#[i made her hair a more honey colored similar to her mother & grandmother. Her eyes are arryn blue with a slightly hint of pale lilac]

[thesilverlady]

“There's a story behind everything. How a picture got on a wall. How a scar got on your face. Sometimes the stories are simple, and sometimes they are hard and heartbreaking. But behind all your stories is always your mother's story, because hers is where yours begin.” — Mitch Albom

[flannels-and-fannypacks]

WTWT: The Sequel | Part 4/5 [Reggie Peters]

pairing: reggie peters x fem!reader

word count: 6.6k

warnings: angst, swearing

a/n: hey babes it’s drea :) hope you enjoy this part and get to meet mimi and my favorite ocs!!! make sure to like, comment, and reblog! also send in your memes because we adore them!

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If Rose thought he was stupid then, he wondered how she would have thought of him now. Incredibly sleep deprived, clothes wrinkled, and a bouquet of flowers he most definitely sat on at one point in his hand. But none of that mattered now. He was finally here in Canada to see you, his most chaotic plan yet.

Penticton was not like Los Angeles in the slightest. Reggie felt as though he was out of place. This city was calm and small, in contrast to his loud and unpredictable life. He wasn’t sure if he’d be able to make the adjustment if he had to move here, but he knew he’d do anything for you.

With a shaky hand, Reggie knocked on the door. The door slowly opened to reveal an older couple, one that Reggie barely recognized. Reggie was about to apologize and leave until the woman spoke up.

“Aren’t you that horse boy?” the woman asked, narrowing her eyes. “The one that (N/N) was friends with, right? From Idaho?”

Reggie’s cheeks were flushed red. “Um, Wyoming, ma’am,” he corrected politely.

The woman seemed impressed. “Manners and flowers,” she mused. “Turns out they did teach you a thing or two on that ranch of yours. Come in, I made scones.” Without letting Reggie speak, she took the flowers and shoved them into her husband’s hands. “Earl, put that in water, the poor flowers look parched.”

“Um ma’am I’m not too sure this is a good-,”

“Nonsense, you must have come all the way from California,” she waved him off, “We need to get you fed and rested up don’t we?”

Her husband nodded while finding a vase to put the flowers in. “Best take a seat, son,” he whispered. “Tamara gets a little pushy, so there’s no point in fighting her.”

Sighing, Reggie took a seat on the couch as Earl walked off to the closet.

“I’ll be right back honey,” Tamara insisted, just have to go grab something from the kitchen.

Reggie nodded and sat quietly, waiting for her to return, and when she did she was accompanied by a large plate of what Reggie had assumed to be scones. You were obsessed with them, the cafe you worked at had even started selling them at your request.

“You must be hungry from that flight, right?” she asked, removing her oven mitts. “Have some of these, they’re (N/N)’s favorite, can’t get enough of them.” Without asking for permission, she took a scone and --for lack of better word-- shoved it into Reggie’s mouth. “Taste good, honey?”

They were delicious. Only issue was that they were fresh from the oven.

“T-they’re h-ho-” Reggie tried to tell the woman.

Only Tamara didn’t listen. Instead, she took another scone, prepared to feed Reggie once again. “You’re like a stick, honey,” she scolded with a shake of her head. “I told Eloise about those weird fads in California. Stubborn girl doesn’t want to listen.” Reggie nodded, finally swallowing the scone. Not the smartest choice. “Oh, you’re finished? Have another.”

“No thank-” Reggie was cut off by the pastry filling his mouth.

Tamara tutted, seemingly not noticing the boy’s discomfort. “You know, I remember you from when you were little,” she continued to talk. “Very skinny. But short. You grew quite a bit from last time we visited, right, Earl?”

Earl came back, flowers now in a purple vase. He nodded wordlessly before turning to look at Reggie, his cheeks red and puffed out. Earl’s face showed no surprise. That was his wife, after all.

“Oh, Earl, not that vase,” Tamara sighed, giving Reggie a sneak attack by feeding him another scone. The poor boy let out a muffled groan, but didn’t say anything else. “Get the white one, it matches the flowers’ colors much better.”

“Yes dear,” Earl said, going back to the closet in the back of the house. Reggie slouched back on the couch, hopeless and in desperate need for some water. He came to Canada for you, not to be subjected to some sick twisted grandmotherly world war two-esque torture.

Tamara looked down at Reggie. “You must really like these scones, dear,” she said, visibly impressed. “Have another, there’s plenty to go around. Now I see why (N/N) likes you. You two must really love my cooking, hm? Remind me to give you the recipe for when you go back home. That is, if you want to go home.”

Earl mouthed an apology as he came back with the new vase and Reggie just looked at the old man and questioned whether this was going to be him in fifty years.

Reggie tried to say something but only crumbs flew out of his mouth, stuffed like a chipmunk.

“Hey Nana is someone out here I thought I-Flicka?!”

Reggie turned over to you, eyes wide, face full with scones and he gave you a pained smile.

“Hi Foofie,” he attempted to say with his mouth full.

Tamara pinched the bridge of her nose. “Well, looks aren’t everything,” she sighed. “Come on, boy, swallow before you speak. This is your future bride for crying out loud.”

“Nana,” you whined before rushing over to Reggie, taking a cloth napkin and wiping his face. “You look absolutely ridiculous, Flicka.”

“You lofe me,” he shot back, mouth still filled with scones.

You hummed in response. “Sometimes,” you teased. Tears began to well in your eyes. “I can’t believe you flew all the way here, and suffered Nana’s scone feeding for me.”

Eloise and Mateo walked into the room next looking at the sight before them with great confusion.

“Mom not again!” Eloise complained while her husband just let out a small chuckle, remembering the similar way he was greeted when he was getting to know Eloise. “I’m so sorry Reggie honey, but it’s really great to see you,” the middle aged woman smiled and leaned down, giving Reggie a big hug. “It’s been a while.”

“It has,” Reggie said, finally able to answer properly.

Mateo was next, helping Reggie out of his seat and welcoming him with the same kindness.

“Good to see you son,”

“You too, sir,” he nodded.

Mateo ruffled the boy’s hair before Reggie was pulled in some other direction and out the door of the house.

You sat Reggie down on the porch swing overlooking the rest of the city from where the house stood on the mountain. He could see how the mountains dipped into a valley, surrounded by bushes and trees that faded in the distance, pooling into the crystal blue lake, of which he could see more than one.

His driver had told him the large one was the Okanagan lake, and it spanned multiple cities, the middle point being the city he flew into, Kelowna, the other smaller lake that was more popular with locals was called Skaha.

“You know,” you hummed as you leaned your head on his shoulder. “This is by far the stupidest plan you’ve ever come up with.” Reggie snorted, shaking his head silently. “But I’m glad you went through with it.”

“Me too, I was going to leave a few days after you left, but Rose made me pick up some shifts at her parents store so I could pay for the ticket,”

You laughed softly, taking his hand and weaving it together. “Seems like Rose,” you mused. “How are all of them? I miss them a lot, you know.”

“Yeah, we all know,” Reggie nodded. “Can I just say your grandma is a lot more intense than when we were younger. I legitimately thought she was trying to suffocate me with food,”

“Yeah, Nana does that with all the boyfriends, dad got the same treatment back in the 70s,”

“I hope I passed her test, then,” Reggie chuckled.

“You definitely did, she shoved like five scones in your mouth, I think that’s a record,”

“Pays to have the stomach of a cow,”

“Cows have six stomachs Flicka,”

“Exactly,” he grinned, pressing a kiss to your cheek. “And look at this, no universe, just me in charge, huh?”

“Or, is that what the universe wants you to think?”

“You know I thought you believed in God,” he fired back and you laughed.

“Same idea Flicka, just deal with it, higher power’s got your back,”

Just when Reggie opened his mouth, the door creaked open, revealing Eloise’s head poking out. “As sweet as this little reunion is,” she began sympathetically. “I think you two should get inside, now. You know, the mosquitoes are the one thing that don’t follow the ‘nice Canadian’ stereotype.”

You sighed, nodding. “Come on, Flicka. Sunburns are one thing but I’m not going to help you if you get a mosquito bite.”

“You don’t have to tell me twice, mosquitoes suck,” he said grabbing your arm and pulling you up and into the house.

As soon as you entered the room, Tamara smiled, exiting the kitchen. “There you two are,” she said. “Would you like another sco-”

“No!” both you and Reggie exclaimed in unison.

Reggie’s face turned red. “I uh mean, no ma’am,” he corrected sheepishly. “I’m full, but thank you. They’re really good, though.” Tamara, seemingly pleased with his response, nodded.

“Don’t forget, separate rooms you two,” Eloise warned.

Tamara looked at her daughter with a frown, “You act like you did sneak Mateo in here when you were teenagers. Plus he likes my scones! He’s family!”

“Yeah mom, listen to Nana I’m 22, you can relax,” you sighed.

“I promise no shenanigans,” Reggie added, “Swear it on Tamara’s scones,”

Tamara walked over to her daughter, patting her back. “Let the kids let loose,” she told her. “They’ll be fine together.”

You grinned, kissing your grandmother’s cheek gratefully. “Thank you, Nana.”

“Don’t thank me just yet, honey,” she stopped you. “I still want you to keep your door open. I approve of him, but I’m not ready to be a great grandmother just yet.”

“Don’t worry, I’m not ready to be a dad yet either,” Reggie chuckled. “One step at a time right?”

“We’ll see about that,” you chuckled mischievously earning you a scold from your father.

“Don’t tease the poor boy you’re just like your mother,”

Your mother rolled her eyes, elbowing him not so subtly. “Well, get to bed, the two of you,” she told you both. “I’m sure you have a bunch of things to show him tomorrow, so best get to bed now so you can have an early start,”

“Of course mom, love you guys,” you said, waving to your family and giving your grandfather who had been silent a kiss on the cheek.

Reggie was taken into Mateo's arms for a hug which he received warmly, your parents were like his second parents, they helped raise him, so it was only fair he looked at them that way.

Eloise was next, but along with a hug she whispered in his ear,

“I swear to sweet baby Jesus, Reginald, no funny business,”

“You have my word mama,” he chuckled and pressed a kiss to her cheek before following you out of the living room and up the small set of stairs that brought you to the rooms.

Your bedroom was small, and resembled that of a child’s. It was a bright pink with stars adorning the walls. Your twin sized bed was in the middle, pressed to the back of the wall. Reggie assumed that not much had changed in your room since you hadn’t been here for years.

“Nice room, Cookie,” he complimented as he set his bag down. “Very um, Disney princess chic.”

You shot him a look before throwing a pink throw pillow in his direction. “Shut up,” you shot back. “My grandparents haven’t really changed up the place. Hell, they still think I’m their baby granddaughter that wears princess dresses all the time.”

Reggie approached you, placing his hands on your waist. “Well, I wouldn’t mind seeing you in a pink princess dress,” he teased. “You’d look adorable.”

“As long as you wear the animal sidekick suit. You’d look adorable,” you mocked.

“Okay, I don’t mean to be a downer, but I’m exhausted, somehow my flight had a connection in Colorado then Alberta, so I’ve been awake for hours,”

“The washroom is through that door, you can get changed and then come and rest on the Aurora bedspread,”

“Looking forward to it Cookie,”

As instructed, Reggie made his way to the washroom and got ready while you did the same in your room, turning off the lights and leaving the door open. When you climbed into the bed, Reggie had just opened the door to the washroom, he was wearing flannel pants and a very large Sunset Curve shirt.

“Did they run out of your size, Flicka?” you teased, in your pajamas, a pair of old shorts and Alex’s sweatshirt you had stolen prior. Not that Alex ever noticed you took it, though. The drummer had a lifetime supply.

Reggie scoffed playfully. “I’ll have you know, this is just my size,” he told you. “Size beautiful, duh.”

You held your arms out to him in a welcoming hold and he didn’t hesitate to fall into them, resting his head against your chest while you pressed a kiss to his forehead.

“Hey, how is everyone?” you asked with a quiet yawn.

“Well, that’s the million dollar question isn’t it,” he laughed. “Bobby drank Rose and Ray’s place dry when you left, Luke didn’t eat anything but Twinkies for three days and wouldn’t leave your old apartment, Alex stayed with him but he was just as bad and Rose and Ray just took time off from everything to take care of everyone.”

“Wow,” you breathed.

“But,” Reggie continued. “They’re better now, they convinced me to come back up here. I think they want to come and visit at some point,”

“I’d like that a lot,” you smiled softly. “To see them all again. Maybe I’ll come back down for the wedding.”

Reggie chuckled, his fingers running through your hair. “There’s no “maybe,” Cookie. You’re going to be there, even if Rose has to drag you while in a white dress and veil. You’re her maid of honour.”

“About that,” you said, squinting your eyes. “Do you think they’re actually getting married? Like Rose didn’t say she told her parents or anything it was all very weird.”

“Oh, no, they’re definitely lying,” Reggie laughed. “But it’s fun to play along, see how long it takes for them to break or you know, break us.”

You rolled your eyes, shaking your head. “Those two are crazy,” she sighed. “Definitely Rose’s idea, though.”

Reggie nodded, his eyelids slowly closing. “Yeah,” he hummed. “I always thought we’d be the first ones to get married in the group, anyway.”

You chuckled lightly and nodded, “With our track record? Really Flicka? I was expecting at least one of us to get married and divorced first, probably me to be perfectly honest and you would have gone on some self actualization trip to Borneo and then we would have found each other again and gotten married,”

“Borneo does sound nice,” he mused and laughed. “We were never one for a normal relationship.”

You agreed. “Normal’s too boring,” you said. “Where’s the drama in a normal relationship?”

“When you put it that way it makes it seem unhealthy,” Reggie poked you and you squirmed under his touch.

“It’s not unhealthy it’s just… just… spicy! That’s it, our relationship is spicy,”

“So were those dances Mrs. Leona taught us,”

“Oh Tamika! She’s such a sweetheart, I went through part of my practicum with her,”

“You’re on a first name basis with her?” Reggie asked, surprised.

“Well, I am almost a teacher now so yeah,” you nodded. “Still wouldn’t let go the whole deal with us having unparalleled chemistry,”

“Why am I not surprised,” Reggie yawned loudly.

You tilted your head upwards to see Reggie, barely staying awake. “Okay, we definitely should go to bed now,” you told him. “You look beyond exhausted.”

“I feel beyond exhausted.”

Laughing softly, you snuggled yourself closer into Reggie’s chest, his arms finding their place around your waist. “Goodnight, Flicka,” you whispered. “I’m glad the universe brought us back together.”

Reggie hummed in response. “I’m glad, too. I love you, Cookie.”

—

You woke up the next morning to the loud sound of banging. Sitting up abruptly, you turned to see the other side of your bed empty. You frowned to yourself. Were you just dreaming? Did Reggie not actually come to Canada?

“YOU HORSE BOY, I TOLD YOU TO ADD SUGAR! WHAT IN YOUR RIGHT MIND MADE YOU THINK ADDING SALT TO PANCAKES WAS A SMART DECISION?” you heard your grandmother yell.

You let out a sigh of relief. Reggie was here.

“I’m sorry!” you heard him yelp. “They look similar, so I-”

“Oh, these Brandanowitz women, worst taste in men, I tell you,” she grumbled loudly. “None of them can choose a man who knows how to cook!”

Rushing down the stairs, you poked your head around the corner to see your grandmother, father, and Reggie trying to cook. Your father seemed to have taken a major offense to your nana’s comment.

“Tamara, I’ve gotten much better, plus I did teach you how to make arepas,”

Your grandmother narrowed her eyes. “Don’t get smart with me, boy,” she snapped, snatching the pan from your father’s hands. “I still remember the cake incident back in ‘84.” Your father blushed sheepishly before stepping back to let Nana take the lead in cooking.

“Mom before you start attacking my husband you do know that dad can’t cook right? I’d say that proves you have equally bad taste in men,” your mother countered.

“Mhmm,” Earl nodded, not looking up from his newspaper and sipping his coffee. “Very bad taste ‘Mara,”

Tamara shook her head, swatting Reggie’s hand as he tried to taste the batter. “Oh, I know,” she said back. “I just hoped that after five generations of our family choosing terrible cooks, we’d get some change.”

“Reggie’s got some other talents,” Mateo came to the boy’s defence. “An amazing musician, Eloise and I went to a few of his band’s concerts,”

Tamara gave the boy a dead state. “Fiddling with banjos and drums won’t feed you, unless you plan on eating strings,” she deadpanned.

“Actually ma’am my band and I just landed a huge gig at one of the most popular theaters in LA. Our tickets sold out,”

“Are the drumsticks made of bread?” she asked.

Reggie furrowed his eyebrows. “No?”

“Are the bass strings made of spinach?”

“No, ma’am.”

Tamara made a sour face, taking the batter from the table. “Then not my problem,” she said before continuing to make the pancakes.

“Mom,” Eloise groaned, smacking her forehead. “Reggie honey just ignore her, she’s too old fashioned for her own good. We,” she said motioning to herself and Mateo. “Love you and that’s all that matters,”

“I don’t think he’s that bad either,” Earl mused from the table.

“Oh sure,” Tamara murmured to herself. “I’m too old fashioned until you come running back to me for my scones recipe.” She looked up from her bowl of pancake mix to glare at her husband. “Earl, next time you ask for coffee, you’re getting dirt and worms, you hear me?”

The older man only smiled at his wife. “Yes, dear.”

“Good morning,” you said, finally coming into the kitchen.

You went around, giving the routine kisses, saving Reggie for last and pressing a quick peck to his lips.

“Sleep well Flicka?”

“Like a log,” he nodded. “I-I was trying to help your grandma make breakfast but she seems to think I’m a bad cook,”

“I’ll let you in on a little secret,” you grinned. “She labels to the sugar salt and the salt sugar just to get people, you’re a fine cook Flicka,”

“Tamara!” Mateo explained, completely betrayed and flabbergasted.

The woman shrugged her shoulders, flipping a pancake on the stove. “Serves you right for thinking I’m old fashioned. I can have fun, too.”

“I-” Mateo stammered before looking at his wife in disbelief. “Eloise!”

Eloise smirked as she approached you with a cup of coffee. “You’ll need it if you’re going to tour around town today,” she told you.

“I’m gonna need it if dad is gonna try and find a way to prove he's a good cook, I can see the gears turning,”

“You know I can cook (N/N)! I always made dinner at home,” he insisted. “Now what do you like more, my empanadas or tira de asado?”

“Ohh the tira,” you and Reggie both nodded, having tasted the delicious steak already.

Tamara turned around with a plate of pancakes, setting it on the table. “But is his cooking better than mine?” she asked, giving you a serious look.

“Well that depends,” you said, you were always honest with your grandmother, no matter what other people had said, “See Papa can beat you without a doubt on the South American dishes, but when it comes to North American comfort foods you’re the queen,”

“At least you raised her right,” Tamara grinned, pinching her granddaughter’s cheek.

The rest of breakfast went by smoothly, with Tamara only threatening to make Mateo sleep on the roof once, a new record. Regardless of the constant threats Mateo loved his mother in-law, that was a fact.

You ran back up to your bedroom to get dressed for the day, while Reggie was held back by your dad, more likely than not to help clean up the mess that they made in the kitchen with Tamara.

But downstairs, Reggie was sat down by Mateo and Earl, serious expressions on their face. Eloise and Tamara were nowhere to be found, but Reggie wasn’t sure if that was a good or bad thing.

“What’s up?” Reggie asked to break the silence, despite the erratic beating of his heart. “I’m not in trouble, am I?”

“No, son,” Earl reassured him, sitting down across from him. Mateo sat beside him, patting Reggie’s hand reassuringly.

“We just wanted to have a chat,” Mateo said and Reggie raised his brows, looking over at the two men.

“Am I right to think this has something to do with (N/N)?” Reggie asked and the men nodded.

“You’d be right, sonny,” Earl smiled. “I don’t think we’ve ever asked you how your flight was?”

Reggie shrugged his shoulders. “It wasn’t horrible,” he answered. “But honestly, all that really mattered was that I’d find my way back to Cookie.”

Mateo couldn’t help, but smile, reminiscing the days when he was falling in love with his now wife. “Cookie,” he repeated. “You and (N/N) have the silliest names for each other. I don’t remember why you call each other that.”

“It’s a long story,” Reggie laughed. “I’m pretty sure Flicka’s a horse from Wyoming and well she always did like cookies didn’t she,”

The men laughed and agreed with him. “That girl eats far too many desserts for her own good,” Earl shook his head. “You better keep your pastry stock full at all times once you’re married to her, you hear me? She’s just like Tamara, can never get enough of sweets.”

Instantly, the edges of Reggie’s lips turned up into a smile. “I guess I’ll be needing that scone recipe too,” he joked lightly.

Suddenly, the room went silent. Reggie stared down at the bracelets on his wrists, playing with the loose strings. You had made them for him when you were kids, and he swore to never take them off. And there he was, seventeen years later, upholding that promise.

“Um, sirs,” he began, immediately cringing at the titles. “I-I… you know how much I love your daughter and granddaughter,”

“More than you love Tamara’s scones?” Earl cut in with a teasing wink.

“Oh yes, much more,” Reggie laughed nervously. “More than anything in my life, to be honest. And actually,” he reached into his pocket, pulling out a velvet box and showing Mateo and Earl. “I-I really want to ask her to be my wife. I just thought maybe I could ask for your blessings first.”

Earl and Mateo fell silent once more, making Reggie stammer sheepishly. “I promise you, I’ll keep my pastry stock filled and everything,” he rushed. “I’ll buy the entire company of cookies if it meant she’d be happy. Hell I’m prepared to move here, I’d do anything for her,”

Reggie pulled out the ring from the box, fiddling with it anxiously. “I’m ready to even give up music, if I have to. Because she’s worth everything to me. I’ll take up a job here, a-and I’ll learn how to cook, too. Cookies, scones, tira de asado, whatever she wants to make her happy. I know I don’t have much, e-even my family is falling apart, but I promise I’ll make her my first and only priority, sir and...sir.”

Earl glanced over at Mateo. “If you don’t approve of this young man, I’ll marry him myself,” he said with a grin.

“Reggie, Eloise and I always had a hunch that you’d be the one for (N/N),” Mateo explained. “You’ve been like a son to us and we watched you grow up into such a fine young man, I don’t think there’s anyone more perfect to be my daughter’s partner for the rest of her life,”

Reggie nearly dropped his ring. “Wait, really?” he stumbled over his words. “Like...you’re allowing me to propose? Like marry her and-and everything?”

Mateo nodded. “So long as she says yes,” he told him.

“Which she will,” Earl chuckled. “Welcome to the family son,”

Without thinking, Reggie stood up and leaned over and wrapped his arms tightly around them. “T-thank you, sirs!”

Mateo and Earl laughed heartily. “I think Dad and Grandpa will do,” Mateo insisted, patting Reggie’s back. “Now, I think you have a girl to propose to, right?”

As if on cue, you made it to the bottom of the stairs, ready to go. “Ready, Flicka?” you beamed.

Reggie quickly tucked the ring box back into his pocket. “Always, Cookie,” he responded.

Tamara entered the dining room, wearing a large floppy hat and sunglasses. “Yes, we are,” she announced. “Where to?”

Your cheeks were flushed red. “Oh, Nana, we were-”

“I’ve got the keys,” Eloise grinned. “We can drive to Kelowna for the day!”

“I can drive,” Mateo nodded, taking the keys from his wife and sending a wink to Reggie.

A good ten minutes later the whole household was packed into a car, heading out of the small town for the hour drive up to Kelowna, the largest town along the Okanagan lake.

“Oh mom can we go to Moo Lix? I love their ice cream,” you asked your mother, leaning up from the back seat.

“I’m sure we can stop there,” Eloise nodded. “We can walk through the city park and grab something to eat by the beach,”

The drive wasn’t too long, only around an hour and when they crossed the bridge to enter the city Reggie could sense your excitement, finally being able to show you around some of the places you grew up in.

“Excited, Cookie?” he asked with a teasing grin on his face.

You turned your head from the window, beaming at Reggie. “Beyond excited,” you replied, taking his hand in yours and squeezing it tightly. “Maybe later on, you can show me around Wyoming?”

Reggie threw his head back in laughter. “I’d love to show you the ranch,” he told you.

“Good cause I’m not entirely convinced it exists,”

“Oh not with this again,” Reggie groaned and banged his head on the seats in front of you.

Mateo finally parked the car along the front of the large city park, spanning the length of the beach and lake. You were ready to drag Reggie out of the car and try to take him to some of the places you wanted him to see, but you were interrupted by your grandmother insisting you all went in the opposite direction.

“Reggie, I have to show you Ogopogo,” you told Reggie, pulling on his arm. “I need to tell you the story about it, it’s awesome! It’s this monster that’s said to inhabit the lake, you’d love it!”

Reggie chuckled as he tried to catch up with you, running down the sidewalk. “I guess there’s another monster I need to befriend in the lake,” he joked, remembering the lake back in California.

Tamara shook her head at the two, readjusting her straw hat. “Oh, no one wants to see that pile of rubble,” she told you both. “Come on, there are far better things to see.”

“But Nana,” you whined. “I wanna show him-,”

“Come on dear,” she interrupted you and you sighed.

“We’ll come another time Flicka,” you said, wrapping your arm around his and intertwining your fingers together.

“Of course Cookie, I’m yours, for whatever or whenever,”

Your grandma dragged the group of you through the park, explaining the history of certain statues and whatnots. You were paying attention, but Reggie’s focus was on you the entire time, his hand nervously fiddling with the ring in his pocket, waiting for the right time, any time to pull it out. But every time he tried to take a moment to be alone with you, either Tamara would pull you two to another site or Reggie would get too nervous.

Finally, when Reggie got a moment alone with you, it was absolutely perfect. The sun was nearly setting, and your parents had managed to drag your grandparents to the bench to rest for a moment, but Lord knows Tamara can’t sit still for long.

“This place is beautiful, isn’t it, Flicka?” you asked, looking out in the distance. You turned to face Reggie, a mischievous grin on your face. “Maybe if you go for a quick swim, you’ll see Ogopogo.”

Reggie chuckled. “Maybe.”

The two of you turned back to the scenery, taking in the small moment of silence you were finally given.

Do it. Get on one knee and do it.

“Cookie?” Reggie spoke up. You hummed in response, not tearing your eyes away from the sunset. “You talked about the universe bringing us together, no matter how many times we’ve been pulled apart.”

You laughed softly. “Higher powers always have your back, Flicka,” you said, recalling what you told him last night.

Reggie placed his hand in his pocket, about to pull out his ring and propose to you. “Well, I-”

“(N/N)! Horse Boy!”

Reggie sighed, slouching slightly. Dropping the ring box back into his pocket, he turned around to see Tamara marching over to them. Earl was close behind, mouthing an apology.

“It’s getting late,” she frowned. “We have to get going now if you want to get scones for dessert.”

You smiled giddily, kissing Reggie’s cheek before following your grandmother.

The ride on the way back was spent the majority of the time in silence, just resting. You laid your head on Reggie’s shoulder as he stared out the window, frustrated with himself for not proposing today. There were countless amounts of times where he could have asked you, but there was always something holding him back.

Once you got back to the house, you dragged yourself up the porch steps saying you were gonna go take a power nap before dinner and dessert were ready. Reggie couldn’t help, but look fondly at you while you walked up the stairs, yawning loudly. Even when you were tired you were perfect to him.

Reggie couldn’t stop replaying the day in his head. All the missed moments were taunting him. He needed help, but from who? Suddenly, it was as though something clicked in his head.

Reggie entered the home, finding your mother in the dining room with her father. “Hey, um Eloise is there a phone I could use? I’ll pay for the long distance charges,”

“Yeah of course, there's one in the studio room downstairs,”

“Thanks,” Reggie smiled and jogged down to the phone. After taking it in his hands he took a deep breath. This had to be it, what was holding him back.

Dialling the number and hitting call there was no turning back.

The phone rang for a few moment and just as he thought no one was going to pick up the phone line clicked and there was a quiet,

“Hello?” on the other end.

