small rectangular box with a small LCD screen and some buttons. “What is this?”

“That’s a spirit box. It scans the FM and AM bands along with white noise, where spirit voices seemingly are able to form words,” you explained. “It’s been used by some of the top paranormal investigators.”

“I didn’t know you knew so much about all of this stuff,” Gon’s eyes sparkled with admiration and you laughed, ruffling his hair.

“I really don’t. After the two of you fell asleep last night, I stayed up watching a bunch of paranormal videos so I could research the top. Get a feel for what to look for and what to expect. The spirit box belongs to a classmate of mine, Ami. She’s really into the paranormal. She started the Paranormal Research club in her first year! She was bummed that she couldn’t join us tonight.”

“How come?” Gon asked.

“She had to take her baby sister trick-or-treating, then she has to babysit her while her parents are at a business party.”

“That sucks,” Killua folded his hands behind head and started to walk down the hall. You clicked on your flashlight and followed.

“I also researched the story you told me. It’s accurate for the most part,” you commented, shining the flashlight across the hall. “A girl did die here thirteen years ago today, and there have been numerous sightings of a ghostly apparition throughout the years. The strange thing is that no one was able to determine how she died. It was labeled as ‘mysterious circumstances’. A lot of people speculated that it was suicide, while others are convinced that she made contact with a demon that night.”

“D-Demon?” Gon squeaked, holding onto your hand tightly.

‘Oops, guess I shouldn’t have told him that part,’ You smiled down at him. “It’s just a story, Gon, don’t worry. Demons don’t exist.”

“Are you sure?” he asked, looking up at you with watery eyes.

“A hundred percent sure!”

He nodded, but it was obvious that he was still a bit worried.

You frowned, giving his hand a squeeze. ‘Maybe letting them come here was a bad idea. What if they have nightmares?’ “Let’s find a spot to try out the spirit box. Then we can go home and spend the rest of the night watching movies and binging on snacks.”

Killua caught on to what you were doing. “Sounds good to me. I’m kinda getting bored already.”

“Where should we try? The cafeteria?”

“It happened on the third floor, right?” Killua jabbed his thumb in the direction of the stairs. “Let’s just pick a classroom up there.”

The three of you headed up the stairs. As soon as your foot landed on the third floor, you felt like you were being watched. The entire school was dark, naturally, but the end of the hallway seemed impossibly dark like no light could penetrate it. Gon didn’t notice the change in the atmosphere, but you certainly did. You exchanged a worried look with Killua, who gave you a reassuring smile. Even so, you could see the worry in his eyes.

“This one is unlocked!” Gon called, sliding open the door to class 3-C. You followed him inside, the beam of light sweeping over the empty desks. You were so used to seeing the desks full of students that it was eerie to see it empty now.

You set your bag down onto the teacher’s desk, rifling through it for the USB speaker.

“Soo~ how do we use that thing?” Killua asked, hopping up to sit beside the bag as he watched you closely.

“Ami said I just needed to plug it into the speaker and turn it on.” You did as she instructed, jumping at the sudden sound of loud static coming through the speaker. You placed your hand over your heart, feeling it beat against your chest.

“Maybe turn it down a bit…” Killua winced, plugging his ears with his fingers.

“Yeah…” you decreased the volume before setting it down on the desk beside Killua. It started to scan the radio stations at a high speed. “Now we ask questions and see if anything answers back.”

Gon tilted his head to the side, his index finger resting on his chin. “What do we ask?”

You hummed, thoughtfully. “Is anyone with us tonight?”

The three of you looked expectantly at the box.

“Nothing is happening,” Gon whispered, bouncing on his toes.

Killua poked it. “Maybe it’s broken.”

You leaned over the desk, resting your chin in your hand. “Ami said that it takes a lot of energy for spirits to speak with us, so nothing might come through. If anything is here at all, that is.”

Killua scowled, poking the box again. “Come on, say something!”

A feminine voice came through, but it was too distorted to understand the words.

“Did you catch that?” Killua asked, glancing at Gon.

“Nope.”

“It was a feminine voice,” you mused, leaning closer to the box. “Can you say that again, please?”

“H̸̻̓e̷̖͘ĺ̵̼p̵̧̉,” the whispered word sent a chill down all of your spines.

Killua swallowed hard, grasping your arm. “Did it just…”

“I… I think so,” you released a breath, glancing at your baby brother. He was shaking. You cleared your throat and put on a smile, patting him with your free arm. “What is it you need help with? I’m not the brightest crayon in the box, but my grades are average!”

“Didn’t you just fail your algebra test?” Killua deadpanned.

“That’s neither here nor there, Killua!”

He laughed loudly and you scowled.

A tugging on the hem of your shirt made you glanced down at Gon, who was staring at the supply closet with wide eyes. “What is it, Gon?”

“I heard something…” he mumbled, softly, his gaze not leaving the closet.

You pulled your arm free from Killua and stood up straight, picking up the flashlight. As you approached the closet at the back of the room, it felt like your hair was standing on end, goosebumps erupting across your flesh. You lifted your hand toward the handle.

Just as your fingers made contact, a clear voice came through the spirit box. “No!”

“‘No’ what?” Killua’s brow furrowed as he looked down at the box.

The voice made your heart speed up as the feeling of being watched returned. You swallowed. “Do you… not want me to open the closet?”

“D̵̺̽o̴̦̚ṇ̵̚’̵̱̀ţ̵͘,” the voice was distorted again as if it had used all of its energy on saying no.

