#But as someone who has been an abused child and managed to navigate out of that awful situation

[blackh0letempest]

To the kids currently going through abuse from their parents, keep pushing forward. You will get out. You will. It feels huge, it's a lot to think about. You will probably make mistakes. But there is not a single living independent adult that hasn't made mistakes in handling their finances, taking care of themselves, etc. The sooner you get out, the sooner you can start to learn who you are when you aren't being abused, and that self is deeply worth knowing. You are worth the effort.

[drvirgus]

Mute!

Non-Idol! Hanni X Mute! Reader

Description: Life as a mute girl in university: How does Y/n navigate her life, especially when she has to work on a project with her crush, one of the popular kids on campus? Can Y/n find a way to express her feelings?

Warnings: Trauma; strong language; kys/kms jokes; insults; bad family 😔 (kind of abuse?)

Chapter: I´m so Dumb.... (Fully- Written)

Masterlist

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Hwang Yeji.

A name to be envied, pitied, and a name everyone knew all too well.

Hwang Yeji. A child who wanted everything.

Every bit of attention? She got it. Every toy? She got it. Everything she ever dreamed of? She got it.

Even at the age of three, when her older brother made a new friend in kindergarten, Yeji felt compelled to steal that friend away. She did everything to make it happen. She repeatedly bought him little gifts, chose him as her partner for games, and whined about it at home.

But once she had that friend, she played with him for a while before eventually discarding him.

That had always been Yeji's way of navigating through life. Over and over, she needed variety, whether or not it involved her brother.

Yeji never thought her heart would be broken.

She was always the one breaking others' hearts, regardless of whether they were male or female.

Yet somehow, someone managed to do it.

Hwang Yeji's heart was broken.

After what was, for Yeji, a long relationship of seven months, Choi Jisu succeeded in breaking Hwang Yeji's heart.

She accomplished what no one else had.

Hwang Yeji was hurt, shattered, and her anger and bitterness ran deep to her core. She wanted nothing more than to project her pain onto someone else.

If others suffered, Yeji would feel better.

And who would make a better target for that than Kim Y/n? A mute, manipulatable little girl? A girl who wanted nothing more than to be seen?

But it didn’t go quite as Yeji hoped.

Sure, she managed to hurt Kim Y/n’s heart... but it wasn’t broken.

Of course... how could you break a heart that was already shattered?

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Yeji wanted to cheer Y/n up, to piece her heart back together only to break it again, stomp on it, and claim Y/n for herself.

Yeji had developed an obsession.

But how could Y/n dare? Why didn’t she want anything to do with Yeji? How did she even allow herself to go out with someone other than Yeji?

But Yeji owned Y/n. She was Yeji’s and Yeji’s alone.

How could she manage to reclaim Y/n?

Rescue her.

Money was never an issue for Yeji. Luckily, Yeji was her father's favorite child. Especially since her brother came out as gay.

It wasn’t particularly difficult to find Y/n’s partner on the trip. Paying him off was even easier.

Yeji reveled in the sight.

Y/n all alone by that tree, with the rain pouring down mercilessly, looking utterly exhausted. Simply helpless.

Yeji’s heart skipped a beat as she held her umbrella over Y/n and looked down at her. Those sad eyes looked up at Yeji.

Yeji didn’t want to feel anything.

She just wanted to break Y/n to forget her own heartbreak.

But... ever since she had known Y/n, she hadn’t thought about Choi Jisu even once. Her head was full of Y/n...

This wasn’t love, she knew that.

Or was it?

Yeji bit the inside of her cheek when she saw how Y/n looked a bit disappointed upon seeing her. Yeji knew exactly who Y/n was hoping for. Y/n was waiting and hoping for Pham Hanni. Pham Hanni was supposed to save her.

Yeji didn’t like that one bit.

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Yeji was slowly going crazy.

She wanted Y/n all to herself. So why didn’t Y/n want her? Yeji had everything anyone could ever dream of.

She was rich, beautiful, muscular, tall, and most of all, she was good in bed. So why didn’t Y/n want her?!

Every time Y/n texted her, a glimmer of hope would light up.

Y/n belonged to Yeji.

But that hadn’t been true for a long time...

Y/n now belonged to Hanni...

Yeji couldn’t accept that. Not now and probably not ever.

Yeji didn’t know exactly what she felt for Y/n. Was it possessiveness? Obsession? Did she just want to ruin Y/n? Or... was it really love?

None of that mattered at the moment.

Y/n had left Hanni to come to Yeji.

Just like she should...

“There you are,” Yeji said with a broad smile as she looked down at the slightly shorter girl. Yeji could feel her heart skip another beat. One hand on the door handle, she opened the door wider for Y/n.

Y/n exhaled and stepped inside. Her face showed a mix of annoyance and concern. Almost immediately, she held up her phone so Yeji could read the words on the screen: “What’s the emergency?”

Yeji had to fight hard not to let a grin form on her lips. Her eyes took on a slightly sadder look. Y/n really wanted nothing to do with Yeji, did she?

And yet...

Why else would she come to her late at night?

Yeji pulled Y/n into her arms. She closed her eyes as she deeply inhaled the scent of the younger girl. “I just wanted to see you. That was the emergency,” Yeji confessed quietly. She could feel Y/n trying to push her away, but Yeji didn’t allow it. She kept Y/n tightly in her arms without looking at her.

“I know exactly what you feel for me, Y/n,” Yeji whispered as her hands slowly slid down Y/n’s back. “I know Hanni doesn’t touch you. Doesn’t satisfy you,” Yeji murmured, her lips close to Y/n’s ear.

An amused snort escaped her nose as she felt Y/n shudder. Unaware that Y/n, for the first time since knowing Yeji, felt a sense of disgust.

Hwang Yeji was just disgusting.

“Remember?” Yeji asked quietly as she finally looked at Y/n’s face. She immediately froze when she saw the slightly disgusted expression on her ex-girlfriend’s face. Yeji’s mouth opened.

She recognized that face.

That’s exactly how Choi Jisu had looked at her....

Yeji felt the bitterness and anger she had kept inside for years erupting. Her eyes narrowed as she watched Y/n slap her hands away and then quickly tap on her phone, “You’re just disgusting.”

Yeji hissed, “Oh, come on. Don’t be so prudish! You belong to me and me alone, understand?! Not Hanni and not anyone else! You’re mine!” Yeji said, visibly angry. Her jaw was tense.

Y/n shook her head. Y/n was disappointed. Disappointed in Yeji but mostly disappointed in herself. Why had she allowed Hwang Yeji to enter her life? Especially after she had already hurt Y/n once before?

Kim Y/n... was just plain stupid.

Yeji hissed as she saw Y/n open the chat with her girlfriend Hanni. A fuse burned through, and suddenly she grabbed Y/n’s phone, holding it out of reach as Y/n, mouth open, tried to retrieve her smartphone.

Yeji laughed mockingly. Her eyes were still narrow and full of rage. “You’re pathetic,” Yeji simply said as she shook her head. Her grip on the phone tightened before she threw it to the floor. Her face was furious. “You’re mine! Only mine! Just mine!”

Stunned, Y/n looked first at her shattered phone and then at Yeji. “No,” Y/n said, making Yeji’s eyes widen.

This was the first time Yeji had ever heard a word from Y/n.

Yeji suddenly smiled broadly and grabbed Y/n’s arms. “Y-You can talk?!” she asked, visibly surprised.

It was almost as if Hwang Yeji... was insane.

“Y-You can talk,” Yeji said again, a bit happier, as she pulled Y/n into her arms and held her tightly. “God... I love you so much.”

But no matter how many times Y/n wanted to hear those words, it was the wrong person speaking them. The smaller girl swallowed and, with a firm and strong push, shoved Yeji away from her. Her eyes were wide as she spoke with her hands.

“You’re crazy.”

Yeji didn’t understand. She didn’t understand what Y/n was signing. She didn’t understand why she was happy that Y/n spoke. She didn’t understand why Y/n didn’t want her.

She just didn’t understand why Y/n was leaving her...

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Kim Y/n was just plain stupid...

Why on earth did she go to Yeji? Why did she ruin the beautiful evening with Hanni? Why did she ever think Yeji could be a good person?

She didn’t know.

Kim Y/n wasn’t someone who cried. She never cried...

She didn’t cry when her grandmother died, she didn’t cry when she got lost in the woods, she didn’t cry when she became mute.

But now she cried...

It felt like all the sorrow and frustration that had built up in her over the years was finally being released. Her tears seemed endless.

She didn’t deserve Hanni...

Y/n didn’t deserve love...

Even when an older woman approached Y/n and spoke to her, her tears wouldn’t stop. She cried. Loudly.

Fortunately, she knew Hanni’s number by heart. It was the only number she knew by heart...

She would lie awake at night, staring at Hanni’s number, hoping that Hanni would text her. Over and over, she stared at Hanni’s number until the digits burned into her brain.

Y/n texted Hanni. Her vision was blurred by her tears, but she managed to write to her girlfriend. The only number Y/n could ever remember...

It didn’t take long for her to see Hanni. Y/n’s tears kept flowing. Her ears rang, and headaches plagued her.

In the car.

At Hanni’s house.

No matter where she was, Y/n kept crying.

Over and over, she gestured with her hands.

“I don’t deserve you. I’m sorry.”

Unaware that Hanni understood everything.

Hanni looked concerned, hurt, but most of all, compassionate. She wasn’t angry. Not a single bit. Her hands gripped Y/n’s waist, “What happened?” Hanni asked softly as she cupped Y/n’s face, wiping the tears away.

It was the first time Hanni had ever seen Y/n cry.

The first time Y/n cried at all.

It didn’t take long for Y/n, now somewhat angry at herself, to explain in sign language what had happened. Hanni remained silent. She just watched Y/n. Hanni’s jaw tightened. Her hands balled into fists as her nostrils flared.

Pham Hanni wasn’t the type to get angry. But right at that moment, she wanted nothing more than to scream in rage. She wanted nothing more than to punch Yeji in the face.

Y/n belonged to no one!

Y/n wasn’t an object that could be owned...

Hanni smiled gently when she saw the tears in Y/n’s eyes. “I love you,” she said, and suddenly Y/n froze. Her eyes widened, and her mouth opened slightly as she looked at her girlfriend.

“I don’t deserve you.”

Hanni smiled as she gently shook her head, “I don’t care.”

Y/n’s brow furrowed, “You... understand me?”

Hanni smiled wider as she nodded, “I understand you, Y/n. I love you,” Hanni said as she took a small step toward the mute girl. A smile on Hanni’s face. Her eyes scanned Y/n’s entire face.

“We should break up.”

Hanni laughed as she took Y/n’s hands in hers to stop her from talking about breaking up. Y/n’s mouth opened as she looked into Hanni’s eyes. Y/n’s eyes still filled with tears.

“I love you, Y/n.”

Y/n’s lip quivered.

Those were the words she wanted to hear. The words she needed.

From the right person: Pham Hanni.

"I love you too, Hanni," Y/n whispered softly as she sniffled.

Hanni smiled as she pulled Y/n into her arms, holding her tightly. This was where Y/n belonged. Not with Yeji, but with Hanni. The woman Y/n loved and the woman who loved Y/n back.

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Taglist: @sixflame438 @saysirhc @itzzyyyyyyydaaaa @somedaydream @wonyoungssi @gtfoiydlyj

[mamabeatnik]

Separation of Church & Fate

This year apparently has been about learning self-validation. 

I started school this year, and turns out - I’m not dumb and i’m really good at time management, unlike what i was telling myself. 

I was diagnosed with Autism and ADHD (combined type) at the very start of the year, and it turns out those are fuckin REAL and so are the issues they bring to my life. I’m not just a lazy asshole, like i was telling myself.

It’s also been about recognizing old patterns and navigating the essential inner growth. 

Why do i feel these things about myself? Why is my self-confidence destroyed this year? I KNOW i’m not bad, or dumb, or manipulative, and that i am always putting effort into growth within relationships and myself. I like to ask questions because i’m genuinely curious and i want to know what people think and i like to solve problems in ways that benefit everyone. 

So where am i getting this negative self feed-back loop? And why was it missing for a few years but suddenly has come back full-strength?

Turns out that the negative thought patterns i allowed to creep in are not actually my sentiments at all. They’re the reflections of very difficult years in harsh environments built up over time, strengthened by the perceived notions of people who have no fucking clue what’s actually going on. My inner awful dialogue wasn’t something i struggled with as a kid, until the church came along. This would be partially a product of simply being a child, but also being an AUTISTIC child. Most children are who they are, they like who they are, and they don’t realize that there’s anything wrong with them until someone doesn’t like them or misunderstands them. Essentially, all children are taught to be self-conscious and learn that they are ‘weird’ or ‘bad’ or ‘dumb” from social peers and triggered adults and the cycle starts there.

This is true tenfold for autistic children. 

Up until the point I was introduced into a society that isn’t built to include me, i had no frame of reference to believe that i was any better or worse than anyone else. I was ME. I liked being me, until i encountered a religious environment that told me i must acknowledge that i’m a bad person in order to participate and get any social ‘perks’ with my club membership (my father also told me i was 'stupid', an 'idiot', and 'dumb' on a daily basis but that's a story for another time).

This seemed arbitrary. Listening to someone preach love and forgiveness every Sunday while also casting hellish aspersions on non-club members, sanctioning domestic abuse and violence, subjugating their female members, and publicly flogging and banishing members who didn’t adhere to the exact script - none of it made sense. It sure seemed everyone was getting away with something, but because they’d stamped God’s name on it, it wasn’t hypocritical. 

My blood would boil, my blood pressure would rise, and I would daydream about stabbing myself in the neck with my pen, listening to these men preach on and on and on. Which didn’t seem constructive or conducive to personal growth. I wanted to get rid of that part of me that spent the mornings in the pew viscerally angry. Because, as i was being told, the problem was ME. 

I started asking genuine questions because i was confused how such GOOD people could be so hypocritical and lack so much self-awareness. Why would these men tell my mom she had to stay with a man who pushed her down stairs and beat her children and why would they say God wants it? Why would they take it upon themselves to discipline grown adults like they were children and treat children like livestock to “train”. Why would there be a spiritual entity that wants any of this? 

These aren’t ground-breaking questions that should shake the very foundations of a sturdy, well-built religious faith that’s predicated on genuine love and forgiveness. If we were truly involved in the spiritual practice this cult claimed we were, there would be inclusiveness. Kindness. 

Support. 

Grey areas. 

Honest and difficult conversations. 

The ability to share your experiences and have them be received with curiosity and understanding. 

There would be space for mistakes, apologies, and proper conflict resolution. 

Turns out, this was too ideal and not the environment in which i found myself. I quickly learned that asking tough questions and trying to have a dialogue relegated me to the status of “questionable” and “dangerous” - even if I took accountability and apologized. I didn’t understand that. 

Years later, i realized i’d already been marked as dangerous by this community when i was 8. And while it sounds too self-victimizing to be true - it was simply because I shared some info and asked a question. 

My father’s anger was ramping up. He had started taking it out on my mom in physical abuse form, and if i stepped in, it was my turn. Being a problem solver, i figured sharing this info with some older girls at the church might yield positive results. Perhaps their dad could say something to mine. What actually happened was difficult to process. 

The girls went to their mother, who went to my mother. I was pulled aside and reprimanded by this other woman for sharing personal family info and instructed never to do it again. She had dragged my mother over with her and lectured both of us on…something - probably encouraging us to get our feminine tongues under control. Years later, this woman’s husband would recommend that my beaten mother skip the divorce she so badly needed on the premise that God likes faithful and submissive wives. But that's another story.

So this is where I learned that my naturally questioning and problem-spotting brain was THE problem. If you see something suspicious, you will get swatted. If you ask questions, you will be banished. If you speak up for yourself, you will be punished. It doesn’t matter how obvious the problem is, how kindly you try to say it - it doesn’t matter if you’re not contributing to the dialogue in a way that sweeps things under the rug and bolsters the bullshit. 

I had assumed this was only an issue within church structure. Once i left, the pattern seemed to resolve itself. A non-religious social hierarchy built on the same non-friction and passive double-standard principles didn’t seem like it should exist. 

Unfortunately, au contraire. 

This year was about learning that people everywhere feel attacked when you suggest something in the social structure is off and try to have a dialogue about it. In a less aggressive sense, this situation mimicked the one from my childhood - misrepresentation, misunderstanding, an entire group of people telling me i was wrong and insecure, and several others clinging to the idea that i tried to control their lives.

(lol - why are they pretending i have that much power)

The difference this time was that i'm now an adult. I have endless experience being treated this way for asking questions.

i also now know that people - esp women - on the spectrum are treated socially poorly bc they're easy targets due to our trusting nature and our communication disability and inability to understand or be passive aggressive. So we are labeled confrontational and aggressive. Dramatic and rude. This time around, I can observe it from a more secure vantage point. i don't have to let it rule my life or destroy my self-confidence. Or convince me that my intentions are bad or my perspective invalid. I can simply remove this dynamic from my life altogether. I can stand up and leave that pew behind.

What surprised me wasn't that i was encountering these accusations of being dangerous again. What surprised me was that it was a social structure of people in their 30s, who should know better. What surprised me was that the church structure i'd worked so hard to leave behind exists alive and well, but on a social level.

Certain social groups it turns out, can  also be built on rules and certain ways of doing things. None of this is the more ‘correct’ way, it’s just become whatever is easy and more acceptable by a majority. There’s even a game element to it - and as long as you play by the rules and don’t upset anyone - even if their behavior has negatively impacted you - you have a club membership! Don’t rock the boat! Please be sensitive to others but the minute you ask them to be sensitive of you, it could end poorly for you and only you! If you have a mental breakdown because of years of hiding an unknown disability, you will be accused of trying to take advantage of someone financially! You're not a partner! You suck! This social construct hates consequences, but we definitely have some for YOU!

This provides a nice set-up for people that lack self-awareness or good intentions - or have yet to sort through their negative patterns of behavior. People who aren’t BAD per se, but also aren’t trying to grow or take accountability. Charismatic people who charm the pants off friends but gaslight and stonewall their partner behind closed doors. People who haven’t learned conflict resolution. People who don’t understand boundaries. People who are blind to the fact that most of society functions around using your friends to get the attention and validation you want rather than learning to get it from yourself. And these don’t make them bad people. No one is perfect, and we all have blind spots and struggles. 

The distinction lies in whether or not they’re willing to accept responsibility and pay attention when someone shares negative feedback or says “hey…i think we have a problem.”  The only bad person is someone who makes a mistake and does not apologize or learn from it, but chooses defensiveness and projection instead (at the end of the day, that will affect THEM negatively the most). No one likes to hear they’re wrong or fucking it up, but it’s a necessary part of being a human if we want to grow and improve. It’s a personal pattern to break. Humans are here to communicate and help each other.

Reliving an experience adjacent to my church upbringing as an adult has been eye-opening.  This year, i realized this is where my personal responsibility to breaking this pattern as an Autistic person comes in. Because of the autism, I will be dealing with this in some form for the rest of my life. The pattern contains many things - my participation, my willingness to trust that most people have good intentions and want to be better and will listen when someone speaks up, my effort to fit in with everyone else, my desire for connection. In certain environments, these expectations will be true. Recreating my experience as a child of witnessing fishy behavior, boundaries being crossed, and trying to step in for someone that was not my responsibility was my fault. I willingly chose to do this. That's my shit to work through.

And while it is not up to me to accept the blame for how people respond or their behavior, my responsibility, in order to avoid putting myself in these witch-hunt situations, is to learn how to recognize in which environments asking questions and solving problems is accepted, and to pursue relationships within those. Because, based on how my brain works and my communication style, no matter how much responsibility I take for my side of the street, other people will find some sort of problem with how I am.

However, I can complain about how i’m being treated for speaking up for myself all i want, but if i truly want growth and a healthy environment, i’ll stop choosing social spaces that label me as insecure and controlling, and i’ll stop choosing people who play the victim and misrepresent me and gossip.

If i am in a place where i cannot open dialogues with people and learn and grow with them, then i must seize the opportunity to trust myself, my intuition, and my emotions. Time to practice the self-validation that i have struggled so much with over the years and learn the warning signs of this particular pattern, so that i don't have to play this game again. i can validate my own experiences. I can seek environments where deconstruction of social norms is encouraged, and where my question-asking brain isn't THE problem.

Because if all it takes is one person challenging the "way it's always been" to topple a social or religious structure and wreak havoc, then what was that foundation built on? Certainly something that was already false and unsustainable to begin with. If the structure of whatever i'm questioning is truly sound, it shouldn't result in defensiveness and fear and gossip. It should add to foundations and be embraced as another unique nail that holds it up.

In a sense, I'm grateful to be confronted with this strange dynamic again. These experiences teach me how NOT to be. I don't want to live my life unable to take responsibility and unable to embrace different points of view. That's where we lose growth and accountability and stay the same. That's how we are adults with a child's conflict resolution skills. That's how we tell ourselves that our point of view is THE one and we harm and ignore the others.

Be respectful. Speak up for yourself. Ask questions. Point out problems. And if people don't like it, that's their problem.

[balkanradfem]

thank you so much for answering questions and being so generous in general with ur followers- i'm new and discovering ur blog (and the radfem community here) has changed my life. i was wondering, do you have any advice for how to handle educating/being a good influence to the young girls in my life? i am the eldest and adult child with three younger sisters ranging in age from 9-14 so right at the age where middle school social pressure is starting to kick in. two of them already have started wanting to wear small amounts of makeup (and unfortunately their mom is letting them and is very big on the whole setting a trad wife example thing lately). i'm anxious about saying/doing the right things to set a positive feminist example for these girls. i encourage them to make lots of other girl friends, try as many sports/activities as they want (even if they seem "boyish") and try to set a no-makeup/no-shaving example but this has only recently been the case so that damage might've already been done :( i am a senior in college so i only get chunks of time with them here and there but i love my sisters dearly and want to help them. any words of wisdom?

I wish I could give a decent advice, but again, I'm not someone who had lots of experience in this so I could share it! I bet there are amazing women following me who know all about it, and I hope they can tell you more.

The only thing I've managed to do with younger girls is point out when they're being treated unfairly, point out that they're not wrong when they're feeling hurt or upset, point out when someone is trampling on their human rights, and these situations happen a lot. I've spent a lot of time talking younger girls about how abusive men and boys are to them, and I believe it made a difference for them to have someone in their corner.

I believe the best you can do is show them by example. They're always want to explore their options and indulge in novelties or whatever they're presented as normal, but they'll also be drawn to what makes them feel the happiest and the most accomplished. If you seem like the happiest, most confident, accomplished and loved, they'll want to know how did you do it, and want to follow your example.

And it's never too late, there are many women who have been thru the worst of the social norms and came out wiser and smarter and more capable of navigating thru the society.

I also think you're already doing great, just being conscious that these girls need more freedom, more encouragement to do whatever they like and to look like themselves, and you're thinking of ways to do this for them, that in itself is a great treasure.

[alexsfictionaddiction]

Review: Where The Light Goes by Sara Barnard

I’ve been reading Sara Barnard books for years and I really admire how she writes so honestly and brutally about the ‘tough’ subjects such as mental health issues, abuse and grief but also about friendship and the realities of navigating them as a teen. So, I was really excited to dive into her latest.

Emmy’s sister Beth was known to the world as Lizzie Beck, frontwoman of girlband The Jinks. But when Beth tragically kills herself, it feels like Emmy is the only one who is angry at the way the world is talking about Lizzie and what happened. To everyone else, she was another troubled, young child star but to Emmy, she was her big sister and her guiding light. How can Emmy possibly carry on in a world without Beth?

Parts of the book are in the form of news articles, text conversations and interviews and I really enjoyed how this affected the flow of the narrative. It felt like I was ingesting the story as it was unravelling and therefore, I was thoroughly pulled into the action. 

Some of the little vignettes that talk about what grief feels like for Emmy were so moving. She can’t fathom how anyone can just continue with their lives when she feels that there is such a monumental void in her own and this sentiment is incredibly relatable to anyone who has lost someone incredibly close to them. Beth’s death is completely life-altering for Emmy and it was heartbreaking to explore.

Similarly, she is surprised that she still looks the same. Of course, there’s no actual reason she’d look any different but Emmy’s life is now divided into a Before and After and she feels like a completely different person now. We do also see how obsessed Emmy was with Beth and how much she envied her lifestyle, despite the reality of that lifestyle really not being very aspirational. She’s very much a typical little sister and Barnard did an amazing job of capturing that essence of Emmy’s character.

It seemed to me that Emmy’s identity was so wrapped up in who she was in relation to Beth that her grief launches an identity crisis. I have to say that I was often very frustrated with Emmy because her comments felt quite self-indulgent at times. I think this is quite realistic for people in mourning -they tend to go into themselves, shut the world out and wallow in their emotions. However, it was very draining to witness as a reader for 300+ pages and as a result, it took me a long time to read!