“Hey dad,” Reggie said quietly chewing on his lip. “C-Can you get mom I want to talk to you both about something,”

A long pause followed. “Um, sure,” he responded. “Is everything alright, Reggie?”

“Yeah,” Reggied sighed. He pulled the ring box out of his pocket. Flipping open the top, he stared down at the small jewel resting on top of the ring. “Everything’s fine.”

There was a quite shuffle on the other line along with some hushed chatter before the phone clicked again,

“Okay Reg, you’re on speaker,” he heard his father’s voice once more.

It had been almost three months since he had last seen or spoken to either of his parents aside from getting the confirmation that they were going through with the divorce.

“Um… well,” Reggie didn’t really know where to start, so that’s what he said. “Everything’s a little all over the place I’m not really sure where to start,”

“Take your time sweetheart,” Diana’s soft voice came through. “Your dad and I have time,”

Reggie took another deep breath, “A-A little while back (Y/N)’s parents… they-they lost the house,” Reggie started to explain. “The job market just wasn’t working for them in LA so they needed to move back to Canada. They’re staying with Eloise’s parents for now until they can find work and get settled.”

“Oh wow,” Darcy whispered on the other end, “W-We didn’t know. I’m sorry to hear that,”

“Yeah me too,” Reggie nodded. “A-Anyways, (Y/N) had to come up with them. To stay and I… I just-I couldn’t lose her again so...”

“Reggie,” Diana spoke up. “Are you in Canada right now?”

“Yes?” he answered, more so like a question.

Murmuring followed from Diana and Darcy’s end. “Okay, we’re not mad you went to another country without telling us,” Darcy began. “But a heads up would have been nice.”

“I-I got a job and everything to pay for the ticket. I’m not in debt or anything,” he assured. “But yeah, I guess maybe I should have said something, but you can understand why I was hesitant to call,”

“Sweetheart,” Diana said. “We’re happy you went to follow the girl you loved. So long as you’re safe.”

“We’re sorry for not being the best parents to you,” Darcy added. “But we want to be here for you now. Is there anything we can do to help you with whatever’s troubling you?”

Reggie remained silent, fiddling with the phone wire. “Dad, how did you know you were ready to propose to Mom?” he asked in a quiet voice.

“I-I’m sorry?” Darcy said back. “Son, you’re going to have to speak up, I didn’t catch that.”

Reggie took yet another deep breath. “How did you know you were ready to propose? Like...what feeling did you get? Because I know deep down I’m ready to spend the rest of my life with (Y/N), but something’s stopping me and I don’t know what.”

There was silence on the other line and Reggie cursed in his head, this wasn’t a good idea he shouldn’t have-

“I-um… I don’t really know how to describe it…” Darcy started softly. “It was almost like… like pain, in my heart. When I wasn’t with her I-I just couldn’t function. Your mom she was… she was my everything.”

Reggie could hear his dad faltering on his words, but before he could get any further he could hear his mother’s soft voice reassuring him,

“It’s okay… we just… we weren’t cut out to be married. I-... Reggie I hope you know your father and I still love each other very much. It’s just sometimes life throws you one too many curveballs. D-Do you think you would be able to get past that with (Y/N) if it were to come to it?”

“I would do anything for her,” he whispered.

“Then I think you got your answer, Reg,” Darcy told him, no doubt smiling. “Reggie, I know we haven’t said it much, but I just want you to know that we are so proud of you for growing up to be such a brilliant young man, despite all the things life has thrown at you, what we have done to you.”

Reggie sniffled, wiping away a stray tear. “You haven’t done anything, Dad,” he said, voice cracking slightly. “Life got in the way, you know? I can’t blame you two for that.”

Eloise poked her head around the corner. “Reggie, dear,” she called out. “Dinner’s ready. Do you want me to save a plate for you if you’re still on that call?”

Reggie shook his head. “No, erm I’m okay, Eloise,” he reassured her. “I’ll be up in a minute.” Eloise smiled before going back upstairs.

Turning back to the phone, Reggie sighed. “I should probably go now,” he told his parents. “But thank you for the advice. It um, means a lot.”

“Of course, Reggie,” Diana said into the phone. “We’ll always be here for you.”

Reggie nodded, gripping the phone tight. “I...I love you,” he whispered, trying to fight back the tears from falling down his face. For once things felt normal. They felt like a family.

“We love you, too, Reggie,” Darcy told him. “Remember to tell us everything, okay? How it goes, if the wedding will be in Canada…”

Reggie laughed. “I will, Dad.”

“A-And, I know you probably have a ring already,” his mother started. “But the one your father gave me is passed down in the family. I-If you want I think we’d like to give it to you.”

“I-I’d love that,” he nodded, “We can save it for the big day… if there is one,”

“I have a strong feeling there will be,” Darcy said, a smile in his voice. “Trust me on that,”

“Well, we don’t want to keep you from dinner, sweetie,” Diana told him. “Tell (Y/N) we said hi, okay?”

After saying their goodbyes, Reggie set the phone down and smiled to himself. For once in his life, everything felt right.

Reggie, not wanting to make them wait any longer, stood up from his seat to join your family for dinner. There, Earl was pouring lemonade in each glass while Eloise set up the table.

Tamara was the next to enter the kitchen with a tray of roast chicken. “There you are,” she spoke up, looking directly at Reggie. “We were wondering where you were. Afraid you’d run off and make friends with the mosquitoes.”

“Tamara’s warming up to you a little more,” Mateo teased. “She’s worries for you. That didn’t happen for me until after (Y/N) was born.”

Tamara rolled her eyes, pointing a carving knife at him. “I’ll have you know,” she began with a pointed look. “I like this boy a whole lot more than I did when I first met you. This one finishes my scones and calls me “ma’am.” You should take some notes.”

Reggie laughed, taking a seat beside you. “Well, ma’am,” he smiled. “I hope you’ll get to see me more often.”

Eloise and Mateo grinned, a knowing twinkle in their eyes as Reggie spoke. You glanced over at Reggie, quite confused. “What?” you asked.

The bassist only shook his head. “Nothing,” he told you softly. Still exhausted from the day, you simply nodded, leaning your head on his shoulder and closing your eyes.

“I’m tired,” you whined in a hushed voice for only Reggie to hear.

Reggie tucked a loose strand of your hair behind your ear. “Eat quickly, then you can head to bed, okay, Cookie?” You groaned, but listened to him.

“Wow, Reggie,” Eloise mused, impressed. “She actually listens to you when she’s tired. (N/N) never does that.”

Reggie shrugged his shoulders. “It’s a gift,” he joked.

With a mouth full of chicken and rice, you agreed. “He’s the special one,” you teased.

Reggie grinned, subconsciously patting the ring box in his pocket.

Yeah, he sure hoped he was.

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[junidrabbles]

Everyone in my family has a soulmate

One of my earliest memories is sitting on my mother’s lap as she brushed my long, dark hair. I couldn’t have been older than four or five, but I remember staring into the mirror and knowing without a shadow of a doubt that I was beautiful. The bright blue-green color of my eyes stood out against my honey skin and I remember looking up to my mother’s reflection above me. We looked so similar, even though I was young. Her eyes were a bit more green than mine, but other than that, I was almost a spitting image of her.

“Don’t stare in the mirror too long, sladkaya,” she chided gently, running the brush through my hair in another long stroke. “You could fall in love with your own reflection. It has happened to many a Yakhontova woman who was not careful.”

I remember nodding and turning my gaze down. Even at such a young age, I knew the power the women in my family had. Yakhontova women were known for their beauty and the intensity of their love. It is a point of pride within my family that no Yakhontova woman has ever had a divorce. It simply isn’t done. The love of a Yakhontova was so deep and passionate that each woman always knew their soulmate the day they laid eyes on them, and they were never wrong.

I was fourteen the first time I fell in love. That was the first year I wasn’t homeschooled. It was tradition for Yakhontova women to be kept at home until they were old enough, otherwise they may find their soulmate, their vozlublenniy, too early. She said the love would grow too intense too quickly if found too young, and it would dwarf every love around it. The world would become cold and jealous. That was why it was important to give other women a chance first.

I realized what she meant the first day I went to school. People stared at me, boys and girls alike. I saw jealousy, admiration, lust, and it all made me realize how special I was, and how lucky I was to have been born a Yakhontova. I felt bad for all the regular girls who had clearly dressed up and put on makeup and were trying so hard to flirt. Mama was right; it wasn’t fair. I could turn the head of anyone I wanted. Of course, I wouldn’t. It wasn’t the Yakhontova way. We never wanted to steal a man from another, we only wanted to search for our true partner, our vozlublenniy.

I found mine in second period. We were supposed to be learning math, but the minute our eyes met he was transfixed, and so was I. His name was Daniel, and he was beautiful. He had chiseled features, but his eyes were soft. They were a darker blue than my own, and so kind. His hazel hair swept over his forehead and, to this day, I can remember every detail of his expression as our gazes met. I knew then he was my vozlublenniy and I stared into his soul, trying to let him know. He seemed to understand, because he asked me out immediately after class.

He proposed to me two years later, though he had wanted to earlier. He told me time and time again that he had wanted to marry me the day we met, but I told him it was improper. Yakhontova women did not wed until after their sixteenth birthdays.

He respected my wishes. His present for my sixteenth birthday was a ring, and we were wed the next year.

Our marriage was beautiful, magical, just like my mother had described. Our passion for each other was always present, a constant force between us, pulling us together like a magnet. We could hardly stand to not be by each other’s sides, always touching, always staring, so enamored, so in love. To be apart was torture. Every second we were away was absolutely excruciating, like part of my soul was being torn from my chest.

This feeling was part of what made the week my grandmother died one of the worst of my life. I had to leave him, to go abroad, back to our homeland for our funeral. Her death was painful on its own. Only eighteen, I was lucky to have never experienced such loss before, but the fact that our matriarch was the first was all the more horrible. My grandmother had always been such a role model for me, even though she was very far away.

As hard as being apart was for that week, coming home was worse, because of what I found when I got there.

My vozlublenniy was in our bed on top of another woman. When I walked in, he startled and looked at me with eyes that I had never seen before. At that moment, he was a stranger, someone I had never met, someone who had never met me.

He opened his mouth to speak: “Who—” 

But as our eyes met, his whole face changed to become the one I knew and he immediately pulled away from the girl on the bed and walked toward me. 

“Lada!” he greeted warmly, as if he hadn’t just been having sex with another. “I missed you so much.” 

I glared at him. I didn’t know what to say, what to do. It was unheard of for a Yakhontova to be cheated on, and after we were already married. I was full of emotions: shame, fury, despair. I couldn’t bring myself to speak. I ran from the room and grabbed the suitcase I had brought back in with me. I threw it into the backseat of the car and scream-cried all the way to my mother’s house.

“I don’t know what to do, Mamochka,” I told her as I sat on her couch, my face slick with tears. I buried my head in my hands, trying to hide my face. I didn’t want her to see me like this. With my eyes swollen and my cheeks puffy, I looked nothing like the beautiful Yakhontova woman I was supposed to be. “I thought he was my vozlublenniy, I felt it, just like you described, but just now, I-I walked into our bedroom and he… he was…” I choked on my own sobs, unable to continue.

My mother finished my sentence, her tone neutral. “With another woman.”

Surprised, I looked up and nodded searching her face for the disgust she had to feel for me. I was waiting for her to chastise me for choosing the wrong man, to call me a sorry excuse for a Yakhontova.

Instead she shook her head. “So he has soured. I am sorry, sladkaya, I was hoping you would never have to deal with this. I thought you two had been together long enough that a week away would not turn him rotten, but it seems I was wrong.”

“What do I do, Mama? I don’t want to stay with him, I can hardly look at him.”

She frowned deeply. “Oh no, stchastye moyo,” she asserted. “A Yakhontova woman is the greatest honor, and those who do not treasure it do not get to keep that honor.”

“But… but we’re married,” I reminded her helplessly. “And I can’t be the first Yakhontova woman to get a divorce, I would be humiliated, and I would bring shame to you…”

She laughed, though there was little feeling in it. “Oh, there will be no divorce. Of course not. But really, sladkaya, did you think no Yakhontova has ever had their vozlublenniy sour before? No, it happens. Sometimes our loves are corrupted, our souls torn apart, and we must find our new vozlublenniy. Of course, we can’t do that until we are completely free from the one who has spoiled. We must remove the roots of darkness from our heart so it can find its new, true vozlublenniy.”

“But I thought there was only one vozlublenniy per Yakhontova.” I stared at my mother, always my greatest confidant and ally, and for a second, among all the despair, I felt a sliver of hope. 

“Da,” she agreed. “One at a time. But as soon as old is gone, the universe will create a new.”

“So is he gone now, now that he has broken our bond? He is no longer my vozlublenniy?”

She tilted her head. “He is not, but we must make sure energy you put into him is set free, returned to universe.”

“How do we do that?” 

She smiled and it was breathtaking. Her eyes gleamed. “I will show you, stchastye, do not worry. I will show you. It is a long family secret, a tradition spanning back thousands of years, and I will teach you like my Mamulya taught me, many years ago.”

That night, she accompanied me back to my house. The girl was long gone, but Daniel still seemed different. Once again, he was a stranger, until he spotted me.

“Lada—” he started toward me. 

I looked at my mother for guidance and she nodded encouragingly. I took a deep breath, and I embraced him. I kissed him, and the passion between us ignited a fire, like it always did. That fire was consuming, white hot flames encapsulating us. But I did not let it take me away like I usually would. I let it build and build and build and when it was finally at its peak, I drove a knife into the back of my former husband.

He tried to pull away, to scream, but I pulled him back to me, continuing to kiss him. I stabbed him again, and I would stab him three more times as I kissed him, not letting go until he slumped in my arms.

“Good, sladkaya!” my mother praised. “You did so well. We are halfway done. I will dispose of this for you, do not worry, but you still have one more thing you must do.”

I looked at her, confused, but as our eyes met I understood. 

As she took care of what had once been my lover, I snuck into the house of the girl he had cheated on me with. Somehow, with the energy I had regained flowing through me, I could feel where she was. A white hot ray of fury, of vengeance, drove me toward her.

I slit her throat as she slept. There was no intimacy in it, no ritual. She was not special to me, she was just a lecher that had to be removed. I could not have her darkness tainting my new vozlublenniy. 

She died quickly. I left just as quickly.

That was ten years ago. The next decade would teach me how fickle love was, how cruel the universe could be. I found my vozlublenniy three more times, just to have him snatched from me each time. 

The first time I found him again, he was a beautiful dark-skinned man named Henry. We were married within weeks of having met, and I was sure it would work this time. But Henry was different than Daniel had been. He was less compliant, less agreeable, and frequently when I left for work, he would run away. He always acted like he didn’t appreciate our love the second I was away, but I felt his passion when we were together. I knew the love he had for me, but he wouldn’t stop denying it. It just wouldn’t do. I had to free him to the universe.

The next time he was an older man with salt-and-pepper hair and cunning eyes. His name was Jackson. We stayed together for almost five years before I had to return to the homeland with my mother for a month, as an aunt had fallen ill. When I returned, I found he had cheated on me twice, with two different women. I gave him to the universe, and I found the lechers and returned them as well.

It would be a year before I found him again, a muscular man named Allen. We wed quickly, but I soon learned that Allen was violent. In the times where our passion wasn’t its most active, he would hurt me. He would lash out at me, call me awful, awful names. I know my vozlublenniy would never do that, and I knew his most recent rebirth must have addled him. I had to give him back.

However, it didn’t go as well this time. He survived my attempt to return him, and he escaped and contacted the police. He went to them, as if what had happened was my fault. As if I were not trying to help him by doing what I had done. But it was okay. After I had been taken into custody, I learned that he had succumbed to his injuries, and his energy had been freed.

This is my plea. They say they have sentenced me to death, as if it is something I have earned. They call me awful names, a criminal, a murderer, a serial killer. But I am no such thing. Everything I did, I did for love. I hurt no one who hadn’t hurt me first. All I asked for was loyalty, for love, and don’t I deserve those things? I deserve someone who would never cheat on me, never raise a hand to me, or run away from me. Would you do something like that?

You know, I don’t think you would. You have lovely, kind eyes. Why don’t you get a little closer, let me look at you. And you can look at me. 

Do you believe in love at first sight, vozlublenniy?

[sol-korolevas]

–––we tried the world; pt. 1

pairing: dabi x reader

a/n: initially i wanted this to be a super-fic but i changed my mind. so have some junior crispy boi and a (kind of an idiot) reader. 

once upon a time, you knew a boy. his hair reminded you of chrysanthemums and his eyes the ocean. years after, you would learn that blue wasn’t always kind and peaceful. but for a while, that boy with those blue eyes wanted to be good. most of all, however, was that he wanted to be strong. once upon a time, there was a boy who was atlas until he fell. 

you met him in one day just as summer ended. grandma had stopped to chat with some old friends of hers with you standing near her side. in that minuscule timeframe when her hand shifted, you managed to snake your way out. with your mind occupied on your recently developed quirk, you paid no attention to much of anything. when once you were looking forward to watching your favorite television shows, you were now content to study your quirk. 

in a few years, the u.a. academy will have another student for its hero course, your mother told you. both your parents were pro heroes who excelled at water-based quirks. so it was quite obvious you, their single progeny, would be born with a similar quirk. you now dreamed of surpassing all might and become the number one hero. you wanted to be on top of the world. 

absentmindedly, you walked along a path full of puddles from last night’s rainstorm. you watched the water shift and squirm inches from your cupped palms. it stretched and morphed into amorphous shapes before collapsing, drenching your hands. undaunted by the failure, you looked for a nearby puddle. 

pulling out small quantities of water was no easy task for you. if you tried hard, you could manage. with your hands on your knee, you lowered yourself and squinted. scrunching your face you attempted to summon small droplets of water from the puddle. the water shook, quivering as if resisting command. so you grit your teeth and let out a grunt of exertion. 

“what’re you doing?” a soft voice broke your concentration, forcing the rising waters to fall down into the puddle. you turned to see a small boy, short and dirty. he had hair that reminded you of grandmother’s chrysanthemums, fiery and bright. 

you pointed to the puddle and replied, “i was summoning water!” a large smile spread across your face as you reached out to him. “look.” you then held out your hand, the one that wasn’t gripping the boy’s wrist. with your palm facing the puddle and fingers spread, small droplets of water began rising. then with a low grunt, they began bouncing on air. you let out a noise of success with excitement hammering inside your heart. with a beaming face, you turned your attention back to the boy and said, “see? cool right?”

the boy didn’t answer. instead, he surveyed the droplets before turning his attention to you. then, it occurred to you that you couldn’t see his eyes well; they were hidden behind his red locks. 

“i see,” he said in a small voice. “th-that’s cool, really cool.” his voice drifted off and you couldn’t help but wonder if he’s somehow upset. gingerly you took a step back and dropped your hand from his wrist. suddenly it dawned on you that the dirt on his face looked more like some kind of injury. you remembered once you accidentally burned yourself and had to undergo light treatments. the boy’s wounds looked like that same burn mark, but there were more on him, in particular, his face. 

his white shirt was singed on the edges, with a dark hole toward the shoulder. his pants looked clean, if not full of wrinkles. there were some light burn marks on his legs too. 

“thank you,” you told him, eyes traveling back to his face. you noticed that his bangs had shifted, revealing a pair of tired blue eyes. faint circles clung to his undereye, though you weren’t sure if they were marks of injury or from tiredness. you’ve seen the latter on your mom, who was often an insomniac and had frequent nightly encounters with villains. “i’m [name], what’s your name?” you placed your arms behind your back, waiting for his answer. 

“t-touya, touya todoroki,” the boy said, rubbing the back of his neck. he glanced towards the side as a faint blush dusted his cheeks. “...a pleasure to meet you.” his voice gave you the impression that he was older. yet, he’s small, no taller than you, with a gangly appearance. you could knock him down if you wanted to. 

touya suddenly looked behind him as the wind picked up. shivering, you wrapped your arms around your body. autumn rode on the back of the wind, reminding you of your upcoming birthday. “hey, d’you wanna come to my birthday party?” you asked. you knew that he was a child you just met, but a small voice inside your head urged you to invite him anyway. he didn’t look like the sort who talked much to others and in your own way, you pitied him. “it’s gonna be lots of fun i promise!” you proceeded to jump up and down, remembering the last birthday you had. all of the neighbors’ kids came over so why not touya too for this one?

for a moment, touya looked shocked as he placed a hand up, as if you were going to tackle him. you then noticed that the palm of his hand was sooty ash, with faint scars slathered littering the skin. he was carefully mulling over your invitation, pursing his lips and looking off to the side again. “sure...i’ll have to ask father.” 

you unwrapped your arms from yourself and jumped once more, this time in excitement. “awesome! i’ll tell my grandma you’re coming.” then, with a wave, you began running back where you came from. “see ya, touya!” you added, waving to him. 

-----------

snow rider hayato was on the television when the day of your birthday arrived. it was popular with the kids and young teens nowadays, what with an actual pro hero named hayato starring in the titular role. every year, your parents would take a day off and invite other pro heroes over to your birthday. your mother had made water spheres that hovered off the ground, with glitters and confetti trapped within as decoration. your father helped you put up the decoration and set the tables as grandma entertained the adult guests. 

one by one, the neighbors’ children came piling in. you watched as the last of them took a seat on the grassy lawn, all eyes drawn to the show. it was the second time you scoured the small crowd, hoping to see touya among them. you even searched under the banquet tables, thinking he might be hiding there. 

“[name], what’s wrong?” your mother asked, kneeling down next to you. 

“touya’s not here,” you told her, eyebrows knitting in worry. “i invited him a few days ago and he said he’s gonna ask his dad.” your words slurred toward the end as disappointment drowned out your feeling of excitement. tears prickled at the edges of your eyes as you tried to hold everything in. touya had left such a strong impression on you that you couldn’t help the sheer sadness of his absence anymore. mom held you as you sniffed, the sounds of the chattering becoming white noise. 

a part of you wondered if he was okay. the memory of his injured body haunted your dreams. you should have said something, told someone about it. but in your eagerness for your birthday, you had forgotten. water droplets began forming behind your back, vibrating harder with each passing second. 

“it’s alright honey, touya’ll come later,” your mom said softly, rubbing soothing circles on your back. 

he did come when the party was over and everyone else left. you were the one who answered the door, halfway certain it must be him. there he stood, wearing the same outfit except there was a singular dark sooty spot on his sleeve. he looked dirty, riddled with sooty ash. most of all, he was breathing in sharp wheezes. 

“touya...” your word came out small and uncertain as your hands clasped together. his body was shaking and you saw distinct tear streaks running down his cheeks. you wanted to do something but what could you really do? your parents had gone to bed and your grandma had gone home. you could call them up but you didn’t want to interrupt them. “are you-are you okay?” you gulped, unsure if that was the correct words to say. vaguely you remembered a medical kit mom would use whenever someone got hurt. but the wounds on touya’s body looked bad. 

“‘m sorry for not coming sooner [name],” he murmured, dipping his head down. he then raised his hand and you saw a crudely wrapped box in his hand. “this is a present, mother bought it for me but i think it suits you.” he didn’t raise his eyes at you, not even as you took it from his hands. 

“thank you, touya,” you said, giving him a small smile. a part of you was happy that he thought of you, another part wanted to change the mood. there was something heavy hanging over you and him. even though you are a child, you still sensed the stress and anxiety that clung to touya. you’ve only ever felt it when your parents were fighting or one of them was trying to find the other’s whereabouts. “can i open it now?” you saw touya nod, though the action was barely noticeable. 

quickly, you took away the wrapper (which was slightly burned, you noticed), and opened the white box. inside was a flower pendant, blue and red in color. the blue matched touya’s eyes, but the red reminded you of fire. it wasn’t something that looked like it should be shown off. instead, it looked sentimental, something precious. 

when you raise your head to say something, touya was already gone. 

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

the third time you met him was as spontaneous; if you were any more superstitious, you would’ve thought it to be fated. with the flower pendant resting against your skin, you walked to the deserted playground. the sun was rising down the towering city structure far beyond. blackbirds cried shrill above your head. mother and father had already paired you with a quirk instructor to prepare you for the u.a. entrance exam, which was still years ahead. even so, they were stubborn and wanted you to prepare early.  

those nights of grueling training exhausted you mentally. so when you were given time for yourself, you chose to come here. in the past, you often hung around with other kids. now, they had moved on and only you were left by yourself. your continued absence must be what forced the other kids to play elsewhere.

“[name]!” a familiar voice called out your name, and immediately you raised your head and saw touya walking towards you. there was a look of relief on his face as he waved at you. in-between your birthday and present time, you noticed that again he changed. he had grown taller; nonetheless, he still looked gangly and thin. 

“hey touya,” you replied, kicking the sand beneath your shoes as you steadied the chains of the swing. you watched as touya stopped before you, quiet eyes studying you for a moment. he was looking elsewhere and you wondered if he was looking for the pendant he gave you. so you gently took it out, holding it to him. “thanks again for the gift, i really like it.” 

he blushed, turning his head to the side as you beamed at him. “you shouldn’t thank me; it’s technically a hand-me-down.” there was a bitterness in his voice, something that made your smile falter a little while noting the raspiness as well. 

still, you couldn’t help but believe that he still put some thought into his gift. another part of you even wondered if he actually never had time to buy an actual present. “no really! i like the pendant, it’s like a lucky charm for me,” you told him, rubbing the jewel with your thumb. “when i become a u.a. student, i’ll look at this and think ‘wow, cannot believe this got me into my dream school’!”

touya seemed taken aback at your confidence and optimism, his mouth hanging open slightly as he watched you. before he could say something, a grunt of pain slipped out. clutching the wrist of his left hand, his body began to curl inwards. “no, not a-again...”

you watched, half-confused and half-scared when he began to grit his teeth. “touya...?” you promptly stood up and took a step towards him. he didn’t move, instead, he collapsed against you, burying his face against the crook of your neck. his sudden gesture made you jump. he was warm, too warm, his body felt inhuman and more like a thin barrier between fire and flesh. 

touya wheezed and panted, his body shaking as he gripped the material of your shirt in his grip. faint smoke began to curl out from his touch, and before long you realized that he had burned the edges of your sleeves. the pain of the burn upon your skin came afterward. “touya, let go please.” initially your voice came out soft, still confused and scared. but when you felt the rest of your arms burning, you began to struggle. “touya stop! stop it, let me go!” you didn’t realize you were screaming until you felt the rawness in your throat. 

tears prickled in your eyes just as you started crying. then, suddenly water started pouring down on the both of you. with his entire body wet and dripping, he stared at you with wide eyes of horror. “[n-name]...i’m sorry. i’m sorry i–” he turned his palms toward his face, unfaltering gaze held onto them. 

wrecked with burning pain, you couldn’t find it in yourself to speak or move. in the distance, you heard your grandma’s voice calling out to you. you continued looking at him even as someone lifted you up. 

before your vision failed, you thought you saw touya watching you. there were tears in his eyes and a trembling gaze of terror lingering on his face as a man with flames dancing across his shoulder pulled him away. 

[stretchjournalemerson]

All Grandma’s Ducks

By Samantha Silveira

She was a woman who seemed to be forever sitting in front of a sunset. Always lit from behind, the last of the day’s light poking through her being, her smile. She did not smell like a home cooked meal, she smelled like home style food from a restaurant. She smelled like cigarettes. Everyday, she brought us home style food from a restaurant and smoked a pack of cigarettes. Sitting at the kitchen table, “How are you honey?” Kneeling on the floor, “I like your pigtails. Did Mommy do your hair in pigtails?” Bouncing around on the front steps, “How’s the juice?” I sucked up apple juice through a red straw, and she sucked up nicotine, blowing the smoke out low and slow, aiming in the opposite direction of wherever I was. Mommy did my pigtails, she fixed them while I talked with grandma, who smiled at my hair. I was good, and the apple juice was good, but the company was better. Big smile. A hearty laugh and a long cough. But the sun kept setting, always setting behind her.

