#He has an absent father he does not remember. + new half brother who is cooler than him and rnbs trying very hard to be liked. lvl of au'd

[ranvwoop]

ran boo

[morningstar-chronicles]

my DR brother (jon) <3

okay, so as of when i shift, i won't have any siblings living with me but within the first few months (i decided to change when i originally shift from 13-14 to 15 because of how the timeline works out for me lmao (basically i scripted in my ex for... reasons, but didn't want to shift back to a point where i would have to date him AGAIN for him to be in the timeline... that relationship was supremely uncool) of when i shift, so around when i'm 15-almost-16 my paternal half-siblings will come find me.

jon and clary are both kids of jocelyn fairchild (my DR adoptive mum, who enters my life around the same time these two do) and valentine morgenstern, my biological father, making them both my half-siblings. we never lived together growing up (valentine raised three kids including me- jon, jace, and me, but he kept none of us in the same house as each other so we all grew up as only children with an absent-on-a-good-day-horrible-on-a-bad-day father) and clary grew up with mum, which... unfair. but okay.

okay shit starts to get kinda dark and traumatic below the cut soooo beware ig

basically the whole story is the valentine had jon and started experimenting on him with demon/monster blood while he was still an infant. mum basically realised "holy shit this man is insane" and ran away, but by that point she was already pregnant with clary. she raises clary in brooklyn, new york, and never tells her they're shadowhunters (part angel, for people who don't know the mortal instruments series).

the reason she didn't take jon with her was because when someone is injected with demon/monster blood, it effectively changes their soul to be more "demonic" or evil, for lack of a better way to say it. basically jon was possessed and because the demon blood was, you know, in him, there was no effective way to exorcise him without risking burning his entire body alive from the inside out with heavenly fire. mum obviously couldn't bring herself to do this to her literal child, so she just left him, since, in her eyes, jon was effectively already dead anyways.

valentine raises jon- kind of. for the first few years jon effectively acts like a feral animal, and more or less lacks any sense of human awareness. somehow -not entirely sure, but probably more experimentation and torture- valentine trains him into being a somewhat functional human being. during this time, he's also raising jace (a kidnapped shadowhunter orphan who he injected with angel blood) to be like a super-soldier for his blood purity cult. after jace starts to show promise, he abandons jon entirely. he's already had me by this point, and considers me his "golden-child" despite the fact that i'm considered "impure" literally by his own standards, but that's neither here nor there.

anyways, clary kills our father indirectly because he murders jace (her boyfriend, long story, i promise they're not related emotionally or biologically. it is literally such a long-ass story, that shit could be a post all on it's own). jace comes back to life. confused? me too. no time to dwell on it, we're moving on.

jon is a homocidal maniac for a while because of the demon/monster blood, until jace cleanses him with the sword of heavenly fire. i don't think he was trying to cleanse him, usually that sword kills people, but basically it gave jon a stab wound but also effectively made him human (well... shadowhunter. not precisely human) again. he remembers veryyy little from his time being possessed. he also has a son with the seelie queen. does not remember him at all. i'll come back to him in another post.

anyways, jon reconciles with mum and clary, and they start going through valentine's stuff. they stumble across my birth certificate and find out i went missing three years ago. they make it their mission to find out what happened to me. they find a warlock, who tracks me down in the demon realm, and they fuckin teleport into my living room and scare the shit out of me. i fight them on instinct and they're like "yeah this is probably a shadowhunter at the very least" and tell me he was their father too. i stop fighting them. we get to know each other.

jon is about five years older than me, and despite having been through hell (both literally and figuratively) he's a really kind, gentle person at his core with a lot of empathy for other people, me in particular (he might not remember a lot of stuff... but he remembers valentine being a pretty fuckin shitty dad lol). he's extremely protective of me, blames himself for not being able to protect me despite being a child and also possessed and also having no frickin idea i existed. we're able to reminisce about how awful valentine was, but we also share a sense of understanding what it's like to miss him too, knowing that he didn't always present as a monster, and occasionally had a moment or two of being gentle and loving. it definitely messed with our heads, but we have each other, even if no one else really understands what we went through.