My biggest problem with the books was that I didn’t like Emmy for long periods of time and that made me feel awful. I felt like I should have been being empathetic and patient with her and at the beginning, I was but she made it really tough to sustain! Of course, there’s no expiration date on grief and I was always aware that that was her driving force behind her coldness, her lashing out and her ridiculous decisions. However, I simply couldn’t forgive her or get my head around how she treated her boyfriend Scottie. Scottie tries his absolute best to be a good boyfriend in this horrendous situation and Emmy even says this several times but I don’t think she realised how rare a 16-year-old male cinnamon roll actually is. I was literally screaming at her in anger at how disgusting her behaviour was towards him. I also hated that he didn’t ever get the resolve or the apology that he deserved. The above quote suggests that Emmy was actually quite bitchy about him before Beth died too, so that justified my visceral dislike of her. 

I mentioned that Sara Barnard is great at writing realistic teen friendships and that’s definitely a feature in this book. I loved how Emmy’s best friends rallied round her when she needed them and left alone when she wanted them to. Again, she was pretty rude to them several times but somehow they managed to keep trying with her. Her friend Gray was the only one who was honest about how horrible she was being and Emmy certainly needed those words to shake her out of the thick fog of grief that she spent the vast majority of the book under. Her friends got her and it was a reminder to me how incredible friends that get you can be.

When the meaning of the title was revealed through a conversation between Emmy and her mum, I was really touched. The idea of Beth’s vibrant light and energy living on in those who loved her is really beautiful and true. We can keep our lost loved ones alive for as long as we remember them and talk about them, which is a wonderful message to end such a deeply sad book on.

Where The Light Goes is a heavy, difficult read, purely because we’re constantly in the head of a teenage girl going through the deepest grief possible. She doesn’t start to recover or get help until quite far into the book, so the first half is very harsh on the mental energy and you will probably put it down very regularly. However, it feels like a very authentic portrayal of that level of grief. I am lucky enough to not have too much experience with it but I can believe that Emmy’s behaviour is realistic in light of her pain. I can’t say that I loved it because I genuinely disliked Emmy in spite of what she was going through and any good feelings I had on opening it were quickly slurped up by the plot. If you love intense explorations of grief and plenty of drama, it’s probably for you.

[tulasihealth]

Finding Mental Wellness in Gurgaon: The Expertise of Tulasi Healthcare Psychiatrists

In today's fast-paced world, mental health has rightfully gained recognition as an essential component of overall well-being. With the increasing prevalence of stress, anxiety, and depression, the need for professional mental health services has never been more significant. For those residing in Gurgaon, finding reliable psychiatric care is paramount. In this pursuit of mental wellness, Tulasi Healthcare emerges as a beacon of hope and healing.

Tulasi Healthcare: A Haven for Mental Wellness

Located in the bustling city of Gurgaon, Tulasi Healthcare stands out as a premier destination for comprehensive psychiatric services. With a team of highly skilled and empathetic professionals, Tulasi Healthcare offers a wide range of mental health solutions tailored to meet the diverse needs of its clients.

Expert Psychiatrists at Your Service

At the heart of Tulasi Healthcare's success are its expert psychiatrists who possess a wealth of experience and expertise in the field of mental health. These dedicated professionals are committed to providing compassionate care and evidence-based treatments to individuals struggling with various mental health issues.

Whether it's managing stress, overcoming depression, or coping with trauma, the psychiatrists at Tulasi Healthcare employ a holistic approach to address the unique needs of each patient. Through a combination of therapy, medication management, and lifestyle modifications, they strive to empower individuals on their journey towards mental wellness.

Comprehensive Services for Every Need

Tulasi Healthcare prides itself on offering a comprehensive range of psychiatric services to cater to individuals across the lifespan. From children and adolescents to adults and seniors, everyone can find the support they need to navigate life's challenges with resilience and strength.

Some of the key services offered by Tulasi Healthcare include:

Psychiatric Evaluation and Diagnosis: Thorough assessments conducted by experienced psychiatrists to understand the underlying causes of mental health issues.

Psychotherapy: Evidence-based therapies such as cognitive-behavioral therapy (CBT), dialectical behavior therapy (DBT), and mindfulness-based approaches to address a variety of concerns.

Medication Management: Personalized medication regimens tailored to alleviate symptoms and promote stability for individuals with psychiatric disorders.

Substance Abuse Treatment: Comprehensive programs designed to support individuals struggling with substance abuse disorders and dual diagnosis.

Child and Adolescent Psychiatry: Specialized care for children and adolescents dealing with behavioral, emotional, and developmental challenges.

Geriatric Psychiatry: Compassionate support for older adults facing mental health issues such as dementia, depression, and anxiety.

A Commitment to Excellence

What sets Tulasi Healthcare apart is its unwavering commitment to excellence in patient care. From the moment an individual walks through the doors, they are greeted with warmth, respect, and confidentiality. The team at Tulasi Healthcare understands the courage it takes to seek help for mental health concerns and strives to create a safe and nurturing environment where healing can flourish.

Moreover, Tulasi Healthcare emphasizes the importance of collaboration and communication, working closely with patients, families, and other healthcare providers to ensure comprehensive and coordinated care.

Conclusion

In the journey towards mental wellness, having access to quality psychiatric care can make all the difference. For those in Gurgaon seeking expert guidance and support, Tulasi Healthcare stands as a beacon of hope. With its team of dedicated psychiatrist in Gurgaon, comprehensive services, and commitment to excellence, Tulasi Healthcare is empowering individuals to embrace life with renewed vitality and resilience. If you or someone you know is in need of psychiatric assistance in Gurgaon, look no further than Tulasi Healthcare. Your path to mental wellness begins here.

[laffy-taffy-creations]

This is for dayyyyy 15!

This was cross-posted on AO3 here

Some Wounds Can't Be Healed

Makeshift Bandages | Suppressed Suffering | "I'm fine"

Fandom: My Hero Academia

Words: 1,253

Warnings: near death, stab wounds, past human experimentation, mentioned kidnapping, child abuse, child trauma, ptsd

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"I don't need you to help me, I can handle things myself."

"OV! You have a stab wound through your godsdamned gut! You are not doing this mission without help!" Kiri shouted at me.

"I'm fine. Leave me alone."

"Absolutely not! I know you're the only one that can hack their servers, but-"

I cut him off with a punch to a wall that left some cracks in the concrete. He flinched back.

"Okay, I get that you're strong and can handle yourself, but you still-"

"Zip it. I do not need your help on this. You can follow me if you feel like it but no interfering, got it?"

He nodded enthusiastically, all too willing to follow me into danger's door. Probably hoping to at least keep me away from death's door.

----《 ¤ 》----

He followed me through the base wincing each time I did at any aggravation to the injury, but ultimately followed my directions and didn't interfere.

I picked the lock to the server room and got us in, immediately sensing a trap. 'There's a trap here somewhere, be on your toes.'

The whole thing was as close to a wet dream as I'd probably get being an ace tech nerd. So many servers and racks of information, all ready for the taking…

Focus. You're here to hack the servers and get the required information, nothing else…

The interface was like something from a movie, several large screens up against one of the walls. I found the keyboard and started up the system, tapping away at a password by-pass and navigating through the files to find the required information.

"You're pretty quick at that…"

"For someone who has a stab through their gut?" I mocked.

I got out my flash drive, the wrong one, and uploaded Donovan into the systems, making sure he was secure enough to continue his own upload via wireless connection before removing it and switching it out for the right drive this time.

I put the desired information on it and turned off the interface.

"I told you, it wouldn't be that big a deal. It's just a simple stab wound. Seriously, we're pros now, you have had years of first hand experience with how indestructible I am."

"That doesn't mean you can be reckless! You still need someone just in case if you have a major injury."

"A stab wound to my gut is not a major injury."

"YES THE FUCK IT IS!"

"Is not."

"Blackout, NOBODY BUT YOU WOULD BE ABLE TO SURVIVE A GASH LIKE THAT WITHOUT IMMEDIATE MEDICAL ATTENTION."

"That's an 'everyone else' problem then."

"Don't you dare say you're 'built different'-"

"I'm just built different from all you hoes. Now c'mon, we need to get going. Just because it doesn't impede me doesn't mean it doesn't fucking hurt."

"I am going to hit you with a book once you're better."

I started walking back the way we came. "I'd like to see you try-"

A knife through my throat cut me off for 2 reasons. 1, it was now blocking my ability to speak, and 2, even if it wasn't it shocked me enough where I would've stopped anyway.

"VEE!"

I knew there was a fucking trap!

I staggered a little bit, but managed to keep my composure.

For the sake of not being questioned I should have at least fake passed out if not fake died temporarily, but instead I decided to take out the knife, angry as fuck and ready to bash in the skull of whoever threw it at me.

"Show yourself you coward!" I shouted as best I could.

I heard my attacker from the other side of the door. "How the fuck-"

"I SAID SHOW YOURSELF BITCH!"

I charged at the doorway where it'd been thrown from.

Part of the wall cracked and crumbled where I ended up hitting it, and the villain that dared to poke the already wounded and angry bear began to recoil. Apparently me surviving a knife to the throat was not in their plan.

I tackled them and locked their wrists in some power-blocking cuffs, before my adrenaline began to leave me and the sheer agony almost made me pass out.

Kiri was right behind me, catching me before I hit anything and dragged me off the incapacitated villain. He fix the bandages on my stomach that got messed up somehow and cut part off, securing it around my neck.

"I'm telling you Vee, shit like this is why you need a back-up."

I groaned as he called in for some help and picked me up, carrying me out of the building.

"Don't you dare hand me off to those bastards."

"Vee, you can make demands once you're not on the brink of passing out."

"I'm fine."

"No, no you're not."

Painful as it was, I resituated myself a bit to punch him in the arm. It was weak, but even my version of weak ended up being relatively strong when I had some control over myself.

"You punching me does nothing."

"Fuuuck, fine, but just don't hand me off to the medics. I don't like dealing with questions."

"The medics are the reason you're still standing."

"Newsflash, the medics aren't the ones that healed me after every dire situation you've seen me in."

He paused. "I'm still handing you over to them."

"No the fuck you're not."

"...I'll bite, if the medics haven't been healing you, who has?"

"Me."

"Vee."

"I'm not fucking joking. Put me down, I'll prove it."

----《 ¤ 》----

I hissed at the feeling of undoing the bandages. The fact I really needed to get rid of them did nothing to soothe the agitation it caused my body.

Kiri waited patiently until I'd fully uncovered the wound. "Okay, now what?"

I took a deep breath in and focused my energy towards the first of the extra quirks that had been forced onto me. A ball of green light formed around my palm and I held it up to the wound.

He watched in awe as it sealed itself up and I sighed in relief.

"How long have you been hiding that from everyone?" He asked in an accusatory tone.

"How long have you known me?" I shot back, undoing the hastily done wrap around my neck. After I healed that I picked up both the bandages to be thrown in the trash.

"Vee… this really doesn't seem like something you should be hiding."

"How so?"

"It just… we're you're friends, knowing you have a healing quirk would be not only beneficial as friends, but also useful, y'know?"

"No, I don't know how sharing extra-personal information is helpful to people."

"What exactly makes it so extra-personal? It's just another quirk, is it not?"

No, because I got it through being experimented on. No, because it was forced upon me. No, because I was kidnapped to have it. No, because it's not the only one I was forced to have. No, because it has major ties to my trauma.

"No," I answered.

"Well then explain it to me. I don't care how messy it is. Just tell me."

What do I tell him? Do I talk about the kidnapping? The child-abuse? The need to grow up way to quickly? The need to fend for myself starting at 9? The way I was treated? Which of the pro-heroes did this?

"I-it… it was…" I started, before I started to cry. He was quick to pull me into a hug.

I never finished that sentence.

[cosmicangel888]

Self Healing ~ Self Seeking ~ Focus Within 

When you go within - nothing outside of you can thwart you

I am here to shake things up and why I supposed I went through what I did - to show humanity how hard, how devoted women have always been, and our potential to write new powerful leadership stories that have nothing to do with being controlled by energies and entities that are nefarious and have never been nor did they ever want to be but a controller of you and your ways;

All must heal their own DF / DM in which eons of entrapment, whether it be entrapment, control with inheritance, wills and monies, the cult like communities that nefarious business mask behind, and when truth is spoken, it can be literal and figurative hell to live through - and only when you speak in your truth, when you live in your highest truth, all others must face and look at what they have created for the benefit of healing within -

Energy is energy and 1 ball of light within a community of darkness cannot be the only part of the equation to heal it - why spirit will guide, will direct, will protect and shield you when you are acting on behalf of your own highest and best -

You owe no one nothing - their choices, and their life is their life and all must face what energy, what choices, what beliefs and what attachments, co-dependency, issues of beliefs and lack, limitation, mother issues, father issues, all must be within themselves to be of the most high for themselves - be the mother, be the father and thus the sacred child, the Christ child is awakened and comes forth

Healing Dysfunction is Walking Away

All must face who they are - and love themselves enough to want to change and heal - no one and no thing can do such, or be such and never fall victim to what a narcist and the wounded may want and deprave you of - guilt or shame, or create blasphemy stories of who they see you are through their wounding to blame and project anger and lack of self for their own lack of control over you - so be ready to help yourself navigate away -

The Play to Pull you in - You are not responsible or have any contracts on any level when abuse in any way comes into play - and spirit will assure and protect you of this - Spiritual contracts outweigh any human contract

Be compassionate to what you have experienced and the pain others mask - compassion is the leader - and as you are so too it will be

the highest and most peaceful change

If it is yours it will be and if it not meant to be god is the director - for God knows -

True pure love - is always honest and transparent - if one acts illusory then give them the space to work out their own inner deceit and issues of lack of self and lack of self direction. never compromise yourself for another - ever and none have power or control to hold you back, warp you, harvest from you or dishonour you -choose self love and self management over all - God has your back - allow all to heal and take the time and inner devotion to do so

spiritual contracts to yourself, the councils, the realms, the dimensions and universes you belong to trump all other earthly contracts - PERIOD

compassion doesn't mean you stay in what is harmful and not of positive loving growth - make whatever boundaries you need to maintain light, life, and safety that is equal and nurturing and fair

Healing is multi-dimensional and all have to commit to their own issues - not dumping, blaming, shaming another to do the hard pulling and balancing - life is an equation - not 1 person can be all parts of the equation - when you go round round round, nothing is resolved, same old stories, excuses, behaviour and no change, no commitment to heal, no inner self love for practice and words are just words - Years of taking, abuse, deceit, manipulation will not change over night - all are responsible for their life and their life will show you how much peace or chaos is present - tune in and trust yourself and know you get to say NO

No is a complete sentence - if someone truly does love you and respect you - then no will be no and they will understand it was not meant to be and go work on a new version of life and who they are - universal understanding is KEY - for if you are not a vibrational match conscious levels are so vast - you can be peaceful but you do not have to dance with each other - you do not have to be with anyone to be successful - no can mean no and peacefully be fair at a distance and carry on for all to learn to level up in their own way and time

Have others show you who they are and trust that - you do not need to waste time, energy, money, light, resources, self respect to wait on someone to be done with partying, self harming, and open style living in secret to bring back balance to all others living in truth - all must bring equal truth and work to make any endeavour work -

Above all - TRUST YOURSELF & SPIRIT - deeply challenging even harmful relationships offer the best lessons to know thyself, trust thyself, and be of thyself above all - this is sovereignty and sometimes to cut your losses and get on with a new life is hard to do but often the most powerful and how mastery is earned

Understand and see through the ploy's of what may come when you say no and be 'ok' things just don't and are not meant to work out - you don't have to fix what is not meant to be and why the guilt of contracts, or old promises made in old energy or vows that were broken first by the ones that blame you - want to run back and offer new re-marriage, or being better, or giving you shiny toys as a ploy to bring your energy back to play with and control it

You can always send light and peace, and compassion from a distance - you do not have to engage or entangle with ignorance and disrespect

if someone does respect themselves, or care about their own health, wellness balance, or peace, they will not care about yours - tune in to what you know, see, sense - spirit will show

As they deny their remote viewing, trickery, or dream messing with magic or moon play with spell work, or withholding of information and working behind the scenes to hold you back mentally or with energy to world with others - When others want bad and less than for you When others think they know you, when those ache to control every part of you and your life - the damages of narcism & why all is HEALABLE Heal thy wounds so they do not become another's

you are worthy of basic human rights; to be treated with respect, honour and value and our children must learn this at the earliest of ages so they are not sought for their light, their uniqueness by those entities that work in cult like fashion to disengage their hearts and souls of compassion and light - unfortunately there are those that seek and work with intention to target the vulnerable and why not being vibrationally vulnerable and learning the ways of all energy is key - to not judge it but know it exists as a part of God and creation - all allows you to master who you are

to allow humanity higher vibrational laws that align with the Laws of One - non-interference and Free will - respect and sacredness for all life - all shapes, sizes, sexes and affiliations - all is equal and fair and just and beautiful -

Women deserve not to be controlled, and children deserve safe and loving homes to not have black magic energy spiralling in their lives of ill intent and selfish arrogant gains of the misguided and unhealed - all is healable - crime is unnecessary and why the truth will trigger that which is ready to deal with and suss out what limitations and beliefs hold this is 'ok'

All children deserve full bellies and safe home in which they are not used, or abused but loved and adored as sacred - because they are & we are

How is degrading of any body, vessel of divine love light ok? how is the beating, or sacrificing anything that is sacred ok? how is the devaluing of our intelligence to hand over our power, choice, voice, or energy or light to those that simply harm, hate, and disrupt and bring corruption - discern and stand and be of good will and light and for you and if you are the only one standing - so be it

All is able to level up and do the inner work - the Universe is infinitely abundant and all have the power within to create great goddess and god healthy bodies and vessels of light-

Superficial living is a thing of the past - we are here to return within and richly live as spirit - one is the all and the all is the one

I am here to shake shit up - it is my power to be fully and purely me - and I loved myself - I empower all to reclaim your gentle and soft and unique voice - challenge conformity and arise within new self love and self devotion of creative expression - this is living as spirit © 

Blessings and light

Joanna

You never have to take from another when you are making your own life magnificent - crime never has to be - if you merely understand self love and universal laws; all is energy

BE empowered to move in your own way and in your own time

ManiFEST change - inner = outer - invention intention allowance action the spiritual spiral of Creation - all gotta do the work inner = outer - one

Never surrender your life to anyone - you make it! YoU CREATE IT!

Love and light are all - you have a right to your voice and you have a right to what you have earned - take accountability and see your own mastery - all is God all is One judge none and separate none

Human evolution, re-writing all aspects of our co-creative experiences through love, light, harmony of all that is sacred, always been sacred; World Ascension Healing Classes, Intuitive Sessions, Healing Sessions, Ascension Books, Healing Systems, 5D human-socio-altruistic re-write ~

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#ascension

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#inspirechange

#inspirelove

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TURN THE NEGATIVE INTO POSITIVE

#oneness

#GOD

Work together for positive change and uplifting new human potentials - ALL IS POSSIBLE

Stay and remain knowing and patient - God never misses, Spirit never forgets, all is and will be repaid ten-fold - trust in God, trust in thyself and know thyself and know the blessings of love and light

[snifflesthemouse]

Harry’s the Problem. His wife is the symptom. He is the real Diana 2.0 Wannabe...

         Since the Oprah interview aired, my whole perspective regarding the spare and his spouse has shifted. It would seem that I’m not alone in my thought process as more and more media outlets start reporting similar stances. Just recently, there was an article suggesting Harry didn’t change; but rather, he is only finally revealing his true self. The more I think about it all, the more I’ve come to the realization #6 is the real culprit behind everything.

         I’m not saying that his wife doesn’t have her own agenda or shares responsibility for her part in all this. Her hands are far from clean. What I am saying is it’s finally time for all of us to consider the cold, hard truth. Harry is his mother’s child. Harry is the bad egg, and his wife is only a side effect of the real problem here.

         Had it not been for the Oprah interview, I would have never put it all together. The problem with oversharing is too much information gets put out in the public. Most assume PR firms would worry about oversaturation in the press, but the real problem comes from personal interviews they cannot control in real-time. Puff pieces can be edited before publishing so facts and statements align; live interviews cannot. Over time, one of two patterns form from this oversaturation. Consistencies, repetitions, and similarities can be found in oversaturated truth-telling. Inconsistencies, changes, and huge differences result from those like Harry who prefer their trousers scorching hot from bursting into flames from deception. When you consistently lie, the only constant is the inconsistencies. 

         Now, those of us who have been following these two already know by now inconsistencies and changing stories should be expected. But the Oprah interview really highlighted some interesting things I had previously missed. The interview with Dax Shephard only solidifies my theories. Up until lately, those two have been together through most everything. Very seldom have we seen Harry alone in an interview or speech. There’s never a time where the missus isn’t popping up. James Corden proved that. Then we have the Oprah interview where she was supposed to be the star of the show. But, that was the moment it all changed. That interview was the moment she became the understudy. 

          Think about it. Who is the one being used in the media lately? Most people would suggest that the impending delivery of child number dos is why the missus is absent. One would then argue the Apple + special with Oprah started production well before the second child was a topic for discussion. The missus is being used less and less on camera or in the media. Everything is all about Harry. Forget about when Harry met Sally; Harry Met Hollywood! 

         Harry is the one doing the interviews, dropping projects, and talking with big Hollywood names. Even their announced Netflix projects are focused on one of Harry’s pre-married concepts. All the wife has going for her is a book that’s only number one in the “Books written by ex-Royals who couldn’t hack it” category. Seriously though, as of this posting the Bench is #2130 on the Amazon Books list, #12 in Children’s Black and African American Story Books, #73 in Children’s Emotions Books, and #167 in Children’s Family Life Books. Being pregnant isn’t a disqualifier for being interviewed. But, apparently being just the wife is.

         So, if it was his wife’s plan from the beginning to marry Harry, get him to abandon his family, move to California, and become a big star with a Prince for a husband, her plans have been ruined. And if you think about what she said in the interview with Oprah, you can actually see the moments she told us all exactly that. She clearly tells Oprah Harry was her direct link and source to the Royal Family and everything she needed to know. She didn’t misspeak or misunderstand a thing; she was telling us that Harry’s next to be markled. In every weird answer or revelation where she gave her versions for why their child(ren) were without title, saying they wed three days before the chapel, or having to cry out to HR since Harry failed to help her while she was so depressed she wanted to kill herself and her unborn child... all of it. It was all just the beginning. It may seem like she is attacking her husband’s family, but Harry’s the real target now.

          In just a couple sentences, she managed to reveal who Harry really was. Harry, of all people, should (and does) know how to navigate the press. Clearly, he failed to not only help her acclimate to Royal life, but it could also even be argued he set her up for failure for the get go. Let me give you an example. When my husband introduced me to his family for the first time, he told me little tidbits of information he found important for me to know. He essentially prepped me for the meeting so things went well. He wanted his family to like me because he loved me. I wanted them to like me because I loved him, too. So, I took to heart everything he told me. Yet, Harry’s wife shared with the world how little Harry cared about that. She credits Fergie with teaching her to curtsey, google for teaching her the National Anthem, and even said Her Majesty made her feel especially welcomed. So how did Harry not do more? If they started seeing one another in the early Summer of 2016, how is it Harry failed to teach or explain anything to her prior to meeting his grandmother, the Queen, when he had months and months of time to do so? How is it he failed his wife so miserably, she didn’t even understand basic UK custom, laws, or protocols? Why might you ask?

         Simply put, Harry is so much like his mother, all he knows is how to play the victim narrative while using the link to the Royal family as a nonstop ATM machine. Many people aren’t honest with themselves when it comes to Diana. She wasn’t the Mother Theresa everyone makes her out to be. Mother Theresa wasn’t a Mother Theresa either, though. Did Diana do some great things? Absolutely. Did she do them only because they were nice or great? Absolutely… not. Diana’s PR team would even have her switch up her charity causes whenever they felt it was getting to martyrdom level. They’d refer to her PR stunts as flavors. Does that sound like an innocent woman?

         Not to me. This whole time we all have seen his wife as the root of all issues, but she’s the side effect. It’s becoming more clear by the day that Harry searched out her. He wanted someone with the basic Hollywood connections that he could capitalize. Someone that seemed so controlling and ambitious it would be easy to believe they were controlling him, too. Of course he knew she would invite all the celebs she did. He probably inspired that guest list. Instead of guiding her in the press and in British society, he leads her to slaughter. He hides behind her repeated gaffes and wokeness to keep on his own mission.

         You see, Harry is obsessed with his brother eventually becoming king, being the “Second Son of Diana” and being the misfit. He is obsessed with his brother and father. They are all he talks about. When you obsess on something like that, it is more revealing than anything you say. Harry’s true motives aren’t protecting his wife and children. His real motive is making a name for himself like his mother did. If he can manage to get some revenge by making the Firm feel some backlash, hey that’s a bonus. 

         While his wife may think in her mind she will be the next Diana 2.0, the truth is we all missed who really will be. Harry is the one wanting to be Diana 2.0. If that’s the case, then that means the much older spouse for whom there are two children with, aka the wife, would be his Charles. Remember, Diana lost her HRH and titles. And we have Harry being very aggressive and pushy, to the point it seems he is trying to get ahead of a Palace announcement of them losing their titles. But it makes sense now.