“I remember when she found that duck. Just wandering in the yard, so she brought it in the house and she kept it. My poor father. But he ended up loving it as much as she did.  They brought that duck everywhere. She named it Chester. Fuckin duck,” my mother laughs while she fixes my braids, smiling at my hair. That was the kind of woman my grandmother was. She was loving in a way few people understood. I was her duck, and my siblings and cousins were too, and my mom was always her duck. God, my mom was her duck on the day the duck was found, everyday of her life. She never asked about my hair without asking about my mommy, even though my mommy was standing right there. But anyone could be her duck, and I think that was the point. 

She was always smiling. When she died, many people punctuated their remembered accounts of her with “she was always smiling.” This, of course, is not true. After all, the sun was always setting behind her.

It is true that my cousin Jessica had the same characteristic of being eternally sat in front of a sunset. You could see it in her eyes, which were remarkably like grandma’s eyes and remarkably like mine. The kind of brown eyes that get darker in the sun instead of getting lighter. Not a trace of honey. It is true that Jessica and my grandmother had a lot in common, and that much of their similarity could be traced back to that sun, always setting behind them. We discussed my day, we colored pictures of princesses, we had meals of chicken tenders and Marlboros, Jessica taught me ballet and my mother smiled at my hair and the sun set and we all pretended not to see it. I was the only one who looked directly into the setting sun, but I knew I could not ask about it. I did not know why. 

I could not ask about the cigarettes either, but I was never that interested in them anyways. Cigarettes were a fairly normal adult thing it seemed; not every adult smoked but plenty of them did and plenty of them died from it. I was told that the cigarettes killed grandma and not that sunset, what the doctors called “bipolar disorder”. The smoke suffocated her before the sunset could. The loss was tragic for anyone who had ever met her, but the cause of death was nicely mundane. Nobody ever wanted to talk about that sunset— to be able to mourn without having to explicitly discuss it was all the family could have asked for. We were not so lucky with Jessica. 

Campatelli, Jessica, L., 23, of Taunton Avenue, died unexpectedly on November 6, 2015.

Unexpectedly is always what they say when it is suicide. Just as our family would sit around the dinner table and avoid discussing the sunset, whose vibrant colors and looming presence could not possibly be ignored, the whole world reconvenes after an unexpected death and avoids the word “suicide”. And it was unexpected. Of course it was unexpected. It does not matter how many years a person spends being chased by a setting sun— we never expect them to kill themselves. We never expect the sun to catch up, to reach her very heels and let them go dark, a slight chill tempting her to turn around and face the sunset, to see the light dip behind the horizon, leaving her in the shadows. The way I understand it, if you are tired of being chased, you turn around. You let the shadows smother you, you watch the sun set. I think Jessica was very tired of being chased.

I was a big girl when Jessica died; I was fifteen years old. I was not that big when grandma died, so I understand why nobody told me then. Of course I could see the sunset from a young age, but children have a hard time grasping medical terminology and I do not think the words “manic depressive” would have meant very much to me. But at fifteen, there was still hesitation to tell me. All I can remember is a thick fog covering the landscape of my mind. We were all called into the living room, the same way we were when grandma had died. My mother’s face was red all over and my dad’s hand was on her shoulder; his face was colored normally but void of expression. Your cousin Jessica has passed away. 

Thick, thick fog. It was a suicide. The hopeless kind of fog, the kind that makes you stop your car on the side of the road. I can not remember the period of time over which we got more answers, or who asked the questions that prompted them. I think we were sitting there for a very, very long time. We do not know why. She did not leave a note. You know when a tragedy occurs and your body processes it before your mind? Tears streamed down my face before I even finished hearing the first lines my mother spoke. Well, you know, she was bipolar. And I believe she had stopped taking her medication.

I know it had been several hours because I remember catching a glimpse of the sunset through the window when I stood up, and it had been daylight when my mother sat us all down. I remember it made me cry harder. It was the same sunset that was always just behind her. I wondered if that glimpse was a sign that it would attach itself to me now. Memories of trying on her old dance costumes filtered in through the fog and I touched my hair, brown but with a red tint, the same color as hers. All I ever wanted was to be just like her.

Weeks passed before, for the first time in my life, I was allowed to ask about the sunset. “You know, I never knew Jess was bipolar,” I remember bringing it up with my mom. “Yeah, they did not like to talk about it very much,” that was about all she said. Months went by, I got some more information here and there. Yes, that was what that sunset effect I could always see was. That was the sadness behind her eyes and her smile. She was always smiling— everybody punctuated their remembered accounts of Jessica with that after she died. Years passed before my mother began to tell us stories of grandma, how she took in the duck and how she would sometimes just lay on the kitchen floor for hours at a time. My dad was the one who told us that my mother would simply step over her body to grab her keys and tell him “Let’s go,” and they would. That sounds like my mom. And it sounds like my grandma. You could see the setting sun in these stories, but you could also see her— she was wild, she was loving, she was a fan of the dramatic. Years pass and I try to piece together scenes of the good times that I can remember, the stories I’ve been told, the sadness that haunted their radiant smiles. I am still the only person looking directly into the setting sun. And I am still not really supposed to ask about it, but I do. And my mother will fix my hair, or at least play with it, smiling, and tell me about the fucking duck her mother brought home. 

[craftyshipper]

Bring Me Home, Chapter 10: Father And Daughter

“Momo.”

The raven-haired beauty slowly came awake as a soft male voice called out to her. It was almost similar to Shouto’s voice, in the way he was soft-spoken most of the time.

“Hm,” was her only response before she sat up, rubbing her eyes tiredly.

When she was finally able to focus, she glanced up to meet the soft smile from Natsuo, one of Shouto’s brothers. The male has been an amazing uncle to little Kira and always made time for the little girl despite his busy schedule due to his medical career.

“Oh, hi,” she murmured and stood up to hug him.

“How are you doing?” He asked when he let her go.

“About as well as I can.”

She turned to Shouto who seemed to be sleeping peacefully, but then she noticed the photo album that rested on his lap. She quirked a brow in confusion. Had he woken up while she was sleeping?

“Did the doctors say anything about him waking up?” Momo inquired to the older Todoroki.

Just as she asked this, a knock sounded on the door before it opened. Fuyumi stepped in, a drink carrier holding four cups of coffee in one hand, a small smile gracing her lips.

Rei walked in behind her holding Kira who had been fussing in her grandmother’s arms.

“Mama.” Kira pushed against Rei, reaching out for her mother.

Momo hugged Fuyumi and then Rei, thanking her for helping care for Kira, before taking the little girl from the older woman.

“To answer your question,” Rei began as she walked over to Shouto’s bedside, “We talked to the doctor on the way in, and yes Shouto woke up briefly a few hours ago.”

“Did their scans find anything unusual?” Momo asked as Kira settled in her lap when she sat down again.

Fuyumi handed her a cup before passing one to her brother and one to her mother. After they each thanked her, Fuyumi filled Momo in on the information that the doctor shared with them.

“When’s he’s in deep sleep, his brain activity is a bit high but other than that, nothing too serious.”

Momo contemplated this for a moment just as Shouto began to stir in his sleep. She smiled when hetero-chromatic eyes flickered open and met her gaze.

“Hey there sleepy head,” she playfully teased.

He sat up on the bed and tiredly rubbed his eyes as he stifled a yawn. When he looked back to Momo, Kira caught his gaze with a huge smile on her face. The little girl stretched out her arms towards him and Shouto stared in surprise as Momo handed her to him.

Kira settled into his arms, wrapping her own short limbs around his neck and snuggling into his left side, her face pressed tightly into his neck on his fireside.

“Um...” The fire and ice user hesitated, “I don’t understand.”

Momo wanted to tell him about the relationship between the two of them. That he was the father of this perfect and beautiful human being. But she feared he wasn’t ready to hear it, not now. Then again, would he ever really be prepared for that kind of information?

“She recognizes you,” Momo leaned her elbows on the bedside and watched Kira hug her father, “You’re the one that saved her from the fire...the one that kept her safe.”

The young girl pulled back enough to meet her father’s gaze before reaching out and placing her tiny hands against his cheeks as a giggle escaped her.

“Hero,” she stated without hesitation and he froze.

Quickly wiping away a few stray tears at her daughter’s words, Momo sat back and turned to the Todoroki family. Telling him about his daughter could wait a little while longer, his siblings and his mother could be first.

“Shouto,” Momo called his attention as she stood to her feet, “I want you to meet your family.”

The red and white-haired male glanced at the three people next to Momo and he couldn’t help the sense of familiarity when he stared at each of them, but there were no images to accompany that feeling. He sighed as Kira moved to sit in his lap, her dual colored gaze watching the adults in the room.

“Hey little brother,” Natuso stepped forward first, “I know you don’t remember us, but I’m your brother Natsuo,” he then gestured to Fuyumi, “And this is our sister Fuyumi.”

The large male didn’t give his sibling time to mutter a hello before he hurriedly introduced their mother.

“And this is our mother Rei.”

"Give him a minute to process everything Natsuo," Rei scolded her son and stepped over to Shouto's bedside, "may I?

Shouto's eyes widened when she held out her arms, questioning if he would allow her to hug him. When his eyes flickered to her own stormy gray stare, there was no way he could say no. With a hesitant nod, he raised his arm as Momo took Kira from his lap, the little girl fussing over being moved from her comfortable spot.

When Rei's arms finally encircled the son she thought she had lost, she couldn't hold back the tears that slid down her cheeks. A sob broke from her as she stroked his dual colored hair just as she had done when he was just a boy.

"I never thought I'd get to hold you like this again," she whispered brokenly into his ear, "I know you don't remember us now, but just know that we love you, and we always will."

Feeling an ache in his chest, Shouto squeezed her back, letting her know he had heard her loud and clear. All of these people had been so kind to him when he didn't deserve it, he truly felt there was no way they could fake any of it.

"Thank you."

"Oh come on, how can you bring me to tears like this," Natsuo furiously wiped his eyes of the tears he had shed due to his mother's words and immediately jumped forward, dragging Fuyumi and Momo along into a very awkward hug of tangled limbs.

"We love you, little bro!" Natsuo hollered joyously.

Momo couldn't help but giggle at the male's antics while Kira pouted since she had been squished in the group hug, obviously not very happy with their overzealous affection.

"Mama," she grumbled when her face was squished against Momo's cheek.

"I'm sorry honey, but your Uncle Natsuo is crazy," the raven-haired beauty laughed at her daughter's dismay before the white-haired male released them from his hold.

"Sorry guys, I needed that," He wiped his face again as he said this.

"We understand," Fuyumi stated as she pats his back in reassurance, "I think we all did."

He wouldn't admit it, at least not yet, but Shouto knew he needed it too.

____________

“Alright, where is the bastard?!”

“Kacchan, calm down!” Midoriya grabbed the explosive hero around the waist and tugged him back. “He still doesn’t remember anything, you can’t just go barging in there demanding answers!”

“I’m not demanding answers, I still owe him for the damage he did to the agency!”

“Katsuki!”

The blond froze in his spot at the call from his boyfriend. The redhead running over to them before pausing in his strides to catch his breath. “Dammit, you run fast.”

“I didn’t run,” Bakugo stated arrogantly, “I used my quirk to blast my way here.”

“Well no shit,” Kirishima gasped out and stood back up, “I meant that as slow the fuck down.” He said it in such a calm tone that Midoriya wasn’t sure if he was angry with the blond or not.

With a sigh, the green-haired hero plopped himself in a chair in the hospital lobby, glad that Kirishima was able to distract Bakugo for the time being. Shouto had barely woken up a few hours ago, the last thing he needed was to get in a fight with the impulsive male.

After Kirishima managed to convince Bakugo to leave the hospital to calm down, that allowed Midoriya to head to Shouto’s room in peace. As he approached the door his friend's room, he was surprised to see several police officers standing outside the doorway. Fearing the worst, he sprinted towards them and shoved his way in, his strength easily allowing him to bypass the officers.

Momo stood protectively in front of Shouto’s bed as Tsukauchi spoke to her in a serious tone. The fire and ice user just stared down at the blanket that rested over his legs, refusing to meet anyone’s gaze.

“What’s going on?” The one for all hero demanded as he came to stand next to Momo.

“They want to arrest Shouto and take him down to the station,” Momo’s voice cracked as she spoke, “the doctors aren’t even done evaluating him yet.”

“Tsukauchi, what’s the meaning of this?”

“I’m sorry Midoriya, my bosses are demanding that Todoroki be arrested for his crimes now that he is awake.”

“What?” Came his incredulous reply. “You can’t be serious.”

Tsukauchi sighed and rubbed his temples. “They are afraid Shouto will become a threat if he is left unsupervised.”

“And they think locking him up is going to solve anything?” Momo challenged the police’s words. “Shouto has been taken advantage of, he shouldn’t be treated like a criminal because some asshole decided to take him for their own nefarious purposes.”

“What else do you expect me to do with him?”

Momo scrambled for something to say before an idea came to her. “What about house arrest?”

Tsukauchi raised a questioning brow, clearly wanting her to elaborate.

“He is a witness in this case as well as a victim,” Momo began, “locking him up in some cage might put him in more danger.”

“And whose house is he supposed to go to?”

“Mine.” The raven-haired woman didn’t hesitate in her decision.

“You’re willing to accept any and all responsibilities regarding his stay with you?”

With one look to the male sitting on the bed, she didn’t need any other confirmation.

“Yes.”

With another sigh, Tsukauchi nodded. “I’ll contact my superiors and see if this arrangement suffices.” He turned to Shouto who finally looked up at him. “And I expect you to be on your best behavior from here on out.”

“Yes sir,” Shouto muttered before he turned away again.

Once the officers left, Shouto had immediately shut down, refusing to talk to anyone. As if the realization of what he had done all came crashing down on him at once. Momo and Rei had attempted to talk to him but to no avail. Rei had ushered her children from the room, hoping Shouto would speak to the Creation hero if left alone together. But even that hadn’t worked.

The only reaction that he gave was when little Kira played with his hair as she once again sat in his lap. His gaze softened towards her as if she was the only one keeping him grounded.

“I’m going to go grab some lunch for Kira, would you like anything?” Mom offered.

“No, I’m fine, thank you,” he finally spoke.

“Do you want me to take Kira or would you like her to stay here with you?”

“She can stay,” he softly whispered as Momo smiled sadly.

Once she left the room, Shouto didn’t stop the one tear that escaped his eye. Before he could wipe it away, a tiny hand beat him to it. Kira’s dual-colored gaze met his own once more. It wasn’t hard to figure out that this perfect little girl was his. If Momo had indeed been his girlfriend as she had claimed, it only made sense that Kira was his daughter, considering the heterochromia that they shared. He figured Momo didn’t want to pressure him to accept her right now, but how could he not when his heart already had.

“You sad?” Kira’s tiny voice pulled him from his thoughts.

“Yeah, just a little,” Shouto cleared his voice when it cracked just a bit.

Kira tilted her head and stood up on the bed so she could easily reach his face, before she placed a wet sloppy kiss on his left cheek, just at the edge of his scar. When she pulled back, she smiled at him.

With an incredulous stare, Shouto let out a laugh at her sweet attempt to make him feel better, which in this case, it kind of did.

“Mama say kisses makes stuff better,” Kira spoke slowly as she struggled to pronounce each word but Shouto understood her just fine.

“Your Mama is smart,” Shouto smiled, “Just like you are.”

Kira grinned again and threw her arms around his neck to hug him. Feeling to emotional to speak, Shouto just hugged her back, glad that she was so willing to help him smile again.

How can a monster like me have ever fathered a beautiful being like you?

The words swirled around in his head, filling him with doubt of ever being someone that had wanted to be a hero. To save anyone. He had hurt these people.

Would all of them be as forgiving as Momo?

__________

Momo leaned against the wall just at the entrance of Shouto’s room, she had heard the entire exchange between the two. Her heart ached even more when she saw Kira throw her arms around the male, hugging him tightly and she couldn’t hold back the tears as she stepped away to hide against the wall.

She had been overthinking telling Shouto about Kira, but it seemed he had already come to accept her as a solid confident despite the girl's young age and she couldn’t have been happier.

“I have to tell him,” she told herself as she quietly walked down the hallway towards the cafeteria, wiping her eyes in the process, “he deserves to know.”

[ladywordsworth]

The Wild Hunt: Chapter 1

Gods cross the seas with their folk and start anew in strange lands and skies. just as their people do.  When the Irish came over America, they brought with them the Wild Hunt, and in the South, the King found a new people (and perhaps a new queen). 

Alma, a runaway slave, finds herself face to face with the King himself. 

Alma remembered the sky clear enough that evening so that she could see the gleaming stars shining above her,  their dim lights like sprinkles of powdered sugar on a freshly baked cake.  And like the sweet aroma of chocolate and vanilla that filled her small quarters whenever her mother would bring her a slice of cake from the kitchen, the scent of pine and earth soothed her as she bolted through the woods.

She would not make it out alive though. It was very much a matter of time.

Time until exhaustion took what little strength she had left; until she was showered in the back with bullets; until the dogs finally caught up to her and tore her to shreds. There was no escaping tonight. Not even with the Northern Star casting it’s light down on her.

With the skills her grandmother had taught her, she’d managed to evade the hunt. But her tricks wouldn’t last forever, and the dogs' noses would see past the false scents she laid down and adjust to hers in no time. She would not see the sun rise again, and her world would end tonight, the dome of stars capped for eternity. There was no heaven for her, not even hell. She never believed in any of them. The promise of the former and the threat of the latter never helped her much, only kept her subservient and made her angry enough to lash out on multiple occasions.

Regardless she refused to go down without a fight, hiking her dress up as high as it would go, refusing to let the torn and tattered fabric trip her. She breathed through her nose-steady and even-just like her grandmother had told her. Bare feet bore into the dry gravel, and rough soles braced themselves as they took on the onslaught of sharp rocks and stray thorns. Nevertheless, she kept her head up, biting her lip to stave off the pain and wiping her tears on her shoulder as she ran further into the night. There was no point in crying over miniscule pain. If she broke now than she’d cower when death took her.

The snarling of the pack of dogs had returned now, and she could hear their paws scraping against the dirt and their ears flapping in the wind as they closed in on her. She knew it was impossible to keep them away forever and had tried to buy as much time as possible with her antics. But it wasn’t enough, and the sound of the men’s voices in the distance, calling at her like she was some wild animal,  only nailed the point home. There were familiar voices amongst the hunt, the most prominent being that of her master, Mr. McDaniel. It was his wife’s death that she was being sought after for, so she expected no less. Though what she hadn’t expected was his order to call off the dogs.

That only meant one thing. And it seemed that time had very much abandoned her; it was no longer a matter of time, rather a matter of how much life she could keep within her as her body bled out. For like a whip cracking the air, a gunshot shot erupted, and the bullet flew towards her at inconceivable speeds.

----

She had expected a death so quickly that she wouldn’t even have had the chance to scream. That was her master who’d shot the gun after all, his accent was unmistakable, and his marksmanship was the talk of the town. For Adam McDaniel to miss his shot must have meant the world was ending, or something akin to it. But here she was, ruffled and disoriented as a result of her last-minute dodge, but alive. She’d seemed to be a little aways from the party though, as she could no longer hear the dogs nor the men. Alongside that, the ache in her head told her she must have tripped and fallen somewhere.

When she came to fully, she stood on trembling legs and struggled to lift her body. It seemed heavier than normal like she’d just woken up after a week of being ill. Though she bit her lip in the hopes of ignoring the fatigue and getting on with her journey. Only….she had expected to meet her journey’s end moments ago. She ran knowing she would die, ran knowing that at least her death would take the blame off of another. But she hadn’t died. And stranded in the middle of the deep South, she didn’t know what to do.

In fact, one quick glance at her surroundings told her that she was completely lost. A ghostly mist seemed to seep into the shallow basin of earth she’d fallen into, and visibility more than a few feet ahead seemed impossible. Alma looked up in hopes that the stars would lead her out of this mess but was shocked to find that the trees had been so tall they’d blocked them off.

She hated to admit it, but she was scared. Whereas she’d been preparing herself for an expected death, this seemed altogether unnatural and unfamiliar.

Still, though, she hiked her skirt up once more and made her way up the shallow walls and into the top of the clearing, hoping she’d perhaps find some familiar ground when she was higher. But with fog this thick, at night especially, the hopes of finding anything was squashed.  Nevertheless, she began her slow trek through the woods, moving slower than she had before but keeping a reasonable speed.

---

It seemed like it was hours before she actually saw something other than trees and fog, and it came to her in the form of a dim, orange light in the distance. While the sensible part of her, the part that registered she was an escaped slave deep in the south, told her to run,  the other part yearned to go towards the light, and free herself of this seemingly endless prison. And again her better judgment, she called out in joy, only to bite her tongue moments later.

Not feet in front of her stood  Adrian McDaniel, the look of utter shock plastered on his pale face (at the time, she’d thought it was fury. It wasn’t. It was fear).

She turned and ran, faster than she had before. She ran deep and deep into the fog until not even the trees were visible to her, and the ground turned into smoke underneath her feet.  But it was to no avail. Her mother said she would never cheat death. And it seemed that death would come soon, as the ground began to shake furiously with the weight of hooves bearing down into it. It had to have been at least a dozen horses, for their force caused the earth to tremble with fury, and all at once the night sounded as if hundreds of smiths had stricken their anvils repeatedly.  An assortment of grunts and neighs from the horse filled her ears, and in the not so far distance the yelps and howls of dogs followed after.

It didn’t take long for the party to catch up to her again, and this time they were so close she could feel the hot breath of the horse on her neck, could feel the gloved hands of the hunter fisting her hair. In the last resort, she threw her hands behind her in an attempt to shove the assailant off. However, she was shocked to find that she was met with absolutely no resistance, only the air and fog behind her.

Yet she could still hear the horse and the dogs and felt the ground moving as if the party was all around her.

But she could see nothing.

She turned her head to and fro frantically, fist clenching at her sides, and heart running a million miles. This wasn’t a matter of the fog obscuring her vision as it had before, there was truly nothing here.

“Are you lost, miss?” A deep, accented voice called behind her

Alma jumped so quick and so high that she thought she’d just walked over hot coals, and the yelp that followed afterward would make anyone think she had. And it certainly was loud, for the birds that slept in the trees above awoke with a flutter of feathers and array of coos. Alma gazed up in alarm though. Where on Earth did they come? She hadn't even heard them when her master had shot at her, and that was loud. Not only that, but they were such a vast array of colors, some not even native to the south. ]

“They’re apart of the hunt, you see.”

Now she turned around, part of her expecting to be met with nothing but the cool, dark mist. But she wasn’t. For in front of her stood a very tall horse, darker than the night itself though adorned with dim spots that had a slight resemblance to the stars. Sitting on the saddle was a man dressed in even darker clothes, his trousers, and jacket so black they seemed to suck up the light around them. His skin was so pale that it was almost translucent, and if Alma looked hard enough she could see the fog right through it as if she were looking at a window. His hair was of the same manner, though it was red like Master McDaniel’s. Alma had almost thought it was him too, given the accent.

At the foot of the horse stood two rather large dogs on either side, their fur a dirty, tumbled grey. They looked like mops that’d been left out in the sun and had tried badly, though their amber eyes were kind and welcoming. And one look at the dark-clad rider showed a similar expression in his blue eyes.  

“You’re a mighty brave girl, Alma,” the man spoke, his deep voice soothing as honey, “I’ve been keeping an eye on you.”

“Sir?” She asked, surprised that she had managed to find her strength in light of this strange phenomenon.

“I watched you since you were first born.” He explained, and through his red beard, she could see the beginnings of a smile, “watched you teach yourself to read. Watched you help the others too…”

She cut him off with a confidence she didn’t think she had, certainly not when it came to a man such as himself. But with every second she spent in this world, she found a new sense of strength.

“I don’t understand. How have you been watching me, Sir? This is the first time I’ve seen you.”

“I am the King of the Hunt, and the animals are under my dominion.” He waved his hand as if to exaggerate his point, ���that pig you let free was a trusted member of my party. The rabbit you refused to kill as well. I have many animals as my companions, and they go as they choose. But regardless I see all.”

“I have seen what you have done since you’ve been a child, and have seen what you have done tonight.” Now he extended his hand, and through some unexplainable force, Alma was inclined to grab it. The events from that evening played in her mind with such a ferocity that she nearly fell back. Her cousin murdering the mistress for threatening to kill his brother, Alma taking the blame for it in an attempt to save him, and running when her master had doubted whether she’d done it or not. Anything to pin the action on her.

“You took the blame for another, and might have just saved his life.” He gave her hand a gentle squeeze, “and you have run until you could run no more. Given your life, even.”

Now that was strange. She ran, definitely, especially until she could run no more. But given her life? She was still living. She simply fell.

“Sir, I’m--” He withdrew his hand slowly, making a waving motion in the direction behind her. Alma looked turned, her brow raised in confusion as she looked into the fog. Only this time there was no fog, and for a second she believed she was finally free of the neverending maze of dark and shadows. She moved forward, only to stop midstep when her gaze fell on something before her.

“Is that me?”  It was all she could say, all emotion completely gone from her voice. How was one to react when they stood feet away from their dead body, bleeding out on the grass?

“It is.” Spoke the King, waving his hand once more, so that they were thrown back into the eternal darkness.

Alma had expected to meet her end. Death had been the compromise for her cousin's life. She supposed that’s why she wasn’t surprised. If this was truly the afterlife than it was no bother. She had her eternal darkness, just as she had assumed. Though she’d never once heard of a ‘King of the Hunt’ in the afterlife. Certainly not a slave master looking kinda man.

“So if this is the After Life, are you supposed to be...Jesus? You certainly look like how the white people draw him.”

Now the man cackled, his voice bellowing around the forest. It was contagious, and even Alma found herself snickering.

“I am the King of the hunt, as I have said before. And I would be honored if you would join my party.” He extended his gloved hand once more. “Your courage is an admirable trait, and would make an excellent addition to my people.”

Alma took it with little hesitation, for what was one supposed to do when they had died? This was simply the next step, she supposed. And she found it, she did not like eternal darkness. It terrified her.

She probably should have asked questions though, and her mother would have scolded her had she known shed accepted help from a white man she’d never met before. But something was different about this man, something about his world was different. She trusted him in a way she never had before.

The King smiled a gleaming smile, and it seemed all the forest smiled with him.

It happened quickly, a change about her soul. She could only describe it as a passing thought as if she’d closed her eyes and instead of the blacks of her lids, she was met with the appearance of a small, brown rabbit.

“Welcome Alma McDaniel to the Wild Hunt.” He spoke loudly as if speaking to an audience she could not see, “As a member of my party you will walk as both a woman and an animal, changing form when you deem proper, and granting the power to those whom you choose. You will receive dominion over the Earth and all her secrets in time.”

Then he smiled again, the expression reaching his kind eyes.

“May you have the speed of the stars and the grace of the moon. And may you bring into my hunt others with caliber much like your own.”

All at once, the animals of the hunt sounded off for their new sister. And slowly, they drowned out into very lively human voices, their accents, and mannerisms from all walks of life.

---

She woke on the ground, and around her, the sun peeked through the trees and a warm, morning mist filled the air. Alma jerked up with a start, looking around in shock as she searched for the King. She wondered if it all had been a dream, for the land was absent of the fog that had obscured her vision, and all traces of the man and his horse had gone.

Then she felt a pain in her side, and within seconds she noticed a pool of blood next to her and laying in it as clear as day was a silver bullet. She picked up the small metal to examine it, her dark skin staring back at her through the reflection. That’s when she noticed it. Right beside the puddle where small tracks.

Rabbit tracks.

Alma drew herself to full height, hissing at the pain in her side, but realizing it was mainly healed (save for the small mark that marred her ebony skin).

Now she stood, unsure of how to do it. Yet she’d done what she’d done before, so that meant she could do it again. Closing her eyes, she’d visualized the rabbit, just like she’d done in that world.