Something slammed against the closet door and you jumped back, dropping the flashlight. It rolled across the uneven floor, casting eerie shadows on the wall. Unparalleled dread filled your entire body, something deep inside telling you that you needed to get out. Your father had always taught you and Gon to trust your instincts no matter what, and you refused to put the boys in danger.

You speed-walked to the front of the room, where you turned the spirit box off and shoved it into the bag along with the speaker. “Let’s go home, it’s getting late.” Both boys agreed without resistance and all of you left the classroom. You slid the door closed and turned around to head for the stairs.

It happened so fast you almost didn’t register it. A black shadowy vine shot out from the darkness at the end of the hall, wrapping tight around your ankle and tugging hard. With a surprised shriek, you fell to the linoleum floor. The impact left your chin throbbing, blood dripping from the cut on your lip. You felt dazed, like you were in a dream.

The vine started to pull you into the darkness. The boys, who had been previously frozen in shock, rushed forward, each grabbing onto an arm and pulling. When that didn’t work, Killua tried pulling the vine off, but it only tightened around your ankle. You tried to grab your bag, but it was just out of reach.

“Killua, my bag!”

“Forget the bag!”

“It has a pocket knife in it!”

He ran to the bag, turning it upside down, the contents scattering across the floor. The pocket knife landed in front of you and you wasted no time flicking it open and turning over.

“Get off of me!” you screamed, slamming the blade down onto the vine, expecting it to break apart.

“…nothing happened.” Killua sweatdropped.

“I noti~ced!” The vine gave a tug halfway through the word, sending you sliding across the floor toward the darkness. You kicked and struggled to no avail as you got closer to the endless void at the end of the hall. ‘Shit, what do I do?!’

“N̵̲̍o̶̗͊,”

The same icy voice from the spirit box now echoed throughout the hall. A figure materialized in front of you, glowing white from head to toe. It looked like a young girl, around the same age as the boys. You couldn’t see her face because she was standing in front of you, but her black hair fell in gentle waves to her mid-back. She opened her mouth, but no sound came out. Her body flickered in and out of sight, like a light whose battery was dying.

She turned toward you, an annoyed look on her face. Her mouth did not move, but you heard her voice clear as day in your head. ‘Lend me your energy.’

‘M-My energy?’ you swallowed. ‘Ami said it’s dangerous to allow a spirit to take my energy, but… I have to protect Gon and Killua!’

‘If you want to protect them,’ her voice echoed in your head as she glanced at the two boys behind you, frozen in fear. She reached her hand out to you. ‘Give me your energy.’

‘I have to protect them, no matter what the cost,’ Determined to do just that, you placed your hand in hers.

The glow around her increased until it engulfed the entire hallways. It was so bright that you had to close your eyes. The coldness you felt slowly started to fade as the hallway grew warm. Your head started to spin and the last thing you heard before plunging into darkness was her soft voice in your head, ‘Thank you.’

2 Hours Later

Your eyes fluttered open, squinting at the bright light above you. ‘Where am I?’ you wondered, pushing yourself up into a sitting position.

“Y/N!”

Gon and Killua ran at you, jumping onto the bed and throwing their arms around your body. Tears fell from Gon’s eyes, soaking your neck and the collar of your shirt.

“I was so worried!” he sobbed, his body shaking.

You wrapped your arms around both of them, holding them tightly. “Are you okay, Gon?” He nodded and you turned to Killua. “How about you?”

His pale cheeks darkened and he held back the tears that clung his eyes. “Yeah, I’m fine. Are you okay?”

You nodded, running a hand through his messy hair. “Yeah, sorry to worry you.”

Someone cleared their throat and you looked at the door, feeling your body tense up. The vice-principal, Hisoka, stood at the door with his arms folded and lips pressed into a thin line. He did not look happy. “Would you care to explain why the three of you are inside the school at one in the morning?” He raised a brow.

‘One in the morning? Is it really that late?’ you offered him a sheepish smile. “Um… we were walking by and saw someone inside so we decided to take a look…”

“And you didn’t think it necessary to inform the cops?”

“Uh, well…”

“We thought it was a student!” Killua interjected. “I heard some students talking about the school being haunted, so we figured it was them.”

Something flashed through his eyes so quickly that the boys didn’t notice it, but you did. With a heavy sigh, he glanced at the clock. “Let’s get you all home. I will be calling your parents first thing in the morning.” He turned to the door, glancing over his shoulder. “Hopefully, you will have your story straight by the time school ends tomorrow.”

You glanced at Killua and he sweatdropped, lowering his voice. “Gon told him the truth.”

With a chuckle, you held Gon close and slid off the bed, carrying him since he refused to release his titanium grip. You followed Hisoka out of the school, sliding into the backseat with Gon while Killua sat upfront.

───── ⋆⋅🎃⋅⋆ ─────

After dropping you off at your house, Hisoka returned to the school. He reached the third floor, glancing at the end of the hall. The inky blackness was gone and the hallway felt calm.

The girl materialized behind him.

He didn’t turn around, stuffing his hands into his pockets. “Will you be moving on now?”

‘Yes,’ her chilly voice echoed within his mind. ‘There is nothing to keep me here any longer.’

“I figured you would leave as soon as it was destroyed.” Hisoka finally turned to look at the girl.

‘That was always the plan,’ she smiled, sadly. ‘But I wanted to make sure that girl was okay first. Now, I am free to leave this place that has kept me captive for so long…’ her voice faded away with her body until Hisoka was standing in the hallway alone.

Hisoka bowed, respectfully. “Rest in peace… Misato.”

───── ⋆⋅🎃⋅⋆ ─────

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