         They aren’t trying to lose anything, but instead Harry keeps opening his mouth to create pressure in the media. He knows his wife does not want to give those titles back. But if he himself keeps saying outrageous things, then it would put everyone in ultimatum mode. Either Harry will push hard enough that Parliament and the Queen will have enough, or the press will get so critical of the two, Harry will push his wife to agree to returning the titles.

         Harry is following the Diana business model. While in the Royal Family, they both were seen as rock stars who had more star power the the Sovereign, which was an issue. Then, they couldn’t take all the abuse, coldness, and inhumanity, so they bolted for freedom. Instead of putting the past behind them, they use the past to monetize grief and trauma in such a way, they become their own brand. Right now, the trauma being monetized comes from the past, but the problem will soon come when that trauma is tapped out. He will need a source of new pain or victimhood. Enters the wife stage left.

          The wife is a tool. She of course has her own plans and thinks she is the one in control or the genius. She thinks she is the one everyone wants to work with. But it’s becoming clear to her that isn’t the case and she’s been played by her elite buddies. They all want him, not her. They all duped her for him. If I can see it, and I can see her already finger pointing that Harry is the failure here, then she can see it. And that means paradise will soon be lost in those Montecito hills. His wife won’t go down without a serious fight here. I wouldn’t even be surprised if she eventually causes him to lose his special visa. 

         Overall, Harry hides behind his wife like a beard or shield protecting him from the press’s glaring lens. He lets her do and say whatever she thinks is great so he can keep plotting his own plans. He allows her to take the fall, look stupid, pull stunts people can see through, etc. for a reason. He isn’t completely sure he can make it in his new California life. He knows he can’t if he keeps her for too long, but he also knows he needs an exit strategy in case it blows up. So, he pins the press to attack her as the true culprit. If they split and he has to, he can return home and play the victim of her. If they split and he is doing okay in Hollywood, she can be the reason he plays victim to big named people like Oprah and Gayle. 

         I can see it now. An Oprah Special with Harry tonight on Apple +. Something cheesy or corny that is almost plagiarism. Like Narcissus and the Prince or something. Watch. Mark my words. Oprah talking to Harry about surviving the marriage while trying to rescue two small kids, being in the spotlight as a Royal while being gaslit by a narcissistic wife… yes I can see the green screen set up now.

         I know this is difficult to digest, but I do ask you to try. While his wife is not innocent, she clearly is guilty for her own part indeed, his wife isn’t the true problem. The true problem here is a man who has a serious issue with living in the shadow of his future-King father and future-King brother, and his future-King nephew, that he has chosen to use the same exact attack model his own mother used to merch and marginally disrupt the institution that made her a star. Harry and his mother both wanted the entire spotlight, but both knew they could never have it the way they wanted it. So, they wrote their own victimhood narrative.

         And here we are now. Mark my words. Harry will keep pushing until those remaining titles are removed by them forcing the hands of Parliament and the Queen. Or, they’ll push and push in the press so much the outrage and hypocrisy will leave them no other option but to renounce and re-gift those titles and rights to the line of succession. That is what he wants, even if his missus doesn’t. Also make no mistake about it. Harry is the real Diana 2.0 wannabe, not his wife. Keep an eye out. I have this gnawing feeling that soon enough, there will be plenty leaks from the wife about the husband. She won’t go quietly into the Beverly Hills… but neither will he.

[tiesthatbind-tf]

I accidentally deleted 2000 words of story for poor Soundwave last night and had to rewrite everything but tbh, they’re absolutely worthit.  Their armor definitely makes me want to experiment with Celtic motifs for Hot Rod!

Full story below.

Suraya Widodo was born to parents Wijaya and Ni Made Saraswati on the island of Madura, Indonesia. They noticed that something didn’t quite seem right with their baby, who was fussier than most, threw fits when brought into crowded spaces and seemed mostly lost in their own thoughts, though this did little to dampen their love.

The name ‘Widodo’ (healthy) was given to Suraya (despite the masculine nature of it, which does lend to Suraya’s nonchalance about their gender in later years) in hopes that they would grow up alright despite their quirks.

Wijaya, a fisherman who wanted to give his family a better life in the more industrialized town of Bangkalan west of the island, pushed himself hard at his work, hoping to earn enough to allow them to settle down there comfortably.

He began to risk venturing out into ocean areas which were occasionally used as smuggling routes where more lucrative catches laid, careful to fish there during specific times to the day to avoid crossing paths with pirates and smugglers.

However, his luck ran out one day when a smuggling vessel came across him in broad daylight and silenced him from alerting the coast guards to their existence with five shots.

Suraya was five.

Saraswati, desperate to find a way to care for her child as the new breadwinner thought she had gotten lucky when a job scouter for a factory in Bangkalan came to the village. They were looking to offer work to single mothers as part of their corporate responsibility programme and extended the offer of employment to her and promised a hostel and training so she wasn’t out of her depth in the assembly line.

Seeing it as the best option, she left Suraya with her husband’s family while she worked and lived in a worker’s hostel on weekdays and returned to see Suraya every weekend.

She would give money to the family to care for Suraya in her absence, which was crucial since they weren’t fond of Saraswati (they had not agreed to Wijaya’s marriage) and found Suraya’s odd behavior off-putting and claims of ‘hearing voices’ potentially a sign of mental illness (which was fodder for them to demand even more money from Saraswati with the excuse that Suraya was a handful).

This routine continued until Saraswati was suddenly killed in a factory accident.

Suraya was nine.

The compensation for Saraswati’s death was enough for the family for only a few months and after it dried up, the neglect and abuse began. Though at times it was odd because Suraya seemed to know when they were in a bad mood and when they were looking for an outlet for their anger, and  the child would somehow almost always magically disappear during those times.

Then an agent claiming to be from the government came to see them.

He claimed he had heard about Suraya via their mother and wanted to inspect the child to see if they would qualify for a place in a ‘special school’ for ‘different’ children, and this had sounded tame enough to the family, who allowed him to see the shy, withdrawn little waif.

However Suraya immediately could tell what his true intentions were—-to have them locked up in a testing facility to figure out their ‘mutation’—-and attempted to run, only to be caught by his fellow officers outside the home.

The family was paid compensation for officially relinquishing Suraya’s care to the state, and did so without question, only relieved to be rid of their ‘burden’.

Suraya was taken to facility after facility in the state for the first few years to have a battery of tests, many painful, run on them to figure out their ‘special ability’ as an Outlier and to see if it could be replicated.

When they were in their early teens, they were transported overseas to a different facility as a bargaining chip for intel, tech and the like, coming into the ‘care’ of people who intended to use them as a government asset.

They never saw daylight except during transportation and they began to plan their escape as they studied the facility’s layout.

Their first attempt at escape didn’t go well however; they were caught, dragged back and had their eyes burned and blinded as punishment (at this point they had shown their handlers that their highly-enhanced hearing made them capable of navigating the world in total darkness, so said handlers didn’t not see this as ‘damaging the goods’).

If the handlers thought that the punishment would deter them however, it didn’t; Suraya just became more careful and subtle with the planning of their next attempt.

The second attempt came during a transport session where there were less guards and less access to tech to subdue them, though it came with a problem they did not plan for.

In their first attempt, they had tried escaping into the countryside. In this one, they hurled themselves out completely unprepared into a world louder than any world they had ever known; downtown London on a weekend.

The cacophony completely overwhelmed their senses and they barely managed to crawl-stumble into an alley as bounty hunters were enlisted to track them down.

It was here that they ran into one Ramiro Vasquez (Ravage) who was immediately concerned about their situation and once figuring out the nature of their distress, gave them his headphones to drown out the noise and kept them safe and hidden until the bounty hunters had left.

He then took Suraya back to the rented apartment he shared with Lara Soelberg (Laserbeak) and both agreed to let the waif stay with them for as long as they needed to be alright, and the three formed a little familial unit as Suraya grew deeply fond of the two Beast Men whom they saw as two of the most compassionate people in a horrible world.

Ramiro however understood that Suraya needed tutelage to properly harness and deal with their Outlier ability; having heard whispers of a secret Outlier school run Senator Sharifuddin Waseem (Shockwave) and knowing Sharifuddin as one of the few good men in the Senate, he decided to take the risk and confronted the Senator about the matter, promising to keep the secret a secret in return for helping out Suraya.

As it turned out the threats were not necessary, as Sharifuddin was genuinely  concerned for them and came to see them personally at the apartment. Initially,  Suraya was apprehensive about meeting someone else about their abilities, remembering full well how the first such meeting ended, but to their pleasant surprise, they detected no malice in Sharifuddin’s intentions; only the desire to help.

They agreed to enroll in Sharifuddin’s Outlier institute, coming back home to see Ramiro and Lara every weekend.

They excelled in their classes and soon mastered their ability and knew how to deal with the overstimulation that came from it, to the point where they could walk the streets with no problem.

In the wake of murders of Senators Nikomedes Momus and Gayathri Sharma, Suraya offered to become a spy for Sharifuddin, who was determined to solve the deaths, and Sharifuddin began bringing them to Senate meetings under the guise of them being his new aide.

They caught the eye of Senator Radbourne (RatBat) who seemed to pick up the fact that they were an Outlier, but rather than bring up the matter, requested that they work with him as well on.... matters regarding his constituents with disabilities.

Sharifuddin has his reservations about Radbourne and Suraya knew they were up to no good and both agreed to the arrangement so Suraya could dig up more information about them.

As it turned out, Radbourne was dirty as dirty as politicians came, but he had nothing to do with the murders. Rather, he was mostly preoccupied with an individual named Morgan Trayton (Megatron), the same individual whom Omar Parvez (Orion Pax)  a friend of Sharifuddin’s, had mentioned as a great writer.

Radbourne asked Suraya to track down Morgan with an offer the man hopefully wouldn’t refuse and Suraya, intrigued about this man with what they’d heard about him from Omar, agreed to do so.

They found Morgan in a vast underground fighting ring in Moscow, and after voicing some skepticism about him walking his written talk, he allowed them to peek into his mind to see how genuine and committed he was to his cause, and it took them aback for a bit to meet someone who despite being mired in tragedy, had Sharifuddin’s desire to make a better world and the iron will to back it up.

They pledged themself to be among the first members of Morgan’s rising revolution (which was aided by Omar spreading his writings through an underground press) and told them about Radbourne’s offer to supply weapons and augmentations to increase profits from the pitfighting racket.

Morgan agreed if only to use these exact items against the Senate once he’d acquired an army.

It was during this time with Morgan that they also met Ramsey (Rumble) and Friedel (Frenzy), a pair of dwarf miners who the man had been friends with for years, and almost immediately got along with their boisterous, gregarious natures. 

They continued to be Radbourne’s liaison with Megatron until the start of the Clampdown when they watched Morgan kill the owner of the Pit, free those who wanted their freedom and take those who were loyal to him to meet with Sharifuddin to formally establish a rebellion.

It was about this time that Suraya found out that Radbourne had been conducting illegal experiments on Beast Men, something they took grave offense to, and they kept mining Radbourne for more information about where the experiments were taking place.

Upon finding out, they personally hunted down Radbourne as Stefan Scavarro (Starscream) initiated the Senate massacre to Radbourne’s labs, where he tried to fight them off only to finally find out the true extent of their abilities.

Badly-injured, his attempt at stopping them from freeing the captive Beast Men—-his “property” as he would yell at them—-ended up with him hurled into a genetic splicing pod (commissioned from a ‘Mesothulas’) which he accidentally activated.

The process twisted him into a Rat-Bat-human hybrid, and rather than kill him, Suraya decided to leave the option to the Beast Men he tortured for profit in what they saw as poetic justice.

After those who wanted vengeance were done with Radbourne, Suraya gave the  Beast Men the option of leaving free or coming with them to be a part of Morgan’s revolution which would ensure that they were never mistreated and ostracized by the larger world again.

Two of the Beast Men took up the offer; Bastien Saville (Buzzsaw) and Gan Go-eun (Glit).

When Morgan, confident in Suraya’s abilities asked them  to establish their own division focussed on spying and intel gathering, Suraya chose Ramiro, Lara, Ramsey, Friedel and Bastien to work alongside them.

While Suraya occasionally questions Morgan’s actions, two things they have never questioned are his dedication to his cause and the compassion he shows to those they care for, and it’s enough for them to consider themself a true Decepticon till the day his objectives are achieved.

[yumeyooa]

bippity-boppity bloom: act one | todoroki shoto

—everyone knows the story of cinderella, saved by a prince and a glass slipper. but what if the true hero wasn’t the prince, but rather the fairy god mother? todoroki shoto has been suffering under the hands of his wicked family his whole life, yet everything changes when he meets you: a fairy forced to take care of him as punishment. will the odds be in your favor? or will everything go down from here on out?

➢  pairing: todoroki shoto x female! reader

➢ genre: fluff | angst | fairy tale au | supernatural au | strangers to lovers au | cinderella au | cinderella! todoroki | fairy god mother! reader | rated 17 | sfw

➢ word count: 15.2k+

➢  warning: she/her pronouns for reader | beatings | domestic abuse | insults | bruises | injuries | bullying | mentions of blood and broken bones | mentions of murder and death | the todoroki family is really evil | i also changed up the birth order for the family | please please don’t read if these bother you; it gets really dark :(

➢ love letter: henlo!! i am late but this is for @milktyama​ ‘s once upon an alternative universe collab!! originally this was supposed to be a one-shot, but i eventually realized that it would be better if this was split into two! although most of the romance comes in the second part T_T i hope you like it and let me know what you think!! 

➢ taglist (send an ask to be tagged): @loveinhaikyuu​ @mirakeul​ @strcwberrieswine​ @kunaigirlx44​ @maxzinn @faewraithsworld​ 

navigation | anime masterlist | act two

Magic was a curious thing. 

Since the dawn of time, people have used magic to describe the unknown, to give meaning to the things they could not explain. That quarter you lost suddenly showing up at your feet? Magic. An electric jolt shooting through your veins after coming into contact with another? Magic. Flowers blooming amidst the cold winter? Magic. 

No matter where you went or what you did, magic was everywhere. It hid itself from the world, waiting in silence for those who would come to know the beauty of it. Those who would cherish it with all their heart and soul and would never abuse it for their own selfish gain. 

To the rest of the world, magic was something they could only wish to find.

But the true secret of magic remained hidden in the arms of those who could wield it. 

“Don’t tell me you’re pranking someone again?” An exasperated sigh calls from behind you, and you turn around, startled to find a young man with deep violet hair haphazardly framing his face. He was staring at you with an unimpressed look as if he had gone through this exact situation plenty of times in the past, and from the way you sheepishly smile back at him, he probably had. 

“Me? Pranking Someone? Why I would never!” You exclaim, faking innocence as the man gives you a knowing look, causing a groan to fall from your lips as you heave a sigh, throwing a playful glare back his way. 

“Oh, come on, Hitoshi!” You whine, rolling your eyes in fake annoyance. “What harm can one prank do? It’s not even that bad!”

“Must I remind you what happened that one time you decided to prank Elder Aizawa?” You freeze in your place, looking at him like a deer caught in the headlights. “He nearly convinced the council of elders to have you banished to the human realm! Do you not understand how grave that could have been?”

You remain silent, sulking. As much as you hated to admit it, your best friend had a point. To fairies, being banished was like a death sentence. Without any support from the all-powerful tree of life, a fairy would wither away and die just like that. It was scary to even think about it, and you were lucky that Hitoshi had somehow managed to save you from that terrible predicament. 

From the very beginning, you had always been considered a peculiarity amongst the other fairies. Whereas they were graceful and elegant, you were clumsy and awkward. Where they excelled in soft chatter and gentle smiles, you reveled in chaos and the undignified. 

You were an outcast amongst the fairies, but you honestly couldn’t blame them. 

Fairies were the keepers of magic, after all. They were expected to uphold a particular image befitting of being wielders of the most sacred entity provided by the tree of life. Fairies were supposed to be noble and delicate. They were supposed to hold their heads up high as protectors of the supernatural. That very image, however, didn’t suit you at all. 

You never understood it. Why did they take pride in being so uptight? It was boring. There was no freedom in upholding the elegance of their kind through every single thing they did. They seemed so bare as if being a fairy sucked all the life out of them. Which was ironic, considering they were supposed to be protectors of the tree of life. 

“—(Y/N)? Are you even listening to me? Hello?” You snap out of your trance, looking at your friend who was staring at you with a nonchalant look on his face. Hitoshi has always been a rather unique character, even to you. He didn’t explicitly fit into the stereotypical image of a fairy, yet he was never ostracized for it. It was as if he was an exception— an anomaly from the harsh judgment of the fairy realm. 

“I’m sorry, what was that?” You ask, trying to come off as if you were paying attention when in all actuality, you weren’t. Hitoshi sighs, rolling his eyes playfully as he ruffles your head, messing up your hair in the process, causing a grunt of protest to fall from your lips. He sits beside you on the ledge you were perched atop on, staring down at the crowd of fairies below. 

The two of you were apprentices to the council of elders, helping them ensure that there was order amongst the fairies. Order was essential for the protectors of the tree of life because, without it, chaos would ensue, and the world, no, the entire universe, would fall apart. The council of elders was the supreme government of the fairy world, and to be an apprentice to even one of them, was a great honor and responsibility. 

You just hated all the expectations that came with it. 

“What kind of prank were you supposed to play this time?” Hitoshi asks, humming as he stares up at the sky above you. You stare at the wand in your hand, puffing your cheeks in disappointment at the realization that you wouldn’t be able to pull the prank off anymore. 

“Nothing much,” you mutter. “Just wanted to test out some new spells I learned the other day, and I figured why not test it out on some… unsuspecting figures.”

“(Y/N),” Hitoshi says, voice stern as if he were a mother reprimanding his child. You huff, pout forming on your lips. “You know that if any of the other elders were to find out, they’d have your apprenticeship stripped away. What would you do then?”

You stay silent, the truth in Hitoshi’s words stinging painfully, more than it should. He was right. Shunned away from your family since your coming of age, the council of elders was the only one who had accepted you, albeit reluctantly. No fairy wanted to be associated with an outcast after all. It would only tarnish that pure image they had crafted into perfection, and as prideful beings, they couldn’t have that. 

If it wasn’t for Elder Yagi, the most influential fairy in the realm, then you would have been left for dead. Elder Yagi was the definition of the perfect fairy. He wasn’t just delicate and graceful on the surface; he was kind and compassionate within. Although many disagreed with his views on accepting those who didn’t fit into society’s expectations, they could never truly go against him. Because that would be like going against the very essence of fairies, after all. 

So they kept their malice and disdain a secret, waiting for the perfect moment to strike, and if you weren’t careful, then their next victim would be you. 

“The elders are calling for you,” Hitoshi says out of the blue, causing your blood to run cold. You stare at him with a shocked expression on your face, and you couldn’t deny the fear that was beginning to bubble within. “Elder Aizawa sent me to look for you. Said they requested your presence immediately.”

There’s a solemn look on Hitoshi’s face, and you can tell beyond the surface that he’s worried. Being called upon by the council of elders meant only one of two things to a fairy: it was either they were to be punished, or they were to be rewarded. And you had done nothing of the sort to deserve a just reward. 

You chuckle, looking down at your lap, not knowing what to say. You didn’t understand why what you did was so wrong. Why were they trying to punish you when all you wanted was to bring life into this otherwise dull place? No matter how hard they tried to hide it, some fairy children enjoyed your pranks, and the thought of bringing smiles to their faces was what kept you going. 

You just didn’t expect to get severely punished for it, though. 

“Thanks for telling me, Hitoshi,” you say, standing up, a fake smile plastered on your face in an attempt to seem as if his recent news didn’t bother you as much as it did. “Guess I better get going then, wouldn’t want Elder Aizawa to scold me for being late again.”

Hitoshi remains silent, staring up at you with an unreadable expression before letting out a sigh, standing up and ruffling your hair once more. “Stop putting up a brave face, idiot. It doesn’t suit you.” You want to protest but can’t find the courage to do so, remaining silent as the smile falls from your face. “Come on, I’ll accompany you there.”

Shocked, you look up at him, features clearly showing your surprise. “What?” He asks, scoffing. “You really think I wouldn’t accompany you to your death? You know that I’d kill to see it happen in front of my very eyes.”

You know he’s joking, trying to lighten up the mood because the nerves running through you are too much to handle. But even so, you’re grateful for it. Despite not being outright honest about it, Hitoshi still cared. He had cared for you ever since you called out one of the other fairies for calling him a disgrace the moment you first met. He had stuck with you through thick and thin and had been the only fairy to believe in you, aside from Elder Yagi. 

And you couldn’t be any more grateful for it. 

“Weirdo,” you call, a genuine smile forming on your lips, Hitoshi reflecting his own, albeit his was a lot less noticeable. You take a deep breath, trying to calm down the nerves that were thrumming deep beneath your skin, and nod to Hitoshi, the two of you teleporting just outside the auditorium of the council of elders. 

You had always hated the auditorium. It was a dark and scary place, dimly lit, with all of the elders present atop a high porch, staring down at you like you were some inferior being to them. Whenever you were in the dark room, assisting the elders in their work, you always felt the paranoia creep up against you, begging you to just run and leave the room, even when there was no immediate danger present. 

That was the effect the council of elders had always possessed since the beginning— intimidation. And you hated them for it. 

You take a deep breath, trying to calm the raging waves of nervousness that were thrashing wildly deep inside you. You’re shaking. You can see it in the way your hands shiver as you reach out to place a knock on the wooden doors, hesitating. 

“You’ll be fine,” Hitoshi whispers, a reassuring hand on your shoulder. “No matter what happens, I’ll be here, yeah?” 

It’s comforting. Hitoshi isn’t one for words and prefers to show his care through subtle actions, but you know he means well. Taking another deep breath, you give your best friend a weak smile, knocking on the doors, heart heavy.

Like magic, they open, and a deep “come in” calls out to you, causing you to gulp as you nod one final time to Hitoshi before entering the auditorium, with a hopeful heart dangling on the edge of light and darkness. 

The Council of Elders truly had a knack for intimidation, you think to yourself as you stare up at the seven fairies that governed the world you had come to know. They sat atop their seats (which looked more like thrones, in your opinion), staring down at you with glares on their faces. 

While you had expected their hostility towards you, as you didn’t exactly have the best reputation amongst their apprentices, you were surprised that even Elder Yagi, your mentor, and father figure, was looking at you with a disappointed gaze. What was going on? What had you done wrong?

It’s then, amidst your confusion, that your eyes land on another figure present in the room. The very presence of this figure makes your blood boil in anger, and you try to suppress it with deep breaths, closing your eyes to calm yourself before meeting eyes with the said figure. 

Neito. Oh, how you despised the man. Neito was one of your fellow apprentices who served the Council of Elders, specifically Elder Sekijiro, who was in charge of the vanguard— the elite force of fairies that specialized in defense, ensuring that there was peace and order in the world. 

While it was an honorable position, Neito was not an honorable man in the slightest. Ever since you had met him, he had been mean and downright evil, taunting you every chance he got. He was the very reason you had gotten into trouble, multiple times, with the council. He was your mortal enemy, your archnemesis, the man you wished would fall into a puddle of shit and never come back the same. 

If he was there in the room, then it only meant one thing. He had ratted you out or had made up some ridiculous story to use against you. 

Typical. 

Oh, how you wished you could wipe that ridiculous smirk off his face. 

“(Y/N),” a voice booms and your eyes turn up to meet Grand Elder Nezu, the elder amongst all elders, the wisest and most potent fairy ever known (much to the disbelief of everyone else, as compared to Elder Yagi, Elder Nezu looked weak. But, you supposed, you shouldn’t judge someone based on appearance alone). 

“I bow towards the Council of Elders,” you greet, bowing in respect. Your heart thrummed nervously within you, not sure what to think of this summon. What were they going to reprimand you for this time?

“Are you aware of the reason you’ve been summoned here today?” Grand Elder Nezu asks, looking at you with calculating eyes. You gulp, not knowing how to proceed, but figured that in a situation like this, honesty was the best policy. “Unfortunately, no, Grand Elder,” you reply, eyes cast down in respect. “I have an idea, but even so, I am still clueless to the true reason as to why I’ve been summoned.”

“Ha!” Neito exclaims, scoffing. “Look at how shameless she is, Grand Elder. Pretending to not know when she knows exactly what she’s done?” 

“I beg your pardon?” You ask, feeling yourself get annoyed the more Neito stood there all high and mighty as if he were some chosen one. “I speak the truth, elders. I truly have no idea why I’ve been summoned….”

“Lies!” Neito accuses, pointing a finger at you. “How can you be so shameless after attacking me?”

You pause, blinking slowly as you try to process the ridiculous claim Neito had just presented. You? Attacking him? As much as you despised the guy, you knew that attacking another fairy was absolutely forbidden for an apprentice of the council of elders. You weren’t stupid. 

“Attacking you?” You ask in disbelief. “When have I ever attacked you, Neito?” 

You watch with cautious eyes as Neito smirks at you, eyes taunting as if you had played right into his trap. He grabs the hem of his dress shirt before pulling it up to reveal a massive bruise on his torso. 

“You did this,” he accuses, and you can tell he’s faking it, although judging by the harsh glare you’re receiving from Elder Sekijiro, his act is actually believable. Were the elders really that vulnerable? “You attacked me because you were jealous of my achievements!”