The world grew larger and her body shrunk. Alma didn’t have to use a mirror to see what she was.  The whiskers and the smell was enough.

Now it was time to return to the plantation. He’d called her courageous for a reason, and with her new power, she was only getting started.

She had a family to save.

-

The Wild Hunt in mythology refers to a hunt of the dead. In fae-lore it might refer to a fae court. Alma is mixed with Irish from her mother, who works in the house because she is light skinned. But Alma herself has incredibly dark skin, and is/was a field hand!

[insanely-creative-things]

Big Hero 7:The Series

www.fanfiction.net

Big Hero 7 S2

Nega-Globby

*The San Fransokyo day is passing by normally as Globby swings through the city. He was once a petty purse thief named Dibs when by chance he inadvertently stole Honey Lemon's Chem purse and crushed it. With all of the ooze combined to Globby he had transformed to the gelatinous creature he is today. But after some encounters with Big Hero 7 and learning of Obake's true intentions, he quickly paired up with Hiro Hamada to save his girlfriend and ultimately, save San Fransokyo as a whole. Time passed and he had to admit, it was a rather strange time. First with all the darkbots appearing in San Fransokyo, Obake/Kage receiving his surgery, and now he's deemed safe for the public. And the first thing Globby is gonna do is get a job. He finally lands in front of the workplace he hopes to join, Noodle Burger(A part of him missed the little burger bot).*

Globby: OK... you can do this...

*But when Globby tried to cross the street he got hit by a bus. After he recovered and traveled back to Noodle Burger he got up to the front desk to meet the assistant manager.*

Globby: So sorry I'm late!

A.M: Oh um... did you bring your resume? Mr...uh..Globby?

*the globs and somewhat chicken scratch handwriting made it a little difficult to read properly.*

Globby: Please, Mr. Globby is my father... or it would be if my dad went through a freaky mutation...

A.M: So.. just globby.

Globby: Yup.

A.M: Your resume?

Globby: Here ya go. But I'm not sure about the formatting...

*globby brings out his resume and hands it to the assistant manager.. though due to his globbiness it made it rather difficult to actually give the paper.*

A.M: Sorry but... its a little... stuck. Maybe you could just tell me about your work experience?

Globby: Well I can do this!

*And so Globby morphs himself into a dinosaur, crashing through the roof before reverting back to his normal size.*

A.M: That is something...

Globby: Something awesome?

A.M: Something not that useful for making Noodle fries... Thanks for coming Globby, we'll let you know... OK?

Globby: Oh come on... please give me a chance! I need a job, I just want to be a regular guy-

*But while he was talking to the Assistant manager he slips on the wet floor and causes some property damage to the restaurant. While it was not as destructive as Noodle Burger Boy's was... it was still enough for the Assistant manager to not consider him a future worker.*

Globby: Darn it!

*Hiro and Cora had just finished up updating the chem bazooka he made for Honey Lemon back when Orso Knox escaped from Sycorax.*

Honey Lemon: Thanks for updating my new purse! And it looks so cute!

Hiro: This is still a prototytpe.

Cora: And cause of that rather creative bunny armor I thought... why not?

Hiro: Come on, test it. Push that button.

*Honey Lemon pushes the bunny button the side where the cuter purse transformed into a bazooka.*

Cora: Increased range and accuracy. Plus double emphasis on echo-location.

Honey Lemon: Sweet!

*But when Honey Lemon tested it out it started firing all over the place, releasing a mixture of ice and crystals to the floor outside. Just now Globby is passing by.*

Globby: My sixth interview this week-AH!

*And so he slips on the ice and lands on the crystals, leading to a loud and painful crash.*

Globby: Darn it!

Honey Lemon: Globby!

*Honey Lemon hands back the new chem bazooka to Hiro.*

Cora: Note to self, add fail safe should Bazooka go on a chem ball firing spree.

Hiro: Not to mention the slight problem with the accuracy.

Honey Lemon: Sorry Globby.

Globby: Nobody wants to hire a monster! You'd think Monster Pizza would be open minded but no!

Honey Lemon: You're not a monster-monster Globby, you're a good person.

Globby: That's just it, being a monster was easy! But being a regular guy and a monster is imposible. At least back when I worked with Obake I knew what to do-

*That's when he sees Cora, who's blinking at him and looking a little uncomfortable.*

Globby: Oh no I said the O-Word! Listen Kiddo I didn't mean to say Obake- Darn it I did it again! Oh...

*Baymax waddles over to comfort the poor sap.*

Baymax: Would you like a hug?

Globby: Uh huh!

*Globby immediately hugs Baymax while Cora nods to him, showing she accepts his apology.*

Baymax: There there.

Honey Lemon: I'm so sorry Globby, this is all my fault. It was my chem purse that did this to you.

Hiro:*Scooting his chair over to Honey Lemon* Which he did steal from you.

Honey Lemon: But if I had been more careful-

Globby: No, Hiro's right. I did this to myself; I'm a mess.

Hiro: Come on Globby, how about I talk to Aunt Cass? I'm sure she could totally use help around the café-

*Globby immediately hugs Hiro.*

Globby: Oh you're the best!

*But when Globby lets go of Hiro he sees his globs stick to his person.*

Globby: You know that comes out real easy with clean soda.

*That's when Globby turns to Cora and walks over.*

Globby: I really do mean it Cora, I shouldn't had said that word considering... what happened.. and what he actually-

Cora: Its fine Globby! As far as everyone knows, Obake's gone. Now, he's just Kage… my uncle..

Globby: Kage… I'm still not used to the fact that's his real name to be honest. Then again its either that or Bob... Kage rolls off the tongue better.

*This is when Honey Lemon remembers something a long time ago. She pulls over Cora to the side where she whispers to the blue haired girl's ear.*

Honey Lemon: Cora... could I talk to your grandmother about something?

*A little later where Kaguya, Honey Lemon, and Cora are at Gogo's apartment.*

Kaguya: You want...to see if my healing medicine could cure Globby?

Honey Lemon: I know its a big risk, but Globby has been through a lot and he just wants to be normal again.

Cora: Besides, from what I heard Globby was someone you knew with Felony Carl.

Kaguya: I whacked him with my cane when he attempted to grab my wallet. Then I took him out for tea.

Honey Lemon: Ms. Kaguya, I swear that I only want to give Globby the medicine. I'll say that its something I made!

*Kaguya ponders on the idea, thinking over Honey Lemon's words and Globby's situation. Finally she sighs.*

Kaguya; Alright... but there are certain conditions Honey Lemon.

Honey Lemon: Yes! I'll accept them.

Kaguya: You are to tell them, if Globby has been cured, that you subtracted the cells in his body of its nutrients to slow down the regeneration process. That would be Biology 101 that they would certainly eat up.

Honey Lemon: Of course.

Kaguya: I will head back home and brew the tea. Cora will come pick you up when its ready, then bring Globby over.

Honey Lemon: Yes! Thank you so much Ms. Kaguya!

*Honey Lemon skips merrily at the news as Kaguya sighs at her enthusiasm. Cora looks at her grandmother with concerned eyes.*

Cora: Whats wrong Grandmama?

Kaguya:... Cora, you know that it can heal all wounds and illnesses?

Cora: Yeah... you even said that the medicine even saved Papa from the brink of death.

Kaguya: I neglected to tell there were certain...side effects.

Cora: What kind? Would it hurt Globby ?

Kaguya: So far the only side effects we're increased fertility and heightening the immune system... but since Globby has been this way for so long... *Sighs* No matter. I have a healing medicine to make and you are to pick Honey Lemon up.

Cora: Grandmama?... why didn't you give Kage the medicine after he came here?

Kaguya: I still hold doubt over his reformation and its sincerity. He was also the one who had ordered your father to steal my potion and kill your mother and I. Until he makes a selfless act of pure love for you and your father, this medicine will never be something he'll taste... Cora... you know I saw you copy notes from the herbal medicine book.

Cora: Oh! you did?

Kaguya: I think its best...

*Cora looks down, mentally preparing for her ban on the book.*

Kaguya: That whatever discovery or interesting combination you find is best recorded in the book.

Cora: *looks up with surprise.* You mean-

Kaguya: the book is now yours Cora. You've shown how responsible you are over the years that passed, especially with your time as Aqua Girl. I know that the book is best kept in your hands.

Cora: Thank you Grandmama. For trusting me.

*They arrive at Home where soon Kaguya sets to work, behind Closed doors. Cora could only imagine what sorts of ingerients could have been inside that could perform such miracles. Even though Cora isn't ready to learn its recipe... at least she's ready to keep and guard the herbal medicine book that belonged to Kaguya, then her mother...and now hers. She flips over the pages until she found a blank page to start.*

Cora: OK now... this is the start of something new.*Looks at the small shrine and smiles* I promise, I'm gonna make you proud.

*Just then Kaguya comes out and brings a thermostat.*

Kaguya: finished….also... isn't it almost time for class?

Cora: Oh my god! I lost track of time!

*Cora quickly gets up, quickly reviewing her back to see all her assignments and necessities are there before heading to the kitchen. She pours a thermostat of similar build to the one Kaguya is holding as she places it next to it on the table. She grabs a piece of toast and heads over to Kaguya.*

Cora: OK Grandmama! I'm gonna head over to school now! Once classes are over I'll go to Honey Lemon and tell her the medicine is ready! Love you Grandmama!

*Cora grabs the nearest thermostat and runs out the door, picking up pace until she sees the building with only five minutes left to spare. She sighs before she spots that the thermostat wasn't screwed tightly as it was leaking a little.*

Cora: Whoops! Gotta fix that! *screws the top tightly* I hope nobody slips from the green tea.

*As she walks over to her classroom, she had failed to see that a drop landed on a wilting flower, to which receiving its nutrients blooms back to its youthful, colorful self. The speck of rose gold liquid is definitely not the green tea she had taken.*

*Later on at SFIT, Grandville is at her office when Honey Lemon comes through the door, carefully closing it behind her before she excitedly tells Grandville the news.*

Honey Lemon: We're gonna turn Globby back to being Dibs!

Grandville:*Blinking before she regains her composure* Honey Lemon...while that is good news... you hadn't explained how you will help him.

*Just then Liv Amara is passing through the halls to visit Grandville when she heard muffles. She leaned her head to hear what is exactly going on.*

Grandville:...The medicine for Globby can be proven fascinating...

Honey Lemon:... Cora's Grandmother agreed to help...

Grandville:... Just be sure to never share the medicine..

Honey Lemon: ...Cora will pick me up and deliver it to Globby...

*When she hears footsteps she quickly backs out as Honey Lemon walks happily to the robotics lab.*

Liv: Globby...medicine...Cora and her grandmother?... what ever this is. its going to be very interesting...

*She knocks on the door then opens it.*

Liv: Hi Grace! How are you?

*Grandville looks up to see Liv Amara, smiling at her. Before she would have smiled back and greeted her with open arms... but with the recent discoveries about Liv Amara made apparent her admiration soured... but when she learned what happened with Orso Knox, and what her students had learned: All respect for her had been spoiled. *

Liv: Is... something wrong Grace?

Grandville: Oh, nothing is wrong *Forced smile* I had a discussion with one of my students is all.

Liv: May I ask what is it about?

Grandville: I'm afraid I cannot tell you. Whatever goes on with my students and myself is private unless they choose to reveal such information.

Liv: Is that so?

Grandville: Exactly. Now, what are you doing here? I heard you still have repearations to finish considering Knox's rampage on Sycorax.

Liv: I know and its been tiresome and heartbreaking. All of that hard work destroyed in a single day... my intern Karmi was devastated when her project was lost.

Grandville: I know... her work would have flourished had it not been for Orso Knox's rampage... Its sad to see that despite all of your 'efforts' to cure him, he could not be saved...

Liv: I've also come to check on Cora's well being considering the attack. She must've felt so scared. I'm... glad Big Hero 7 saved her life... and its unfortunate that they had to... you know.

Grandville: Of course, there was nothing that could help him. But while it is touching that you still hold concern for Cora, she is not your intern anymore, so I don't see any reason why would you still see her.

Liv: Can't a girl be concerned for the well being of others? How about I ask Karmi to talk to her?

Grandville: That would be wise.

*At the Café, Hiro had just given Aunt Cass an introduction to Globby, who is sheepishly waiting outside.*

Cass: How do you know him again?

Hiro: From uh...SFIT?

Cass: What happened to his... everything?

Baymax: He stole-

Hiro: Stole the spotlight when he did this next level experiment but there was a accident... A horrible accident...

Cass: The poor guy...

Hiro: Exactly! That's why I thought you'd give him a job.

Cass:Hmmm Hiro, I don't know.. Has he ever worked in a café before?

Baymax: Globby was a pur-

Hiro: Personal guy and a fast learner!

*To show his potential he squirted out whip cream from his fingers to a couple's coffee cup.*

Globby: Foam?

Cass: Oh, that's sweet... also kind of disturbing but... OK. I'll give him a chance.

Globby: *Hugging Aunt Cass tightly* Oh thank you!

Cass: Oh um, your welcome.

*As Globby sets for work he leaves a trail of glob on Cass. Which she didn't find... appealing.*

Hiro: You won't regret this Aunt Cass!... I hope...

Cass: He has to wear a cloth, OK?

* At the robotics lab, Honey Lemon is checking over a piece of Glob from Globby. But it was merely for curiosity sake. Just then Cora joins up.*

Cora: Hiya Honey Lemon!

Honey Lemon: Cora! How are you? Did your grandmother finish the medicine?

Cora: Yup, but considering you're a little busy I could just wait for you.

Honey Lemon: OK, just give me a few more minutes. *Notices the thermos and the book* Is that the herbal medicine book?

Cora: Yup. Grandmama said that its officially mine.

Honey Lemon: Congrats!

Cora: I'm gonna go get some lunch, also help yourself to the thermos, its green tea.

Honey Lemon: Thank you.

*Tired of carrying around her backpack and Thermos she places it carefully next to Honey Lemon's work before heading off to the dining hall. Just then Honey Lemon sees Karmi… and she looked like she had seen better days. From the attack she had received a heavily bruised arm, a strained wrist and a limping leg. The blow from Orso Knox from his escape while taking Cora definitely left its mark.*

Honey Lemon: Hi Karmi? How you feeling?

Karmi: Oh I don't know... aside from being slammed to a wall by a mutated Orso Knox, receiving these injuries, having all of your work and lab destroyed, loosing my research and Sycorax getting a blowback for incompetence, I. Feel. Just. Peachy!

*Honey Lemon winced at Karmi's venomous tongue. Of course she would be bitter about the incident. She understood Orso Knox's hatred for Sycorax… but he didn't have to destroy all of their work... a few of them were innocent.. she hoped.*

Honey Lemon: *Changing the subject* So uh... whatcha here for?

Karmi: I'm looking for Cora.

Honey Lemon: You came to see how she's doing? Glad to know you really care about her!

Karmi: I don't care about her! I'm only checking on her cause Liv Amara asked me to. Honestly its her fault for this mess.

Honey Lemon: Her fault?

Karmi: If she hadn't gone to the lowest level and got that monster out, none of my work would have been destroyed nor my lab!

Honey Lemon: But... weren't you the one who was giving Cora the tour? They did say you hadn't even seen her anywhere before last minute.

Karmi: Ugh...

*That is when she sees three things... a piece of glob, a thermos, and a large leather bound book. She chooses to focus on the glob*

Karmi: Whats that you got there?

Honey Lemon: Its a piece if Globby. I'm studying it over to see whatever use I could find.

Karmi: You know, if you starve the cell of its nutrients it would slow down the regeneration process. That way the monster would be vulnerable.

Honey Lemon: Globby is not a monster. He helped Big Hero 7 save the city.

Karmi: Hmmp.*Looks at the two items.* What's that book over there? and the thermos?

Honey Lemon: Its Cora's book and thermos. Its has green tea if you like, it should help calm the nerves.

*Karmi opens the thermos and drinks it doing the birdie, closing her eyes. That's when Honey Lemon sees the liquid does not have the green color associated with green tea... which means its-*

Honey Lemon: Stop!

*Karmi immediately stops drinking it and closes the tap.*

Karmi: what?!

Honey Lemon: Uhhh…..Stop! Hammer time!

*Karmi blinks before she puts away the thermos.*

Karmi: You're super weird.

*Honey Lemon quickly puts away the thermos and smiles awkwardly. That's when Karmi heads over the book and opens it, settling to the medicine and herbs. She looks closer as she read what is possibly a very interesting concoction.*

Karmi: This is interesting...

Cora: What are you doing?!

*Karmi looks up to see Cora, holding a half eaten sandwich before placing it down and walking over.*

Cora: Why are you looking at my book?!

Karmi: Your book? I don't see your name on it!

Cora: *Flips to the very first page where her mother's name is now joined with her's.*

Cora: This book is very to special to me! It was grandmother and Mother's book! And I don't recall giving you permission to look at it!

Karmi: Yeesh! Possessive much?

Cora: An angel French fish has to be if a predator comes over.

Honey Lemon: *Goes between them to prevent a war* OK! Cora, Karmi actually came over to see if you are doing alright! Considering the... incident.

Karmi: Liv Amara wanted to see you in person, but she sent ME to wish you well. Her favorite intern.

Cora: Her only intern, cause I gave it up. Now, if you'll excuse, Honey Lemon and I are going to the lucky cat café. Also, tell Liv Amara that I appreciate her message... but screw her gently with a chainsaw.

*Karmi stares at her with shock as Cora walks over and packs her things with Honey Lemon, leaving her behind.*

Karmi: What right do you have to say about Liv Amara like that fish breath?!

Cora: Since I left Sycorax after being kidnapped by a monster you guys supposedly found a cure for two months ago you bipedal parasite!

*Karmi growled as she stomps her way out. Cora sighs angrily before she looks at Honey Lemon.*

Cora: Please excuse me... I need to scream into something... there it is.

*Soon Cora is screaming into a large bowl of water before resurfacing back, her blue hair damp as she takes deep breaths.*

Cora: OK! I feel better now. Wanna pick up Globby and see how he's doing at the lucky Cat?

Honey Lemon: OK! Glad to know you got your emotions out.

*But there were two things happening now after they left SFIT: One was in Chris, Liv Amara's assistant, snuck over to Honey Lemon's desk and swiftly and efficiently took a sample of the glob. Once that was done he swiftly leaves. The second was when Liv Amara is waiting for Chris when she sees Karmi.*

Liv: Hello Karmi! did Cora get my message? Is she doing OK?

Karmi: Ungrateful. She said Screw you gently with a chainsaw, can you believe that?

*Liv Amara blinks at Karmi's response about Cora's own. It seems earning her trust was gonna be harder then she thought. That is when she noticed something about Karmi that made her pause... The last she saw Karmi she had a limp, a bruised arm, and a strained wrist... but now she was walking around like she never received such injuries... and she didn't even notice.*

Karmi: What?

Liv: Its nothing. And I suppose I can't blame her. I'd probably be pissed too if I were kidnapped by a monster on my first day of work.

*at the Lucky Cat Café, for Globby it was going fine... for others not so much... He was efficient at his job and a fast learner... but the problem was... his globs got in everyone's business.*

Customer: Ma'am*To Cass* I ordered a green tea! This is purple and sticky?...and gelatinous?

Cass: *Sighs* I'm so sorry.. I'll make you a new cup right away!

Globby: Coming right up a yummy muffin and don't forget your frostecinno! Thank you! Come again!

*the one who ordered it did not appreciate her food being covered in globs.*

Globby: Let me get that door for you!

*Globby swings his arm to open the door which so happens to be opened by Honey Lemon and Cora.*

Honey Lemon: Globby we have good news!-

*And so Globby's hand ended up pulling Honey Lemon and Cora close to Globby. which leads to someone throwing a plate of eggs and bacon to Cass' face.*

Cora: Sorry Aunt Cass!

Honey Lemon: Oh no are you OK?

Globby: Sorry!

Cass:...*Wipes the eggs and bacon off her face* So he's going with you now right?

Cora: Yup!

*Soon afterwards the three head back to Cora's house where Globby sees Kaguya again.*

Globby: Hey Kaguya! You doing good?

*But Kaguya runs to Cora and checks her over before grabbing the thermos.*

Kaguya: Cora! Oh thank goodness you're here! You had inadvertently grabbed the wrong thermos. *Hands the other thermos* This is your green tea.

*This causes Cora to widen her eyes before looking at Honey Lemon.*

Cora: Nobody else drank from the thermos while I was gone... right?

Honey Lemon: Ummm...ya see-

Globby: Whats the thing that Cora switched?

Kaguya: Globby, it is potentially your cure to being human again.

Globby: A cure? Really?

*Kaguya hands over the medicine to Globby, who looks inside to see the beautiful glow of Rose gold liquid. He looks over to the three ladies, waiting for him to drink it.*

Globby: OK...through the lips and over the gums...look out bottomless pit I call a stomach.. this will come!

*And so he chugs the remainder of the liquid down before its empty of its contents.*

Globby: Hmm...

Honey Lemon: Well?

Globby: It was hard swallowing down cause it packs a punch, but the aftertaste is fantastic-!*Gasp!*

*Globby starts breathing heavily before there was this glow of gold wrapping around his globby body, slowly melting away one by one. Honey Lemon looks at the radar to see that his body mass and temperature is rapidly changing. Finally, when the glow died down, they see in place of Globby the tall, lanky man from so long ago. He looks down to see his hands for the first time in forever, feeling his heart beat again and the metallic headband now removeable.*

Dibs:...I can't believe it! It worked!

*But instead of smiling faces he sees the blushing face of Honey Lemon who is covering her eyes, Kaguya having an 'excuse me'? look on her face while she covers Cora's eyes. He looks down to see that while he has successfully regained his human form...*

Dibs: *Blushing immensely while covering himself* Does anyone have pants?

*After getting suitable clothing for Dibs Cora and Honey Lemon invited everyone over to meet Dibs*

Wasabi: Welcome back to being human Dibs.

Fred: Yeah!

*Dibs goes to a mirror and sees his face again.*

Dibs: Wow! I almost forgot how good I looked!

*But while he was checking himself out, Kage walks down the stairs with his Baymax behind him, yawning as he had just woken from a nap.*

Kage: Kaguya, do you know where is the green tea?-

*That is when he sees everyone from Big Hero 7 is there. Now, he was fine meeting with just Hiro and Cora... but meeting the rest all at once?...*

Baymax 1: Kage, your heart beat is quickening at an alarming pace-

Dibs: No way!

*Dibs pulls himself from admiring his reflection as he stares into Kage's eyes, like he is seeing a ghost.*

Dibs: Boss?... is that you?

Kage: Do I know you?...

Dibs: Its me! Globby! I was your favorite henchmen! But wow! Looks like we both changed! Hey, how about we grab something from Joe's diner and-

Kage: No thank you! In fact I don't want any of you here!

*Kage immediately walks back upstairs, his face displaying discomfort and guilt.*

Kage: If I see you again Globby I will not hesitate to yank your headband off your brain and shove it to your skull!

*The door slam is a very good indicator that he did not want any company for now.*

Dibs: Hehe... Too sudden?

*As of while, Liv Amara and Chris are at her private lab at the lowest floor, seeing out the glob Chris stole from Honey Lemon's desk.*

Chris: Cell regeneration?

Liv: Yes. If I can figure it out, this could lead a breakthrough.

Chris: You mean for-

Liv: What else? Now lets see if I can amplify the tissue with the regernable abilities.

*When she added the altered goop to the sample, it had turned purple and consumed all in the desk, leaving nothing but a bare desk.*

Liv: Interesting...

*She places the dark blobs in a much larger jar to study. After adding in more of the serum it grows larger and breaks through the glass. *

Liv: Pretty neat right? Put it into a containment cell...now get it something to eat.

Chris: You know… I don't get why you still want Cora mizichio as your marine bio intern. There's plenty of other marine bio students that would love to be in her place.

Liv: Its because she has something I want. Who knows what secrets her book holds?

*Later on in Joe's dinner, Dibs is with Felony Carl and Kaguya having coffee and pancakes.*

Felony Carl: Hey, you got knees. Enjoying it?

Dibs: Oh loving it. All my joints are wonderful, I mean elbows. Come on its pretty great!

Felony Carl: Uh huh, and hey, how about teeth?

Dibs: Oh yeah teeth. A lot of fun!

Felony Carl: I don't mean to overstep my boundaries but your enthusiasm seems forced. Its so fake even Kaguya sees through it.

*Kaguya sips her tea while she nods.*

Dibs:...You two have X-Ray eyes felony carl. You two see through my knees, elbows and teeth all the way to my soul.

Felony Carl: Humans have regular eyes.

Kaguya: So what is truly troubling you Dibs?

Dibs: Being fully human again is kind of... boring. No offense.

Felony Carl: Hey, you're in a safe space.

Dibs: I mean my life as a mutated freak was often gross, painful, embarrassing... but exciting!

*Dibs walks over to Felony Carl's side to show his phone which shown a couple picture Kaguya never thought she would see. Pictures of Globby taking a selfie with Kage, back when he was Obake, Trina, Noodle Burger Boy, and Momakase.*

Dibs: I was a valued member of a team of super villains! But then I turned good and joined the heroes! And I helped them save San Fransokyo and everyone in it!... I was special.

Felony Carl: No no no. You are special.

Dibs: Aw, thanks carl.

Felony Carl: You're welcome. Now be a champ and pick up the check. I gotta go pay a guy about a thing. The guy is my dad and the thing is his birthday.

Kaguya: I wish your father a happy birthday Felony Carl.

Felony Carl: thanks Kaguya. He'll appreciate it.

*After Felony Carl leaves Dibs turned to Kaguya who is still looking at the photos, especially of the time he was a super villain.*

Dibs: You can ask me anything you want to know back in the day ya know? Certain items I stole, how I figured out how to make ice cream-

Kaguya: What was it truly like working with them?

*Kaguya points to the photo of Obake, Momakase, Trina, N.B.B, and himself. dibs sighs before he sits back down.*

Dibs: Ya see... It was fine at first! Obake was this cool and suave villain that I looked up to, even his voice was sexy... But over time.. he was really... harsh. He and Momakase hated each other, and he would slap her silly If she tried to do anything against him. Trina and Noodle Burger Boy look up to him as Dad...though he was super neglectful and only rarely gives hugs. But on his worst days...

Kaguya: What worst days?

Dibs:... He seems to be like a violent beast underneath his calm self. For someone lanky like me you would've thought he'd be weak in the brawns department but... to be honest I was growing scared. And when I overheard what he was gonna do to San Fransokyo and your granddaughter I just... *Sighs* It really was awkward seeing him again... now he just looks so lost and broken... if trina and Noodle Burger boy find out he's alive and that he gave up his evil side, who knows how they will react.

Kaguya: Hmmm... I'm happy you shared this with me dibs. Tell me this; when you joined Big Hero 7 to save San Fransokyo as Globby, how did you feel?

Globby: Just like I said earlier, important... wanted.. and loved. Do you know the answer?

Kaguya: I could tell you, but its the solving the puzzle that's the journey. Now, how about we split the check?

Dibs: Thanks Kaguya, you're the best.

*At Sycorax's lab, Christ is delivering a meal to the mutated monster Liv Amara has made.*

Chris: Who's excited for an artisanal Cheese Brulee?

*Once the cell opens the glob eats Chris and scurries off. Then it goes the pair of eye balls and eats them too... gaining eyes in the process. Liv Amara notices the breach as Chris somehow manages to escape the Glob's form.*

Chris: We have a problem... it escaped.

Liv: So I see...

*She shuts off the security system.*

Chris: But don't we need it for-

Liv: Dead end, its too unstable. And as far as everyone knows, it came out of nowhere. Its the city's problem now.

*At SFIT in the evening, the Gang are enjoying their food when Grandville walks over to them.*

Grandville: Hello Honey Lemon, and students. How did that 'special project' go?

Honey Lemon: It was a complete success! Globby, or should I say, Dibs is cured!

Grandville: It still seems miraculous that such a concoction would cure him. It truly is a miracle potion.

Cora: Yeah, now he can enjoy his life as a normal man!

Grandville: There has been something I noticed however... Karmi had received a strained wrist, a limping leg and a heavily bruised arm during Knox's attack on Sycorax. From what the doctors said she would fully recover within a month or so.

Wasabi: OK... and?

Grandville: Just yesterday it seems like she was completely cured. all of her injuries was gone.

Hiro: That is super weird. How could she heal that fast?

Cora: Yeah, its not like she drank the medicine right?

Honey Lemon:*Looking very uncomfortable* Ummm...

Gogo: Honey... what happened?

Honey Lemon: Well... the funny thing is...I offered her the thermos and she kind of sort of maybe drank a little bit?

Cora: YOU WHAT?!

*The shout echoed across the dining hall, making everyone stare at the blue haired girl. She sinks down in her seat as Hiro looks at Honey Lemon.*

Hiro: *whisper shouts* Karmi drank the medicine?!

Honey Lemon: I didn't notice it till it was too late! But luckily so far Karmi hadn't told anyone about her healing right?

*Just then Gogo's phone beeps with news.*

Gogo: We have a situation right now!

*Looking into the phone they see a dark colored figure of Globby with a menacing eye stomping through the city. The team fly through the city where they confront the new monster. There was no doubt that despite being different colors, it held a resemblance to one other former glob monster.*

Honey Lemon: This is impossible!

Cora: Hit the deck!

*The other monster throws a mailbox to the team before they all dodge.*

Wasabi: Is it just me or is Globby a lot meaner?

Hiro: And bigger?

Cora: And a different color?

Fred: Whatever was in that potion definitely funked him up. He's full phase two.

Cora: Grandmama did tell me there were going to be side effects, but I never thought it would be this serious!

Hiro: It wasn't your fault, neither of your fault. It could be that the cells were too unstable.

Gogo: Whatever, he's going down!

Honey Lemon: Wait! He's our friend! Just let me talk to him please!

*Honey Lemon goes over to the other monster while Cora quickly contacts her grandmother and tells her about the sitation.*

Kaguya: What are you talking about? Dibs is with me walking home right now!

*Cora stopped functioning for a moment, trying to process what see meant as Honey Lemon gets close to the other monster.*

Honey Lemon: Dibs listen to me! I know I failed you the first time, but whatever happened I know I can fix it! You don't have to do this! Listen to me Dibs, this isn't who you are.

*Just then Dibs and Kaguya come by.*

Dibs: Hey guys, who's the monster?

Kaguya: And why has Cora stopped functioning?

*Hiro gives Cora a slight slap to the face to shake her off her shock.*

Cora: HONEY LEMON THAT'S NOT GLOBBY THATS A COMPLETELY DIFFERENT MONSTER!

Honey Lemon: What?

Fred: Then its a whole new globby? Oh my gosh I get to name it! He's officially Nega-Globby!

Cora: Get somewhere to safety with Grandmama Dibs! We're gonna handle this copy cat!

*Honey Lemon pushes Dibs and Kaguya to a nearby store before joining back the team, to which they had sprung into action.*

Fred: OK Nega-Globby! Prepare to meet your maker! Fire-

*With a swing, Nega-Globby sends Fredzilla blasting off again. Gogo tries to strike it down her discs and zoom away, but the acid Nega-Globby realeased ultimately melted away her wheels, just barely escaping the acid. Wasabi hops into action as he brings his blades.*

Wasabi: OK! That's enough!

*But the blades did nothing as it swings Wasabi to Gogo. Just then Baymax with Hiro and Cora on his back punch Nega-Globby to bits before it reforms again to fight.*

Hiro: Baymax, rocket fis-Oh watch out!

*Nega Globby slithers away to trap the three to a wall.*

Baymax: I cannot move.

Hiro: Me neither.

Cora: Well this is just great *Sarcasm*

Baymax: That was sarcasm.

Honey Lemon: Don't worry guys I've got this-

*That's when Honey Lemon realized that something is missing.*

Honey Lemon: Oh no! My purse!

*As it turns out Dibs had grabbed the purse and Kaguya soon followed after him. While running Dibs shows to Kaguya that he still has the neurotransmitter and puts it on his head. Once they reach a safe spot Kaguya looks at Dibs.*

Kaguya: Are you sure about this?

Dibs: Someone has to help.

*Kaguya steps back to let Dibs break the purse. But it seems like Hiro and Cora's updated purse made it stronger to resist breaking.*

Dibs: Why won't you break?!

*When Dibs kicks it off the purse flies through the air before catapulting to the side of the road where a bus comes by and runs it over, squirting all of its goo onto him.*

Dibs: Its working Kaguya! Oh man I forgot how nuts this part was!

*Kaguya could not help but smile widely as Dibs transforms back into Globby once more. Nega Globby walks forward to Honey Lemon, the last hero standing.*

Honey Lemon; Lets just take it easy Nega-Globby! *To comm link* Guys! My purse is gone!

Wasabi: *Groggily* Coming... ow.

Gogo: I'm all out. *To Fred via comm link* Fred where are you?

Fred: *Coming out of the trash* Umm...I have no idea.

*Honey Lemon dodges out of Nega-Globby's swings before contacting Hiro.*

Honey Lemon: Hiro I need that prototype!

Hiro: I'll call Skymax! If I could just... get to my.. phone!

Cora: till then, survive Honey Lemon!

*Just as it appears to be the end for Honey Lemon, she was pulled out of the way of Nega-Globby's hammer via the original Globby.*

Globby: Gotcha Honey Lemon!

*Honey Lemon looks up to see Dibs back to being Globby.*

Globby: You're safe now!

Honey Lemon: Globby! You've changed back!

Globby: You guys needed help, and I realized being a freak is my happy place. Stay here, I'll deal with the big guy!

*And so Globby transforms himself to a bull and charges to Nega-Globby, knocking it out.*

Globby: Hey! The position of Globby has been filled! By me; and I'm about to show you my special skills!

*And the battle was on between Globby and Nega-Globby, the original vs the impostor. Using whatever skills they have they battled it out. While that happened Hiro nears his hand to his phone while Cora tries to see what is going on with Globby and Nega-Globby. Finally Hiro grabs his phone and calls Skymax. Now Globby and Nega-Globby are morphing to a ball fighting for dominance.*

Globby: Yeah not good!

Honey Lemon; Oh no!

*that is when Skymax appears and drops by the Prototype.*

Honey Lemon; Thanks Skymax!

*And soon she activates the prototype to the bazooka form and takes aim.*

Honey Lemon: Hold still Globby!

Globby: I'm trying! But I am gelatinous!

Honey Lemon: Don't worry this won't hurt! *To self* I think!

*Activating the bazooka she takes aim and fires into Nega-Globby. She shot enough ammo to shrink Nega-Globby down to a size where Dinosaur Globby eats him up, destroying it for good.*

Globby: And that's how you monster.

*And soon everyone that was seeing the action clapped for Globby.*

A.M: Way to go Globby!

Globby: Thanks Sarah!

*Globby shoots out a goo to destuck Baymax, Hiro, and Cora and let them land safely before he reverts to his original size.*

Honey Lemon: thank you so much Globby!

Fred: Globby vs Nega-Globby! And the winner being the OG!

Gogo: Great job. *To Honey Lemon.* Both of you.

Honey Lemon:Thanks guys.

*Just then Baymax arrives the scene with Hiro and Cora.*

Cora: You really are Hero Globby.

Globby: Aww shucks.

Hiro: You know, I can't believe I hadn't thought about this till now... * Pulls out his phone and calls.* Hey, Commander Carter? Might I interest you in a new hero in training?

*Cora winks at Globby before Globby wraps himself around the team in a giant hug. As of while Kaguya snaps a photo of the group and sends it to Mizuchi, Grandville... Kage received the message too... and for a bried moment he smiled.*

Kage: For a petty, uncoordinated purse thief... you've made a really intelligent choice in friends, Globby.

*The next day they are eating breakfast at Joe's diner where Hiro and Cora are having Omurice.*

Hiro: Even now I still don't know where Nega-Globby came from.

Cora: Yeah. And even how did they even make Nega Globby?

Wasabi: You know, ever since the 'revelation' about Orso Knox, a lot of weird things have been happening lately.

*Just then Globby comes in.*

Globby: Globby in the house!

*The patrons stare at him.*

Globby: Who wants a picture?

*And soon everyone lines up for a selfie with Globby.*

Gogo: You mean like that?

Honey Lemon: I'm glad Globby's happy.

Cora: And the fact people are accepting him.

Hiro: With Commander Carter and the super hero program, he'll become more awesome and in control.

*But what neither of them are aware are two things... one was that an eye of Nega-Globby survived… but a small speck of Rose gold liquid floats inside him, keeping an eye out for nega-Globby. Protecting its host from the invading virus he is unaware of.*

A.N: Sorry its late! Had to deal with school and such! Hope you love the chapter! Love you!

[weareawholemess]

The first person he is ever truly aware of is his sister.

Before he even know what that word means, before he even knows his own name or the feel of his parent's touch; there she is, sister.

It is told by their mother, in a her forever honey laced voice -siren calling to siren- that they entered the world hand and in hand. That while his sister was pulled from the womb they held too tightly to each other. 

-she also tells them how special it is, how dear. That they were born from love, with love and had so much it spilled over and made two instead of one. That is why they were given their names, such heavy, golden names. Helios and Selene, sun and moon, there is not one without the other.

Selene is there always. She is the warmth next to him in the crib, the mirror cry in the night. It is an odd existence to never be alone, to share every breath, laugh and moment. To feel beyond himself and have that same feeling echo. If he laughs, she joins. If she cries, he does the same even if he doesn't know why. It doesn't matter. 

His sister his world, and if she cries, why shouldn't he?

+

The world heaves and they grow and it expands.

To father, with his crystal blue eyes and laughter. To mother, who sings and sings and fills their tiny soft world with light. To grandfather, an imposing gold-eyed figure who showers them with endless toys, To forever glamour-golden grandmother who hugs them tightly and smells so good that they never want to let go. To dark gloomy uncles and soft-spoken aunts, and brightly curious cousins. 

Helios loves them all, knows they love him and it is a life surrounded by gold, mirrors and music. 

"Hello my little sunshine, my moonlight." His mother hums, kissing each of their heads. She is beautiful his mother, decked out in white lace with brilliant blue hair. It is a thing for her, to change her hair color to fit her fashion needs. The softer the look, the bolder the hair. 

The twins reply with similar tones of response, but both are busy playing with their magical bubble set. A gift from their father, bubbles that didn't pop until you wanted. They built a castle of the bubbles, stacking each on top and forming walls and towers with childish glee and craft. 

"Having fun?" She asks, "Can I join?" 

The twins giggle, dragging her by hand so she is at their level. Words are still difficult, Helios babbles rapidly but few words actually form, so he uses his hands to point to his sister who grins and puts a crown of bubbles on her head. Lyra smiles, and sits down.

"I'm I to be Queen of the Castle?" 

"Uh huh." Selene decides, curling up in her lap as Helios leans against her, game abandoned instantly for cuddles. Their mother laughs softly, and makes them each a crown of bubbles. Grander than her own, and fixes each on top of their heads with a smile that doesn't seem as bright as before.

"One day you'll wear a real one if you aren't careful enough, darlings." She sighs, and the words linger long after the moment is over, but won't make sense for years to come.

A warning. 

+

It doesn't mean anything. To be more than human. They are family of mixed blood; of bitten wolves and bitter Veelas. Of golden wolves and of run away sirens. Just to them that it means nothing to live in palaces and in the wealth of kings. They are born into a dynasty of ambition and luxury, of titles and crowns. 

-it doesn't mean anything because their parents are careful. They live in a bubble of four, a little family that spends whole days together. That sing and dance, travel and enjoy the world. If Grandfather spoils them with countless toys, isn't that the usual? If Grandmother never looks older than a youthful woman, how is that different from what they've known? 

It is their world, and it is precious and protected. 

The twins are five when they realize it means something. 

There comes a day when the oceans call his mother and she turns pale, paler than they have ever seen her and no matter what she does, the ocean does not settle. Their mother, for all her love of the modern world comes from one dark and cruel. She does not want it any where near her children, she would protect them with her life but it's either answer the call or go insane. She will not subject her children to madness. 

So the little family travels, to an ocean's edge and for the first and last time. The twins meet the family of their mother. 

It's eerie to witness the gathering of sirens rise of the ocean waves. They are pale, with pale eyes and similar features. They are beautiful in the same way a knife can be, sharp and deadly. Dressed in endless silks, shimmering pearls and gold. They are a gilded, sea-swept parade of foam white hair and sea-air blue eyes. First they come in pairs, three men and three women, arm in arm before being followed by row upon row of girls. Each one a mirror of the other, and in their features he is startled to see his mother. 

"Lyra." The first man greets their mother with nothing but a name, but it sounds like another word. Like disappointment. Like shame.

"Father." Their mother replies haughtily. This too sounds like more, more dare you and never again.

Next to her, their father tightens his hold on her hand and their siren grandfather catches the act. Frowning and looking back at his wayward daughter in disdain.

"You married. We were not invited?"

Lyra scoffs, round cheeks bright with blood and arrogance. "Should you have been?" -they have never heard their mother sounds so angry. Not even when Selene accidently dyed the cat pink or when Helios knocked over that priceless family heirloom. "I have answered your damned thrice call. I held out the best I could for days, to keep them from you, but you won? Is that what you want to hear? You got me here, I'll allow you to see them but that is it."

"Them?" -the woman gripping their supposedly grandfather. She is rail thin, her voice some how thinner. It seems to be a surprise to all that she speaks. At her, Lyra's steel softens and she steps aside to reveal Selene and Helios. Hand in hand, much like their parents. 

At once, all eyes lock onto them and he is ashamed of the tremor that washes over him. At the cold draught of fear, produced by their gaze that weighs him down like an anchor. He is no longer curious about this new found family, he no longer thinks them beautiful; if they ever were, it is clear now they are hungry and it makes them ugly. 

"Oh. Oh Lyra." The woman exclaims, practically sings. The sound vibrates in his bones. Resonates like a bell that refuses to stop, and soon it is joined by the other sirens speaking and singing until the lyrical titters make his teeth ache. 

"Stop it." Lyra growls, loud and demanding enough to make them silent. Helios and Selene both whimper, feeling the lack of pain pull back like a tide all at once. Apollo turns to his children and tucks them near, face pressed against his father's throat all Helios can hear is the familiar thunder of his heart; but it's racing, and for all it comforts it does nothing to quell the fear.

From over Apollo's shoulders, he watches as his mother's face shifts. Unlike the monsters she calls family, she is still beautiful when she sharpens; eyes glowing and skin shimming as she steps forward. Toe to toe with her father, hissing around pointed fang.

"You can't keep them from us, Lyra." Her father tells her, "Twins are rare, but for one to be male." -and they mean him, when they speak but even in his innocent ears it does not sound like Helios. It sounds like one would speak of an object. A thing. "You could be forgiven for everything with them, Lyra. No one will care for who their father is, if you come back. We felt you give birth, we assumed it was a girl, a daughter. We aren't the monsters you paint us as. We would have taken you back, help you raise her. She'd need it, any child of a siren does. They have needs that aren't human, even you little dagger, hungered like your sisters."

"I only came because if I didn't, the ocean's call would have driven me insane." Lyra replies, her voice once more steel. She wielded it like a sword, cutting the older man's speech in half. "I came to spit in your face really. I never got to tell you, how happy I am outside of our family. Our tainted, dying little world. How I don't regret a second of it. Of the fear or the hardships, of the hunger or emptiness. I learned to make myself stronger, I taught myself how to feed without the ocean at all and if need be, I will teach them too. I came to tell you, I don't need you. I will not return. I will not give you my children and if you dare to use the ocean to call me or my children ever again I will personally burn you out of the fucking ocean you crawled out of."

It's a statement. A fact. A declaration of war, and Helios wants to laugh. 

"Plus. It's not all they are full siren anyway." Lyra gestures with a smug look over her shoulder, to where Apollo now stands with both kids lifted onto his sides. "Dilf-alert over there is werewolf-veela hybrid. Sorry not sorry."

At that statement, the air shifts. The weight of the hungry gazes vanishes.

Replaced with a far more enjoyed sense of fear. Rejection to be sure, but much like their mother, the twins bask in it. 

Without another word, the party of sirens leaves. Walking slowly back into the ocean's depths, only their grandmother pauses in the line to glance back once. Nothing about her expression changes, but perhaps the blue of her eyes glow a little brighter before she too is submerged and gone. The ocean wave taking them far away from where they came. 

Lyra sighs deeply, turns on her heel and waltzes back to her husband and children with a large, sunny smile. She kisses Apollo deeply and the children wait their turn, first Selene with a gentle press of noses and then Helios. A similar motion that he follows up with a question to her. 

"Does it mean something....to be a siren? To be more?" -it's never mattered before today, but suddenly it feels more important that he should know.

Lyra glances at Apollo, but whatever private conversation they have it's too quick to catch.

"It can mean everything and nothing at all, Sunshine. Depends on you. No one else."

Helios nods, tries to understands and hugs his father tighter.

[kenniagoldberg]

On that stormy night, as rainwater flooded the streets without remedy, Alfie Solomons walked home in an equally dark halo. It wasn't that the mood was alien to him, no, it was practically his shadow. It followed him everywhere, a bitter blackness with a strangely sweet taste in his mouth. He remembers with something like affection those days of his most tender childhood. His father was still a great stranger to him, and he was happy with his mother anyway. His mat, a young and innocent washerwoman who slept with a street vendor, a sperm dispenser, creator of bastards. A barbarian for whom every empty womb was Rome. Thus, he grew up slightly neglected with a mother who worked all day and an absent father, of whom he kept only a size eight and a half hat made in Luton, where hatters go crazy for inhaling toxic fumes. In any case, Alfie Solomons Junior was loved and protected by the Jewish community of Camden, one of the poorest neighbourhoods in all of London. He even formed a strong friendship with the rabbi of his synagogue, Mr Cohen. He used to say that he too would be a rabbi one day. He smiles ironically at the memory that has just come into his head. At least, Mr. Cohen, who is now an octogenarian elder, never stopped helping him redeem himself. He heard a faint whimpering that pushed him out of his thoughts and made him stop. After convincing himself that he had been a figment of his imagination, he grumbled and went on his way. The moaning came louder now, and he turned with a scowl to the garbage can in the alley to his left. He stepped inside and lifted his cloak. Whatever it was, it gave off a terrible stench of rotten fish and wetness. Much to his regret, he removed his jacket and folded the sleeve of his shirt to reach into the trash. He ignored the disgusting biscuit feeling in his hand and rummaged around until he found it. He carefully turned the bucket over, putting the food aside and waiting until a small head popped out. The cub looked at him in terror, shaking hopelessly and with its tongue hanging out of its mouth. He tried to grab it, but the little animal's attitude changed abruptly: he showed his teeth in what was intended to be a threatening position and grunted. Alfie did the same, impatient, before he spoke. "Very good, boy. If you don't let me touch you, I can't help you. And I want to get to my fucking house and sleep, right?" He calmed down quickly and looked at me scared again. I took him in my arms and I contemplated what I had hoped for before. He was very skinny, possibly the smallest of the litter, so the bastard owner left him in a garbage can to die. He stuffed him into his black coat and walked home. If he remembered correctly, there was a pet shop around the corner where he could perhaps get some food for the tiny beast. He entered the store and a skeletonized woman with white hair and glasses on the end of her nose received him. I saw a faint recognition in her sunken eyes, but she said nothing. I took the bag of puppy food and put it on the counter, looking for my wallet. "Does he have a name?". A high-pitched, annoying voice made him look down. He had wild black hair, dark eyes, freckled skin and a height that could not exceed five bony palms. "No". Grandmother tried to scold her, but the little girl escaped her grip with surprising ease. "Are you Mr Solomons? Sometimes the woman at the hairdresser's talks about you. And the postman. And the butcher..." I raised an eyebrow, shrinking to his height. "And what do they say?" He looked me up and down, assessing me. "They say you're bad". "They're quite right" I paid and set out with both hands busy. "Cyril?" I turned around with a scowl. "Today is St Cyril's Day. You could call him Cyril" she said with a shrug. I hummed, pressed my lips and nodded. I walked down the street to the red brick house, going in and locking the door as I passed. I led him straight to the bath. At first, he resisted fervently and tried to get out of the water. Then he even seemed to start enjoying the heat. When the bad smell disappeared, I dried him with an old towel and left him on the floor. As I walked to the kitchen, the name came back to me. Cyril. The girl had reminded me in an impossible way of Martha May. Marthy, as we all knew her, was an equally thin, tanned, dark-haired, rowdy girl. She had huge eyes and a similar way of being. I had never seen her in a skirt or a dress, the jeans never left her. She swore and cursed like any other boy in the neighborhood, played at pirates wielding a stick like a sword, and never cried. She was definitely my first love. After my mother found out that she was a shiska, she took me away from her and told me I could never see her again. That night, at the tender age of eight, I began to see what the world was really like. I took an empty plate and put in some food. Then I wondered if I could eat fodder when he was so small. I tried, and he looked at the food as if he did not understand what he had to do. After trying several times, he took a handful from my hand and chewed it, tasting it. Apparently he decided he liked it and began to eat so eagerly that it looked like he would choke. After giving him some water that he drank happily, he sat down and wagged his tail. It reminded me of my childhood version. A fucking mutt reminded me of myself, helpless, hungry and with no one who cared too much. Eager for a little love. What had hardened Alfred Solomons Junior was exactly that. The beatings he had taken from older boys. Christian kids kicking a Jewish kid to the ground in a pool of blood. It was only a short phase of his complicated life, because he quickly became the child who beat. When someone kicked him, he kicked back. It was no surprise to anyone that a young Alfie began to form friendships with dangerous people. People that nobody in their right mind would associate with. And he learned the hard way that if he wanted to be on top he would have to form a mountain under his feet. A mountain of betrayals, lies and dead friends. That is why, once his mother was buried and having lost all his friends in his race for power, he was left as alone as when he was a child. He undressed carelessly, throwing his clothes down the aisle and getting into bed. The dog followed him and barked to Alfie for to bring him up. "No, mate. This bed is mine. Find another place." He looked at me with his sad, tearful eyes, and I snorted before I picked him up. He curled up on my chest, digging into the blankets. I covered both of us and tried something I hadn't done since I was a teenager. I stroked another creature in an attempt to comfort him. He had done the same thing before, with a woman. With his very young Martha. He was seventeen at the time. She was only fifteen. The young teenager already had a shadowy heart and bloodstained hands, perhaps less scarring and more hope. He had only slept with three or four prostitutes, motivated by the desire to avoid getting into something that involved feelings. He had never been good at expressing them. But she... Oh, she. She had disappeared in the direction of America and returned only when she found herself alone with her parents who had died behind her in an outbreak of tuberculosis. She survived. She was now dressed in fancy clothes, wearing lipstick and her hands were clean and well cared for. She was a woman. He managed to get her to bed in a short time. It was not that she was an easy girl or that he was an experienced womanizer, the reason for their union was that they had a common past. She confessed to the future gangster that not only was she not a virgin, but she had lost a child, crying inconsolably, panting and trembling beneath Alfie's equally naked body. He saw in what was once little Marthy a representation of her mother. Pregnant young and abandoned by her partner when things got bad. He lay beside her all night, leaving aside the erotic part of the situation, and caressed her with inexperienced delicacy. Both fell asleep late and, upon waking with the first rays of the sun, discovered that he was alone in bed. For the second time, Alfred Solomons' heart was broken by the beautiful and charming Marthy May. He sighed as he gazed at the polished white ceiling. The little dog snored over him, moving to settle in from time to time. After Martha May many others had come. Women who stayed one night and fleeting lovers a week long. Only one or two serious relationships, couples who left him when his cover was blown. He was thus condemned to wander through life alone. He would take refuge in the bedrooms of high-ranking young women who sought to rebel against the control of their family. He would leave them hours later, drenched in sweat, and full of marks of passion. If he could not find such a comfortable place, he would settle for the rickety mattress of a whorehouse, with women who charged half before and half after. But Kean? With her, it was special from the first moment. She always had him captivated with her few words and her honey-colored eyes. She gave him more affection than any other woman with just a few innocent touches. Kean Roberts, he sighs when the memories come to his mind. Although when he found Cyril, she was just an unknown child growing up somewhere in Ireland, but she would be special. Kean Roberts was the love of his life.

[adamkadabra]

Prelude To Goodbye || Self Para 1/3

Tagging→  ADAM CRAWFORD, MELINDA CRAWFORD, CHARLIE DOWELL, A SHEDIM, mentions of Elliott Gilbert, Aunt Helene, and Peter Walsh Where→  London England, Afternoon When→ 8/22/17 Warnings→ violence, death mention, little bit of blood, homophobia

Notes--> This is in order and is para 1 of 3. Parts 2 and 3 can be found at there at those links.

Four days had passed since the initial text came through from his mum. Adam was still in shock. He left campus immediately letting only Elliott know what was going on. When he arrived home no one was there. His Dad was gone, not so surprising, and his mum upstairs crying. It wasn’t over Peter though, his mum had other things to worry about. Everything seemed so dark and quiet when he entered his home. It had been months since she had been living there but it still felt as if all the color had gone from the place.

Weeks had passed since his last visit to Orsett to see her. She appeared in good health at the time, but Helene was always good at hiding her illnesses. It burned Adam that he couldn’t remember the last thing he had said to her during that last visit. It had been so insignificant that he forgot about it. What was worse was his mum hadn’t spoken to Helene since she left to live in Orsett months ago.

Time was such a fickle thing. Adam hated it. He hated being here and he hated being alone and without Elliott. When Adam asked where Peter had been, Melinda didn’t reply with anything other than “Out.” That was something she often used to answer young Adam’s questions whenever he asked about his absent father. It typically meant she had no idea where he had gone or when he’d be back. Typical.

Within those four days Adam helped his mum plan the funeral and unfortunately they had to invite his grandmother’s side of the family. Helene’s family. Adam didn’t know them other than by vague names and faces from portraits. But they were old photos. That side of the family were very...particular with what company they kept. They were New Ages who thought themselves Bloodlines only because their magic went back a few generations. Adam would do his best to avoid all family if he could.

It wasn’t a surprise that a funeral home would smell of death, but Adam was surprised just how much. He hadn’t been to a funeral since his grandmother passed away years ago and a naive part of him hoped he would never have to attend another one. Yet, here he was back in London surrounded by family that Adam barely recognized. They all looked similar in one way or another but he hadn’t met any of them before today. Growing up it was just Adam, his mother, his aunt, and his grandmother. That was the family he knew and now it was dwindled down to one.

Adam sat at the back of the parlor watching as relatives mingled and even smiled at one another. The attendance number was small and that hurt Adam most of all. He noticed a few friends that came and went before the service started only staying long enough to look at the casket and then walk away. Adam had not yet been able to bring himself to venture close enough because it meant that she was really gone. And in Adam’s mind none of these people had the right to be here, especially her family. As if reading his mind, a voice spoke behind him.

“I know, they don’t deserve to be here.” His mother said.

Adam didn’t turn to look at her, he sat staring at the casket with a solemn expression. Melinda sat down next to Adam, a dampened tissue in one hand and a clean one in the other. She offered the fresh tissue to Adam who merely shook his head. Melinda licked her lips slowly and sniffed. She followed her son’s gaze over to the casket and took a deep breath.

“My aunt was a wonderful woman.” Melinda said, her voice was scratchy from crying. Adam looked down at the floor and remained silent. “She was a second mother to me. And she was a second grandmother to you. Maybe even another mother all rolled into one.”

Melinda smiled sadly. “She always said that you were my greatest accomplishment. We had our fights about stupid insignificant things, especially about your...about him.” She cleared her throat. “Even when I kic--I kicked her--”

Adam glanced over to his mother and took her hand. “She knew you still loved her.” He said. “I met with her a few times over the last few months. She didn’t resent you, if that’s what you’re afraid of.”