You gape at him, not believing your eyes at the pure monstrosity that was the situation you were facing him. What kind of story was this? There was no way that the council of elders actually believed him, right? Their view of you wasn’t that bad, right?

“(Y/N),” Grand Elder Nezu calls, eyes stern. “Is this true?” 

“Of course not, Grand Elder!” You exclaim in protest. “What reason do I have to be jealous of Neito?”

“Don’t listen to her lies, Grand Elder!” Neito says. With the way he was acting, you swear he could get an award for being the worst and best actor of all time, and you yourself weren’t sure how that was possible. “In fact, the question we should be asking is what reason does she have to not be jealous of me? She’s an outcast. She’s been shunned by society for so long. Everyone knows she hates my guts— although I do not understand why as I’ve been nothing but nice to her— so why would she not want to sabotage me when she sees me excel?”

Scratch that best actor award, you think to yourself. The darn idiot deserved an award for being an expert manipulator. If you didn’t know better, if you weren’t sure of your truth, you would have been swayed by his words, second-guessing yourself and questioning whether or not you did attack him. But unluckily for Neito, you were one stubborn fairy, and you wouldn’t go down without a fight. 

“You? Nice to me?” you say, seething, much to the shock of everyone in the room. “Grand Elder, what Neito is saying is absolutely preposterous! Yes, it is true that I hate his guts, but that’s because ever since I’ve been an apprentice, he’s made my life a living hell! And besides, this apprenticeship is all I have. If I do anything to jeopardize it, I would have nowhere to go; I’d basically be dead. Why would I risk it because of one person? And Neito, for that matter!”

You honestly didn’t mean to let your emotions slip like that. But you couldn’t help it. It infuriated you that the council would be willing to believe Neito. Neito who had everything, who had a choice to leave or not, who had a family to return to. Neito who didn’t understand how much pain you were going through, how much torment plagued your heart. He didn’t and would never understand. That’s what privilege does to a person. 

“Grand Elder—” Neito begins, and you swear if he spits any more lies, you would genuinely launch at him and smack him in the face. But before you could make a move, the Grand Elder raises his hand, causing silence to settle in the room. 

“—Enough.” Grand Elder Nezu’s voice booms throughout the empty room, causing the two of you to halt in your banter, bowing in shame and obedience. “The council has heard both sides and are appalled by the disgrace exuded by both fairies, especially you young Neito.” 

You can see the way Neito clenches his fist, glaring at the ground below him, and you can almost imagine the way he thinks the floor is your head, glaring daggers at it for causing him to be criticized by the grand elder of all fairies. But that was the least of your concerns, as you can feel their disappointed glances lying on you as well. 

“For your misconduct, both of you will receive punishment. However, young (Y/N), because of your alleged behavior and misdeeds, we will have to take extra precautions to ensure that this does not happen again.” You can feel your heart beating rapidly within your chest. What kind of punishment was he going to give? You hoped you weren’t going to get banished because you couldn’t stand the thought of not having to see the people you cherished ever again. 

But whatever the council says, goes, and no fairy, no matter how powerful they were in society, could deny their final verdict. 

“For your punishment, young Neito, you will be serving under Elder Aizawa until the Purification Ceremony next fall.” From where you stood, you could see Neito jolt up in fear, eyes pleading with the Grand Elder silently, as if he were begging them to give him any other punishment instead. 

Elder Aizawa was the dean of the academy all fairies were expected to graduate from. And, as a dean should, he was incredibly strict and was known for ruling over his apprentices with an iron fist. Amongst all the elders of the council, he was the one most hoped to avoid serving under, and if you were sent to serve under him, then it meant that you had done something extremely bad. 

Although, sometimes you could hardly believe those rumors, considering Hitoshi himself served under Elder Aizawa. But perhaps that was because the said elder treated Hitoshi like he was his own son, much like Elder Yagi did to you. 

As much as Neito wanted to protest, to exclaim how preposterous it was for a fairy from the noble family of Monoma to not serve through the vanguard, he couldn’t. The elders’ eyes pierced through him, and it was incredibly nerve-wracking once he felt the menacing glare of Elder Sekijiro on him. Even his own master thought he deserved to be punished. What a shame. 

With his head bowed low, Neito grits his teeth, bowing towards the council. “I humbly accept this punishment bestowed upon me by the Council of Elders and pledge to fulfill it until I am deemed worthy once more.” His words contain malice, and you can tell he was trying to control himself from lashing out and making the situation even worse. It was a blow to his pride, after all, that he would get punished after trying to bring someone ‘beneath’ him down. 

Just as he’s about to take his leave, he stops beside you, and it almost feels as if he’s glaring at your soul, cursing it for the things you’ve done to him, although reality has proved that you’ve done nothing wrong. “Just you wait,” he whispers, low enough for only you to hear. “I’ll get you back someday,” and then he leaves, closing the wooden doors shut behind him. 

The silence that envelopes the auditorium is uncanny, you think to yourself. Maybe it was because you were still getting the chills from the words Neito had whispered into your ear. Or perhaps it was because of the unreadable yet at the same time uncomfortable stares the council was throwing your way. Either way, the silence made you want to drown. To hide in the comforts of your room and stay there until the coast was clear. 

“Young (Y/N),” Grand Elder Nezu begins, and you gulp, hoping for the best yet expecting the worst. “As for your punishment, you will be reassigned to another group of apprentice fairies under my guidance— the god fairies.”

What?

...God Fairies?

Grand Elder Nezu smiles softly at the look on your face before clearing his throat and continuing, trusting that you would be able to keep up with him. In his eyes, you were a rather intelligent fairy after all. Strange, but brilliant nonetheless. 

“The God Fairies are a special elite force of apprentices under my supervision. It’s composed of fairies deemed problematic by the standards of our society and utilizes their uniqueness to serve our realm for the better good.”

You wanted to scoff. Rather than an elite force, it sounded like a group of slaves forced to listen to the Grand Elder, with an even more severe punishment dangling above their heads. A suiting sentence disguised as an honor. 

“I know what you’re thinking, young (Y/N),” Grand Elder Nezu says with a knowing look. “However, this elite force is infinitely more important than any other group in the fairy realm, as they help sustain our influence over the humans.”

Confused, you look up to him, a million questions dancing within your eyes. Influence over humans? What exactly did he mean by that? Back at the academy, the older fairies had always taught you that humans and fairies never, under any circumstance, interacted with each other. It was forbidden. Interacting with humans was too dangerous as they were greedy and vile beings who would only seize magic for their own selfish gain should they even catch one whiff of it. 

Magic was not meant to fall into human hands. That was just the way the world worked. So why was the Grand Elder telling you otherwise?

“The God Fairies help ensure that the humans’ belief in magic remains strong,” Grand Elder Nezu continues, even though you were still trying to comprehend what he had said prior. He couldn’t afford to waste any more time. Being the Grand Elder had numerous responsibilities involved, and those responsibilities waited for no one, not even him. 

“You see, young (Y/N), as the years have passed, we, the council, have come across an alarming discovery,” you look up to the council tentatively, choosing to merely listen as trying to process their words in real time was proving to be complicated. “The tree of life that we have grown to cherish for over a millennium has weakened.”

A soft gasp leaves your lips, and rightfully so. The tree of life was the lifeline of the fairies. It was literally their world, giving life to everything they had ever come to know. The tree of life was what made fairies, fairies, providing them with their gorgeous translucent wings and copious amount of magic to have every other supernatural being out there jealous. 

If it were to weaken and somehow die, then that would mean the end of the fairies. And that was a thought even more terrifying than the prospect of banishment. 

“Fear not, young (Y/N),” This time, Elder Yagi decides to speak up, sensing the inherent panic and fear in your eyes. Elder Yagi always had a knack for reading your emotions, much like Hitoshi. Sometimes you wondered if that chalked up to you wearing your heart on your sleeve for everyone else to easily trample over, but that hadn’t been the case the more you got to know Elder Yagi and Hitoshi. 

They both took your heart within their arms and cherished it like it was their own, even if the way they showed that care differed and was sometimes unnoticeable. Elder Yagi’s words, masked by his usual patriotic smile, were his way of comforting you when the going got rough. And for that, you would forever be thankful.

“We’ve discovered a new way to harness the magic we fairies so desperately need,” Elder Yagi continues, his smile never leaving. “And that solution lies in the humans.”

The moment the word human leaves Elder Yagi’s mouth, Elder Aizawa sneers in disgust, rolling his eyes, and from the opposite side of him, you can see Elder Sekijiro do the same. It wasn’t something new. After all, with the divide and disdain of the fairies towards fellow fae who wouldn’t live up to their noble standards, their disgust was only further amplified with the knowledge that other inferior beings, such as humans, existed. Even with their inferiority, they were beginning to push the fairies to the brink of a calamity with how much they were destroying the order of nature. 

So you understood that there was an even greater prejudice towards humans, and you could feel nothing but sympathy and agony, knowing precisely what it feels like to be on the receiving end of such animosity. 

“The humans,” Elder Yagi continues, not paying much mind to the disheartened expressions on his fellow elders’ (with the exception of the Grand Elder) faces. “Surprisingly, have an innate source of magic within them, much different from our own.”

Confused, you look up at the kind elder, allowing yourself to show a little emotion with the way he looks down kindly at you as if he were a father talking towards his child. Elder Yagi had always guided you when you felt lost amidst the noble fairies that served under the council and was more than happy to help you with whatever you needed. 

Yet, currently, Elder Yagi was the main source of your confusion. 

“When a human begins to believe in the supernatural, their innate magic ability awakens and pours out of them like waves, and when they sustain that belief? That innate magic becomes stronger.” It’s a revolutionary discovery, in your eyes. Humans had always been thought of as useless. But more than that, the council had constantly reminded the fairies to stray away from them, as no one knows what hidden malice the humans could have, despite the disbelief of your fellow fae. 

“This is why we have formed the God Fairies, to ensure that the humans’ magic will be sustained and harnessed for our survival.” Elder Yagi looks at you, and you feel yourself flinch at the serious glance on his face, something that you knew wasn’t usual for the strong fairy. “Do you understand, young (Y/N)?”

The only thing you have the courage to do at the moment is nod, not trusting the thoughts that were lit ablaze in your mind, chaotic and unhinged. You knew that if you were to speak, your words would have most likely enraged the council as you currently had no control over them. 

“Good.” Grand Elder Nezu says after a few moments of silence. “In line with this, we will be assigning you, young (Y/N), to a human. Your punishment, or in this case, mission is to ensure that you’ve collected enough magic to sustain a family of fairies the same size as Young Neito’s.”

Your eyes widen, and you divert your attention towards Elder Yagi, begging him to say that the Grand Elder’s words were not true. But when you see Elder Aizawa sport a sinister grin from the corner of your eye, you feel your heart sink. As much as you hated Neito, he was a powerful fairy who came from a highly influential family within the realm. It was the reason why he was in the vanguard. After all, his family’s influence has been his threshold throughout the days you knew each other. 

And for a family as prominent in magical combat as his, they needed copious amounts of magic. An amount that you were sure couldn’t be collected by one fairy. In fact, the powerful fairies of the realm often sourced their innate magic directly from the elders themselves, a privilege that not many were able to enjoy. 

This was a punishment, after all. Great. Just Great.

“I understand, Grand Elder,” you say after finally composing yourself. You can feel the dread gradually sink in, and your mind races with worry at the thought of having to go through the daunting task. “I will do as you desire. For the glory of the fae.”

You can sense the satisfied yet cunning smiles of the council, pleased with your decision, and you heave a sigh, unsure of what the future could have in store. 

You could only hope that you wouldn’t be screwed over in the process. 

The human realm was fascinating, to say the least. 

When you first stepped foot on the lush forest of the realm, just on the outskirts of a bustling city, you couldn’t help but feel amazed. No amount of preparation from the elders or your friends could truly prepare you for this moment. 

For the past few weeks, Grand Elder Nezu and Elder Yagi had been preparing you extensively for this mission. They briefed you on the does and don’ts of a fairy entering the human realm, bragged about other god fairies who had succeeded in securing a sustainable amount of magic for the fairies, and just boasted. 

There was no comfort nor reassurance from either elder, which you had expected from Elder Yagi, but as you had come to find out, it seemed as if your father figure was still disappointed in you, causing your heart to sink. Did he really believe that you deserved to be punished?

You couldn’t even get this heavy feeling out of your chest. The worst part is that you couldn’t consult your best friend, Hitoshi, at all about this matter. Hitoshi had no knowledge of the god fairies as he had been a devout apprentice under Elder Aizawa’s care. He had no reason to know about it, he was already doing great, and that thought made your stomach churn. 

You desperately wanted to confide in him, to spill your fears and anxieties for him to hear. No matter how insufferable Hitoshi was, he was a great listener and a great friend. 

Gosh, you haven’t even spent one second in the Human Realm, and you were already feeling sick to your core. 

At least the view made it better. 

The council of elders had decided to assign you to a human living in the Musutafu Empire, nestled in the far east of the mortal realm. The Empire was drastically different from your own simple abode back in the fairy realm. Whereas yours was deeply rooted in nature, theirs was thriving on industrial roots. 

You couldn’t explain it, but the way they structured their buildings and houses was beautiful. It was a whole different style from what you were used to back home, with high walls and rowdy streets. The people were smiling, clad in clothing that was tight yet loose at the same time, with a ribbon wrapped securely around their waists. Far different from the flowy garments that you had back in the fairy realm. 

As you made your way to the capital, marveling at all the new sights that were capturing your eyes, you couldn’t help but wonder what the human assigned to you was like. Would he be stuck up like all the fairies you had come to know? Or would he be kind, much like Elder Yagi and Hitoshi were? The curiosity burned deep inside you, and you found yourself brimming with excitement at the thought of meeting him. 

Your mission was fairly simple if you could take away the fact that you had to harvest an impossible amount of magic. You were to watch over a selected human, who the council deemed had the potential to unlock their innate magic and help them when they most needed it. 

Almost as if you were someone who granted wishes, was what Grand Elder Nezu said. Granting wishes was the most effective way to strengthen the human’s belief in magic, allowing their own to flow out for the taking. Of course, there were other ways, such as haunting the humans or causing supernatural disasters that didn’t make sense. But such methods were unbecoming of fairies, and you couldn’t help but groan at the thought. 

Haunting seemed fun, after all. Almost as if you were constantly playing a prank on an unassuming human. You would have killed for that to be your punishment instead. 

But no. You were stuck with granting wishes, albeit not as often, as showing too much magic mind taint the human with greed and desire. Something that no fairy wanted. 

Checking on the special compass that the elders had given you prior to your journey, you make your way towards your assigned human, gaping in awe at the view of the capital down below you. Of course, with the magic you held, they wouldn’t be able to see you as you had concealed yourself prior, but you wished they could. It would have been fun to see their shell-shocked expressions. Maybe that was a more efficient way of harnessing their magic?

Or, rather than being an efficient method, it was most likely going to be a one-way ticket to banishment from the fairy realm, aka an express ride towards death, something you wanted to avoid at all costs. 

Finally, after what felt like forever, you spot the house of the human the elders had assigned to you. It was big, much larger than your own humble cottage back in the fairy realm, yet, even so, it didn’t compare to the ginormous estates that lay north of the house, almost as if it belonged perfectly in the middle. 

You gasped at the tranquility of the mansion, almost as if you had once again been transported into another world. It was almost as if in this home, time stopped, and peace overflowed. You perched yourself atop a sturdy branch, looking around and admiring the view.

But peace doesn’t last for long because all of a sudden, a slam rings through the air, and you watch curiously as a large man, who oddly enough looks similar to Elder Sekijiro, although that was probably a figment of your imagination, there was no way the frightening elder would actually be in the human realm, stumbles into view.

The large man looked pissed, you noticed, as he dragged something behind him, and it’s only till the large man threw whatever he was carrying harshly unto the tree you were perched on did you realize that what the man had dragged wasn’t just a thing, but rather it was a person. 

You gasp, heart breaking at the sight of the young boy. From where you sat above him, you could tell that he was covered with bruises all over, with a ghastly scar covering one of his eyes. The poor boy looked so weak and frail that you wanted nothing more than to steal the boy away and tend to him until he could stand on his own two feet one more. It was cruel. Was this the doing of that man?

You look up, and it’s only then that you notice a few more children looking at the scene below you with different expressions on their faces. There were about three of them; two boys and one girl. The tallest and assumably the eldest had an unbothered look on his face as if he couldn’t care less about the poor boy who had just been thrown into a three. The second boy, with snow-white hair, sported a sadistic grin as if he were enjoying seeing the young boy in pain. And the girl? The girl, who looked so sweet and innocent, held eyes of pure disgust as she clutched her teddy bear tighter to her chest, almost as if she were glaring at the young boy. 

Was this the kid’s family?

“Shoto!” The large man, whom you had deduced to be the father, screamed. You flinch at the loudness of his voice, intimidation flowing out of him in waves, causing a shiver to run down your spine. You look down, heart hurting at the sight of the young boy cowering in fear, but he still kept a brave face. Well, as much as he could do in that situation. 

“You dare disobey your brother?” He continues, tone raising more and more as his fists clench. “How many times have I told you to listen to your siblings? They’re much older, stronger, and smarter than a little piece of shit like you. Heck, even Fuyumi, who’s a girl, is much more dignified than your pathetic ass!”

The more words fell from the man’s mouth, the more you wished to hex him with forbidden magic. Although doing so would only make your punishment worse. The elders were strict about black magic, after all. Anyone who even showed a little bit of interest was considered a threat and was sent to conduct punishments almost immediately. It was cruel, but you were on wit’s end because nowhere had you seen a vile man like him. 

“It’s true, father!” The second sibling says, the sinister grin on his lips only growing. “I had asked Shoto nicely to help with my chores because I wanted to get more practice in for the royal knights’ examination, but he had the audacity to retaliate with the excuse that he already had chores to do.” The kid scoffs, rolling his eyes in the process. “He barely does anything in this house, yet he’s a burden to those of us who actually are? Father, he deserves punishment!”

There’s a sinking feeling in your stomach as if you were getting deja vu from this situation. The look on that kid’s face painfully reminded you of Neito, and you couldn’t help the gut feeling that made you believe that what the kid was saying was far from the truth.

“Shameful!” The father says, raising a hand to slap the young child to the side, and you gasp in horror wanting nothing more to interfere, yet the Grand Elder’s words ring harshly in your ear. There needs to be a balance. He had said. It would plunge the realms into total chaos if more than one human discovered the reality of magic simultaneously, especially those with foul intentions. 

You couldn’t reveal yourself, not yet, at least. Yet, at the same time, you wanted to curse the elders back home, for they had assigned to you a child who was literally experiencing hell on earth and only gave you limited movement to help. 

You watch, feeling the tears threaten to fall as the damn bastard of a father lands another punch towards his son, to the point where he begins to cough blood. Your eyes widen in horror as you hear the other children’s cheers. Why were they like this? Weren’t they family? Why were they treating one of their own like he wasn’t? He didn’t deserve this. He was only but a child!

When the father was finally finished with his rain of terror, you couldn’t help but release the breath you were holding in. Finally, it was over. But as if he couldn’t get any worse, the father towers over him, blue eyes boring into his kids. “If I see any of these bruises and wounds healed,” he whispers just enough for only Shoto to hear, but with your heightened senses, you couldn’t help but listen in. “Then you will get a beating far worse than this one. Do you understand?”

The kid nods weakly, not having the strength to communicate properly, causing the father to glare at him harder. “You are a disgrace to the Todoroki name, Shoto. Never forget that.”

And just like that, he leaves, the children following closely behind with mocking looks on their faces. The second sibling even goes so far as to spit on his youngest brother, causing you to clench your fists in anger, wanting to teach that kid a lesson. What kind of twisted personality did he have? Why was he treating his family like this? You just couldn’t understand. 

When they finally leave, leaving the young kid on the rough ground, wallowing in his misery and pain, you find it in yourself to come down and take action. What action, you may ask? You weren’t quite sure yourself, but every fiber in your being was begging you to do something to help the poor child. 

You kneel beside the beaten-up boy, weaving your hand through his dirtied hair. The boy looked like he hadn’t even been given an ounce of care throughout his life. How could this be? Wasn’t a family supposed to love each other? But you knew yourself that not all families were like that, only the lucky ones. 

The world, no matter what realm you were in, was cruel and cold to those who didn’t fit in, to those that made them feel sick. Within your heart, you knew exactly what the young child was feeling, although only to a certain extent as it could never compare to the feeling of getting beaten up by the people you were supposed to love on a day-to-day basis. 

But you too had been abandoned, you too had been ridiculed, and you knew how much that pain could carry through the rest of one’s life. The pain never truly goes away. It would only get buried, waiting for the moment it could come back to life. And if that pain was prolonged? Then that would only make things worse. 

So you decided, with a firm grip on your heart, that until you had to leave, you would be there for this child. More than punishment, more than a duty you had to fulfill, you would be there for him until the very end. 

That was a promise. 

Todoroki Shoto had never known love. 

For as long as he could remember, ever since the day he was born, his family had hated him. For what reason? He couldn’t quite comprehend, but now that he was a bit older, he understood to some extent. 

His birth had caused his mother to die. 

It was something that his family reminded him of every day. Whenever his brother, Natsuo, forced him to do his share of chores, he would always add in a snarky remark saying how it was the least he could do since he took his mother away from him. It hurt, but he couldn’t argue. It was the truth, after all. Him being born into the world had caused their own mother to leave it. It was only natural for his family to hate him. 

From what he had heard, his mother was a very kind woman. With the same snow-white hair that covered half of his head, Todoroki Rei was known to be an angel. She was kind, always selflessly showing her love, and in turn, everyone loved her for it. She was the life of the party, even though she was frail, and never failed to make everyone around her smile. She was what one would consider the embodiment of good.

And Shoto had taken her away from them. 

Everyone in the Todoroki household hated him, even the servants. How dare a useless child like him take away their mistress? How dare he live on as if nothing was wrong when he was the very reason that the light of the Todoroki household dimmed out. He was a despicable child in the eyes of everyone else, one that never deserved love. 

So they fed him moldy bread and spoiled milk, rotten fruits, and water that was clearly full of filth. They wanted him to die, to pay for taking their mistress away from them. And no one in his family ever stood up for him. 

His eldest brother Touya never even spoke to him. It was as if he was actively trying to ignore the kid. Whenever Shoto went up to talk to his brother, he would simply pass him by as if Shoto didn’t even exist. Yet whenever Shoto would catch peeks of the family eating a nice supper over the dinner table, his brother was actively engaging in conversation, causing an arrow to go through his heart at the realization that Touya truly did intend to ignore him. 

His second brother, Natsuo, was no better. The only difference was that he actively tried to make Shoto’s life a living hell more than it already was. Natsuo took all his anger and grief out on the young child with snarky remarks and condescending tones. There was even a slap on the cheek every now and then, to which he would complain that it was Shoto who assaulted him, even though it was far from the truth. And everyone would believe him. Because who would believe the words of a child whose birth meant the death of another?

Then there was Fuyumi, his only sister. She sported that same gentle nature as his mother, according to the house servants, yet to Shoto, she was a wicked and cruel child. She was petty, treating Shoto as if he were a slave. When her favorite tea was too hot for her liking, she spilled the scalding hot drink all over him, soon after berating and slapping him for letting the said liquid fall onto her plush carpet. It made no sense, but Shoto could never complain. Fuyumi was the darling of the family, after all. 

But his father? He was the worst of them all. 

Todoroki Enji was a curious man, to say the least. As one of the leading figures of the oldest families of the Musutafu Empire, his very presence brought tremendous waves of awe among the masses. The Todoroki family was one of the most revered families in the whole empire, and everyone had always looked up to them, seeing them as the perfect family. 

But Todoroki Enji had taken that image of perfection into heart, and it showed through the things he did behind closed doors. Rei’s death hit him the hardest, not because he was heartbroken that his other half died, but rather it was because that image of perfection had been broken into pieces, and he loathed it. He hated the pitiful gazes of the masses, as they stared at him as if he wasn’t the perfect being they needed him to be. It enraged him to no end. And the only outlet of this burning rage was the cause of all this brokenness, his own son. 

Everything Shoto did angered him. Even taking a breath angered him. Every action, look, and word that came from the young child infuriated the head of the house, and he couldn’t help but take it out on him. Treating Shoto like he wasn’t a child but rather an enemy on the battlefield. Every day he would ruthlessly beat Shoto up until he felt satisfied, leaving Shoto battered and bruised with no chance of recovery. It was terrible, something anyone with a heart would hate, yet all those who resided in the Todoroki Mansion thrived on his misery. 

So yeah, all his life, Todoroki Shoto had never known love. 

But when he feels a hand gently caress his face, brushing his dirtied hair off of his face and running a thumb over his bruising cheek, he wonders if maybe this was it. Whoever was touching him had such a gentle and soft touch, a touch that he’s never felt before in his life. It was warm, far different from the cold caresses of his family. He wanted nothing more than to stay in the comfort of this warmth. But what if this was just a figment of his imagination?