The tears flowed freely again from Melinda and her body wracked in sobs. Adam opened his arms and pulled his mother to his chest. Adam was doing everything he could not to cry. He had done enough of that when he first got the news five days ago. Crying wouldn’t bring Helene back. It would do nothing to soothe the pain he felt inside of him and he wanted to be strong for his mother. She needed him right now more than ever.

“She loved you so much.” Melinda said and pushed out of her son’s grasp enough to look at him again. Her make up ran down her face and Adam took the clean tissue and used it to dab the tears from her red cheeks, cleaning away any makeup that was out of place.

Adam knew that Helene loved him, he never doubted the love from his family. Peter excluded. “I know mum.” He said, his voice catching in his throat. “I know.”

Melinda took a deep ragged breath and sat back, taking the tissue from her son and clutching it in her hand, tight. “I’m sorry.”

“Why are you apologizing?” Adam asked.

“I’m apologizing for everything I’ve put you through, Adam. Growing up with that...that thing in our house.” She sniffled. “I should have listened to your grandmother and my aunt. Even now I’ve been incredibly selfish. I’ve only thought about myself and not once thought about you, my son, and the only man in my life that really means the world to me.”

Adam swallowed thickly still trying to keep his emotions in check. “Mum, you’re not selfish. I’m the one who has been selfish. I didn’t understand why you weren’t thinking of me, and how it made me feel having him back.”

Melinda let out a hollow chuckle. “Maybe everyone is a little selfish when it comes to love.”

Adam’s brow furrowed a little and he looked away. “Why do you love him?”

This question was met with a long silence. Melinda only played with the tissues she held, tearing at the edges. It wasn’t until Adam turned his head back to his mother that she gave an answer.

“He entered my life at a time where...where I didn’t like who I was. I may have seemed happy on the outside but I was not happy, for whatever the reason may be. He loved me when I didn’t even love myself. And sure, maybe it started as a con but he could have walked away at anytime, even before you came along.” Melinda sighed. “I think your father loved me at one time but he has his own issues to sort out. And I know you’ll say I deserve better and that there are others out there but...sometimes you don’t choose the people you fall in love with.”

Adam didn’t know how to respond to all of this. This wasn’t the setting to have an argument about this, so Adam let the subject drop at that. He thought about Elliott and how much he wished that he was here with him right now. Adam thought about holding Elliott’s hand and how much he loved him and loved himself when he was with Elliott. Maybe he fell in love with Elliott in the similar fashion that his mother had fallen in love. Adam was able to hide his emotions around others pretty well but at the start of NYADA he was still lacking confidence in himself and after the incident with Santana and Madison it left Adam feeling worthless. Elliott made Adam feel worthy of being loved and that was something Adam would always be thankful for and would never forget.

Melinda stood up and smoothed her dark dress where it began to wrinkle as she sat. “I’ll be back.” She said and booped Adam on the nose with her finger. “I’m going to go get some fresh air, okay?”

Adam smiled a little and nodded and watched her leave the parlor. He glanced back over to the casket a moment longer before standing. Fresh air sounded good, but maybe a drink of water or something first. He walked out of the parlor and into the next room where there was a table of refreshments, all provided by his mother of course. Adam poured himself a small glass of chilled lemonade and finished it in one gulp.

“So you must be Adam.” A voice said.

Adam set his cup down and turned. A young man around his age, maybe two or three years older stood there in a very pristine suit that looked rather expensive. His hair was a dirty blonde and his eyes were honey colored and Adam thought about how much he reminded him of his grandmother in the eyes. Adam looked the individual up and down. No doubt a relative but Adam didn’t know who it was.

“Yes,” Adam said slowly. “And you’re..?”

“Charlie Dowell.” The young man replied with a small sneer as if he were offended that Adam didn’t automatically know who he was. “Helene was my great aunt, as she was yours.We’re cousins.”

Adam arched a brow. “Right. It’s a pleasure to meet you, despite the circumstances.” Adam reached out to be polite and shake Charlie’s hand but Charlie ignored it and Adam dropped his hand back to his side feeling like a fool.

This was the grandson of Albert Dowell, Adam’s great uncle and the one who had the Shedim that his mother was so afraid of. At remembering this, Adam stood up a little straighter seeing that this encounter might not be as family friendly as he might hope.

Charlie slipped his hands into his pockets and eyed Adam. “Yes, the circumstances for this meeting are quite grim. Although, I haven’t seen Helene since I was four this is merely a formality.”

That made Adam’s blood boil and in that moment he hated Charlie. Charlie didn’t appear to notice the change in Adam’s expression. Adam sighed and decided now was the time for fresh air. He walked out the back doors into the garden. It was peaceful out here, a stone bench, and moderately sized fountain. Best of all he was alone and away from family. His mum must have been out in the front. Adam took a deep breath sucking in lungfuls of air. Aether, he wished Ell was here with him right now that was the only other family he wanted to see.

“You’re sort of the black sheep of the family,” Charlie had apparently taken it upon himself to join Adam outside. “Not because of your own doing mind you but I can’t say we’ve ever seen you at any of the parties held at my family's estate. I’ve heard your mother didn’t expose you to magic until you were nearly twenty.”

Adam clenched his jaw and turned to Charlie. “She didn’t want to make that choice for me. She wanted me to have a chance at a normal life and if I discovered magic then she would leave the choice up to me.”

“How did you manage?”

“Well I survived into adulthood without magic, funny enough.” Adam replied.

Charlie scoffed. “And I hear that you chose the path of a kitchen witch?”

“And what’s it to you?” Adam’s eyes narrowed.

“Nothing. Someone has to make decent food for us to eat, right?” Charlie laughed.

Before Adam could say or do anything, another young man approached them. He was also dressed in a suit but appeared more like a footman straight out of a victorian era novel than anything else. There was a solemn expression on his face and his hair was dark and swept off to the side in a tidy fashion. He bowed to Charlie.

“Mistress Dana wanted me to inform you that young Tessa was not feeling well and they departed for the estate.” The man’s voice was nearly monotone.

Adam felt his stomach churn when he realized who this was. It was a Shedim.

Charlie sighed and rolled his eyes. “Very well. I’ll only be staying a few more minutes anyway. This is far too depressing and the company is severely lacking.”

“It’s a funeral.” Adam said through gritted teeth.

“Yes, and I’m bored.” Charlie said. “And there were Commons in there earlier. I feel...unclean.”

“You realize you were a Common before magic, right? That our ancestors are Commons.” Adam said.

Charlie gave a shrug. “Yes, but now I have magic. Who cares about the past when only the future matters.”

Adam couldn’t believe how disgusting Charlie was. He was worse than some of the Bloodlines he had met. Adam was grateful that his aunt and his mother had not been raised with such a view on Commons. Adam glanced over to the Shedim who stood dutifully beside Charlie.

Charlie arched a brow and folded his arms across his chest with a smug smile. “They’re quite useful, aren’t they?”

“What are you talking about?”

“Shedim.” Charlie said nodding to his own.

“Owning another person or LN is disgusting.” Adam said.

Charlie’s eyes narrowed and he pursed his lips. “I don’t know, they can be quite helpful around the house and while glamoured they can pass for a human, barely. This one was passed down through my family. It belonged to my grandfather.”

Adam’s mouth dropped open a little. This was the very same Shedim that had been forced to terrorize his mother and the same one that Helene had tried to set free decades ago. His heart ached for the Shedim and even more anger boiled inside of Adam, his hand clenching into a fist.

“It doesn’t look like much.” Charlie said and walked around the Shedim in a circle.

Adam hated that he continued to refer to the Shedim as “it”.

“But, you know all about Shedim, don’t you?” Charlie smirked. “I hear that you attend NYADA. My wife’s sister attends NYADA and told me there was a Crawford who lived on campus.”

“So?” Adam felt himself tense up afraid of where this was going to go.

“She says that this New Age with the last name of Crawford who happens to be a kitchen witch, has a boyfriend.” Charlie eyed Adam in disgust. “And if being gay isn’t enough, he’s dating a Lusus. More specifically a Shedim.”

There were a dozen things within that sentence that had Adam nearly shaking in anger now. He was glaring at Charlie, his nails dug into his palm the tighter he clenched his fist.

“I don’t see how any of my personal life is your business.” Adam said.     “Aether. The rumors are true then. If your mother wasn’t bad enough for marrying that con-witch but you soil the name of Dowell by fucking a Shedim.” Charlie said.

“Shut. Up.” Adam growled.

Charlie tisked. “How disgraceful you’d stoop so low as to sleep with the help.”

“You’re not a Bloodline you know.” Adam snapped. “You’ll never be accepted as one either. Face it, you’ll always be considered second best to them. Just a step above a Common.”

Apparently this struck a nerve with Charlie. <<Kneel>>

The Shedim beside Charlie tensed, his eyes went white and he knelt down beside his master. Adam remembered back to that day on the beach a year ago with Elliott.

“What would you like me to do?” The voice was still monotoned.

Charlie lifted his chin a little, he could tell that this was something that bothered Adam and he was going to take advantage of it. “Stick your head in that fountain and don’t come up until I say.”

The Shedim got up and did what he was asked and stuck his face into the fountain. Adam made a move forward but stopped with the look he received from Charlie. After a minute the Shedim began to jerk around he wanted to lift his head from the water in order to catch his breath but was unable to do so. Adam felt tears start to well up. He turned to Charlie. Adam marched forward and grabbed him by the front of his jacket.

“Let him go.” Adam demanded.

“I don’t think so. It’s my Shedim after all. They need to be controlled. They’re dangerous abominations that are meant to be owned by us.” Charlie hissed. “You better learn to control your Shedim, or perhaps I’ll come to NYADA and do it for you.”

Adam pulled his fist back and let it fly at Charlie hitting his cousin in the nose, hard. Adam had never hit anyone before, except himself at the carnival..that was different. The rush of adrenaline pumped through Adam’s veins. Charlie cried out and cursed reaching up to hold his bloodied nose.

“You’ve broken my nose!” Charlie sobbed.

“I said free him you big git.” Adam repeated, this time choosing his word carefully.

“You’re bloody mad! Get off of me!” Charlie called out.

“Not until you free him!” Adam said raising his voice. He still held onto the front of Charlie’s suit which was now stained with his own blood and tears. Charlie was nothing but a spoiled brat, no actual fight in him. His entire demeanor changed the moment Adam struck him.

“FREE HIM! I said free him now!” Adam pulled his fist back again and Charlie cowered and raised his hands over his head and stammered.     “O-Okay! Okay! He’s free t-to go, you’re free to go! Stop!” Charlie cried.

The Shedim pushed himself up from the fountain gasping for breath, his dark hair matted against his face. He sat on the ground staring up at Adam and Charlie. When Adam looked over to see if the Shedim was alright, he noticed how clear the eyes of the Shedim looked. There was full consciousness there, he was a little afraid but he was well aware of the situation at hand. Adam realized what happened. Charlie, in his desperate attempt to save from being hit again, actually freed the Shedim. Adam looked to the Shedim and back to Charlie and shoved Charlie back. He tripped over a stone bench and fell into the dirt and cried out again in pain as he hit the ground.

Adam turned his attention to the Shedim and knelt down. “Hi.” Adam said with a grin. “Don’t worry I’m not going hurt you, or use that spell. I don’t even know it.”

The Shedim stared in silence at Adam. Before the Shedim could speak another voice called out.

“Adam? Adam! There you are, I was looking for you the service is about to-Oh my Aether!” Melinda shrieked when she saw the sight of Adam, the Shedim, and Charlie laying on his back crying with a bloody nose. “What..what is going on?”

Adam stood up, “Mum!” He said surprised. “I uhh, Charlie was forcing his Shedim to basically drown himself and he wouldn’t let him go and he said horrible things about you, and Helene and said I should control Elliott and I--”

Melinda waved her hands to stop him. “Ssh! No, calm down stop.”

Adam took a deep breath.

“Did you punch your cousin?” Melinda asked.

“I did.”

“And he let the Shedim go?”

“Yes.”

Melinda beamed. “That’s my boy!” She said proudly.

“He let him go..free.” Adam said slowly.

Melinda looked to the Shedim. It had been a long time since she saw this Shedim, not since she was a child. The glamor potions changed so he did not appear the same but Melinda knew him to be the same one. The Shedim recognized her too. He bowed his head, force of habit Adam supposed.

The Shedim flinched at the action and sighed. “I’m sorry.” He said.

“Don’t apologize.” She said with a grin.

Charlie began to push himself up sniffling between his sobs. “Lusus lover.” He grumbled, “Broke my nose..Just wait, my father is a powerful New Age!”

Adam looked panicked as did the Shedim. Melinda looked to them both He reached out and kissed Adam on the cheek.

“Call me, let me know you’re safe. Helene would be so proud.” And with that Melinda turned to Charlie and assisted him up. “Oh there there!” She said. “We should get that looked at right away, come on along hurry now. Tip your head back, yes just like that.”

She ushered Charlie away in the opposite direction and turned her head to wink at Adam.

Adam smiled and looked to the Shedim. He held out his hand.

The Shedim looked hesitant.

“I promise I don’t bite.”

“But..he said you have a Shedim.” He replied recoiling back.

Adam shook his head and pulled out a picture of him and Elliott he always kept on him. It was a picture of the two of them kissing, with Elliott in his true form.

“I have a boyfriend, who happens to be a Shedim.” Adam explained. “Come on, we don’t have time. My aunt tried to help you before, I want to help you now.”

The Shedim smiled and grabbed Adam’s hand and they were off out the garden and through the streets of London.

Adam didn’t have a plan. He had less than a plan at this rate. All he knew was he couldn’t allow the Shedim to be with Charlie or his family any longer. He wouldn’t let him suffer for years being handed down from generation to generation like some trinket. Adam thought about what Elliott would do or how he would want someone to react if Elliott was in that situation. Adam didn’t know where he would go with the Shedim but it wasn’t safe to leave him alone, not now.

As they ran through the streets of London trying to find a decent place to hide it struck Adam that he couldn’t go back to NYADA. This was potentially the dumbest and reckless nonplan that Adam had ever had. He had no idea what Charlie or his father would do once they saw the Shedim gone and learned that it was Adam who ran off with him. Matter of fact, what would they do to his mum? Aether. He couldn’t leave her alone. This was a mess. A disaster but also very brave. Would Elliott be proud of him?

Elliott.

If Adam couldn’t go back to NYADA for now, what was he going to do about Elliott? He’d already liberated one Shedim, why couldn’t he liberate his boyfriend from the school? No. No that wasn’t fair. They would be hunted by the Cardines if Elliott up and left. Adam’s stomach dropped. Would the Cardines be after him for fleeing with a recently free Shedim? His head spun with a million different thoughts and scenarios and ways to explain it to the Cardines so maybe he could go back to NYADA. He’d definitely have his sponsorship taken away, and who knows if he’d even be allowed back or near Elliott.

Adam had to think in the moment not what would happen in the future. For now he had to get them someplace safe and then maybe Adam could risk heading back to NYADA if only to grab his things and to see Elliott one more time.

[rantingfangirl]

Cross Life Chapter Ten

Summary: Moving across the pond was supposed to signify new beginnings for the Kirkland family. Arthur’s parents seemed to take that a bit too literally for his liking.

Chapter Index

This was moved from my old account

“Arthur? Are you almost finished?” His mother’s voice was muffled as she rapped on the door to the bathroom in three quick successions, the tone of her voice showing that she was growing impatient.

He took a sharp breath as he buttoned up his sleeve, his breeches cutting into his thighs as he twisted. “Yes, in just a second.” Arthur reached for his shoes, wincing at how terribly tight everything was. Sure, the tailor had told him it was supposed to be this way, but in her own words, “It’s only supposed to be a bit snug”.

Arthur felt as if he were about to pop, as if all his insides would come oozing out in a bloody and chunky smoothie.

The tile was freezing cold under his stockings, making him shiver, taking in another sharp breath. The shoes were easy enough to put on, the heel cap short enough that he could slip his feet in. His smallest toes rubbed against the sides, and would most likely cause a pair of nasty blisters, but Arthur figured that would stop once he broke them in.

Arthur made a quick glance in the mirror, cringing at what he saw. He told himself that everyone else was going to be wearing the same thing- or at least something similar- and that this was considered high fashion many centuries ago, but it did little to calm his ever-growing embarrassment.

Closing his eyes and taking a deep breath, Arthur twisted the door handle, slowly pushing a small sliver open and sticking his head out.

Along with his family, Vlad and Lukas stood in the living room, tapping their feet with anticipation. They smiled upon seeing him, Vlad pushing himself off the wall and taking a step forward. Lukas look as if he were about to do the same, but stayed where he was. “C’mon out, Arthur. Can’t be that bad.”

Arthur snorted, shaking his head. “And that’s where you thought wrong.”

His mother frowned, tsking. She had been on her very best behavior while his friends were over, which thankfully meant no yelling and no looks of disappointment, but at times like theses, some of her true self slipped through. “Arthur, dear, stop being silly. Come out this instant.”

He huffed, stepping back to pull the door open. Their faces lit up as Arthur stepped out of the bathroom, the fabric between his thighs rubbing together.

His mother put her hand over her mouth, her face reddening. Her eyes became watery, and she quickly wiped the tears away before they could ruin her caked makeup. Arthur had to suppress a groan and an eye roll. If she was like this seeing him in a damn choir uniform, then he dreaded when graduation came around.

If they even went to his graduation, that is, considering their current pesky situation.

“Arthur… you look-”

“You look like an alternative coloring of Lord Farquaad from Shrek.”

“Shut up, Peter.”

He stuck his tongue out at Arthur, kicking his feet against the bottom of the sofa. Vlad chuckled at his actions, most likely being reminded of his own little brother, but was quickly cut off by a glare from Arthur.

Arthur’s mother shook her head, clucking her tongue. “Peter, don’t be rude.” Arthur’s eyes went wide, and if he wasn’t watching, he would’ve choked. It was rare that his mother would scold Peter for anything, even if important people visited, which made it even more surprising.

She walked up to Arthur, tugging down his tunic and picking a piece of lint off his puffy green and white striped sleeve. Straightening his hat- which was probably the only part of the costume that fit correctly- she ruffled up the feathers and took a step back, looking him up and down. And frowned.

Vlad and Lukas snickered as she licked her thumb, setting her hand on Arthur’s shoulder to keep him still. The latter grimaced as she rubbed it across his cheek, erasing whatever trivial spot she found, leaving behind a sticky, slimy trail.

“There. That’s better.” She put her other hand on his free shoulder, shaking him a bit. Her smile was soft, warm, like it used to be when she looked at him, and when she spoke, she whispered, quiet enough that only he could hear. For once, she wasn’t screaming at him from across the house. “Don’t listen to your brother.” She brushed some of his hair away from his face, her fingers soft and gentle. “He’s just jealous at how handsome you look. He wants desperately to be like you.”

Arthur snorted, shaking his head. “I somehow doubt that.” He made sure to be as quiet as she was, if not more so.

Shaking her head, her smile grew as she walked backwards towards Arthur’s father, a few of her teeth showing.

The living room fell silent, everyone staring at Arthur with various amounts of awe on their faces. Everyone expect for Peter, who had left mumbling about how he hoped Arthur would do something- go to hell, most likely- and pouting.

Lukas watched as Peter walked away, navigating around the various pieces of furniture, and running up the stairs, an unreadable expression across the former’s face. He turned his attention to Vlad when he spoke, the latter clapping his hands and rubbing them together. “So~, how does it feel?”

The room seemed to perk up, seemed to lean in at Vlad’s question. His father drummed his fingers against the arm of the armchair, his eyebrow raised. A telltale sign that he was actually interested in what he was listening to. A rare occurrence.

Arthur looked down, wiggling his toes in his shoes. The rough fabric of his stockings clung to his legs, his knees looking awkward and gangly. His sleeves rubbed against his side, causing a slight scratching sound each time he moved his arms. A collar of lace wrapped around his neck, engulfing most of his chin and lower jaw. Arthur would surely get a rash later, as it was rough, rubbing against wherever it touched. The only way he could describe his outfit was-

“Itchy.” Vlad’s eyes narrowed, Lukas’ brow furrowing as he cocked his head to the side. Huffing and rolling his eyes, Arthur cursed that he was being forced to clarify. Who knew the reaction he would get from his mother. “It feels itchy. The fabric does.”

His mother tsked, shaking her head. The unusual kindness that she had displayed not even minutes earlier was gone, eaten up by whatever demon was living inside of her. Arthur knew the only thing holding her anger back was the fact that they had friends over. “What do you mean, dear?” She smiled, batting her eyelashes. Her words were honeyed, hiding the venom. Arthur knew where to find it, though, from years and years of practice.

He shrugged, relishing in the pure annoyance that flashed through her eyes. It was always something amusing to see, despite what usually came after it. “I dunno. It just doesn’t… feel right.”

“Do you not like it?” There she was. Her true self was budding its head, slithering out of its disguise, regardless of who was with her. Vlad and Lukas sent quick, discreet glances laced with questions in her direction, their eyes narrowing. She was starting not to care, consequences be damned.

“I-”

“I’m sure he’ll get used to it. Eventually.” It was the first time Lukas had spoken since Arthur went into the bathroom. He had a small, serene smile on his face, similar to the others he had been sporting these past couple of weeks.

His mother whipped her head to him, her eyes cold, calculating. Planning. She reminded him of a green snake, observing- measuring and sizing up- her prey.

He only hoped that Lukas- and Vlad, too- would be smart enough to get out while they still could.

She nodded, her smile growing even sweeter. Taking a step back, his mother put her entire, unrelenting focus on Lukas. “Yes… I’m sure he will. Eventually.” She put extra emphasis on the last word, mocking him. Not that he would be able to tell, considering the fact that his mother’s had years of perfecting of perfecting her craft. What’s more, she learned from the very best: Arthur’s grandmother, the Wicked Witch of England.

Her heels clicked against the hardwood floor as she turned to Arthur, cocking her head to the side and folding her hands over her stomach. Arthur tensed his jaw, pursing his lips into a fine line bracing himself for the full brunt of whatever she was planning. “You’ll get used to the itchiness, won’t you, Arthur?”

This was a test, he knew it was. She was trying to see how he would react in front of his peers, in front of his friends. Whether he would stay calm when faced with her typical methods or resort to one of his “temper tantrums”. Of course, this was only the first part, and would be followed by many more, but Arthur had learned to spot these kinds of things from the moment the words come flooding from her mouth. She had been doing things like this since he was a kid, after all.

He smiled, giving her a simple nod. When he spoke, he made sure his words were kind, sweet, reassuring. The doting son to go along with the ever concerned mother. “Of course, I will. I’ll just have to wear it a few times, break it in.”

The two shared a look. One that, if it weren’t for Vlad and Lukas patiently standing next to them, smiling in a washed down version of the typical American fashion, would’ve become a long and grueling battle of wills. With a huff, his mother broke eye contact, Arthur relishing in the fact that he had won. For now.

Shaking her head and tsking, something that she had been doing many times these past months, she turned to face Arthur’s father. His nose was stuffed in a thick paperback, his fingers having slowed down to a soft tap, in rhythm with his foot. Her dress- calf length and floral, a pattern that seemed to be a staple for Kirkland family women- swished as she made a swift turn, wrapping around her leg. As she approached him, she tried to discreetly fix it, but failed miserably, glaring at Arthur and Vlad as they snickered.

“John?” His father answered with only a small nod and a huff. His mother had always found his non-verbal replies irritating, and had complained about it many times through Arthur’s life, and, once again not finding what she received satisfactory, tsked and snapped her fingers in his face. “John.”

Groaning, he leaned back in the chair, deadpanning. He closed his book with a snap, not before setting a flimsy receipt in the crease of his current page. Brushing strands of his thick red hair out of his face, he raised an eyebrow, his deep voice grumbling as he spoke. “What, dear?”

She crossed her arms, frowning. “Have you noticed your son’s new outfit?”

“I have.”

“And?”

“And?”

“And what do you think of it?”

Watching the two speak to each other, Arthur felt as if he were in a period drama, his parents a pair of templates copied straight from a Pride and Prejudice-style trope. He glanced over to Lukas and Vlad, giving the two an apologetic smile when he found them looking back. Arthur earned a reassuring grin and a nod in return.

He straightened up as his father turned his head to him, looking Arthur up and down. The latter tapped his foot, staring at the ceiling, his shoulders tense. He would gladly take Peter’s non-stop whining over this, or perhaps a weekend trip alone with his mother. It had always made him uneasy when he had his father’s unrelenting attention, that critical eye sweeping over him. It was uncomfortable, made him want to swiftly walk away and lock himself in his room or apologize, even if he did nothing wrong.

It made him remember, made him angry.

Opening his book again and situating himself in his chair, his father huffed, pushing his reading glasses up his nose. “It’s nice, I guess.” He crossed his legs, resuming his reading.

Rolling her eyes, his mother put her hands on her hips, cocking the latter to the side. She tapped her foot, her heel clacking against the hardwood flooring. Out of the corner of his eye, Arthur could see Lukas put a hand to his temple, rubbing it slowly. A pet-peeve, then.

“You guess? You guess it’s nice.”

“What else do you want me to say?”

Arthur took his chance and quickly stepped over to his friends, standing in the middle of them. “If they start yelling, we dart to my room,” he whispered. The chance was rather slim, but he had to have them be ready should it happen.

Vlad glanced at them, then at Arthur, then back at them. He put his hand on Arthur’s shoulder, leaning in to whisper with enough volume that Lukas would be able to hear as well. “Are they always like this?” He sounded… cautious. Wary. As if he were actually concerned for Arthur and his family.

Lukas cleared his throat before Arthur could answer, grabbing the latter’s arm and wrapping his hands around it. He leaned back, his voice even softer than Vlad’s. “When she looked at me, I saw my life start to flash before my eyes. It was terrifying.”

Arthur nodded, feeling a bucket of sympathy for his friend. “She sometimes has that effect, believe me.” Not entirely true for him, but it was different for others.

Vlad cleared his throat, and Arthur remembered the former’s question. He didn’t- no, couldn’t give the real answer, if only to reveal his family life and have to explain all the shallow ups and deep downs that came with it. And that might lead to having to explain why exactly they had chosen to move to America and what followed, something that he desperately wanted to avoid. So, he lied. “No, it doesn’t happen often. It’s rare, actually. Don’t worry, it usually boils down quickly, we’ve nothing to worry about.”

Vlad nodded, his eyes narrowed. Arthur’s reassurance didn’t seem to help ease his nerves at all, but he didn’t say anything else. Lukas’ grip around his arm tightened, his fingers surely leaving a mark.

“I don’t know, one would think that since we spent four hundred dollars on that damn costume-”

“I didn’t spend four hundred dollars. You did.”

Lukas froze, looking up at Arthur with wonder and surprise. “This thing cost four hundred?” He tugged Arthur’s sleeve, running his thumb along the bumpy fabric. He scrunched up his nose. “That could buy me a really good violin case.”

Vlad snorted. “That could get me a shelf’s worth of books.” The other two nodded at Vlad’s statement, rows and rows of special edition books flooding his mind.

He would have rather bought that, or at least some nice stationary and merchandise for various books he had read, instead of this scratchy heap of cloth. At least then he would actually use it for more than a year, whereas the fate of this costume was unknown the second the last note was sung of the final Madrigal concert.

The three watched as Arthur’s parents bickered, providing commentary when they felt like they needed it. From how tense she was, Arthur could tell that his mother was a few minutes from blowing her top off, and knew that his father wouldn’t be far behind once she started yelling.

He had to admit to himself that it was rather embarrassing for his friends to see such a side of his family, but was shut down when he tried to apologize for it. A normal family issue, they had called it as they started making bets on who would win. Although he thought it mental at first, Arthur quickly joined them, all the while quickly conjuring up a layout of the house, should they need to escape.

He had to admit, though, that his betting was a bit watered down, sullied by his exhaustion of dealing with their fights year after year. Arthur pretended to be enthusiastic, to overestimate his parents’ wrath, and thankfully they believed him. “My mum, definitely. She’s a force that can’t be stopped.”

Vlad leaned in front of Arthur, nodding his head in agreement to Lukas. “Definitely his dad.” He pursed his lips into a fine line, furrowing his brow. He stayed like that for a few seconds, before perking up and puffing up his chest, saying in a voice that even a wrestling announcer would seethe in jealously of, “The unstoppable force versus the immovable object.”

Arthur tipped his head back and cackled, not entirely caring about how loud he was or if his parents saw. Lukas giggled, covering his mouth with his free hand, his cheeks growing red.\

Confident with what turned out to be a successful bit at comedy, Vlad grinned, a little bit of teeth showing, huffing through his nose. He muttered something under his breath, so quiet that even though he was practically on top of Arthur, he could barely make out a single word. Arthur was sure it had something to do with “earning proper appreciation”, but he couldn’t be entirely sure.

The laughter died down, Lukas removing his hand from his mouth. “Oh god, I just can’t believe the way ya said that-”

“Boys?”

They looked up to see Arthur’s mother standing in front of them, her shoulders tense and chin high. Her face was a rosy pink, yet her eyes weren’t watery, so she was likely more furious than anything else. Arthur sincerely hoped that everything went smoothly and without a hitch for the rest of the evening, since he wanted to avoid one of her “venting session”, as she called it, as much as possible. And, by extension, a nasty headache.

Lukas released Arthur’s arm as soon as her eyes went to it, taking a step forward. “Is there anythin’ wrong, Mrs. Kirkland?” Arthur had to suppress a snort, rolling his eyes at the sweetness in Lukas’ words. He was sucking up to her after their previous interaction, it was obvious, but Arthur felt sorry for Lukas. If only because he had yet to learn that his mother would take names and smuggle grudges down to the bottom of her grave. And the fact that they didn’t know that they had wronged her, if only by association with Arthur.

Many, many times in the past, she had openly disagreed and mocked Arthur’s choices for friendship in his face and in front of his brothers, and while he hoped it would be different for Vlad and Lukas, it didn’t seem to be the case.  She always found something wrong, whether it be taste in music and literature or something as trivial as they way they laughed. It never failed, she always hated every single one of his friends, unless, of course, it was someone she had arranged for him to meet with, and did any and everything she could to try and drive them away.

Sometimes, she had even succeeded in her mission. And while Arthur knew that if Vlad and Lukas didn’t want to associate with him anymore due to his psychopath of a mother, he would let them go and find someone else , but that didn’t mean that he wanted to.

Besides, he was too deep into the plan to have to suddenly find another set of allies.

When she smiled, it was a sweet, sarcastic little thing, one of her trademarks, and when she spoke, her words were filled with thinly veiled disgust and hate. “Oh, Lukas, don’t you worry your little self about it. It’s fine.”

Taking a few steps back, she took in a deep breath, her shoulders rising as she did so. If Vlad and Lukas weren’t there, Arthur would have no worries about saying that that was most likely why she was removed from the church choir back home. Of course, he had to think about them now, and the consequences of his mouth around them, so he would unfortunately have to save his witty comment for a later date.

She looked back and forth between the three of them, ignoring Arthur’s father as he abandoned his book on the coffee table and left the room, making his way towards the kitchen. Arthur would’ve thought that she had not noticed his departure, were it not for the footsteps thumping across the hardwood. They were loud enough that even the most distracted person in the world would snap up in a tizzy from whatever they were doing.

Just as she had done previously, his mother folded her hands across her stomach, and spoke, ever the queen addressing her court of rather questionable teenagers. “So, Arthur, I must say that you look simply dashing in that outfit of yours. You’ve always looked good in green.” He nodded once at her compliment, smiling only to keep her anger at bay. “I would like you to continue wearing it throughout the evening, you know, so you can get used to it. Eventually.”

Her smile grew at the last part, and she quickly glanced at Lukas, measuring his reaction to her mocking. The latter frowned, his cheeks turning red, but didn’t say anything. Smart.

Arthur nodded his head again, his smile growing smaller. He clenched his fist, not before hiding it behind the folds of his trousers. “Sure.”

She huffed, slightly shaking her head. A dismissal. “Vladimir and Lukas.” The former perked up, cocking his head to the side and giving her a smile with his teeth on full display. The latter slumped his shoulders, his face falling. “You two are staying over for the night, yes?”

Lukas let Vlad speak, the former crossing his arms. “Yes ma’am. If ya don’t mind, of course.”

“Not at all. And you’ve notified your parents?” It was subtle, but Arthur knew she was referring back to the night of Lukas’ date, when he hadn’t felt it necessary to inform her he was not coming home that evening. Not that his friends would know about that, but in his mother’s world, everyone was at fault.

While Lukas only nodded, and a bit timidly at that, Vlad’s smile grew wider, the skin around his eyes scrunching. “Yes ma’am, you’ve got nothin’ to worry about.’

“Fantastic. I’ll go and make sure that we make enough food.” And with that, she was off, clicking down the hallway and towards the kitchen, the fabric of her dress fluttering behind her.

Arthur cringed, pulling at his stockings, goosebumps rolling up his arms as it let it go. His friends remained silent, Lukas breathing in as the mood of the living room began to grow lighter and lighter.

“Arthur.” Vlad’s smile faded, falling into a frown, his posture slumping.

He deadpanned. “Yes”

“I hope ya don’t get offended with me saying this, but yer mother’s bat-shit crazy.”

Lukas snorted. “Crazier than that.”

He supposed that since they were bluntly and openly insulting his own mother, he should feel offended and somewhat angry about it, but Arthur couldn’t help but agree more.

Over his many, many years in the Kirkland family, Arthur had quickly learned that while his mother valued her reputation, she cared about her curiosities and uncalled-for theories more. It was one of the few things that matched between the two of them, though this particular trait usually did the former more damage than anything good.

Arthur took a sip from his glass, his teeth scraping against the glass. He swirled his water around as if it were fine wine, chunks of solid ice crinkling around. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see his father’s grip tighten around the handle of his fork, but payed no mind to it, sentencing him to deal with it. The noise wasn’t even that loud, but his father had a twig up his ass at best, and found anything that Arthur or his brothers did to be mildly annoying.

“Mrs. Kirkland, this casserole is wonderful.” Vlad took another bite, smiling as he chewed. He circled his fork above his plate, waiting until he swallowed to swoop in for another mouthful. A bit of rice fell onto his shirt, but he picked it off quickly, discreetly glancing around to see if anyone noticed.

His mother smiled, setting her silverware down to fold her hands onto her lap. She cocked her head to the side, nodding in thanks and appreciation, Arthur already knowing what she was going to say before she even opened her mouth. “Thank you, Vladimir. It was a recipe my grandmother taught me when I was around Peter’s age.” She motioned to her youngest son sitting across from Vlad with a swift wave of her hand. “I always try to make it when we have a few guests stay over for dinner, to see what they think of it.”

Peter snorted, covering his mouth, fork still in hand, when their father sent a look in his direction. Their mother’s smile didn’t deflate a single bit, as she didn’t even give any indication that she noticed Peter, staring at Vlad with the utmost intensity.

The latter’s, however, faltered just a tiny bit, boosting up back at full force as he nodded. “Oh, really?” He took in a deep breath, letting it out through his mouth, his chest shaking as he did so. “Well, that’s always nice, I guess. Trying to keep the tradition up and runnin’.”

Arthur considered revealing the truth to the table, that she had actually ripped the recipe off the Internet a few years ago and claimed it her own for a sense of self-importance, but decided against it. If only to spare himself from the storm that would brew up only seconds afterward.

His mother nodded, perking up, and thanked Vlad. As what usually happened when such an occurrence came up, her smile turned smug, and she glanced at the ceiling, basking in her new-found attention. Arthur hoped it wouldn’t be too bad, and would be- unfortunately for him- about Peter, but such luck never seemed to be with him these days.

“You know, I have a funny story involving this casserole and Arthur.” She looked at him, her face loving and kind, though if you looked close enough, you could see that it didn’t reach her eyes.

Arthur could feel the color leech from his face, and he clenched his fists under the table, careful not to let anyone else see. She was going back to that one. He had asked her multiple times to stop telling the story, especially in front of people that he liked, but here she was, about to spill it out all over again.

He took a deep breath, cocking his head to the side, his smile tense and back stiff. “Mum, I don’t think that this is a good-”

She shook her head, lips pursed into a fine line. And right at that moment, Arthur realized that this was the beginning of the second part of her test. The vile woman. How cruel of her, to reveal the more angrier moments of his past into the light when he had purposefully and skillfully covered them these past couple of months. “Arthur, it’s not too bad. It was years ago, and it goes perfectly with out dinner pallet.”

He glared at her with what he hoped to be enough hate to make a small child cry. She stayed the same, persistent, didn’t do anything to show that she was affected by it.

Lukas looked back and forth between the two, sitting at Arthur’s right and his mother’s left from the head of the table. Before, when everyone was sitting at their various spots, the former balked when the only remaining seat was right next to her, and had mostly kept silent throughout the dinner. Until now, apparently, when he d3decided to make their current situation that much worse. “Er, if you don’t mind, Mrs. Kirkland, I would like to hear yer story.”

Arthur suppressed a groan, sending a deadpan expression in his friend’s direction. The fool had no idea what he had cause just by saying those handful of words, and he probably wouldn’t get it until it was too late. “Too late” being the second after she finished humiliating Arthur.

His mother perked up, clapping her hands then lacing her fingers together. Peter scooted his chair forward, leaning in and setting his elbows on the table, already knowing what she was going to say as much as Arthur did. The thing was, the former enjoyed it- still getting a degree of amusement out of it, even after hearing it so many times- and regularly asked for it to be repeated, unlike the latter.

Tapping her fingers against the wooden dining room table, her stylishly manicured nails making an irritating clicking sound, her words were slow and emphasized as she spoke, pouring a bag of salt into the wound she was viciously ripping open. “Well, it was around the time when Arthur was in- what you you Americans call it? Year… Freshman year. Yeah.”

Arthur tipped his head back and groaned, knowing that once she started, there was no way he could effectively get her to stop.

She frowned at him, lightly clucking her tongue, before dismissing him with a wave of her hand. “Anyways, at that time, Arthur’s older brothers were still at home. All four of them are currently in uni back home in England, but that’s besides the point.” She picked up her fork, pushing the almost untouched food around her plate, Arthur wincing at the scrapes and scratches as she spoke. “Arthur has never really gotten along with his brother Dylan-”

“They practically hate each other!”

“Yes, thank you, Peter. Anyway, they were getting into a nasty argument one evening, over something that was so trivial that I don’t even remember what it was, and a few moments prior I had just taken this casserole out of the oven and had set it on the table.”

Arthur closed his eyes, breathing in deeply. The moment of truth, the time when the gates that were his mother’s mouth would open and out would come the things that would mercilessly smear the reputation that he had so carefully and painstakingly built up with his friends.

Not because he was ashamed of it, of course. He looked back at his past, his hard-earned and bravely faced accomplishments with pride. He praised them each time a memory popped into his mind, reliving each moment detail by detail, remembering the smells and the sounds, noting what he could’ve done better and smiling at the highlights. Each of his “outbursts” were wonderful, beautiful. They were his to cherish and his alone.

However, in front of his friends, with the way they considered and thought of him, this story would do damage. A lot of damage that he couldn’t take. Which was something that he could surely- and preferably- go without.

Of course, she didn’t see it that way, nor did Peter, the little fool, for that matter, as she continued the second Vlad and Lukas nodded, giving her their full, undivided attention. Arthur considered telling them that it was nothing they wanted to hear, and it was an old story with no significance anymore, but figured that that would only peak their curiosity. He leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms and huffing, watching as his mother ruined everything he had so far worked for this school-year.

“By then, they had turned almost violent, and their yells could be heard from the kitchen. Since I new no one else was going to do it-” She sent a quick glare towards Arthur’s father, who was eating and didn’t pay her any mind. She frowned. “I made my way to the dining room to stop them, and right as I walked in, Arthur grabbed the back of Dylan’s neck, or maybe it was his head, and dunked him face-first into the casserole.”

Arthur sunk into his chair as the room fell silent, dropping his fork to rub his temples. He waited for the looks that he often got after she got to the climax of the story, the ones filled with disgust and disappointment and shock. The ones that would grow worse and worse and she began to tell even more, going into an analysis of Arthur’s life in England. The ones that were prior to the averted eyes, stuttering, and general awkwardness. The ones that led to those “friends” of his quickly fading out of his life, gone faster than they came.

He had to say, it was nice knowing Lukas and Vlad while they had their short run together.

Her smile grew into a cocky little thing as she leaned back in her chair, taking a sip of her beverage. When she noticed Arthur was staring at her, his mouth etched into a sneer and his brow furrowed, she shook her head, lightly tsking.

His fingernails formed dents in his hands as multiple vulgar insults passed through his mind, most- no, all of them not something you would want to say in front of your mother. Arthur supposed that they would be worse, considering he wanted to say them to her. But with what she had just done, cussing her out like he oh-so desperately wanted to do probably wasn’t the best thing, and would do more bad and good.

But it would feel so, so good while he did it.

What had to be even more surprising than the events of this evening was when Lukas- Lukas, of all people- broke out into a howl, his shoulders and stomach shaking. He cupped his head between his hands, his fingers messing up the hair that covered the side of his face as they rubbed up and down.

Vlad quickly followed, covering his mouth as bits of water spilled out. He shook his head vigorously, lightly tapping his free hand against the table, his laughter muffled. He swallowed his water, not without struggle, and joined Lukas in his shrieking.

A soft tint of cherry red spread across their faces, Lukas wiped a tear from the corner of his eye, and then the other. It was shocking, Arthur seeing the exact opposite of the reaction he had anticipated, had figured would happen. He couldn’t help but grin, then break into a full-blown smile, teeth and all, berating himself for thinking them to be like all the others.

His mother looked more taken back than Arthur felt, her eyes wide and smile faltering. Slowly setting down her glass, she straightened her back, taking in a deep breath, and cocked her head to the side. She watched the two laugh, and eventually Arthur when he joined them, her jaw tense and her eyes cold and hard. Her plan, her method that had been tried-and-true more times than Arthur could count, had backfired at its most basic level.

It was amusing to think about it, really. To see her so angry about her failure to continue ruining his life. Arthur could only compare it to a toddler who didn’t get the toy after causing a tantrum in the store, which only made her seem so much more pathetic.

Vlad’s laughter died down just enough to where he could get a coherent sentence out. It took a few tries, however, as every time he got out a string of words, he burst into another fit. Eventually, he spit out his sentence, literally, his words bunched together. If Arthur hadn’t been listening so intently, he’s sure he would’ve missed it. “And then what happened next?”

Lukas nodded his head, smiling and giggling with enthusiasm. The two leaned in, Vlad propping his head on the palm of his hand, drumming the fingers of his free hand against the table with impatience.

Arthur rolled his shoulders back, smirking, feeling smug. He glanced up at the ceiling, just as his mother had done earlier, studying the wrinkles and creases that covered it as he uncovered the memory. Tapping his finger against his chin, making sure to go agonizingly slow, Arthur took his time as he told the rest of the story. “Well, Dylan’s face was covered, and he was screaming bloody murder. The neighbors even came over later, thought that we were being abused or something like that.” He chuckled, a quick glance to his mother showing her rolling her eyes and shaking her head, muttering something under her breath. She frowned when he snorted. “And, since the casserole had been tainted with Dylan’s disgusting face, it’s not like anyone was going to eat it.”

The two nodded, grinning as they listened. Peter was laughing breathlessly in his seat, and shook his head as he reached for one of the large serving platters that lined the middle of the table. His arm shook as he carried it over, and though Arthur’s father put down his fork for once to try and help him, Peter waved him off, making a whiny comment about how he could do it himself. He received only a huff and a shake of the head as a reply.

Arthur watched their exchange, suppressing a snort at his little brother’s antics. He snapped out of it, rolling his neck back, before continuing. “Of course, he was livid, though he’s hotheaded to begin with so that didn’t really make much difference. Anyway, he grabbed the dish, which had his face printed into it, and threw it at me.” He made a throwing motion with his arm, reenacting it, his fingers tensed and curled.

Their eyes widened, mouths gaping. Lukas shook his head, taking in a sharp breath, giving Arthur a concerned look. “Did it hit you?”

Arthur’s smirk grew, and he chuckled, scratching the back of his neck. He remembered his other brothers cackling as they watched, cheering them on and placing bets n when their “fight” would turn even more physical. And even though his mother pinpointed that moment as one of the “starts of all their problems in the poor Kirkland family”, it made Arthur feel good. It made him feel like he had finally done something right. To him, at least. “No, it didn’t. I ducked just in time for it to fly over my head. It hit the wall and smashed into pieces, though.”

His mother snorted, scooping helpings of food onto her plate and Lukas’. The latter sent wary glances in her direction as she did so, but still paid attention to Arthur. “And I’m sure you boys could guess who got the honor of cleaning that up.” She scowled at that, her mood souring.

Peter frowned, looking up from his plate and to his mother. “But mum, if I remember correctly, you left the room yelling about how you were done with us and Allistor was the one who had to clean-”

“Quiet, Peter.”

Vlad chucked, but returned to his food upon receiving a glare from her. Arthur snickered at that, shaking his head at his friend.

Lukas straightened his back against the dining chair, grinning as he turned to Arthur. “Please don’t tell me that that’s the only store ya got like that.”

He opened his mouth to speak, to suggest that they move on and focus on a different, less suspension-riddled topic, but his mother cut him off before he could get a single word out. “Actually, that was one of the more mild ones.”

Lukas and Vlad’s eyes widened and their brows shot up as Arthur glared at her. Compared to some other ones, the dreaded casserole story was like Arthur giving a lolli to a baby. Of course, they never needed to know the worst of the bunch, and never would, if Arthur had anything to do with it, but that would mean keeping his mother in check. Something that he had never been able to do.

Vlad took a quick sip from his glass. “Really?”

Her smug smirk was back, and with the attention of the table being returned to her, she rolled her shoulders back, giving sparing looks at each person seated. “Indeed. Arthur’s good behavior and tasteful clothing has only been… recent.” She put extra emphasis and nodded once at the last word, raising her glass and circling it. “In the past, calling him unpleasant was possibly the largest understatement you could think of.”

Arthur deadpanned, holding back a cruel insult. How dare that woman insult him while, at the very same time, congratulating herself for her “accomplishments” of “taming” him? It was distasteful, and while he knew this was her he was talking about, Arthur expected even a little better.

Lukas turned his focus to Arthur, looking him up and down with an inquisitive eye. “Well, I’ve noticed those two little holes under his lip-”

“Oh. Those were piercings. He forged my signature and got them without permission. Among other things, of course.”

Arthur let out a huff as Lukas’- along with Vlad’s, for that matter- eyes grew even wider, sinking into his chair. At the time, he thought his actions completely justified, and he still did. His mother had been vehemently against it, complaining about how it would lead him into trouble later on, but had no problem with letting his brother take money out of the swear jar for his cigarette addiction. Let them pay for the lung cancer and see how they liked it.

Vlad looked impressed, pursing his lips and nodding. “That type of piercing, what’s it called?”

“Snake bites.”

Another nod.

Sensing the conversation turning into a directions he found undesirable, his mother cleared her throat, rolling his stiff shoulders back and holding her chin up. “They were awful. Every time you looked at him, your eyes went straight to them. My friends would comment to me about them all the time and-”

He rolled his eyes as she went on and on, talking about how much of an embarrassment he was to her in her various social groups. Arthur took a sharp breath, letting it out harsher than he intended to, earning a glare from his father. A warming.

As if he would ever take it.

Vlad and Lukas listened along as she announced her woes, her frustrations of having a son who turned out oh-so wrong when she had only a mountain level of high expectations. Who “only had to follow his brothers’ examples, get into playing football, having good grades, and then just easily succeed like that”, but had to end up the way he was. Who would give her a near heart attack every time she saw the school’s number calling her cell phone. The son who was the bad crop of the bunch, and how she “figured that with six sons, at least one of them had to turn out bad”, which happened to be him, of all of them.

Arthur stayed silent throughout her rant, his blood boiling. Multiple violent outcomes of this situation swimming through his mind. Not a single one of them ended well for him. Whether it was prompting an outburst from his mother, going off on her and ruining the progress he’d made with his friendships, or having a later screaming match after they left. None of them were desirable, none of them made him erupt with excitement.

As she went on, his friends’ faces went from curious to angered to offended. From what Arthur could tell, really. Vlad’s brow was furrowed, his shoulders stiff and mouth gaped. Lukas’ lips were pursed, his eyes cold and hard. It surprised Arthur, to see them this angry for him, and it felt nice. Amazing. This had never happened before, never, with most agreeing with his mother. He had gotten used to it happening.

But this. This was so much better.

Vlad shook his head vigorously, throwing away most of his impeccable manners in favor of cutting Arthur’s mother off. “Excuse me, ma’am, but that isn’t how I see Arthur at all. From the time I’ve known him, he’s been nothin’ but kind and respectful.”

Lukas leaned against the table and looked over Arthur, nodding at Vlad. He then turned to her, shaking his head, mouth forming into a subtle sneer. “And if that’s how you view your own son, if that’s what you really think of him, then you need to stop looking at him as the problem and turn the mirror onto yourself.”

Arthur sunk even further in his chair, his shoulders raised to the level of his chin. He looked tot he end of the table, measuring the reactions of Peter and his father. The former had frozen completely, staring at his plate, eyes wide and jaw dropped to the floor. He slowly raised his head, looking between Lukas and Vlad with awe, wonder, and just a bit of horror. The latter, however, being his usual self, kept eating, staying out of the conflict as he always tried to do.

What Arthur feared most was the reaction of his mother. She might not yell at his friends- no, she would never do that and risk her reputation, even if it was nonexistent in the states, but that didn’t mean that Arthur himself would be saved after they left. He was definitely going to be on the receiving end of a tongue thrashing tomorrow evening, or maybe the minute- the very second- the front door shut and they were out of the driveway, but the real situation was in the present.

Her jaw tensed, so much that he thought it would snap, and she smiled, one that dripped with hatred and frost and fire. One that told him that while she might let them into the house again after tonight, she would not do it without an argument, and would shun them from the moment their left feet stepped onto the hardwood of the entry hall.

She grabbed her glass, her fingers wrapping around it and gripping the ridges hard enough that her knuckles began to turn white. For a moment, Arthur thought she would throw it, and prepared to duck should it happen to come in his direction.

She looked straight at Lukas, her smile turning into more of a sneer. “That’s what you two think. So you just wait. I know my son, so you just wait, and once one thing goes wrong, once you slip up in even the tiniest way, then you’ll really know what your ‘kind and respectful’ friend is like.”

When she finished, the room fell silent, tensing. She gave each person at the table a look over, and when it was Arthur’s turn to be inspected, he could feel her already searing gaze grow hotter, and he felt relieved but sympathetic when it moved on to Vlad.

In one of her very own temper tantrums, one that could rival Arthur’s worse, she stood, the wood of her chair scrapping against the floor. She grabbed the folded cloth napkin that had sat on her lap, throwing it onto the table with an angered grunt. It flapped against her plate, which still had food piled up on it. He cringed, knowing that it would stain

“I am done with all of you.” She spat out each word, her chest jumping up and down as she heavily breathed. “All of you!”

Her heels clicked as she stomped out of the dining room, cursing and ranting to herself, though Arthur would be lying if he said he didn’t hear every single word. He was, along with everyone else in the dining room, frozen in place and silent, listening to the heavy thumps from the stairs to the second floor, and then the eventual slam of a bedroom door.

He didn’t move, didn’t think at all, just replaying the past ten minutes over and over and over again. Arthur should have expected it, should have seen the rapidly blinking signs, should have stopped it when he could. But no, he had to let it happen, had to sit there like a damned fool as a known active volcano blew her top, spewing her lava on anyone in a limited radius. Idiot. He was an idiot.

Picking up his glass, Peter took a sip from his drink, making sure the noise could be heard throughout the room. When he finished, he pulled his lips away just a tiny bit, his voice deeper than it usually was. “Well, that was awkward.”

Arthur’s father grunted in agreement, before continuing to eat.

The three quietly filed into Arthur’s room, Vlad and Lukas going to sit on the edge of his bed as he shut the door.

Following his mother’s rather embarrassing episode, Arthur figured it best to get them out of the dining room. Ushering them out of the dining room, he left his father and Peter to clean up the dishes- ignoring their whining and protests- and made a beeline towards his bedroom. Sure, they were closer to her, but they were behind a close door. One that locked without any trouble, and had a connection bathroom. Arthur was also confident that at least one of them had snacks in their bag, and he had an electric kettle sitting on his desk along with a full box of tea, so they were set.

As the lock clicked in place, he left to join his friends, tossing his shoes into the corner, his bed groaning as he sat. Arthur stared at his toes, wiggling them in his stockings and tapping them together. From the corner of his eye, he could see his friends fidget and twiddle their thumbs, but didn’t say anything, and neither did they.

They sat there for a few minutes, the entire house silent. Waiting. When someone finally spoke, all three of them did it at the same time, their words bundled and rushed.

“I apologize for the behavior of my family tonight.”

“Oh, hell, I did somethin’ really stupid, didn’t I?”

“Arthur, I think yer mom’s gonna murder me in my sleep.”

They froze, looking back and forth between each other. Arthur deflated, hanging his head and shaking it side to side. What a disaster.

Vlad tipped his head back and laughed, flopping down on Arthur’s bed. He folded his arms under his head, his shirt rising to reveal a slip of soft stomach. “My lord. Did ya hear how she said that last part. It was like she was a witch and was gonna curse us.”

Lukas snorted. “Did y’all see the way she looked at me when I told her to turn the mirror on herself?”

“This was one of her good days,” Arthur added. Not entirely true, but at the moment, he was pissed off and wanted to blame her for his terrible mood. Making her seem like a bad guy was a good way to do it, he figured.

Vlad winced, taking in a sharp breath. “I feel sorry for ya, Art.” He moved his arms to pat his stomach, smacking it in a random rhythm. “I really do.”

He shook his head, cringing. That was one of the last things he wanted to hear. “Don’t be. She’s been this way for years and she’ll never stop. I’m just surprised she did it in front of you two, since she usually values herself more than humiliating me.”

Lukas shook his head, muttering something under his breath. It sounded like he was saying, “That isn’t right at all,” but Arthur couldn’t be entirely sure. And if he did say that, then he would have to agree, even though nothing about his family had ever been right.

Groaning, Arthur pushed against his knees, stretching his arms after he stood. The carpet was soft under his feet as he turned, folding his arms behind his back as he faced Vlad and Lukas. They looked up at him, expressions neutral and just a bit defeated, as if his mother had sucked all the life and energy out of them. Since they’d not yet gained their immunity to her, she probably had.

“So~.” Arthur clapped his hands together, locking his fingers and squeezing. Vlad watched as he did so, patting and rubbing his knees, a frown on his face. Lukas had his eyes closed, taking in deep breaths. “Are you guys still planning on staying over. If you don’t want to, that’s-”

Vlad shook his head, waving him off. Arthur had no idea what exactly he was dismissing, him staying over or the thought that he wouldn’t want to, but Arthur waited for him to clarify, cocking his head to the side and furrowing his brow.

“Yes?”

Vlad sighed, slumping. He chuckled, his smile returning, which was a relief. “Arthur. I’m not gonna ditch ya cause yer mother’s a psychopath.” Arthur’s eyes shot up, a smirk forming as Vlad perked up, waving his hands back and forth like his life depended on it. “I mean no offense, of course.”

Lukas snorted, crossing his arms. “Of course, ya don’t.” The two shared a look, one that Arthur didn’t bother to figure out, as it was gone before he could even start. Lukas broke into a smile, huffing, before turning his attention to Arthur. “I agree with him. Yer mom is… interesting, and even if she had her… thing, it’s not a valid reason to break our friendship.”