He opens his eyes slowly, bearing through the pain and heaviness that came with it, and his gaze meets yours, and he’s blown away. 

Your eyes look at him with sincere kindness, one that Shoto has never seen before in his life. He’s only been alive for a few years or so, and he can tell that this was what was right. Not his family, not the servants treating him with extreme hostility. No, you, a stranger he had never seen in his entire life, was already treating him way better than the whole world would ever treat him. And it had only been a few seconds since his eyes met yours. 

“W-who…” he stutters, blinking wearily as if he wanted to get a closer look, but you shush him with gentle whispers, continuing to weave your hands through his dual-colored hair that looked stunning under the sunlight, even if it was smeared to no end. 

“Shh, don’t speak, child,” you say, motherly instincts that you were unaware of surfacing. “You are injured. Speaking will only make it worse.”

Shoto nods, staying silent as you continue to run your fingers through his hair. Suddenly a surge of warmth rushes through his body, and he watches amazed as the pain from his father’s beating slowly goes away, even if the bruises didn’t disappear. 

“There, that should do the trick!” You say, smiling brightly and voice cheery in an attempt to console the young child. Shoto slowly sits up from where he laid on the hard ground, looking at his hands in awe. How did you do that? How did you make all the pain disappear?

“I apologize,” you say, looking sheepishly at Shoto once you noticed he was staring at his arms in awe. “Your father mentioned that he would hurt you even more if your injuries are healed, so I’m only able to make the physical pain go away, but the wounds remain. I hope that’s alright.”

It’s more than alright, Shoto thinks to himself as he looks at you in awe. Shoto had never felt this alive before. It was as if his energy was restored and multiplied as if the numbness that had accumulated from the years of beating had vanished without a trace. 

“Thank you,” he finally says, not having the courage to spill his heart out in fear that you would take his feelings and crush them in the blink of an eye. If Shoto were to be honest, if anyone else aside from the people he had come to know were to berate him more than he already was on a daily basis, then he would truly crumble. 

“But… who are you?” He asks, finally coming to his senses. “Why are you here? It’s dangerous. If father finds out, then you—”

“—Do not worry child, I will be fine.” You’re doing better than expected despite the rapid beating of your heart from how nervous you were. You really hated this motherly image you were exuding, wanting nothing more than to be as carefree as you usually were, but first impressions were important, and you had to time things just right. 

You smile, looking at Shoto with the kindest gaze you could muster, patting him gently on the head in the process. 

“I’m your fairy godmother, after all.”

“F-fairy g-godmother?” Shoto asks, clearly confused. You giggle at his perplexed expression, amused. It was fascinating how the child still seemed to be as innocent despite the harsh realities he had been through. He was a strong human, you supposed. And quite an adorable one too. 

“Yes, child,” you say once more, standing up and bringing Shoto up with you, although he stumbles, legs weak from being on the ground for too long, but you’re quick to catch him, giggling once more at the flustered expression on his face. 

“I’m your fairy godmother,” you repeat, lines poised and precise like you had been trained to from the Grand Elder. “And as your fairy godmother, I’ll be here to make sure that your pain will be more bearable until you can fly free on your own.”

“Fly?” The young child asks excitedly, eyes beaming. “Will I be able to fly someday?”

“Not in the literal sense, child.” You giggle, the tiny human bringing the weight of the world off your shoulders. It was refreshing to interact with him. Perhaps this was why parents decide to have children. They were oh so loveable when they were young. You could only hope that the pureness of his heart wouldn’t be tainted even further by the harsh reality of his family’s disdain. 

“But you’ll understand what I mean very soon,” you say, kneeling down towards his level. “And until then, I’ll be your wings, alright?” 

It’s clear that Shoto doesn’t understand a word you’re saying, but that’s alright. He doesn’t need to understand at the moment. He just needs to believe. And from the pure amazement and wonder in his eyes, it looks as if he’s already on a one-way track towards it.

“Now, child, before I send you off, you must remember something very important.” You say, tone a bit sterner as Shoto gulps, nodding his head and turning his full attention towards you. His concerned and slightly worried look on his face makes you want to break your facade and laugh along with him. But this truly was an important matter, and if you didn’t drill it into his brain, then your mission would have been all for naught. 

“Under no circumstance, must you tell of my existence to another soul, do you understand?” There’s uncertainty in the child’s gaze as if he doesn’t truly understand the weight of your words, but he nods nonetheless, agreeing. “Not your father,” you continue, hoping to make your point a bit clearer. “Nor your siblings, nor any stranger that you come across. You can’t reveal my existence to anyone, understand? This is a secret between you and me. Can you keep it?”

A beat of silence passes the two of you as Shoto lets the words sink in. He truly doesn’t understand why he can’t tell anyone else about you. It didn’t make sense to him. Weren’t you supposed to make his pain more bearable? Then why couldn’t you do that in the form of mending his relationship with his family? It saddened Shoto because in the few moments you had spent together, in those few minutes he got to know you, Shoto already considered you a friend. His first friend, in fact. 

Why couldn’t he show you off? 

Maybe it had to do with the fact that you, too, would get punished by his father if he were to reveal your existence. His father was a terrifying man. If he wanted something, then he would get it, no matter how difficult it was to obtain. His father held himself in high regard. And anyone who didn’t fit his standards was considered worthless and useless. If he were to find out that you were associated with him, the failure of the family, then who knows what his father would do to you?

He wouldn’t allow that. He couldn’t allow that. You were the first person to show him kindness, and he couldn’t just let you slip away. That would break him to the point of no return. 

“Sure,” Shoto mumbles shyly, a bashful smile forming on his lips. If you didn’t know any better, you wouldn’t have guessed that this child was frequently beaten up by his family, much less hated by them. He seemed like a great kid, who needed a friend to stand by him, and although Grand Elder Nezu and Elder Yagi had strictly advised you against being too attached to your assigned human, you couldn’t help it. 

Who were you to ignore such a loveable child? 

You smile, the sternness gradually leaving your face, and raise your hand towards him, pinky pointing out. “Promise?” Shoto looks at you before his eyes dart to your outstretched finger, bewildered and unsure. 

“This is a pinky promise,” you say, realizing that he didn’t understand what you were trying to do. “When we link our pinkies together like this,” you continue, intertwining your pinky with his and locking them together. “Then that means our promise is sealed in stone and can never ever be broken.” 

You give Shoto a small smile, your other hand reaching out to pat his head gently, while Shoto looks at your intertwined pinkies in awe and admiration. 

In his haze, you finally stand up, your heightened senses hearing angered footsteps approaching, and you look worriedly at Shoto, hesitant to leave.

“I have to go now,” you say, heartbreaking at the way his expression falls from his face, replaced with a disappointed one.

“But don’t worry, I’ll be back.” You’re quick to reassure him, waving your hands frantically as you give off a sheepish smile. “I’ll be back when you need me the most,” you clarify, panic rushing in as the hurried footsteps become louder.

“Promise?” Shoto asks, stretching out his own pinky to you, reflecting what you had just taught him. This catches you by surprise, but you’re quick to smile, intertwining your pinkies once more.

“I promise,” you genuinely whisper, watching with mirth in your heart as Shoto looks up at you with a warm smile of his own, eyes looking at you tenderly as if he were sending you off.

And just like that, you vanish, much to Shoto’s shock, as the sliding door behind him slams open, and a servant comes out storming towards him angrily. But honestly, Shoto couldn’t care less.

Even as the servant berated him and dragged him harshly back into the mansion, Shoto couldn’t help but feel all warm and giddy inside. He had made his first friend.

And that was more than anything he could ever ask for.

Ever since your first meeting with Shoto, you had begun to grow closer towards the abused child, feeling a connection start to grow.

Of course, you didn’t show yourself to him as often as you wanted to, as you had your own limitations. Because as the council had told you before your departure, they were watching. And that was a frightening thought to ever take for granted. 

It was too risky to put your personal desires over your duty at the forefront, so you had to work your way around the rules laid down by the Grand Elder. You had to be sharp, had to show your support and friendship in other more mundane ways so Shoto would continue to believe.

You were still a fairy on a mission, after all.

Harnessing magic wasn’t a one-time thing. If it were, then the council would have easily done it by now. The truth of the matter was that cultivating the magic out of humans required time, effort, and care— a feat that was far too tedious for the council to partake in, which was why it was up to the God fairies to carry it out.

As the relationship between a god fairy and their assigned human continued to grow, so would the amount of magic present within the human. Once it got to its breaking point, then the god fairy would immediately harness it, marking the end of their relationship and causing the human to never believe in magic again. 

It was a cruel process but one you couldn’t avoid as it meant your life or death. But the more time you spend with Shoto, the more your resolve seems to break, and you begin to question whether or not you could actually pull through with what you were meant to do. 

The door slides open, snapping you away from your train of thought, and in walks Shoto, a new bruise forming over his right eye. 

Even if you couldn’t show yourself on a daily basis, you still made your presence known to Shoto through small acts of magic, ones that wouldn’t be considered overboard by the Grand Elder. You would have followed Shoto everywhere he went, watching his every move and ensuring that he was safe, but in a way, it made you uncomfortable.

And you couldn’t stand seeing the way his family and servants treated him. It was too cruel. You were sure that if you spent any second longer seeing his siblings ridicule him or his father punch him, then you would lose control. And everything that you had worked desperately for would have gone to waste,  which was why you distanced yourself from the young child whenever he was around others. You knew it was wrong, but you couldn’t help it. It was for the best; you tried to convince yourself. You were doing the right thing. 

But that didn’t mean you didn’t help him at all. As Shoto quickly makes his way to his worn-out futon, wincing in pain at all the bruises his father had given him from the day’s beating, you couldn’t help but fuss over him, immediately reaching out to take the pain away in your invisible state, external wounds remaining. 

“Fairy Godmother?” Shoto calls out weakly, feeling the pain leave him gradually as warmth replaces it. His eyes feel lighter, and he finally works the courage to open them fully, only to be met with his dark room. You were still invisible. You hadn’t shown yourself just yet. “Are you there?”

You wanted to respond. You desperately do. But the weight of your duty weighs heavy on your shoulders, and you hesitate, unsure whether or not you would reach out to him. You two were close, that was for sure. Throughout the few months of your ‘friendship’ with Shoto (if you could call it that), you had come to know just how precious the child truly was. Even after all the hardships and suffering that overcame him, he was still bright and innocent, something you never entirely understood, but you supposed that was what made Shoto… Shoto. 

 “Fairy Godmother?” Shoto calls out again, this time a little more desperate. His eyes dart around, trying to find you, but you were nowhere to be seen. All he wanted was to see you again. Sure, you had in some way, shape, and form always made your presence known through your kind acts, but it didn’t feel complete. It was as if Shoto was talking to a ghost, and he didn’t want that. He wanted to speak to his friend, the one person who made him see the light in what seemed like a never-ending darkness. 

“Please,” he whispers like a prayer, hoping that you would show yourself. “Are you there?”

You couldn’t take it. This was torture to you. You knew you would get reprimanded either way, but as a fairy tasked with the responsibility of taking care of this child, you had to do it. He was practically crying out at this point. What kind of soul wouldn’t help him?

“I am here, Shoto,” you say, finally revealing yourself, and you feel yourself wince at the tears of relief that slip past the young child’s eyes. “I am here.”

Almost immediately, Shoto lunges at you, wrapping you in the tightest embrace he could muster. Was this real? He thought to himself. Were you actually here? This wasn’t a dream, right? What if you left him for good? He didn’t think his heart could handle that. 

“You’re here!” He whispers, nuzzling into your stomach, giggling. “You’re actually here!” How could a child be so precious? You wonder to yourself. He was so innocent and pure. Why was his family hurting him like he wasn’t? From the time you had come to know Shoto, you could tell that he was a kind soul. He didn’t deserve any of the pain inflicted by his family. He deserved nothing but love and happiness. You just wished you had the authority to give it to him. 

But alas, even with your freedom came chains that sought to bind you to the harsh realities of the world. 

“Yes, I am, Shoto,” you giggle, running your hand soothingly through his hair, knowing how much comfort it brought the young child. “What is it that you need?”

“Nothing really,” Shoto replies after a while, merely basking in your warmth for as long as he could. “I just wanted to see you again.”

If Shoto were, to be honest, he was afraid that you were merely a product of his own imagination. His family often mocked him for it, calling him delusional in every way they could. Delusional for thinking he was loved; Delusional for thinking he deserved to be loved, and more so delusional for thinking that he could actually receive love from his family. 

He was raised to believe that in one way or another, he was delusional, so somewhere deep down inside him, he thought that maybe you were a product of his delusions too. 

But here you were, smiling down at him with such tenderness and care that Shoto knew you were anything but a delusion. He smiles brightly, the pain from earlier slowly melting away in your presence, and he drags you with his little hands towards his small, worn-out mattress, encouraging you to sit. 

You follow him, eyes frowning at the state of his mattress. This was no way to treat a human being. Even back in the fairy realm, although it was clear that many were not fond of you, they still gave you common courtesy and respect as any other living being should. What Shoto’s family was doing to him was horrible, and you wish you could bring him out of it. 

“Could you tell me a story?” Shoto asks out of the blue, causing your eyes to widen in surprise. “A story?” You repeat, unsure if you heard him correctly. Shoto nods, moving to lift a part of his mattress off the ground to reveal a hidden pile of storybooks that you never knew existed.

“My father doesn’t let me read,” he whispers, fingers darting over the dusty covers. “Says I’m not worthy of it.” Your hands clenched into fists beside you as you tried not to let your anger show, but Shoto could feel it slowly dripping off you in waves. “It’s fine, though,” he says, trying to reassure you that he wasn’t as affected by it as he truly was. “I’m used to it….”

A beat of silence passes the two of you as you look at the solemn gaze on Shoto’s face as he continues to run his fingers through the cover of the worn book longingly. With a sigh, you gently take Shoto into your arms, catching the young boy by surprise. 

“You don’t have to hide in front of me, you know?” You say, seemingly scolding the child, but your tone was light, a small smile making its way to your face. “Friends don’t hide things from each other.”

From where he sat in your lap, Shoto looks at you with a bewildered gaze on his face, as if he were mesmerized. You simply smile at him, taking the book gently from his arms and opening it to the first page. 

“I’ll help you learn how to read,” you say, finally clearing up your actions. “Isn’t that what you truly want?” 

Shoto doesn’t say anything, but you can tell from the tears that are about to fall from his eyes that this was indeed his genuine desire. It pained you. Reading was something many took for granted, but as you see the absolute joy on Shoto’s face as he brought his attention back to the book in excitement, you realize that this was a gift. 

You had the power to help this child beyond magic. And that was something you would use to your advantage, no matter the consequence. 

You just wished that you would have done a better job at keeping it lowkey. Because as you guide Shoto in reading the story he had picked for the night, You don’t notice the gap between his door and the wall, a result of Shoto not closing the door properly from his weakened state and as a result, a young girl was standing on the opposite side of the door, eyes widened in horror and disgust at the sight she was seeing. 

This wasn’t going to go well. 

The next few days, Shoto honestly felt like he was in bliss. 

No matter how horribly his family and servants treated him, nothing could shake the happiness he felt within his heart. Perhaps it was amplified by the fact his father had left the mansion for a few days to attend to his duties in the royal palace. Although he still had to face harsh treatments from his siblings and the other servants, at least the beatings became scarce. 

His family was much too cowardly to carry out the same severe beatings his father gave. Which meant that he could enjoy his time with you even more than he should. 

He had just finished his chores, ones that the servants were supposed to do, but in their vanity, they forced him to do it, going beyond their status as mere servants and dropping all their responsibilities as a child, sporting faux innocence whenever Shoto had tried to bring it up to his family.

But when he did, his father only got angry, beating him for lying about such matters, insinuating how he was insulting him because it was Enji who handpicked those servants, meaning an insult to them was an insult to his father.

So Shoto learned to take everything in a stride. To just do whatever the servants wanted him to do otherwise, he would get an even more severe beating from his father, and he wanted to avoid that at all costs. 

But that fear was a thing of the past, as at the moment, Shoto was happily skipping towards his room, excitedly thinking of what story his fairy godmother would teach him about today.

Truly, like her title, Shoto’s fairy godmother was a blessing sent from the heavens. She was kind, patient, and never berated Shoto for any mistake he made. She would never do that to him, she told him one day when he had asked. It was just too cruel. 

So this was what kindness really felt like, Shoto realized once the words slipped from her mouth. Growing up, Shoto was taught that his family’s actions were one of kindness, with insults such as ‘you should be grateful father was kind enough to keep you in this house when you should have been thrown out into the street already.’ being thrown at him left and right. 

He had always hated kindness because of that. His family’s kindness made him feel sick, made him want to curl up into a hole and die, yet his fairy godmother had shown him the light. His fairy godmother had shown him that kindness wasn’t supposed to make you feel horrible. It was supposed to make you happy. It was supposed to fill your heart with love and affection that you wanted to give back tenfold. 

What his family was doing to him wasn’t kindness at all.

Even more so when he stopped in front of his room, confused to hear a commotion inside. His gut feeling told him to run away, to hide, and never show himself again. But he couldn’t. His room was his safe haven, the only place where he could truly escape from his harsh reality, and if something ever happened to it, then Shoto wouldn’t know what to do.

He hastily opens the door only to feel his blood run cold. There standing in his room were his father, Enji, and his sister, Fuyumi. The moment they heard the door open, his sister turned to him, fake tears in her eyes, ones that Shoto knew everyone believed. Because in their eyes, Shoto’s sister was innocent, even though he knew that she was a devil in disguise.

“There he is, father!” Fuyumi exclaimed, pointing towards him accusingly. “The thief!”

Thief? Shoto wondered to himself. Why was he a thief? As far as he knew, he hadn’t stolen anything from anyone, much less his sister. Why would she accuse him of being a thief?

But he didn’t get the chance to ponder on it deeply, with his father turning towards him with deep rage lacing his eyes. Why was his father here in the first place? Wasn’t he supposed to stay in the palace for a few more days?

“You imbecile!” His father rages, stomping towards him. Shoto whimpers trying to back away, but his father was bigger and stronger than he could ever be and caught up to him quickly, holding him by the collar of his rags and throwing him across the room harshly. 

The impact causes immense pain to course through Shoto’s body, and he’s sure he could feel a rib or two of his break from the pressure. There was liquid running down his face, was that blood? Perhaps. He was in too much pain to process what was happening. 

“First, you kill your mother,” His father says, slowly making his way towards him, intimidation falling off him in waves. “Second, you act like an entitled brat to everyone in this house,” his words make Shoto flinch, knowing in his heart that none of his words were true. “And third,” Shoto’s father says as he finally stands in front of him, eyes glaring into his with severe malice. “You dare steal something extremely valuable from your sister? Have you no shame?”

With the little strength he could muster, Shoto looks up at his father, eyes weak and hazy. “Steal?” He whispers. “I didn’t steal anything….”

“Lies!” He hears his sister exclaim, sobbing hysterically. If Shoto didn’t know that his sister had two sides, he would have believed that she was genuinely upset. But that wasn’t the case. She was making things up. And this time, her act might actually cost his life. 

“You stole the storybooks I got from mother!” She accuses, holding her teddy bear tighter to her chest, hateful eyes glaring into his.

Storybooks? Shoto asks to himself, eyes darting around only to find the pile of storybooks on the ground— the same ones you read to him every night. A fire burns inside him, something that Shoto had never felt before. The audacity his sister had.

“Y-you,” he stutters, coughing from the pain. “You threw them away! I don’t steal them. I found them in the garbage!”

“That’s not true!” His sister fights back, and Shoto can see the way her eyes dart around in shock, not expecting him to actually speak up. “Why would I throw away something I received from mother?” 

Shoto was about to retort, but suddenly, a harsh sound rang through the room, and Shoto feels an excruciatingly painful sting on his cheek. His father had slapped him hard.

“How dare you,” he says, voice low, concealing the pure unadulterated rage that was about to burst forth. “How dare you take our kindness for granted, you son of a bitch.” 

“We clothed you. We gave you shelter and food, and this is how you repay us?” He spats, hands clenched into fists. “After everything you’ve done to our family, you continue to disgrace our family name? What a despicable child you are.” 

Pushing Shoto down to the floor, Enji raises his hand, ready to land a punch. “Shameful.” He lands a blow. “Disgusting.” He lands another. “Thief.” This time his father hits his broken ribs, causing Shoto to cry out in even more pain. “Murderer.”

Tears fall from Shoto’s eyes as the pain continues to flow through him, bursting through every punch. Was he really a murderer? Was he really that bad of a child? If so, why did they make him stay? Why couldn’t they put him out of his misery?

He wished his fairy godmother was here. She would probably make things better than they were now. She would make all the pain go away and then pat his head like she always did as she read him another story. He had never been as happy as he was whenever she read to him. But who knew that happiness came at an awful price?

Fairy Godmother, Shoto prayed in his mind as his father continued to beat him, letting out all his anger onto his body. Where are you? He was sure he looked like a mess, probably not even human anymore. But he couldn’t care less. He just wanted his fairy godmother by his side.

She said she would be there when he needed it most, didn’t she?

Suddenly the pain stops, and all Shoto feels is numb. He opens his eyes to the best ability, only to see his father stop midair with someone’s hand holding into his arm. He turns to the side, wincing in pain, yet it’s worth it because he finally sees the person he’s been waiting for.

His fairy godmother had finally appeared.

“Who are you?” His father shouts, screaming at the fairy. Her face is hardened, eyes glaring back at him with such hatred that it could honestly mirror his father’s. 

“None of your business,” she spats before forcefully throwing his father to the other side of the room, landing with a harsh thud.

She walks towards him, a menacing aura surrounding her, but just before she could approach Shoto’s father, his sister immediately runs to defend him, glaring with genuine tears in her eyes.

“Who are you?” She screams, shaking. “Why are you attacking father? Father has done nothing wrong! You should be attacking that… thing! He’s the bad one here.”

Her desperate cries leave a bitter hole in Shoto’s heart as he feels nothing but despair. He had always hoped that beneath all the harsh words of his family members, underneath all their cruel punishments and glaring eyes, they would still have room in their hearts to care for him, even just a little bit.

But no, they didn’t even see him as human. And that hurt way more than being called a murderer. 

“First of all,” you say, voice ice-cold, causing shivers to run down everyone’s spine. “Shoto isn’t a thing. He’s a human being. He’s your brother. What kind of person are you for not even acknowledging that?” 

“He killed my mother!” Shoto’s sister screams in protest, holding her ground. But her words only cause your gaze to harden as you grab her in the shoulders, and she shakes under your terrifying stare. 

“Listen here, young lady,” your voice booms through the room. “Shoto didn’t kill anyone. Your mother’s death was not his fault. Just because you can’t accept the fact that your mother is not on this earth anymore doesn’t mean you can treat your brother like he’s the scum of the earth.”

His sister falls silent after that, not knowing what else to say. She sniffles, and as gently as you can, you push her to the side. She was still a child, after all. No matter how vain she was, she was only a year or two older than Shoto. And you were not one to inflict pain on children or anyone for that matter. 

But this had gone too far. And you couldn’t find it within yourself to stand on the sidelines any longer. 

“And you,” if possible, your voice becomes even more ominous as you approach Enji, who sat on the ground, groaning. In his weakened state, he glares at you, having the audacity to continue spewing nonsense from his mouth. 

“Don’t you know who I am?” He threatens before you can continue to speak. “I am Todoroki Enji, the right-hand man of the Emperor of the Musutafu Empire! If his majesty were to find out of your crime, then he would—”

“—Punish you to the depths of hell.” You say, cutting him off. “I’m not a fool, Todoroki Enji. I know that the only reason you sheltered Shoto was so the Emperor wouldn’t find out your crimes. Otherwise, you would have thrown him onto the streets.”

Enji can feel his blood run cold, the truth hitting him like harsh waves the more they fall from your lips. 

“The Emperor is a kind and just man, and if he were to ever find out that you were treating your child this way, then he wouldn’t hesitate to sentence you to death. You know that more than anyone.”

Silence befalls the room as everyone soaks your words in. Shoto doesn’t understand. What were you trying to say?

“You know better than to punish Shoto for killing his mother. He didn’t do anything wrong. Todoroki Rei was already weak and frail after giving birth to the little young miss over there, yet you still insisted that she bear you a child, and when she refused, you threatened her.”

A gasp falls from his sister’s lips as the gravity of your words swirls up into a tornado in Shoto’s mind. Was this true? Was he truly not to blame for all of this?

“Lies,” Enji mutters under his breath, low enough for only you to hear. You stay silent, allowing the man to form his thoughts, yet that proves to be fatal as after a beat of silence passes, the man glares at you, taking a broken piece of the wall and swinging it your way. 

“Fairy Godmo—” Shoto calls, distressed and scared, but it proved to be for naught as in the blink of an eye, the heavy debris vanished, and you stood there, wand in hand, glaring once more at his father. 

“What?!” His father exclaims, finally taking his stand. “How were you able to do that? That should have killed you!”

You smile, grin sinister and dark, far from the gentle warmth it usually portrayed. Shoto was scared. His brain couldn’t comprehend what was happening. But what he did know was that he didn’t like any of this one bit. 