Arthur nodded, smiling, happy with the answers that he received. He turned, walking to his closet, and as he pulled the doors open, scanning for extra blankets and pillows, Lukas added:

“Oh, and I told my mom that I was stayin’ over and I don’t wanna call her to pick me up.”

He scowled as Vlad snickered, turning his head to give Lukas a look of distaste. The latter shrugged, a small smile on his face, looking away and shrinking into himself as Arthur deadpanned. Lukas took in a sharp breath, letting it out through his mouth, silently tapping his foot against the floor. “And because you’re one of my best friends, of course. Though it hasn’t been long, our friendship is valuable to me.”

Arthur smiled sarcastically, turning back to his closet. As he took a step inside, nudging some thrown-in junk with his foot, he spoke. “Thank you. That means a lot.”

His friends nodded and the three exchanged smiles, Arthur’s a bit more fake than the others. The last few minutes of that disastrous dinner kept replaying, and though they had said otherwise, Arthur couldn’t help but feel as if his mother had done some damage. Irreversible damage.

Arthur could’ve gotten them out of there. He could’ve shoved Vlad and Lukas up the stairs and into his room, plates in hand, promising to bring them down when they were done. But no, he had to sit there and watch as she cracked and snapped, attacking everyone as if she were a rabid honey badger. It only showed that he was losing his touch, losing that sense of his when shit was about to hit the fan.

They took turns going into the bathroom and changing into their pajamas, the two that were free pulling the blankets and pillows from Arthur’s closet and off his bed. Throwing them onto the floor in a giant heap, the three were set on making a makeshift bed, ignoring Arthur’s in favor of using it for their planned shenanigans for the evening. Even if they did decided to use it, it was too small to fit all three of them in it.

The carpet was plush, and comfortable enough that none of them would be waking up before the crack of dawn showed, complaining of back pain. Since they had only moved in during the height of summer, which wasn’t that long ago, the carpet was stain-free. Well, except for a minor tea spill back in August. But he’d gotten that cleaned up quickly and thoroughly, to the point where one would have to get down on their hands and knees to notice the stain.

Vlad unfolded one of the thinner blankets, laying it over the top of a thicker one. “So, what’re the plans for tonight?” He looked between Arthur and Lukas expectantly, pulling the corners of the blanket flat.

Arthur froze, looking up from his patting and stretching. “Uh…” He didn’t want to admit that he had not gotten that far, had not expected to get this far, so he racked his mind for something to do, Arthur said the first thing that popped up, acting nonchalant, as if he had it planned the first time he proposed them staying over. “I was thinking that maybe we could talk and read. Stuff like that.”

Lukas looked over to him, raising an eyebrow. Arthur smiled back, his eyes wide, sending over a silent message not to ask him anything about his answer. He received no reply in return.

Hanging his head and going back to what he was doing, Vlad talked as he worked. “That sounds like a good idea. I’ve got a new one to show y’all.” He stood, brushing invisible dust off his knees, looking over their little ensemble with a critical eye. Arthur did the same, and when he noticed that it was a bit flat and thin, cringed. Vlad followed suit, putting his hands to his hips and giving Arthur a wince. “You don’t happen to have any more blankets, do ya?”

Arthur nodded his head, rolling his shoulders back as he stood. They had a closet in the hallway, one that was filled with sheets and bedding for the guest room. He had thought of it earlier, had acknowledged it as a possible trip, but didn’t think they would need it. He had hoped they wouldn’t. “Yeah, we do. I’ll be right back.”

He padded to the door, putting his hand against the lock and freezing. Behind him, he could hear a confused noise and some shuffling, but he ignored it. A wave of thoughts ran through his mind, but he waved them all away, thinking himself pathetic. He twisted the lock and pulled the door open, light from the hallway pouring in.

Arthur shut the door on his way out, a soft click sounding as it connected with the doorway. He stood in his place for a second, blowing a deep breath out, carding his fingers through his hair. This entire evening was a mess.

His socks swished against the hardwood, the hem of his cotton pajama pants ghosting over his ankles as he walked. The closet was at the end of the hall, right next to his parents’ bedroom, so he would be able to sneak in-and-out quickly, should he stay quiet.

He wrapped his hands around the cold, metal handles, rubbing his thumb over the engraved patterns. It was smooth, his finger gliding over its dips and bends. He continued rubbing even as he pulled both doors open, wincing at the squeaky noise that was a result. They would definitely be putting something on that.

Knowing that someone likely heard the shriek of pain that the closet emitted, Arthur stepped inside, pushing up on the tips of his toes to reach the very top shelf. He grabbed onto the blanket at the very bottom, pulling it down with a hard yank.

Arthur shielded his head as piles and piles of bedding came tumbling down on top of him, falling from his head to the floor. He looked around, scanning for anyone in the area that might’ve seen his blunder, before quickly picking up all the fallen blankets.

He piled them all up in his arms, doing an odd dance to keep them from falling back down. Arthur leaned to the side, attempting to use his foot to close the closet, before giving up after a few failed tries. Coming back out after dropping off the blankets would be a more efficient way to do it, he concluded, and would save him a few embarrassing tries.

Scanning the floor for any ones he had dropped, Arthur nodded, feeling satisfied, when he found none. He turned, waddling his way down the hallway, stopping every few moments to adjust the pile and stretch.

“Arthur.”

He froze, cursing under his breath, and turned to his mother. Her eyes were red and puffy, trails of black makeup running down her cheeks. She had changed into sweatpants and a solid t-shirt, a box of tissues being clutched in her hand.

Rolling his eyes, he turned and continued his way back to his room, not wanting- no, not willing to give her the mind and attention she oh-so desperately wanted.

“Arthur, Arthur come back here.” Her voice was wobbly, as if she were just about to burst into another fresh set of tears.

He shook his head, huffing. “I don’t want to deal with you right now.”

This was just another part of her game. A pity party to try and draw Arthur in, to make her seem like a caring and empathetic mother who had just gotten into a petty argument with her son. She would wrap her arms around him, softly rubbing his back, whispering about how sorry she was. Of course, her apology would only be a group of thinly veiled insults, blaming him for what happened, and her grip on his shoulders would have her nails digging into it, but from the outside, from far away, you wouldn’t be able to tell anything was wrong.

Arthur was disgusted with himself that he had fallen into her trap more than once in his life, and quite often during those years when he sought validation and praise from her exclusively.

From the corner of his eye, he could see her shake her head, pulling a tissue from the box and dabbing it under her eye. Her breath hitched. “Don’t say that.” She took a step forward just as he resumed moving. “Arthur, dear, don’t ever stay that.”

He rolled his eyes, maneuvering the blankets to sit between his chest and right arm as he used his left to open the door. He pushed it open, seeing Vlad and Lukas’ heads rise.

Arthur stopped in the doorway, turning to her one final time. He deadpanned. “I don’t care. Go get some eye drops, your tears are a bit lacking.”

He could hear Vlad snort and his mother scramble for words as he walked into his room, throwing the blankets haphazardly onto the floor and slamming the door shut. Arthur squatted as his friends started grabbing blankets and adding them to the “sleep zone”, as it had been called one time, Arthur joining in once he got himself situated.

Vlad glanced up at him multiple times, obviously expecting something, but Arthur ignored it until the former stopped working. He looked up, raising an eyebrow, frowning. “What?”

He shook his head, huffing. “Are you okay, Arthur?”

“Excuse me?”

“I mean, after tonight, with yer mom and everything, it’s just kinda worryin’ that you go through that every single day.” He averted his eyes, fidgeting, as if saying so might set Arthur on a warpath.

Arthur nodded his head, smiling. “Yes, I assure you, I’m perfectly fine.”

Lukas sighed. “If ya say so.”

The room fell silent as they started diligently working, the pile of blankets Arthur retrieved slowly but surely dwindling. It gave him some time to think, and he went on autopilot, letting his hands do the work as he was lost into his thoughts.

Mathias had said that he was pretty sure that Heracles had a crush on Kiku. However, a “pretty sure” was not a definite, and if Arthur were to go in and talk to him in the blind… It would be disastrous. It could spell the end for his entire plan, gone and revealed before it even began. He would have to go in and probe for himself, bring it up to him to see his reaction, but for now…

A bit of outside opinion would do.

“I’ve got a question, and I want it to stay between the three of us.” Vlad and Lukas looked up, Arthur’s attention going immediately to the latter of the duo. “This means that Mathias is not included.”

Lukas blushed, a rosy red spreading across his cheeks. He hung his head and crossed his arms, grumbling under his breath.

Vlad snickered, but nodded his head, waving his hands for Arthur to continue. “Yeah, sure, whaddaya need?” He scooted closer, leaning in, as if he expected to hear some deep and dark secret.

Arthur sat, criss-crossing his legs. “Er-” He tried to figure out how he was going to say this, how to make it sound like he was doing nothing but asking a question out of pure curiosity. Arthur tipped his head back, humming and studying the ceiling, his throat vibrating as he did so. From the tapping and huffs and puffs, he could tell they were growing impatient.

He sat up straight, tsking, and said the first thing that came into his mind. “If you have a crush on someone, what are some of the signs that would show?” He trailed off at the end of his sentence, his voice growing quieter, and he crossed his arms.

He waited for them to speak, preparing a mental list of all of Heracles’ behaviors around Kiku, or at least the ones he had already seen, where he would check them off one by one.

Vlad’s eyes widened and he lowered his head a bit, pursing his lips. Lukas deadpanned, staying silent and watching Arthur with keen interest. Vlad stuttered as he spoke, taking a few pauses to think of more. Arthur nodded each time he brought up a symptom. “Well, uh… when you’re around them, you’re constantly blushin’-”

Check.

“You always wanna talk to ‘em, no matter what it’s about-”

Check.

“I guess you can’t help but have a distaste of those that are really close to them, like a boyfriend or a girlfriend or someone like that.”

Check. It was extremely obvious that Heracles had a dislike for Alfred- at the least- and vice versa, for that matter.

“You can’t stop thinkin’ about them.”

Arthur winced. He could assume, but assumptions weren’t confirmations and it was iffy.

“And, uh… every time they do somethin’, you can’t help but-”

“Arthur.” Vlad frowned as Lukas cut him off, but the latter didn’t seem to care. He narrowed his eyes, looking Arthur up and down, his head cocked to the side.

He raised his eyebrow, a silent question to Lukas’ verbal one. They sat that way for about a minute or two, Arthur drumming his fingers against his thigh in a random pattern to pass the time.

It wasn’t until Vlad huffed, crossing his arms and pouting, that the silence broke. “Lukas~! Come on,” he whined, lightly shoving Lukas’ shoulder.

Lukas ignored him, keeping his eyes on Arthur. He repeated his name again.

“Yes?” Arthur pushed some strands of hair out of his face, giving his friend a sweet, honeyed smile.

When Lukas spoke, he asked such a question in such a blunt and dead way that Arthur couldn’t help but choke on his own saliva. “Do you have a crush on Alfred F. Jones?”

Vlad erupted, jumping to his feet, a large smile on his face and eyes wide. He pumped his fist up in the air, yelling about how he knew it, doing a small happy dance.

Arthur gave Lukas a look of horror, who returned only a raised eyebrow. He was expecting an answer, then.

Reverting to his instincts, Arthur started waving his hands, shaking his head with the same amount of vigor. When he spoke, he stuttered over his words, something that made his cheeks heat u. “No- no, of course, not. Why would I- why would I have a crush on Alfred, of all people.”

Lukas broke into a smug smile, leaning back and crossing his arms. Vlad had by then finished whatever he was doing, and sat down with his legs in a butterfly position. A small dimple appeared in the corner of his mouth as the latter spoke, his teeth showing as he smiled. “Ugh! Why didn’t I think of it before? Yer always talkin’ about him, always run into him, and-”

Vlad perked up, eyes growing to the size of saucers. His mouth gaped, and he raised a hand to cover it. “Oh my god. At Lukas and Mathias’ date, when you followed Alfred into the bathroom, were you two-”

“No. No. Don’t you dare go there. You have no idea what actually hap-”

Lukas nodded, getting what Vlad was trying to say. “Arthur, if you’re in a secret relationship with Alfred, we’ll support ya. But I really think that you two need to tell Kiku or it’s gonna get pretty messy-”

“I’m not in a relationship with Alfred,” he yelled, running his fingers through the carpet. How could they, his very own friends, assume that he was in love with someone he hated? Sure, Arthur found the fool attractive, had since the first day they met, but as soon as he opens his loud mouth, all of the perks of his looks went down the drain. He would never be able to stand such a person so much as to be his friend, much less in something more. “And I’m not telling Kiku, because there’s nothing I need to tell that snake.”

Vlad pursed his lips into a fine line. “You and Alfred would be such a cute couple, though.” Nodding his head, Lukas said his words of agreement.

Arthur deadpanned. “I doubt it.”

“But you would!”

Lukas stood, stepping over their pile of blankets and squatted next to Arthur. The latter balked as he was pulled into a loose hug, the former resting his head on his shoulder. “Don’t worry, Art. You supported me in my awkward love affair, so Vlad and I’ll support you in yours. Even if it’s three times worse.”

Vlad nodded, clapping his hands together, and Arthur wondered for perhaps what was the millionth time in the past few months what exactly he had just gotten himself into.

[dashadoe-blog]

Skin Deep

When I was younger, I didn’t think I was beautiful. I’m sure I’m not alone in that thought process. My terrible eyesight resulted in frames that made my eyes look tiny. My eczema resulted in dry patchy skin that led to mean comments on the school bus and worst of all, I had short hair with curls that shrunk to half their length when touched by Florida’s moisture. The last piece about my hair is important, because I’m Haitian-American. And in Caribbean culture, there are two things that can define a young girl’s beauty; her hair or the color of her skin. When I looked in the mirror, I didn’t see the features my parents always heralded as stunning. One day I would grow into my doe eyes and long legs but turning on the bathroom light throughout early stages of puberty, I saw someone with awkward limbs, coarse, unlikable hair, buck teeth - someone just not good enough.

To top it off, my sister, the first-born grandchild in our family was the exact opposite of me. Bright, bubbly, beloved and crowned with long, full voluminous hair that cascaded past her shoulders when blown out - she was the beauty queen of all our cousins and the apple of my grandmother’s eye. And as much as my maternal grandmother fawned over her, she detested me. I never received a compliment or a genuine approach of affection. Where my sister was met with hugs and kisses and feathered with gifts, I was met with toleration and obligation. I was her grandchild by default, not by choice. At least, that’s what it felt like. I go off on this tangent because it’s what shaped an early obsession with latching onto the two things that can define a young girl’s beauty; her hair or the color of her skin.

I didn’t have the first, and it would take me over a decade to love what sprouted from my head, but I was born with the privilege of the latter. Having a mulatto father resulted in my mocha-tinted skin, a hue of honey when touched by the sun. It became my prized possession. When I look back, I see how foolish it might have been to place my validation in something like skin, but it was the only thing that gave me hope of being accepted by someone who never saw past my face, which mirrored the father my grandmother wasn’t always too fond of.

And this obsession dragged on. When I felt envious of the affection my sister garnered from her peers or family members or specifically my grandmother, I would remind myself that her skin was a nutmeg brown and it was obviously her hair that was getting her the attention. Which might have been true, but that alone was problematic for her in so many ways. She had her own cross to bear and I just didn’t have the depth of understanding to perceive that yet. When my grandmother would occasionally do something lovingly in my behalf, I would assume it’s because she noticed, I was like her some way. She is even fairer than I am, so I assumed she noticed our similar complexions and thought in some way I must be pretty enough to love. Again, I didn’t have an understanding of the stigmas or perceptions that came with skin tone. I only knew that I wanted something to be loved for, or even liked, in the same way as my sister.

I remember the first moment that sense of skin security was cracked, as it needed to be, by my mother. My mother often shakes me from my fantasy world without even trying on a regular basis, which is something I’ve grown to filter and appreciate as I’ve gotten older. During my phases of puberty, it often left me more lost and identity-confused, which in turn was catalyst of metamorphosis. In this case, I was probably 11 or 12 and visiting my little cousin, who I hadn’t seen since she’d been born I believe. She was probably two at the time. Like many people in the Caribbean culture, she’s mixed. Her ethnicity is comprised of her Haitian-father’s dark chocolate skin and her Dominican mother’s dulce de leche complexion. Needless to say, she was the first family member outside of my grandmother and father and the first child in my family, whose skin looked liked mine. And a flurry of feelings went through me for that reason. I felt a feeling of familiarity and a surge of love. But I also felt a threatening feeling too; this new, blossoming baby girl could snatch the love I was desperately trying to earn from my grandmother.  

And so, being presumptuous and wanting to protect my only bargaining chip, I repeatedly kept saying out loud “she’s light-skinned too, just like me.” Thinking back on it, I cringe knowing that I felt comfortable repeating that over and over again because of my own insecurities.  And I don’t know if my mother saw through it or just thought that I was being rude, but she shut me down quickly (or as we call it, based on her name, “Clara-fied”). I can’t recount exactly what she said, but it was something along the lines of suggesting that skin color doesn’t mean anything and that she hoped I wasn’t playing into that foolish way of Caribbean thinking. That beauty wasn’t defined by those standards and we didn’t teach that in our household, which was entirely true. And I remembered, even as I write this, how I instantly felt ashamed, confused and angry all at once. My mother went through her own share of learning to love her big lips and slanted eyes which I knew, but I’d never spoken to her about using my skin color as a tool to earn my grandmother’s affection. I guess deep down, even as child, I might have known it didn’t make sense. But I wasn’t trying to use it as a sign of intentional superiority. I was just trying to survive in the presence of someone who made me feel so blatantly unloved.

But I needed that wake-up call. And I am grateful for it. It would take some more time, some growing-up and some eye-opening moments, but I learned to love myself, on the surface and underneath. And the more I did that, the more I became less obsessed with what my skin color meant to my grandmother and more concerned with what it meant to me. I went to a high-school with a lot of white kids and in hindsight, I realize how being mocha-tinted might have actually helped me escape some racially-charged assumptions my darker peers might have encountered.  Not to say I didn’t have my own share of stigmas to encounter. (I.e. being called an Oreo). I was exposed to it even more in college when my friends of darker complexions would be flirted with but not pursued like I was by black men. It was shocking to me to hear black men openly say they would only date light-skinned women so they could have light-skinned children, whom they found more attractive. While I used my skin tone to find solace in not being accepted, I never thought less of others because of it. Still, I felt shame because of what I’d allowed to permeate my brain in my younger years about beauty. I recognized painfully that skin color wasn’t a security blanket anymore nor was it ever – it’s just a suffocating result of racial oppression that my community had fed into. 

And I vow not to be the same. It’s not that I don’t still see the stigmas of skin color around me. But I’ve learned not to define others or myself by it- and it shows up in ways of thinking you might not expect. Dark skin women sometimes give me dirty looks, light skin me are heralded as more attractive in the media, mixed children are fetishized...the list goes on. But I try to be mindful of what my prejudices or assumptions might be playing into, because I know exactly how it feels to be dismissed for what you look like. And a great part of learning to change my thought process is greatly because I don’t seek approval from my grandmother anymore. That ship ironically sailed when she began to treat me respectfully. And it’s only because she thought I was beautiful enough to acknowledge. But at that point, I’d already learned that what makes me attractive is more than skin deep. I love me because skin doesn’t define my beauty standard or yours. Our character does.

[murderincrp]

PROFILE LOADED... 「KIM TAEHYUNG」「UNAFFILIATED」「TWENTY」

“Twenty-year-old LAW INTERN and IT TECHNICIAN that goes by the alias ‘PROPHET’. No known allies.”

✘ THREAT LEVEL LOW. NO PRECAUTIONS NECESSARY...

WARNING: PARENT DEATH

[ BACKGROUND... ]

His life starts out cookie-cutter, simple, pleasantly average. His father works as an accountant for a local bank, his mother as a primary school teacher. She likes her tea with lemon and honey and he likes his coffee with cream. He likes to watch golf on weekend mornings and she tunes into foreign romantic comedies on weekend evenings, with room for Taehyung’s cartoons on Saturday mornings. She always puts a little too much detergent in the dishwasher and he always forgets which button on the remote changes the channel. Taehyung covers the floor in Lego masterpieces, digs through a box of their old outdated electronics so he can take them apart, count their pieces, observe their parts, then put them back together again. A few of his teachers throw around the word ‘gifted’ and his parents begin saving pennies for the costly middle school he will undoubtedly test into with flying colors. Taehyung is perfectly happy playing on old clunky computers and building Lego starships and watching superheroes fight bad guys on TV.

He is nine when they take him out to see the newest Batman film, after he insists that he’s big enough to read all the subtitles now and after his parents promise to help him when they go just a little too fast. He dons his black cape and his light up sneakers and they drive off to a movie theater by the river, because his parents like to hold hands and walk along the water, like they did when they were young sweethearts. They do just that on their way back to the car, as Taehyung runs a few meters ahead, acting out the explosions and the car chases still fresh in his mind from the film he insists won’t give him nightmares even if it is way past his bedtime.

“Taehyung-ah,” his mother calls fondly, “don’t run too far ahead.”

“Eomma, I’m Batman!”

His parents share a chuckle, his mother resting her weight against his father’s arm as they walk.

“Eomma look, I-ah–”

He freezes in his tracks, spotting a group of shadows in the distance. Some are faintly lit with the orange glow of cigarettes, the others moving in jerking motions similar to the ones he saw in the movie only minutes ago.

“What’s that-”

His parents catch up, his mother drawing him close, the atmosphere suddenly tense. Something large and lifeless slides into the water.

“Is that-”

“We should call someone-”

“I’ll call the police, let’s go back to the ca-”

“Drop it.”

A gruff, unfamiliar voice sounds from behind the terrified family. Taehyung turns when his mother does, feeling his father’s hand close on top of hers over his shoulder. On any other day, he’d look like a perfectly normal man, average height, stiff black hair, a smattering of pock marks across his cheeks, a thin beard at the tip of his chin and a faint scar across his right temple. He’d look perfectly normal, save for the barrel of a gun he had pointed at the family.

“Drop the phone.”

“Please. We’ll give you whatever you want.” Taehyung’s never heard his father sound afraid before, which is the only thought he’s able to have as he lets the device skitter across the pavement, “Just don’t hurt our boy.”

“Appa-”

“Hush, Taehyung,” his mother mutters, her voice wet with frightened tears. The man moves the gun toward Taehyung and Taehyung feels his mother’s arm drape across his chest, tugging him as close to her as humanly possible.

“Please-”

He hesitates for a long moment, before another frame approaches, tossing the glow of a cigarette into a nearby patch of weeds growing out of a crack in the ground.

“What the hell are you doing?”

“I-”

“They’ve seen too much. Kill them.”

“What?”

“Please-”

“Eomma-”

“Shut up!”

Taehyung shuts his mouth audibly, feeling the light scratch of his mother’s wedding ring against the palm of his hand as he squeezes her fingers.

“They’ve seen your face. And now they’ve seen mine. What, do you think they wouldn’t pinpoint you in a lineup?”

“Please, we won’t tell anyone, we-”

“Do it or I will. And do it now. Our window’s closing. We gotta dip.”

Time seems to slow down in that moment, as the second man disappears back down the slope toward the river. Taehyung chances a frightened glance up at his father in the same second that the man pulls the trigger. His father falls. His mother’s scream sounds distant, like he’s hearing it through water, but it’s cut short by another shot, which sends her body to the ground next to her husband’s. Her hand slides out of Taehyung, lands next to his foot, taps his shoe, which starts to light up in a dissident brilliance of red and blue. He looks up at the man, meets the eye of the barrel with his own. His lip trembles. The man’s hand shakes. Another shot sounds. Something tugs on Taehyung’s ear, something warm and wet trickles down the back of his neck. He falls, dizzy and afraid, the bodies of his parents still warm when they break his fall. Black inches into his vision and takes it over completely until it’s cleared away by the sound of sirens, of car doors slamming, of voices swarming.

“We have a pulse on the boy!”

“Appa-” he sobs weakly as hands carefully pry him away from his parents.

“It’s okay, you’re okay…”

“Eomma-”

Careful hands shine a light in his eyes, carry him onto a stretcher, slot him easily into the back of an ambulance, his shoes lighting up with every jostle. He can’t see through dazed tears when they zip his parents into black bags. They’ve got a mask over his face. Someone’s holding his hand, petting his hair, but it’s not his mother.

They tell him he’s lucky to be alive. The bullet clipped his ear, grazed his head, but will do not permanent physical damage save for the missing notch in his ear and the faint scar that’ll eventually be covered by his hair. He tells the police officers everything he can remember, about the man’s scar, his beard, the shadows at the lake. And yet, somehow, by the end of it, the authorities conclude the case by titling it a botched robbery, in spite of the fact that nothing was stolen, not even the scratched phone Taehyung’s father had slid across the pavement. Taehyung is a boy, a young child too trusting of authority to question the verdict, lets his psychologist convince him that it was, in fact, a robbery in spite of some of his conflicting memories that grow foggier every day. Enough rereads of Batman’s stories convince him that perhaps it had been a robbery after all.

He moves in with his fraternal grandparents, the life insurance money placed in an account that his family vows to maintain for his education. Some of it goes toward funding his attendance at good private schools in the area, some of it toward the medical bills his family can’t afford, but most of it stays tucked away for when he is old enough to know what he wants to do with it. His life stays relatively quiet after that, most of his free time spent after school in robotics clubs or at home mastering coding, encrypting, hacking, skills far more advanced than most young people his age. The social aspects of school are as easy to him as they are for any teenager with an exceptional affinity for numbers, computers, and superheroes (see: not very), but he makes a handful of good friends where he can.

His grandmother passes away shortly before his high school graduation, and his grandfather is moved into a nursing home, where he can receive round-the-clock care. His father’s sister and her husband offer him a place to stay, but he knows they have two young children of their own and refuses to be a burden on his family any longer. With their help, he moves into his own studio apartment just outside of Hongdae, drops a job as a delivery boy for a local hamburger restaurant after three months and wanders around university campuses on his bike instead, offering college students computer repairs for a fee less than their school charges for the same work.

His family suggests he consider university himself, but he assures them he will when he’s ready, though he’s started to think he might not need it at all. But the idea has started to sound more appealing now that he’s started at his new job, one he stumbled upon by accident, after helping a law student retrieve her hard drive after a particularly nasty meltdown. Now he works as an intern himself, acting as the resident IT tech for a local criminal defense law office, though he does more than just clear the office computers of malware and viruses; sometimes a good hack and that one missed tidbit of information is all the lawyers need to win a case.

It may not be as cookie-cutter as his parents might have imagined his future to be, but he likes to think that, if they are looking down on him, they are at least proud of how quickly he’s adapted to taking care of himself.

[ BEHAVIOR... ]

You could see he would never hurt a fly, but the real truth is that he has most likely never looked away from a computer screen long enough to even consider it. If people had paid attention to him in high school, he may have made it onto a yearbook superlatives page for being the ‘Quirkiest’, the ‘Class Clown’, or the ‘Most Likely to Discover a New Planet’. But truthfully, even then, he spent his time with his nose buried in codes and robotics, went virtually unnoticed until he walked the stage for his own graduation and a majority of his class realized they’d never seen this boy in their lives.

His charm is understated, all bright smiles and constant chatter, often about things no one else understands (or, more likely, cares about). He is kind and gracious, will fix a computer or a smartphone for free if someone can’t afford to pay. He is often too friendly too quickly, in a way that may be off-putting for some, and the underlying fear of being alone he harbors translates into his latching on to others before they might be ready for it. And though his IQ is high, his memorization of numbers and facts almost photographic, his social intelligence is less fortified and his attention span is something to be desired, which one can expect from someone who has probably spent more time talking to computers than he has to actual people. He is not entirely naive, as is often expected of him, nor is he particularly imperceptive; he is aware of the negative in the world, though he prefers not to acknowledge it, as if that will somehow sap away its strength and negate its existence.