“Magic,” is all you say, lifting your wand to cast another spell. “Magic is what made me do this to you. And magic is how I’ll make sure that you suffer the same hell Shoto has gone through.”

Horror fills Enji’s eyes as you step closer. But just as you’re about to release your spell, the door opens, revealing Shoto’s second brother, Natsuo, whose eyes widened at the sight in front of him. On instinct, he grabs the wooden sword he had brought with him from his training and lunges at you just as your magic bursts forth, tackling you to the ground. 

And a scream fills the air. 

Everyone looks, startled at the sight. When the chaos finally comes clear, to the family’s dread and your glee, your spell had managed to affect Enji, but not in the way that you had hoped. 

Instead of the core of his body, you had hit his eyes instead, a nasty scar forming over it, burning the flesh, and causing the man to tremble in pain. 

Well, at least he would know what Shoto felt when he got his scar. 

You stand up, dusting the dirt off your clothes as you make your way towards Shoto, ignoring his shell-shocked brother, who was staring at his father writhing in pain. You probably look like a mess at this point, totally different from how you usually appeared, but that was the least of your concerns. 

You had to ensure Shoto was alright. He had gone through so much after all. 

You couldn’t stand it. How could you stand watch when Shoto’s father was basically killing the poor child? Shoto who was pure and innocent. Shoto, whose only desire in life, was to read. He didn’t care for freedom or revenge. He just wanted to live normally. 

You couldn’t find it within yourself to let his family trample over those dreams any longer. 

You finally approach him, getting ready to kneel beside him and take him in your embrace so you could take the pain away. How much pain must he have gone through? You wonder. His body was battered and bruised, looking as if he was merely a shell of the child he once was. It was too cruel, and you could only hope that you’re magic would take even a bit of that pain away.

Because the child deserved to smile. 

But just as you’re about to reach out towards him, a bright light shines through the room, and from that light comes a figure, one that causes your whole being to momentarily freeze in shock and fear. 

Elder Yagi stood there in all his glory, robes and wings perfectly accentuating his features, truly presenting himself as the most powerful fairy in all the realm. His eyes were placed into a frown, and he stared directly at you, disappointment evident within him. 

You had screwed up, and now you were going to pay the price. 

“Young (Y/N),” His voice booms, loud and proud like how a fairy should be. “For breaking the Fairy Code by revealing the existence of magic to humans other than your godchild and for using said magic to unlawfully harm the human race, you are hereby sentenced to banishment from the fairy realm effective immediately.”

You stare at the elder you had come to know as a father, pleading with desperate eyes for him not to do this to you, but he pays no mind, waving his wand, causing binds to form and wrap around your body. 

“No, please!” You scream in vain, begging. “At least let me heal Shoto. Let me do something for him!”

“You’ve already done enough!” Elder Yagi screams. It’s the first time you’ve seen him so angry, and it scares you. Where was the kind fairy you had come to know? Why was he acting like this? “The Council will take over.”

And light flashes once more through the broken room, and just like that, you’re gone, leaving Shoto behind. 

Shoto blinks blearily, everything passing by in a blur. What had happened? What was happening? He wished he had the strength to get up and take a stand for himself, but he was quite literally beaten to a pulp. He can’t feel the strength in his arms anymore, and just that very thought scares him. 

The only thing that comforts him is the soothing lullaby of darkness, trancing him into a sleepy state, and before he knows it, Shoto passes out. 

Not knowing that from this point onwards, his life would change forever. 

The light shines through the curtains, and Shoto wakes up, blinking. 

He stretches his tired limbs and sits up, yawning. Why did he feel so tired? He’s never felt this weary before. 

He gets out of bed, heading towards his bathroom, looking at the mirror. When he does, however, he’s suddenly flashed with a vision of him, beaten into a pulp and unable to stand up, and he gasps, but that vision slowly fades away, and Shoto’s regular reflection comes back. 

What was that? Why did he look so… dead?

Surely that was a figment of his own imagination, right? Surely that was his mind playing tricks on him, right? Sure, his family did beat him from time to time, but they would never treat him that badly, right?

Shoto shivers, desperately shaking his thoughts away, as he slowly makes his way to the kitchen, hoping to snag some food while the servants aren’t looking. 

On his way, however, he bumps into his father, who glares at him. Shoto looks to the ground in shame, not knowing why this particular meeting made him more frightened than usual. He should be used to his father’s beatings by now, but why did he feel so scared?

“You,” his father says, and Shoto halts at the menacing tone in his voice. “Look at me.” Shoto does as he asks, and looks up to his father, eyes widening at the sight of a ghastly scar mirroring his own on his father’s face.

Did he always have that scar? 

His father stares at him as if he were examining him. For what reason, Shoto wasn’t quite sure, But it made him extremely uncomfortable, and he could only hope that his father would let him go soon. 

“You should be grateful I’m in a good mood today, brat,” is all his father says, glaring harshly at Shoto. He doesn’t say anything more than that, choosing to leave towards the direction of the dining room, leaving Shoto behind in the hallway. 

That was it? He asked himself. He wasn’t going to punch him? That was weird. But he paid it no mind. As his father said, it was his lucky day. 

Yet as Shoto continued to head towards the kitchen, there was an itching feeling scratching the back of his head, telling Shoto that there was something wrong. That something was missing. It felt like there was a missing piece to the puzzle, which confused Shoto because, as far as he knew, everything was completely normal. 

But he couldn’t ignore that thought. It nagged him throughout the day, telling him that this wasn’t right. 

The problem was, Shoto had no idea what exactly was wrong. 

© yumeyooa 2021. All rights reserved. Copying, reposting, translating, and modifying in any platform aside from a03 and tumblr or by any means is NOT permitted and will be dealt with accordingly.

[sidespart]

The Fall of King Romulus Part 2

Summary: Twin Princes Remus and Romulus are cursed at birth with Honesty and Obedience. When Romulus, who cannot disobey any order, is told to kill his brother the next time he lays eyes on him, he changes his name to Roman and runs away. Roman joins up with a misfit group of adventures and plans to never return to his homeland. But the fae have other plans for him...

Warnings (for whole fic not necessarily individual chapters): Violence, mind whammying/memory altering, curse of obedience related consent issues, references to sex, references to war related injuries/PTSD, references to child abuse/neglect (YMMV on that one but just in case), antagonstic-but-not-exactly villian!Janus, Extremly-moraly-dubious-but-not-exacty-unsympathetic-Remus

Pairings: Mostly Platonic LAMP and all the found family feels. Could be read as pre-slash. 

Prologue     Chapter 1  

“Young Sir! Come look at this! A beautiful gift for your sweetheart, no?”

Logan bit back a curse as Roman, once again, slipped form his side and almost skipped towards the merchants stall.

They had finally left the forest earlier that morning. Barley a quarter- mile beyond the tree line the path merged with the great eastern road, already heaving with traders wagons heading to Steveange for the monthly market. Roman had gone to work immediately, finding an exhausted looking couple and charming them into exchanging a ride in the back of their cart for a selection of songs to soothe their gaggle of bored children.

Even Logan, no lover of music, could admit that Romans voices was objectively pleasing. Even the wailing baby settled down under the effects of his lullaby.

The closer they got to the city gates the more densely packed the road became, to the point where their pace might have been improved by walking. But the rest was welcome and the sun was still high in the sky by the time they had finally made it to the city square. They might even have made it to their target in good time, had Patton not insisted that they stay to help the family unload every box and crate from their cart before moving on.

Patton stood nearly seven foot tall, with shoulders to match and the patience of a Raspanzean monk. Moving him when he had decided not to move was difficult at the best of times.  Currently, with a good deed in need of doing and no less than three small children clambering all over him, it was going to be impossible.

Logan looked at Virgil for support.

Virgil was already manhandling the smallest sack of produce down from the cart, under close supervision of a surly looking nine year old.

Logan looked back at Patton. Patton had somehow acquired a fourth child, and was swinging the small boy gently back and forth with one giant arm.

Logan sighed.  

Eventually they agreed that Patton and Virgil would stay to help the family, and then set about finding the four of them somewhere to sleep. Logan and Roman would head down the main street, complete their mission and return with, hopefully, enough coin to let them settle here for at least a weeks rest.

Which Logan would have no problem with. Except that the monthly market seemed far larger than when Logan had visited the city as a young apprentice. The city square was packed with stalls filled with meat, produce, spices and enough live animals to generate a stink so strong even Patton and his twice broken nose winced. The main road meanwhile was filled with more temporary looking stalls offering books, jewellery and potions of every colour alongside the usual clothing and home wear. These continued the whole length of the road from the square to the city temple and even spilled over into the side streets and thoroughfares of the city proper.

All of which apparently meant Roman couldn’t walk for more than two minutes without stopping to gawk at whatever gaudy display was on offer or chat with the seller.

“Roman!” he caught up with the wayward bard at a jewellers stall, where a heavy set man with salt and pepper hair was holding up an extremely impractical looking necklace for him to inspect

“Oh there you are specs” Roman grinned at him, “have you seen Master Galvenets wares? Look how shiny!”

“Is this your sweetheart?” The jeweller – presumably Master Galvenet – grinned at Logan with far too many teeth and reached below the makeshift counter top, “Then may I suggest this one instead – to match his  eyes?”

The necklace he presented was even bigger than the last. With blue glass masquerading as the sapphires surrounded by enough ostentatious filigree to decorate a dukes bed chamber. Logan stared,  momentarily struck dumb by his own disdain.

Roman nudged him, waggling his eyebrows and giving him a lecherous grin “What do you think sweetie? It does match your eyes.”

Logan blanched. Turning quickly to the seller her snapped out “We are NOT together. And also - we’re, extremely poor. And not interested.”

He grabbed Roman’s wrist and proceeded to drag the giggling bard with him back towards the main street. “Can you try to focus?” Logan glared at him, “remember this package is time sensitive.” Superstitiously, Logan patted his pocket, feeling the shape of the vial they had been entrusted to transport to Steveange still safely stored inside.

Roman failed to look chastened. “Logan, it’s a herb. And we we’re asked to deliver it within a week – it’s only been five days! Your forest short cut worked, alright, the worlds not going to end if we stop to appreciate some fine wares on our way.”

Logan raised an eyebrow. “You consider Master Galvenet’s works, ‘fine wares’?”

Now Roman had the grace to look a little sheepish “They had a charm of their own.”

Logan hmphed. “They were very clearly fake.”

“Oh?” Roman linked their arms together, tugging him back into the steady stream of south bound shoppers, “How could you tell?”

Logan told him.

The ensuring lecture took them the rest of the way down main street, and into the rabbit warren of alleyways that branched out behind the city’s temple.

Even here, there were traders. Many had their wares spread out on blankets on the ground instead of stalls, but they seemed less inclined to call over whilst the two of them walked together deep in discussion and so, mercifully, there was less opportunities for Roman to get distracted.

“A festival?” Roman suggested. Logan shrugged, it was possible, something was certainly occurring to draw such an enormous throng.

Eventually, Logan had to admit that his boyhood memories were not enough to navigate every twist and turn of the city streets and Roman stepped away from him to ask a couple for directions. Logan took the chance to study him, but whatever fit of irrationality had led to him wandering back through half the forest the previous night seemed to have past. Even the scratches on his hands and arms had healed almost completely overnight, helped along by a generous slathering of healing salve from Virgil.

(Logan had, at the time, pointed out that the healer was using up rather a lot of their  dwindling supply for an extremely minor injury. Virgil had hissed at him)

Roman was often contradictory. He would spend a day whining about his need for beauty sleep but then stay up till the early hours to fulfil every song request from whatever crowd they managed to gather. He fussed with his makeup and performance clothing as much as a lady at court, but kept his hair cropped unfashionably short and made no effort to seek out high class patrons who could have kept him in silks and finery. He was talented enough with a lute to spend the social season entertaining upper class lords, and talented enough with a sword to spend the rest of his time as a body guard or becomes some towns local hero. Instead he travelled with them.

“You know, I’m fairly sure there were some gentlemen painting miniatures on the main road, if you want to keep staring at me that is.”

Logan flushed, caught. “Don’t be insufferable.”

“You don’t pay me enough for that” Roman grinned cheekily.

This was an old joke. Virgil had originally found Roman, and hired him as a body guard and escort for a three day trip through a bandit ridden mountain pass. Three weeks and many diversions later, they had emerged on the other side of the mountain. Roman had become as much a part of the group as any of the others and had stayed to travel with them as a friend rather than a hire.

Logan was glad of it. Most of the time.

“Did you get the directions?”

“I did, I had to ask three people before I found someone who recognised the address – the city’s full of tourists!”

 *

 The woman who opened the door looked like the word crone ha been invented especially for her. Her grey hair stuck out from a shoddily tied scarf and her face looked like at any moment it might collapse under the weight of her own frown. She scowled at the pair of them, looking like she already learned everything there was to know about them from one glance and found it all spectacularly unimpressive.

“What do you want?” She snapped.

Logan resisted the urge to smooth down his waistcoat like he was presenting to a lecturer and stepped forward.

“Good afternoon. We have been sent by Madam Valarie to –“

This, if anything, seemed to make the scowl deepen.

“My sister? What does that witch want?”

“To deliver you …this”

With a flourish Logan produced the vial and held it aloft. The thin shaft of light spilling from the doorway made the red herb glow a burning orange in the dim of the alley.

“And you think I’m dramatic.”

“Shush.”

Needlessly dramatic or not, he had the woman’s attention. She reached towards the vial with trembling hands but Logan drew back before she could make contact.

“Your sister paid us half, with the promise of the second half on delivery.” Reaching into a different pocket  he produced an envelope and held it out. “She told us to give you this – it should validate our story.”

The woman muttered something decidedly uncomplimentary under her breath but accepted the envelope. Without speaking further she turned and retreated into the hovel, leaving the door open behind her

The two men exchanged a glance, and then Roman deftly stepped around Logan to walk in first, one hand on his sword.

He needn’t have bothered, the short hallway opened up to small kitchen, where every conceivable surface was covered with books, scrolls and bric-a-brac. Three of the four walks were taken up with shelving where kitchen ingredients and appliances sat shoulder to shoulder with  ornaments, candles and what looked like half a taxidermy ostrich.  

If the old woman had hired muscle ready to take to leap out and take the herb by force, they would have had a hard time finding space to stand.

“My sister claims this was picked under the glow of a full moon.”

Logan nodded, “that is what we were given to understand.”

Her eyes narrowed in suspicion, “For this to be worth the price it needs to be used within ten days of the moon’s glow, my sisters village is two weeks ride away on the eastern road.”

“We came through the forest.” Logan explained, “Also, I sealed the herb in a pre-sterilised sample jar – the lack of air exposure should help it retain its freshness far beyond its normal time frame!”

The was a silence. The woman was now looking at Logan not with suspicion, but with the exasperation of a teacher whose student has just said something rather stupid.

Logan crossed his arms.

“If you look at the specimen carefully you will notice no discoloration or other signs of degradation – this method can be used to prolong the lifespan of most vegetation and-“

She interrupted him by laughing, an awful crows call of a noise, and held up a hand for silence.

“You are obviously quite uneducated.” she told him cheerfully “And you are bothering Mittens.”

“I beg your pardon I- wait what?”

“YOWCH!”

Logan spun round, as much as he could in the cramped space, only to find Roman desperately trying to relinquish a scrambling ball of fur back onto one of the high shelves. The cat had already dug its claws deep enough into the bards wrist to draw blood, and was currently clinging on for dear life as Roman waved his hand around like Patton trying to kill a spider.

“My apologies Master Mittens” Roman told the cat a few moments later, after Logan and the crone had  finally convinced it to release him “I thought you were a hat.”

“Why must you touch things.” Logan hissed and was surprised by a much gentler laugh from their hostess.

“Aw now,  Mittens is not the most dangerous thing you could have touched in my kitchen. Here. Drink.”

Logan blinked as she shoved hot cup into his hands. Its contents was extremely dark and disturbingly viscous. A few drops glopped over the side, singeing his finger. He held it as far from his body as he possibly could.

“And for you?” She held up a second cup towards Roman who smiled politely but shook his head ‘no’

“No thank you, Madam.”

“We’re both fine.” Logan said firmly, putting the cup down on one of the first patches of exposed surface he could find. “If you wouldn’t mind completing our transaction we will take our leave of this…place.”

She looked at him for one long moment and then turned back to Roman.

“Your friend says you passed through the Serpents Forrest”

Logan frowned - “That’s not what the locals called it.”

“Well that’s who lives there.” The crone snapped without turning around, “One of the darker fae. I’m not surprised he” – she jerked her chin back towards Logan – “ got through alright, since the gods look after fools.”

“Excuse me!”

“But how did you manage?”

Roman juts shrugged, eyes sparkling with mirth at Logan’s outraged expression. “We saw no one Madam, but if we had done - I carry iron.”

That rusted hunk of junk Logan thought, but the crone was nodding approvingly

“A clever boy” she patted Roman cheek, “I thought so when I heard your accent – you’re from beyond the mountains.”

Logan frowned. He was not gifted when it came to interpreting expressions, but he thought Romans smile had suddenly become very fixed.

“So are you.” Roman replied softly.

There was a moments quiet whilst the two looked at each other and Logan tried not to roll his eyes out of his own head. All they needed to do was a simple swap of coin for produce and instead Roman had manged to find the only other grown adult in Steveange who still believed in fairies.

Whatever northerner to northerner communication was happening seemed to pass, and the crone reached past Roman to pull a small burlap sack from the shelf. Mittens took the opportunity to skitter across her arm and settle himself on her shoulder.

“Here you are then.” She tipped the sack out on top of an open tome, producing three cloves of garlic and a hefty pile of coins Logan couldn’t help but stare. That was more money than Logan had seen in one place since he had started traveling.

The crone picked out three gold pieces and a fistful of silver and handed them to Logan. He counted quickly and handed her the vial. Transaction complete, Logan headed immediately to the door, but turned back when he realised Roman wasn’t with him

He was still trapped between the crone and the shelving. “Will you come and see me before you leave the city?” she asked “It would be nice to share my tea with someone who would appreciate it.”

Logan thought to the gelatinous mess in the tea cup and gagged but Roman just smiled

“If time allows my lady.” He brought her withered hand to his lips and deposited a courtly kiss before sidestepping her and heading after Logan.

The city alley smelt almost like fresh air after the over mixture of incense, garlic and cat that her permeated the crones kitchen, and Logan breathed it in gratefully before setting off. Roman falling into sept beside him.

Logan glanced at him, uncertain.

He knew Roman was from the Northern Kingdom. He guessed from his speech patterns that he either grew up upper class or was truly committed to his larger than life bard persona. He had mentioned a brother once, off hand, and during an argument compared Logan to a tutor he’d disliked who had made him study maps until he could recount every river on the continent by heart.

That was all he knew.

Logan was curious by nature, a trait which tended to get him in trouble. He would have liked to pepper Roman with a hundred questions about life beyond the mountains, but Patton had told him once he should only ask a question about a sensitive subject if he was prepared to answer one himself.

None of them like to talk about where they came from, but that was fine. They were going forward together.

It was obvious though, that meeting his countryman had shaken Roman. He walked silently, even when they turned into a wider street and found the market still in full swing, shoppers crowding around each stall, he made no comment, only stepped closer to Logan.

If he was Patton, he might have known what to say to sooth whatever emotion was clouding Romans features. If he was Virgil, he might have made a joke or pointed out an interesting stall  to distract him

As it was..

“So do all Northerners believe in fairy stories or is it just you two?”

“What?”

“The dark fae of the forest? She can’t have been serious.”

Roman straighten up, fixing him with a mock glare “Logan! You’re honestly going to keep pretending you don’t believe in magic? You travel with an elf!”

“Half-elf. And there’s nothing mystical about him.”

“He makes potions Logan!”

“He mixes herbs into useful medicines, it’s no different than any human herbalist.”

“He chants when he does it. And his eyes do that thing.” Roman wiggled his fingers in front of his face, apparently to illustrate ‘that thing’.

“Which I’m sure helps him know how long each concoction needs to stew before adding the next ingredient. You cannot decided a race is magical just because they’ve failed to invent clocks.”

“Urgh!” Roman threw up his hands, “Sometimes you sound like you’re from Arkaze’yed.”

Arkaze’yd was on the western coast. The most industrially advanced of the great cities, they had recently converted the city temple into an extension of the university.

Logan preened. “Thank you for the compliment.”

Roman pulled a face. “You are such a - ooh! Jam tarts!”

He darted away again, but this time Logan couldn’t fault him. A boy was hastily unpacking a crate of what looked like fresh jam tarts onto his masters stall and the scent was delicious

They had to wait for three families ahead of them before they could finally have their turn. Roman picked out four of the tarts and chatted happily with the seller whilst Logan carefully counted out the money.

“I had herd the monthly market of Steveange was something to behold but this! Are you going to go all night?”

“Most likely.” The trader told them happily, “The towns packed for the coronation.”

“Coronation?”

“Princess Stephanie is to become queen,” the man gushed, one hand over his heart in what Logan considered to be an alarming display of emotional royalism. “The guests have been arriving all week.”

Logan nodded absently. That explained the hubbub. The rich went traveling and the poor went to see them. A coronation was a good enough excuse for a festival. If you liked that sort of thing.

“They say,” the trader whispered leaning forward, apparently unbothered by Logan’s total lack of interest in royal gossip, “That even the mad Prince is coming - Remus of Notaleveale!”

“Is that so.” said Logan, monotonously “Here’s your coin.” He turned to Roman to claim his pastry and – stared.

All the colour had drained from Romans face. He gaze was fixed on the trader, his eyes so wide he looked quite wild.

“Roman?” Logan asked, as gently as he could. He realised that Romans hands were shaking the second before the bag of pastries fell from his grip.

“Roman- ROMAN hey-“

Other customers were starting to push between them, Logan bent down quickly to rescue the bag form the floor and reached out to grab his friends hand.

But when he looked up, Roman had gone.

Part three

[hotchley]

by any other name

So I wrote the fic inspired by this post. It's too long for a drabble. I kinda hate it. It's not been proofread and there's little plot. It's a bit anticlimactic, but it was fun in the moment and I need to go to sleep so... yeah. We're going with it. There's a happy ending!

Trigger Warnings: intrusive thoughts, past child abuse, trauma, trauma responses, implied panic attacks, food mention, blood mention, death mention, slight implication of past dissociative episodes, religion, religious trauma, religious themes

read on ao3!

The road to hell is paved with good intentions.

Aaron remembers being told that as a young boy, shifting in his seat because the clothes his mother made him wear to church were uncomfortable. It had confused him. He'd spent so long being told hell was for bad things- sometimes he was included in that list- that good seemed to be the exact opposite of that.

He'd tried to ask his mother, but she had silenced him with a look. He didn't even bother looking at his father.

Later he realised what it meant, and found himself agreeing. After all, his father was a terrible man who hurt everyone he touched, but he always said it was with good reason. Aaron hasn't set foot in a church since Haley was buried, yet he still finds himself wishing one of the men who made his life a misery is burning in hell.

He tries to not think about the implications of that too much.

The proverb comes to mind again as he argues with Jack. Not over anything serious- not in the grand scheme of things. But to a seven-year-old boy, navigating life without his mother, it is the most important thing in the world.

They're arguing over shoes.

Jack wants to wear sandals. His father wants him to wear trainers. Hotch had checked the weather forecast that morning- it was going to rain. And he didn't want Jack catching a cold because of it.

But then Jack's bottom lip starts to quiver, and he looks to his father like he's being told his mother is in heaven and Aaron thinks of the meaning behind the words. If he doesn't let this go, then what's to say he'll need to have the next thing go his way. And the thing after that. And the thing after that.

What's to say that when Jack looks back, wondering where everything went wrong and he stopped being his father's son, he will realise it was this moment?

"Okay. Okay, wear the sandals, and then let's get going," Aaron says.

Jack, completely and blissfully unaware- as he should be- of what his father has been thinking, grins, his earlier sadness forgotten. He puts his other shoe on and then runs out the door. Aaron picks up his bag and coat, smiling slightly at the trust Jack has in his ability.

Jack's teacher smiles at them when they get to his classroom. Knowing Aaron is running late, she just takes Jack's things and bids him goodbye. The relief visibly crosses his face as he realises he won't have to make small talk. He goes to tell her about Jack's bag, but she waves him away.

She's seen enough interactions between children to know what's going on. It's why she's so unsurprised when she opens his bag to see his trainers and favourite socks are neatly tucked away for when it does inevitably rain and soak him.

Aaron makes it to work on time. Of course he does.

"Morning Hotch," Anderson says when they get into the elevator together.

He's one of the few people to follow the "no inter-team profiling" rule, so he doesn't notice how some of the tension seems to bleed out of his boss' shoulders once the nickname is used. Doesn't even realise how Hotch gives him a slight smile when his back is turned.

He steps out, and everything is as it should be.

The ghost of his father may be haunting him more than usual, but Aaron spent most of his life being ignored. He knows how to hide. He knows how easy it is to forget about someone when you bury yourself in something else.

So that's exactly what he does. He logs into his computer, and he starts making his way through emails. By the time Emily- always the last to arrive, yet always on time- sits down, taking a few minutes to speak to the others, he's gotten through all the ones that came in last night.

His ear is hurting, but he chooses to ignore it as much as he can. Halfway through his second file, he opens his door. Spencer taps Derek, and a few minutes later, the rest of the team is assembled to collaborate on a profile. It means lots of talking, and the occasional shuffling of papers. It means noise, but not so much that it's unbearable.

Aaron smiles, and it feels like the ghost of his father fades. He is loved. He is cared for. He is worth time and effort.

Despite the nature of their work, he's in a good mood as the day continues.

By lunchtime, the memory of his father is breathing down his neck, criticising everything he does. His posture is crooked. His notes are too messy. His profile isn't good enough, and the killer is going to get away with their crimes.

Just like Michael Hotchner.

He has no idea where the sudden bad day is coming from, but he can't shake it now. He will not waste the day and he will not give in, but it is just one of those days where the pain is so much more than he thinks he can tolerate. He wishes he knew how to cope properly, but he doesn't.

His pen suddenly snaps. He'd been holding it too tightly, and now his hands are covered in red ink. He was annotating. He always annotates in red, but now, as it stains his hands, all he sees is Haley's blood. Foyet's. Elle's. Kate's.

There are no tissues in his room. So he goes to the bathroom, hoping the team doesn't see what's happened. They don't, but they do hatch a plan.

Again: the road to hell is paved with good intentions.

The short walk does nothing to clear his head, and every second he spends looking at the file is a second in which he thinks about the pen just suddenly breaking. How did he not realise? How did he not know? This time it was the pen. A thing.

What happens when it's a person? Then what?

He thinks he hears someone call his name. But that's ridiculous. It's too late for lunch, and too early for anything else. If someone needed something, they would've knocked on his door, especially with his ears acting up the way they were.

"Aaron Michael Hotchner," Derek shouts.

He doesn't like using Aaron's full name, but they got him a doughnut from his favourite bakery, and he can't be bothered to walk all the way up to his office. Also, Aaron didn't respond the first three times they called for him, so if anything, the shock will force him away from his desk for a few moments. God only knows how much he needs it.

Aaron doesn't hear Derek's voice.

He hears the echo of his father.

His throat starts to close. His vision starts to blur.

There is nowhere to hide. Not in his office. He used to have spots, just in case, but Jack hates it. Jack cannot stand it, so Aaron got rid of all the things that made it possible. He would never make his son hurt the way his father made him hurt, and maybe to him that is nothing, but when Jack grows up- because he will, in time- he will realise how brave his father has always been.

But that is the future.

In the present, Aaron has nowhere to turn.

The walls are closing in.

The voice is getting louder. It is getting closer. The danger is coming towards him, and he has nowhere to hide. He has nowhere to turn.

"Aaron?" Someone says.

He lets out a sound. He presses his hand to his mouth. He cannot take it back, but he won't make another one. It will only make things worse for him. He learnt that lesson long ago.

"Hotch." A different voice. A safe voice.

He turns in that direction.

He doesn't see it, but Derek Morgan's face is filled with relief and anger and sadness all at once. Because it suddenly makes sense.

"Aaron" has been tainted by the mouth of the man who gave his friend his middle name. That man and his actions are the reason Jack's middle name is Derek, not Aaron. "Hotch" has never passed Michael's lips, and it never will. "Hotch" is the man, who didn't even flinch when a bullet wedged itself in the wall next to his head.

Aaron is the boy that cried himself to sleep, wondering why his father couldn't love him the way he was meant to.

"Hotch. You're safe. Breathe with me," he says.

Hotch does.

When the panic passes, the heat rises to his cheeks, and he silently pleads with Derek to not say a word. He realises now that the other voice was Dave. Dave, who has left the room. He feels like he's failed another father.

The door and blinds are closed. He's lost all sense of time, but he feels grounded, so it isn't too concerning.

"Thank you," he whispers. For everything, goes unsaid.

"You don't need to do that," Derek replies. Because it's not difficult. Not when it's you, are the words unspoken but still communicated.

Aaron manages a weak smile. It will be a silent understanding between them, just like so many other things.

"Would you like a moment?" Derek asks him.

Hotch doesn't trust his voice, so he just nods. Derek leaves him.

Only once he stops hearing the footsteps does he break.

He doesn't scream, even though he wants to. It has been thirty years. His body stopped knowing the touch of that man long ago, and yet every waking moment feels like it is ruled by him. He hates it, but Michael- for better or for worse- made him the man he is today, and there is no way to shake that.

Realistically, he knows that he is responsible for his actions, and that he was only influenced by his father up to a certain point, but when the tears are falling and dampening his trousers- not his shirt, they'll be too obvious- rationale is hard to cling to.

He walks down ten minutes later.

The team has been guarding his doughnut. Of course they have.

Hotch's eyes are red. Nobody comments. But everyone knows. Everyone understands now.

It is an uncomfortable silence, and it is uncomfortable to watch him try and pretend he is perfectly fine, but at least he got his treat, even though it tastes like dust in his mouth.

They get it now. Why he is always so adamant about being called Hotch. Why he hates the use of his first name. Why he so violently objected to the tradition of giving Jack his name as a middle name. Because he doesn't want his son to never be free of him.

Jack will one day give his children their grandfather's name, citing him as the greatest man he's ever known.

Again, that is the future.

In the present moment, Spencer calls him Hotch without a second thought. Dave stops calling him Aaron when he wants to get a point across, realising it only works due to fear. Emily continues to make slight alterations to the nickname that either get her an eye roll or look of horror. JJ and Penelope make sure any notes written to him use Hotch.

Derek doesn't change a thing, because their bond has always been different.

Jack comes home in trainers, understanding how much his father loves him.

It makes Hotch understand that his wishes are valid. His needs matter. His comfort is important to people.

Slowly, ever so slowly, the personalities attached to Hotchner, Hotch and Aaron merge into one.

And then Hotch introduces himself as Aaron.

The road to hell may be paved with good intentions, but intentions and actions are very different things that can completely alter the destination someone finds themselves at. And a rose by any other name would smell as sweet, so whether he is Hotch or Aaron, he is a good man, who found a way to defeat their father.

[asclepius-erebus]

Nevarro

Title: Personal Eden (Ongoing)

Chapter 3: Nevarro

Rating: Mature (17+)

Word Count: 4.3k

TW: mentions of abuse (lmk if I should include any more!)

The next day, as anticipated, you land on Nevarro, where upon disembarking a flurry of droids scurry up to the ship.

“Hey!” Mando yells, paralyzing all the droids, “No droids!”

You learn that the baby is not in fact Mando’s, but a foundling he’d taken up first as a quarry but then adopted. You’re not sure what’s so special about this child, but for it to have a bounty over it’s head before it can intelligibly speak seemed cruel enough, and you don’t ask any further questions.

You also learned that Mando is a man of few words. He tends to keep his responses curt and to-the-point; and never straying away from the subject of conversation. From your observation, he has not gone onto tangents or disclosed any new information, willingly, that did not immediately pertain to the topic. It made it even more difficult for you to learn anything new about him, his character, humors, and appearance. He is a complete mystery, and yet you find him fascinating all the while he continues to intimidate with both his outward appearance, and lack of openness.

The day on Nevarro is grey despite the sky being totally clear. The landscape isn’t strikingly beautiful like some of the other planets you’ve been on with Malsifer. It’s gritty, dusty, and terribly suffocating. The air feels dense and warm, that kind that made you feel sticky and uncomfortable. The sky is a dull blue, but blue nontheless.

Since joining Mando on his ship, he’d allowed you the time to wash off the caked on makeup from the other night, some of which you’d cried off, like your ruby red lips. It was a nice color, you were fond of how well it complimented your skin and the shape of your lips- but it had overstayed its time on your face and it was time for it to go.

However, upon stepping onto the rough planet, you realize how out of place you appear to be. Not only is the green alien child perched on your hip and babbling to himself, but you’re still dressed in what Mando had rescued you in a few days ago. The wispy fabrics fluttered in the subtle warm breezes, carrying with them the muted but bright colors of an oceanside sunset of lavender, magenta, and gold. You felt exposed among the muted and dark colors that Mando and his child limited themselves to, sticking out like a sore thumb.

Mando’s child begins to fuss, deciding that he wanted to meander around in the dirt as Mando took a few steps towards an unfamiliar man. The man is of a darker complexion, though his beard and hair suggests he is of a wiser age, and extended a friendly hand to shake. They must already know each other.  

The child giggles and laughs, grasping and tossing any rocks he finds on the ground. You crouch to his level, structuring his play by tossing him back the rocks he’d thrown. From this, he giggles excitedly.

~~

“Greef.” Mando greets the aging man, Greef Karga, approaching him at the opening to the city, densely lined with clay houses and open markets. It teems with a unique variety of inhabitants and passersby- like Mando, who does not stand out in the crowd as obviously as the brightly colored dresses his new acquaintance was dressed in. That, was something he’d address soon enough.

“Mando.” Greef smiles, eyes lighting up upon seeing the familiar helmet, “How are you old friend?”

Mando looks over his shoulder at his companions before returning his attention to Greef, “Surprised to be back. What are you doing out here?” He asks with a tired sigh.

Greef raises an inquisitive eyebrow, “I’m just as surprised to see you out here… Tying up a few loose ends. Who’s your new friend?”

Mando hooks his gloved fingers at the top of his chest plate, resting his arms casually over himself and relieving some of the weight of the Beskar on his shoulders, “That’s who I’m here to find some information about. She’s one of Malsifer’s.”

“Malsifer?” Greef’s eyes widen, “What is she? A quarry?”

Mando’s helmet shakes, “No, Malsifer was. Malsifer had an indentured servant situation and I need to know more about her… Anything would be useful, but especially any bank records.” Mando says quietly, sliding a small note with the name of his newest crewmate scribbled onto it.

Greef looks down at the note inquisitively, “Malsifer, huh? Doesn’t surprise me… He always rubbed me the wrong way… Though I’m not surprised that his luck, or lack of it, finally caught up to him.”

“She’s got no where to go. Is there any way you can find out anything about her that’s useful…?”

Greef looks between Mando and the cooing child and woman behind him, and then down at the name on the note, “Get back to me in an hour or two.”

~~

Mando turns to wave yourself and the baby to his side, the man with whom he was conversing with turning away and headed into the city.

“What was that about?” You ask, the baby occupying itself with a metal ball he’s produced from his bundle of clothing.

“Business.” He says briefly.

Business. You think to yourself, the most colorful response I’ve gotten since I boarded.

With the baby balanced on your hip, Mando navigates you both through the streets of a busy marketplace. Vendors line the streets and advertise their products and produce, crafts, and other items for sale, all ranging in complexity and beauty that you admire from a distance. The baby on your hip is thoroughly entertained with all the sights, sounds, and colors, teething on a pastry he managed to swipe off a vendor when they weren’t looking.

Of course you attract some attention. Not only did it not help that the baby you tote clearly is not yours, but your impractical and fluttering dresses had other passerby step and trip on them as you went- sending you a few gross side-eyes and raised eyebrows. You clutch what you can in your hands as you follow Mando’s glistening helmet through the crowd.

He approaches a stand fluttering with colorful fabrics, handcrafted designs embroidered to the hems of cloaks, dresses, and shirts. They’re all so pretty and wonderful to look at.

Mando begins a conversation with a middle aged woman at the stand in her native language, her weathered face and dark eyes glancing at you from time to time as Mando continues to explain something to her. She raises her hand and counts on her fingers as she explains something to him in response, Mando filling her palm with a few coins. Pleased, she nods and produces a neatly folded up wad of fabric. She extends it towards you with a forced but friendly smile.

“Something to cover yourself with for now…” Mando explains, “Later, on the ship, I can find you some clothes.”

Accepting the folded fabric, you briefly study its particular shade of purple. It’s dark and neutral, almost barely detectably purple should someone care enough and stare long enough at you. You unfold it to find an opening, and you slip it over your head, a hood catching on you as the rest of the fabric settles on your shoulders and over your torso. The baby gets caught in it too, but frees himself with a shake of his enormous head. It is a cloak, the fabric feeling pleasurably heavy on your figure and comfortable on your bare shoulders. It feels protective and warm, but breathable and completely functional as an everyday garment. Not only does it feel well, but it conceals you much better amongst everyone else.  

“I buy my cloaks off her.” Mando responds simply, the first time he’s shared a new fact about himself, “She’s also going to find you a pair of shoes.”

He’s right. Perhaps the pair of sandals tied at your ankles aren’t the best fit for a shoe to be blundering around planets with. It was certainly enough for the occasions you accompanied Malsifer to meeting his clients, and the extent of your time out in the elements was limited to barely nothing. Malsifer concerned himself more with whether you appeared to his liking and aesthetics.

The older woman returns, producing a short pair of dark brown leather boots of a matte finish. They are simple and easy to slip on, with no intricate buckles, zippers, or ties. They hug your feet comfortably and accomplishes all the criteria necessary for being a practical piece of footwear.

Mando glances around and hands the woman a few extra coins, nodding in thanks as she accepts them and waves kindly at the child on your hip.

“Thank you.” You tell Mando as the three of you walk away from the stand of fluttering fabrics. He doesn’t react, at least as far as you can observe from the faceless helmet that you looked at when speaking to him.

“We have some time before we meet up with Greef again.” Mando says, ignoring what you’d said, “We can-“

“-Take a look around.” You interrupt, your curiosity about the rest of the market piqued. Surely there were other useful and interesting things the three of you can look at other than the four metal walls of Mando’s ship.

Mando agrees, but you’re not necessarily sure if it was from acquiescence or genuine concurrence.

It is difficult to read him, you’ve noticed it bothering you, without any facial expressions and other visual cues to clue you into his mood. His body language was often also very grey and difficult to deduce. This is unlike what you’ve relied on in the past to understand and predict other people’s behaviors. Malsifer was an individual very prone to giving himself way via his expressions and tone of voice, which made it easier to clue you into how you should respond, if at all. It’s natural to rely on social cues in order to know how to respond to a given situation, but with Mando, it feels quite the contrary.

He strolls with you at a relaxed pace, his hand firmly placed on the hilt of his blaster he keeps attached to his waist.  

Your eyes flicker between his helmet and his hand. You’d seen him use his blaster with deadly precision, it drove you to tears to see the barrel trained at the space between your eyes. You hadn’t heard of stormtroopers being as accurate, and you question what he is, and what he represents. You can already deduce that he’s a bounty hunter, why else would he be looking for quarry? But why the child? Why the armor? And why the ship you’d finally observed to be very Old Republic.

“Mando-“ You begin to ask curiously…“Can I ask you a question?”… cautiously.

“Sure.” He says simply, his helmet turning to observe a long blaster rifle on display at a vendor.

“Where are you from?”

Mando’s helmet continues to follow the long rifle as he walks away, “No where. I was a foundling.”

“A foundling from where?” You ask again. “Who found you?”

“I don’t remember.” He says dryly, his gaze returning forward as he scans the vendors again till something catches his eye… visor.

“So then what’s with the armor?”

He stops midstride, and you sense that you’ve either said something wrong or insulted him in some way.

Your cheeks immediately feel like their burning despite the chill that raced down your spine. You blink back a million-and-one thoughts and possibilities on how he might respond. Was he mad? Dumbfounded? Absolutely furious? It’s too hard to tell. By the way he’d stopped and now turned his head towards you, your hands clench into a fist- not prepared to strike, but to brace.

He chuckles. He chuckles. Warmly, softly, and bemusedly, his modulated blitheness is musical and so incredibly comforting. You’re not sure how you should react. It’s not the reaction you’d braced yourself for. After all, you’d insulted him, didn’t you?

“You mean to tell me that you’ve never seen Mandalorian armor before?” He asks, resuming the slow pace he took beside you.

You shake your head, looking down at the ground as you resume walking a few paces behind him. The child, unbothered, continues to chew on the pastry and inquisitively looks between yourself and Mando.

“I’m surprised Malsifer never let you see one.” He says, “No wonder you seemed pretty scared when I was there.”

You’d kept your gaze down at your feet as you walked, feeling ashamed to ask a dumb question in the first place. Of course you knew what a Mandalorian was, but you’d only ever read about them in flimsi books you’d managed to smuggle in and out of Malsifer’s library. They seem downright fictional, down to their very demeanors of being militant and mute. It didn’t help that the only information accessible to you came in bound flimsi books that in itself was probably older than yourself or Malsifer’s combined existence. You’d never seen their armor, at least not the kind that Mando was sporting in pure Beskar and with a helmet that looked too much like a storm trooper’s. You’d sooner expect he was an ex-trooper, or someone who simply stole or bought their armor.

“It was terrifying.” You admit softly, “You, pointing a blaster in my face. Doesn’t help that you’ve got all that armor.”

You see his boots stop moving and turn towards you. You still keep your gaze down, distracting your hands with the child’s robes as the crumbs of his treat fell from his face.

“Look at me.” He says sternly, and you obey, looking up into his visor, “You need to… unlearn whatever this is.”

You chew your lip, intimidated by his presence so close and so powerful over you. You fight yourself and your nervous glances away from the glare of his visor.  

“I don’t know what Malsifer put you through, but here, with us… none of it.” He continues, “Can’t have you walking behind me like some shadow, not with my kid.” He takes a step back from you and turns away, but stops.

His shoulders drop and his demeanor softens, “You were walking next to me.” He says, awaiting for you meet him at his side, “You were saying…”

Meeting up with him, the child in your arms coos and reaches out to Mando, who scoops him up from your grasp and you hide your arms under the cloak. He is right, it’s different with Mando and his kid. This is an equal playing field where you’re a part of a cohort of other individuals just like you. Of course, Mando is the leader, he provides, flies, and protects. The new dynamic is refreshing, but old habits are hard to beat. Which isn’t a natural nor healthy response. But neither was being caned across your knees and shins if you didn’t do so.

Mando stops at a vendor selling a wide assortment of things. They all seem extremely random, from switchboards to datatapes to bacta kits. Perhaps these are things the vendor was able to scavenge off broken ships and droids, this isn’t the first time you’d seen scrap collectors try to sell off what they can’t trade at a refinery. You’ve heard of such beings called Jawas who are infamous for such scavenging, but you also know that they’re not entirely open to the idea of selling what they find.

Mando strikes up a conversation with the vendor, a tall and slender specimen with small black eyes and three digits on each of their four arms. They’re haggling, is what you can assume, as Mando shakes his head and points to a well-stocked bacta kit on the table. The vendor insists on a certain price, counting it off on his palms before accepting a deal with Mando’s budget. He swipes the bacta off the table, and tosses it.

You catch it and immediately hide it under your cloak. Mando notices, walking away from the vendor saying, “Keep that there, don’t want him noticing he let me take the wrong one.”

His dry friendliness is welcoming, it made you feel like you were walking with a friend rather than a tank. The child giddily had finished his snack and entertained himself with his metal ball, which now you’d deduced was from a switch or lever, likely coming from the cockpit of the ship.  

“So… your armor. Mandalorian?” You ask, keeping pace with him.

He nods, “Mandalorian.”

You think back to what you’d read about in the flimsis, “If I recall correctly, some Mandalorians choose to keep their helmets on? Or do all of you have to wear it all the time?”

Mando nods, “When I swore to the creed, I swore to keep my identity secret. It’s part of our code.”

“So ‘Mando’ isn’t your real name?” You ask.

“No.”

“So what is your name?”

“Mando.”

You furrow your brows, not wanting to press further. You admire the devotion, despite it frustrating you further. You wanted to learn more of him, but now you know that such learning can no longer pertain to his appearance, and you must now learn his character. Though it wasn’t the only thing weighing on your curiosity, you’ve already begun building his profile.

Like you’d learned during your time in hyperspace that he is a man of not-so-many words. He isn’t aptly good at beginning a conversation, and usually such conversations are limited to small talk on the basis of his work and ship… But that had been debunked when he disclosed that he gets his cloaks from the woman at the colorful stand, and joked to you about the bacta-kit hidden away under your cloak. You hope he will reveal more of himself to you with time. You’re patient enough for that.

You respect that his physical appearance as an extension of his anonymity. It’s not the only instance where you’ve experienced the sort of veiling that came with particular religions, cultural identities, and personal choices. It will be up to him to disclose what he wants and when- it would be rude of you to pester. It’s not your place.  

The three of you walk leisurely, stopping occasionally to look at something interesting at a stall before returning into the direction of the ship. In the distance, you observe the man from earlier standing and waiting for you, Greef, you remember Mando mentioning the name.

Mando hands you the child back into your arms, “Get back on the ship.” He instructs, and you nod, the baby beginning to doze off to sleep in your arms.

~~

“What did you find?” Mando asks taking a few steps towards Greef and out of earshot from his new crewmate.

Greef’s usually friendly smile is thin, “I found one result for her name, one that appears on an obituary. According to the systems, she’s technically dead.”

Mando exhales sharply, disappointed, and curiously tipping his head to the side, “So, what? How long has she been ‘dead’?”

“Five years.” Greef says bleakly, “And she has no digital footprints anywhere. No record of her ever even having an account to hold credits, or receipts from anywhere that she’s spent credits.”  

Mando looks back in the direction of his ship, watching you board the Razor Crest with the child in your arms, how tenderly you hold his head and attend to his sleepy babbling. This is unfortunate news, that Mando would need to tell you sooner rather than later.

“I don’t know what to do with her.” Mando admits quietly, your silhouette disappearing in the ship.

Greef clears his throat, “I know this is none of my business, but the baby seems to like her, it’s pretty obvious… Until she can figure things out on her own, she can stick around, learn a thing or two, and you’ll have someone who can take care of the kid when you have jobs.”

Mando nods, “This isn’t the first time Malsifer faked someone’s death just to drain their accounts?”

“It’s also not the first time he’s trapped pretty young girls into being his personal assistants.” Greef says, raising an eyebrow in Mando’s direction.

“He abused them.” Mando says, “If it wasn’t for their money, what else did he need them for?”

Greef shrugs, folding his arms across his chest, “Malsifer seemed like the controlling type… He liked being in control of anything and everything important to him which is money and power. I don’t think she was a part of anything more sinister, but I certainly wouldn’t rule it out.”

“I’ll find that out more when she feels like talking. Right now… I don’t know what to do with her.” Mando crosses his arms.

Greef looks back at the ship behind Mando and back to his visor, “Let her stay until she can figure something out for herself. She can be useful while you work, keep the ship and the kid safe while you’re out…”

Mando nods again in agreement, “It’s my only option right now. Thank you… for your help.”

Greef smiles, “Anytime, old friend.”

--

Mando appears on the ship shortly after you’d put the child to sleep in his shiny egg-like crib. He’d tired himself out from the morning shopping and was happily full of whatever pastry took him the entire walk to eat.

You’d put the bacta pack in the bacta kit soldered on the metal of ship and managed to clear out some of the dust that had blown into the hull while the door was open. You’d observed Mando’s ship to not only be Old Republic but also just old in general. Though it is in excellent flying condition for its age, it lacked in amenities that more modern ships had like touch-pads instead of buttons and actually finished floors and walls. Either Mando is a man of old fashion, or simply too preoccupied to take care of his ship like others do.

He is quiet, walking up and down the hull checking lights, buttons, datapads, and other things. While he did that, you patiently sit on the familiar wedge prepared to strap into the metal wall and prepare for take-off. Your hands occupy themselves with the hang nails that plague your fingers.

You see, from the corner of your eye, something tan and grey. Looking up, it was Mando, handing off to you a pile of clothing he’d gathered in his quiet pacing around the hull.

“Thank you.” You say softly, standing to get to the fresher.

Mando nods, “Meet me in the cockpit, we need to talk.” And he turns before you can ask any questions. He disappears up the ladder.

The cockpit? You think to yourself curiously, what in the worlds does he want to talk about?

The mirror in the fresher is just reflective enough to call itself a mirror. It clearly once existed as a piece of scrap that Mando had repurposed to decorate the blank wall above the sink. But it fulfilled its purpose in reflecting back the visage of yourself you present every day.

Today, you look tired.

Dark circles around your eyes hint at some much needed deep sleep and the tired squint you gave to yourself only emphasizes this.

You look at the clothing Mando handed to you, consisting of a large white shirt and some pants that definitely needed to be tailored to accommodate your height and lack of… lower… masculine features. These are clearly articles of clothing Mando has no use for, and you’re thankful for them despite Mando’s somewhat apparent reluctance.

You undo yourself from your dress, somewhat sad to see the magical colors fall to the floor in a wispy heap. This was healthy though, a transition into a different person. After all, you’re fulfilling the prophecy you’d begun to brainstorm the first night aboard the ship: a change of clothes.

The shirt is square, harsh but hemmed edges of fabric for sleeves, a collar, and buttons to secure said collar closed. It sat rather high on your neck, so you keep the first two buttons undone, one side of the collar falling open to reveal the raw edge of the hem. The sleeves were of a comfortable length, also squared off with a button for cuff-links that you undo and gently fold up your forearm.

Looking back up at yourself in the mirror, you look like a little girl trying on her father’s clothes. It’s clear that they’re too big, but you make do with tucking and folding where you can. But the broad and structured shoulders the shirt gave you made you feel… bigger? Something about it made you feel more robust.

The pants are… another story. Of course they sat a little low on your hips and were too loose around the area where you lacked the facilities of a man. But the utilities of having so many pockets and places to stow away small items brought you some small joy as you cuff the pants around your ankles and tuck the shirt into them.

You style your hair simply up, anything to keep it away from your face and off your shoulders till it’s time to wash and you think what to do about them then.

Looking back into the crusty mirror, though your eyes see themselves, a whole new person has taken shape behind them. It felt foreign to you to appear so fresh-faced, neutral, and unassuming in a world where Malsifer demanded you always looked your best as an extension of himself and his appearance. That usually translated in wearing makeup on a near-daily basis, and extravagant colorful gowns to even the most casual of events.

The dress is a pastel mess on the floor of the fresher, and looking down at it, you feel a twinge of guilt for having to abandon it. It’s pretty…

You bundle it up and head out from the fresher.

You walk quietly across the hull, your bare feet making light patting noises as you went. Sitting at the wedge in the wall, you ditch the dress behind you and slip on your boots again before standing up, and head towards the cockpit like Mando told you to.

[ashenburst]

Posting some angst that I wrote. I'm not sure if it will end up in the final version of my book as this is a side character's POV. My best friend wants to skin me alive because of what I'm doing to my characters, ESPECIALLY Athanasius (the star of this chapter/oneshot), so, if you'd like some sort of Nietzschean, Dostoyevsky-ish sort of energy combined with a wounded man whose life has been nothing but exploitation... take this!

tw: gore, bugs being yuck, religious themes/trauma, heavy depression

word count: 1692, unedited because #yolo

Athanasius tugged at the hem of his shirt. The blood, well crusted, defied his movements. Elbowing it like mad, he barely managed to take it off and throw it by his side, where it lay together with the top of his uniform, discarded by the roots of an old oak. All of the clothes, drenched in a deep red. One swift yearning blew his mind, that of murder, of all of Agglomeration’s uniforms coated in metallic death. But no hatred, no hope could go that length. Nothing his soul could sustain. Not anymore.

Birds and waters and insects all sang, ignorant. Remaining in his stained breeches, he staggered close to the river and its white shore, agony greeting every movement. Flies tickled their way into half-open wounds, the stinging slits crossing his body. Sweat and blood curled his chest’s hairs with some black bugs dangling. So many flew around. Everyone had use of him.

He’d contemplated leaving himself in the state of bloodbath, and run for help in any community, feigning amnesia. The sheer horror of his appearance could not be trapped; whispers of it would run amok only to be seized by the worst of ears, those deaf to him.

Rocks of the riverbank wriggled beneath his boots. He dropped on his knees, pain shrieking once they dislocated. He held his head high. Cold hands contrasted on sun-heated stones. The Sun burnt through his quivering eyelids.

He could run. Would they find him? They would love to. He would kill to quench that love. He already had. Disappointed he was to see it insatiable.

But he could run. Where to? Aurun’s bank had his funds, but entering the city meant sure doom. The rest of the world was his destination. At least, parts of it without the Agglomeration.

And he could run. Scramble to some dreary town, then harbor. Stowaway his life until Onogea. He absolutely could. He had knowledge, he had strength, he had power.

His fingers dug into the rocks. The stone cracked under his weakness. One deep sigh to commemorate it all over again, and he choked on himself. He coughed up deep red mucus, spraying blood and its clots over round, white rocks. His hand rose, fingertips shaking like a naked twig on the wind. He coughed again, and blood squirted over his already dirty palm. So much filth. He’d long grown accustomed.

Then why was there hope? That inside and outside, all of that grunge could be cleansed? Because, he still had power. Despicably interwoven with all of his thoughts and feelings and so much absence of both. He had it, and he was abused for it, and he abused it. And he had it. And he pounded his fist against that aching chest, spewing darkness into broad daylight, scarring the nature with his own wounds, bleeding with the Devil’s compassion, and he had it. Even the Devil wept for him. Even the Devil pitied him. Yet he had it.

He huffed a fly outside his nostril. Something stuck at the back of his throat, clogging the air. He hawked, discharging even more bloody mucus, now onto himself. Stained saliva swayed from his lips. He brushed it away with the back of his palm. In his lap, red rolled, young blood over old. He separated his legs to have it smudge all the way to the ground. Kneecaps scorched as he scraped them over rocks. Wherever they dug, blood trailed, two crescents set in stone.

To be unclasped. To be a stain elsewhere. This world made it seem too simple, lovingly palpable. But he was not bound to it, and in navigating the philosophical, he reached the inevitable: responsibility would set him free. He held pseudohistoric texts that hollered so, and pseudohistory was of angelic origin, therefore applicable to him. He could recall the tremble in his fists while reading it, mind screaming and shattering with the consolation, “It would be over. You’ve understood. It would be over.” But it wasn’t. Same questions yielded same answers, and these were not meant for man. He had come to know Hell by fulfilling all wisdom.

If someone could question him for once!

He whimpered, back arching him down. Another surge of wet coughs.

In the corner of his foggy vision, he spotted a plant unusually brown, leaves writhed. His head rolled to his shoulder to gaze at it properly. It was easy to care for the inhuman. None of it was evil. But to understand? Invincibly difficult.

He raised his hand. It trembled so fucking much, but it did the job, reached the plant. Wisps ignited at his fingertips, shaky too as they glided towards the leaf, erasing blight from it, rendering it a green slate. He gave it one stroke. “There…” he croaked like the ravens of September, no bird to caw back. Why would anyone, indeed, ever even murmur back? To tangibly, blatantly forlorn he. If anew, perhaps he could be fine.

It was no hope, he reminded himself – he remembered how it once felt. It was yet another stumble into the unknown, an experimental circumstance, to see if he could, somehow, appease the referential frame up above and renounce it. He cursed under his breath. It was never enough, and they? They never should’ve made themselves known. Mankind did not need them. Mankind never wanted right. There was no right! He gasped at the Heavens. Why would they ever impose themselves, if there was no truth?! Never to reply!

But who was he, to have his wisdom pacified? Forever the staple of cruelty, a child. Neglected all over again.

Flies ravaged the inside of his mouth. He spat some, others he coughed away. Another, behind the gums, he had to scoop with his tongue, and only then dribble it out. Useless troubles for a meaningful man. Cosmic irony, overlapping the entirety of his life.

He dragged himself up to the coastline. By the water’s clarity, by its estimated location, he knew this was not one of Aurun’s five rivers. It could be Rulde. Downstream, it would lead him to Szenevod. It didn’t truly matter.

His palms drowned in the river’s cold. The rest of his body above it, he could listen and stare at the steams. The reflection was expected, a face mauled with emotion and encrusted with gore. He hated the truth inside it: he was the saint. He would be eternalized on murals, his mantle the sunlight, his cohort the flora, his mouth bloody obscene, but the heart, the pastors would claim, the heart pure and so profoundly tortured! And they would assure fervently: the greater the suffering, the greater the Heaven’s lodge. He wouldn’t even bother to tell them the great truth that living for the afterlife could only give Hell, and he already held it, and no Heaven was worth the misery.

He was the saint, beloved only at a distance. He would’ve kissed that saint, if only he had known how to love him. He was, after all, right beneath him, gaping back with barren ambers. He could not hope for this man. There was nobody and nothing in the eighteen years of his existence that ever nursed his soul. Why keep going, if it could only get worse? He had made one fatal mistake, only recently. He licked sweet hope only for it to burn bitter, for one could not be defined without the other. He didn’t have to know nor to realize, for it had always been an axiom surer than the Sun. Him, a fool for ignoring the one truth he found, denying the axiom it supported, and finally, aching after the plainest of swindles.

Constantin, you did not care.

He could no longer care either. But he could cry. By all means, he could. Tears were harmless. He wasn’t. He did.

What would you do if you saw me like this?

He stared at himself through dreary eyes. Tears swelled in the blood’s mud, warmth draping over his face, uncomfortably coating it, suffocating the skin. He never got the answer. It wasn’t meant for him. And he squealed all of his helplessness for the world to ignore.

He hacked between sobs, hair and insects sticking into his mouth. Droplets and patches of blood gracefully dispersed beneath him, and he kept adding onto the red, throat itching to puke every violent sob, every harsh whine. It clenched so hard, gagged him, threatened to empty the bowels. He couldn’t breathe, for he couldn’t reach for air, and so no sound escaped his wet lips parted in a mute cry. Bile dripped from it, sour to taste. It had always been ugly, to what end? There was nothing to let out. Nostrils flared, he thought he calmed, once he pieced together that thought. Yet, in the dread of peace, he found it in him to scream like mad, drool and tears carried by the river.

Why? He didn’t have to. Nobody would hear. The river flowed on, the nature lapped at his body to nourish itself with his blood, tears, and agony. The usual. There never was a divine interference but to plague, and there never was an ear that heard unless it willed to. And he was so accursedly aware of it! And he wailed despite all of it! Him, foolish him!

Have him punished, someone! Tender hooves trampling him into dust and bones. Please! The same death he could not prevent! The same moment his power abandoned him, when he needed it most, when his heart shredded and when he came back to discover – death! His lifelong accomplice! He pleaded! Flies devour all of his rot! Rocks hammer all of bones! Waters bloat every muscle! Punish him!

“Please…” he begged for the umpteenth time, the mantra of his life, the disease of his death. “I’m not…” His hand slipped, gave out, and the water slapped him.

Indifferent, he dropped into the torrents to carry him anywhere. The waters silenced everything, mercy for once. If his anguish ever held any merit, he’d waste it all on one desire: never to bless this world with another Chosen One.

[cozy-the-overlord]

Dances and Daggers

Summary:   The Summer Festival is upon Asgard, as is the tradition of the dagger ceremony, where each unmarried gentleman chooses a lady to bestow with the honor of carrying his dagger for the night. As Prince Thor’s betrothed, Teki’s only goal is to accept his dagger with grace and hope that her violent stepfather doesn’t find fault with her in the process. But Prince Thor is unpredictable, and when he ignores his engagement on a whim Teki finds herself in a desperate situation. Luckily, Thor isn’t the only prince in Asgard…

Pairing: Loki x Original Female Character

Chapter 8: The Musician 

Previous Chapter |  Next Chapter

Word Count: 3,135

Chapter Summary:  Loki and Teki track down an old friend of her father’s.

Thanks for reading! :)

TW: mentions of child abuse

Tags: @lucywrites02 @gaitwae

if you want to be tagged, feel free to just send me an ask! :)

Read it on Ao3!

“That was lovely!” Queen Frigga applauded from where she was seated on the couch. “Did your father write that one as well?”

Teki hummed in affirmation from the piano. Frigga had been kind enough to give her stacks of new music to play, but she still preferred her father’s notes. This piece in particular was one she had only just discovered the night before, a beautiful, lilting ballad scrawled across some of the final pages in her father’s journal. She had been surprised to find something that she didn’t recognize (she had been under the impression that her father taught her everything he wrote) until she saw the note he had left for himself in the corner of the page: Teki’s nameday.

Eyes burning, Teki had sworn on the spot to learn it by heart.

Frigga stood, moving to sit with her at the bench. “I have been meaning to ask,” she said. “How have you felt about taking dinner with us? Has everything been all right?”

Teki nodded. It wasn’t a complete lie. She still didn’t like how sitting at the royal tables put her on display for the whole court, nor how people seemed to notice her more now as she walked through the halls, but it could have been worse. It made her mother happy at least. And it was an excuse to spend more time with the younger prince.

“Thor has been treating well?”

She nodded again. Well enough, she supposed. Usually, Thor asked her to dance as soon as the meal ended. He was always polite, always cordial, but Teki knew that dancing with her was a formality he was eager to rush through so he could run off with the people he actually liked. That was all right. She preferred dancing with Loki anyways.

The Queen smiled, reaching out to stroke an errant strand of hair back behind Teki’s ear. “You know you can tell me if there’s anything you’re struggling with, right Tekla?” she asked. “I want you to feel welcomed here.”

“I do, Your Majesty.” She could practically hear Loki hissing in her ear. Tell her. Teki bit her tongue. She … she wanted to. She wanted to tell Frigga everything. Maybe he was right. Maybe that would change everything.

But what if it didn’t?

Her mind was elsewhere as she left Frigga’s quarters, cradling her sheet music and her father’s journal to her chest as she wondered. Was it worth the risk? Could it really be that easy?

She was so lost in her thoughts that she didn’t even notice Loki in front of her until she ran into him.

“Oh!” Papers scattered across the marble floor as she jumped back in surprise. Teki almost followed them, but Loki caught her before she could completely lose her balance.

He looked mortified. “I’m so sorry!” he cried. “I wasn’t paying attention.”

“No, no, it’s fine.” Teki’s cheeks were burning, quickly kneeling to the floor in order to pick up her sheet music. Why must you always make a fool of yourself? “I—I wasn’t either.”

Still, he knelt alongside her as he helped to gather up the strewn pages. “Actually, I was just looking for you,” he confessed. “I checked the court records to see who played with your father when he was a court musician.”

Teki inhaled. “And?”

“Well, it seems he was one in a troop of five. Out of the other four, two have moved off world, and one passed away a few years ago. But the fourth is still alive, and still living here, in town. His name is Völundr Vidarson. Here—” he fumbled for something in his pocket, pulling out a small scrap of paper. “I have his address.”

Teki studied it. She didn’t recognize the street, but even so excitement was welling in her stomach. “Do—do you really think he’ll know anything?”

Loki shrugged. “I’m not sure, but it’s worth a shot, right?”

Yes. Yes it is.

“When can we go talk to him?” she asked.

“We can leave now, if you want. I don’t have lessons today.”

She nodded eagerly. “Perfect. Just let me drop off my things at my room.”

No one was home when she got back to her apartment, so Teki ended up changing as well. She told herself it was simply because her silky crimson dress was too ostentatious for a jaunt about town. That she changed into a muted green skirt was pure coincidence.

If Loki noticed she was wearing his color, he didn’t say anything, something Teki wasn’t certain if she found relieving or disappointing. She followed him through the palatial labyrinth, marveling once more at how easily he navigated through the twisting halls. Teki had lived here all her life, and yet she had no idea how they managed to end up in the courtyard in front of the palace.

Teki’s spine tingled as they passed the guards lining the courtyard. The determined excitement that had swelled in her chest when they had first decided to leave was beginning to give way to nervousness. She leaned towards Loki.

“We’re—we’re allowed to leave on our own, right?” she whispered. It felt like a stupid question—after all, they had ridden off to Himinbjorg without a problem—but sneaking off into town seemed different.

Loki nodded. “Technically, I’m supposed to bring a guard,” he whispered back. “But we’ll be fine.” He slipped past the gate. Gulping, Teki followed.

She was hardly a stranger to going to town. Her father used to take her all the time when he was still there, and even now her mother sometimes had occasion to bring her and Brant in to pick something up (although her mother didn’t find the experience nearly as enjoying as her father always did). Teki had a superficial level of familiarity with the streets, the buildings, the vendors.

But without an adult, everything seemed more intimidating. The dirt roads seemed busier, the people pushing past them more impatient. In a market stall across the street, two women were screaming at each other over the price of eggs. Without thinking, Teki grasped Loki’s hand. At first, he stiffened, but then he squeezed her palm, interlacing his fingers with hers.

A wizened old woman pulling a vending cart of rattling bottles came alongside them, ringing a bell as she went. The paint on the side of the wooden cart was peeling with age, but Teki could just barely make out the crooked letters: Apothecary.

The old woman smiled at her, wrinkled face pulling apart to flash crooked teeth.

“Might I interest you, sweetling?” she rasped, tapping the side of her cart with her faded boot. “Potion of luck for good fortune? Potion of devotion for catching a man?” She leaned forward, so close that Teki could smell her breath. “Twist your fate a little?”

Words froze in Teki’s throat. The hair on her arms was standing on end, but the woman wasn’t moving. Go away. Go away please.

Luckily, Loki intervened. “She’s not interested, Asta,” he said, pulling Teki closer to him. The old woman bowed, ambling on her way.

Teki frowned as she continued along, ringing her bell and stopping to talk to other passerby’s. “Do—do you know her?” she asked the prince.

He nodded. “I think everyone knows her around here. She’s been selling potions around here for as long as I can remember. My mother likes her.” He led her down a narrow lane, away from the main street and Asta the Apothecary. “This way.”

They were in the poorer side of town, where the ramshackle houses seemed to lean against one another for support, where faded stalks of grass choked their way through the chalky topsoil. It was a good thing she had changed—her boots and the hem of her skirt were coated in a layer of dust, something that would have surely been noticed by her mother if it happened to one of her red dresses.

In one shabby yard, two children were kicking dirt at each other, laughing at the cloud of dust that poofed into the air. They quieted themselves abruptly when Loki and Teki passed, staring in glassy-eyed silence. Teki got the uncomfortable feeling that she and the prince didn’t exactly fit in.

Loki continued unbothered. He scanned the splintered fence posts for address names, eventually stopping before one dilapidated house that seemed no different from those that surrounded it.

“I think this is it,” he murmured. Slowly, they made their way past the fence and up the rotting porch steps, the floorboards creaking so loudly that almost sounded as if someone was moaning beneath their feet.

Loki rapped on the door. There was a muffled yell from within, more creaking and shuffling about, and then the door opened. The shaggy man who stood in the doorframe leered at them suspiciously.

The prince inhaled. “Völundr Vidarson?”

“Yeah?” he asked. Teki couldn’t tear her eyes away from how the curls of his scraggly beard bounced as he spoke. “What do you want?”

“We’re trying to—”

“Gudmund didn’t send you, did he?” Völundr asked sharply. “Because you can tell that son of a bitch that I don’t owe him shit—”

Loki was startled. “Forgive me, I—”

“He can go to the authorities if he bloody well pleases, he can’t prove a damn thing—”

“Sir Völundr?” Teki stepped forward with a small curtsey, swallowing her unease. “My name is Tekla Steinndottir. We’re trying to find my father.”

The bearded man peered at her, and she nearly wilted under the weight of his stare. But soon enough, his features softened.

“Yeah, you are, aren’t you?” he said gently. “You have his eyes.” He held the door open wider, beckoning them over. “Well, come on in.”

Völundr didn’t strike her as one who entertained guests often, but she couldn’t deny that he made an effort. Despite Teki and Loki’s protestations, he insisted upon making a kettle of tea, bringing it out to where they sat perched on the edge of his derelict sofa in mismatched mugs. The liquid in the mugs was a pallid shade of gray. Teki forced herself to take a sip, while Loki only stared at it suspiciously. Their host didn’t seem to mind.

“I never understood Steinn,” he was saying as he poured himself an overflowing mug. “That old man Ásvaldr offered him so much money just to fuck off. He could’ve made off like a bandit – just bought a place in the country and spent the rest of his life writing music. It’s all he ever wanted to do, you know. But no. Him and his fucking honor—he insisted upon marrying that girl. Said the only man who’d be raising his child would be him. Threw his whole fucking life away—they wouldn’t even let him stay on as a court musician, because he had to be a gentleman.”

Völundr paused to take a sip of his tea. Teki could only gap up at him. After so many years of her father only existing within her secret memory, there was something hypnotic about hearing him spoken of so easily out loud.

“He took it well, I suppose. He was real proud of you, you know,” he nodded towards Teki, the hint of a smile under his beard. “He took you to meet the troop once. Do you remember that?”

Teki shook her head.

He sighed. “You wouldn’t, I guess. You were just a toddling little thing. You got up on the piano with him and played Elf Song,” he chuckled. “We got such a kick out of that. This tiny little girl, couldn’t even talk properly yet, but here she was playing Elf Song. We told Steinn that he was teaching you the important stuff!”

Elf Song. Now that he mentioned it, Teki thought she almost could remember. Although maybe not. There had been so many times she had sat on her father’s lap and tapped out the melody across the keys… she hadn’t realized how close she was to crying until a fat tear splashed into her dubiously-colored tea. Embarrassed, she wiped her eyes as fast as she could. Come on, pull it together.

Loki’s gentle pats on her thigh brought her back to reality. She looked up to see him gazing at her with concern. Of course he noticed. Teki couldn’t bring herself to mind, though. Without really thinking about it, she let her hand rest on top of his.

Luckily, Völundr hadn’t. “You still play piano?” he asked her.

Her head spun at the abrupt question. “Yes—” she stuttered. “A little.”

“Good. That’s good,” he nodded distantly, taking another gulp from his mug. “I was always more of a violinist, but piano’s good.”

Teki swallowed. As much as she wanted to hear more about her father, there was a reason they were here.

“Sir Völundr—” she started.

He waved nonchalantly. “Völundr’s fine. I was never much of a ‘sir’ anyways.”

“Völundr.” She breathed in deeply. “My father vanished several years ago—he left a note to dissolve his marriage and never came back—”

“Yeah, I heard about that.” He sat back, shaking his head. “Didn’t fucking believe it. Still don’t, really. Steinn wasn’t the one to back out of a commitment, no matter how miserable he was.”

Loki looked up, frowning. “Miserable?”

“Hel yeah. That marriage was a fucking joke” Völundr motioned towards Teki. “I’m sure she could tell you.”

Teki froze. It was well known that there was certainly no love lost between her parents, but she had never imagined their relationship described like… that.

“I—I don’t know what you mean” she stammered. “They didn’t really talk much—”

He laughed loudly, spilling tea down his beard. “Of course they didn’t! Áslaug was too busy fucking her way through court to have time for that shit.”

Her heart stopped. “What?”

She heard him wrong. She had to have heard him wrong.

“Oh yeah,” he said, downing another gulp. He seemed almost surprised by her shock. “Didn’t you know? If it had a dick between its legs, she took it to bed. Didn’t even try to hide it, either—I think she was trying to piss him off into leaving.”

Her mother … her mother, who spent an hour fussing over her hair because of her worries over how people would perceive her? Who made Brant practice his “la” sound in the mirror every morning because she didn’t want him looking like a fool? Who stayed with Osvald because she didn’t want to be an embarrassment?

Teki shook her head violently. “My mother wouldn’t do that. She’s—she’s a proper lady of the court!”

“Uh huh,” Völundr sounded amused, but there was a hint of sympathy in his eyes. “If that were true, you wouldn’t exist, darling.” He sighed. “Steinn tried not to let her get to him. He just looked the other way. Said he didn’t care what she was doing, as long as he had his daughter. That’s why it’s bullshit, him leaving. It’s bullshit.”

Teki wanted to scream. She wanted to stand up and list out all the reasons her mother could never do such a thing, no matter how much she hated her father. But… but… they hadn’t slept in the same bed when he was still there. They almost never spoke. Calling them man and wife—Völundr was right, it was a joke. And … there had always been other men around. Lords, noblemen, warriors … Teki had never questioned it, never thought to question it, but now …

“Norns …” she whispered shakily, covering her mouth with her palm.

Loki moved closer to her, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and rubbing her arm soothingly. It didn’t do much to lessen the racing in her head, but she was grateful for the attempt.

“I take it you haven’t heard from Steinn?” he asked Völundr.

The man shook his head. He moved from the chair to crouch before Teki, the curls of his beard just barely grazing her knees.

“I’m sorry to have brought you pain,” he said somberly. His eyes were a deep hazel, and Teki found herself unable to look away. “But there’s nothing else I can tell you. I don’t know what happened that night, but I know there’s no way in Hel he left you of his own accord. No fucking way.”

His words were still swirling in her head as they made their way back up the dirt lane, along with a thought that she was scared to put into words.

“Loki, do you—you don’t think my mother …” she swallowed. “Did something to my father, do you?”

“I—” Loki’s voice was unsteady. “I don’t think we have any reason to think that.” They were silent for a long while as they reached the main road once again.

“Does your mother love your stepfather?” he asked suddenly.

“I—I don’t know.” Yes you do. “They fight a lot,” she mumbled.

Across the street, Asta the Apothecary was making her way back up the line, still clanging her bell. It seemed louder this time, even though she was farther away. Teki felt herself shatter with every ring.

“I wonder why she married him,” Loki mused.

She frowned. She knew that well enough. “What’s there to wonder? He wanted to be the father of a queen. Who wouldn’t?”

“Yes, of course, I understand why he’d want to marry your mother.” Loki’s brow was furrowed in thought. “But why would your mother want to marry him? You say there’s little love between them. Why would she willingly tie herself to someone like him?”

“She was an unmarried woman with a child in court. She needed a husband as soon as possible. It didn’t matter who.” Teki remembered that mad rush to get married. Everyone had been in such a flurry, her father had been forgotten by the end of the week. She had sat quietly at their wedding feast, picking at her food and pretending to smile while everyone toasted to her mother and Osvald’s happiness, praying to the Norns that it wasn’t too late for her father to come back.

“But it didn’t have to be him. You said it yourself—who wouldn’t want to be the father of a queen?” Loki was frowning. “Besides, if our new friend is to be believed, your mother had … a plethora of other options. Why Osvald? Of all people?”

Her head was spinning. “What are you saying?”

Loki shook his head. “I don’t know what I’m saying. None of this makes any sense.” They slipped through the palace gate and back into the courtyard. “Here,” he said. “I’ll walk you back to your rooms.”