he kinda hates all my s/os and exes on principle until he actually meets hunter. gives him like. a mild shovel talk. immediately loves him because hunter is very loveable and also kind of has sad, pathetic, wet kitten energy (im sorry bby i still love u). hunter and jon are like best friends after that because they've been through shockingly similar situations (abuse from a father figure, threat of being "replaced" by a better model, not quite human, lives with crushing guilt of their brainwashed actions, etc). should i be jealous? maybe, but i'm just glad jon doesn't hate his guts because hunter would have cried.

[pearlgisa]

badhaai do: how some of us from the queer community missed its point

I've been back after 9213049 years to announce that y'all MUST watch Badhaai Do, it's literally the most beautiful form of queer representation I've seen. another thing, ignore those who say there are zero queer people involved.

a few spoilers ahead, so please watch the movie before reading this :))

1. the script consultant is queer.

2. the people in the pride parade (which had the unfortunate straight flag in the trailer) were queer. I saw plenty of instagram stories by those in there, posting about it, and checked out their profiles. if they didn't spot it, that means not all queer people keep up with news that makes them sad lol.

3. the girl who hands the mask to Shardul was his sister-in-law, also queer.

4. we also don't know for sure whether there aren't any other queer people involved in the making, so let's not just assume that only the hets were a part of this.

and check out the interviews by the crew - they have mentioned more than once that they showed this film to a LOT of queer people, showed the script to a lot of queer people too. the script consultant recently mentioned just how far the writers and directors went to keep it as sincere as possible. that doesn't sound like "rainbow capitalism to me". that doesn't sound like capitalizing off queer suffering.

i, for one, can see some sincere and genuine effort put in by people who are not even gay. we got a pride anthem, some solid gay-lesbian solidarity (#sumiandshardulbesties5ever), realistic queer romance, and several milestones in Indian cinema too, I think (I do not recall a blood test being portrayed as sensual in bollywood before OH MY GOD). i remember tearing up at sumi's father destroying her (and me) with the singular line: "mere ghar me hi kyu?" (why does it have to be at my home AKA why does it have to be my daughter?). i remember the joy of seeing a pride parade and my date bawling like a child watching sumi and rhimjhim run underneath the rainbow. i had to watch it more than once to fully understand the little details and the subtleties of the characters. some of my favourites are:

1. rhimjhim blowing kisses at shardul during the pride (hints at the start of the second half, when shardul blows her kisses)

2. guru giving such a fruity kick to shardul it melts my heart dkjsfji

3. not all members of the family are present in the last scene. taiji and sumi's mother are absent, another unnamed aunt, shardul's nieces, etc. but we see her brother, who was the one who called her a "pervert". character growth there and we dont need to get into how it happened. this is not about them, after all.

5. sumi wearing the red glasses to not let shardul's coworkers find out that she's a part of the parade.

6. the walkie-talkie during the scene with shardul's superior and his wife visiting them for tea is blaring about loud, barking dogs and the dialogues SEND ME.

7. kabir's text messages. you really need to pause to read them but they're so sus (i think he might be cheating? idk)

basically, it ages like an evergreen forest.

i didn't expect to walk into the theatre to watch an arthouse, indie film. at its core, what badhaai do has achieved is something phenomenal - it has retained what defines a bollywood movie while simultaneously portraying queer relationships as something not extraordinary or reserved for the "woke" segments of society. the characters aren't just their sexualities and sumi says it herself: "hissa hain, puri zindagi kaha hain." (trans: it's just a part of us, not our entire life.) shardul slaps his lover, kabir is an asshole, sumi decimates her partner's career, rhimjhim makes assumptions on shardul's sexuality, etc. it is bad enough that i have to sit through homophobes calling this as a disgusting film filled with obscene scenes, giving their low-iq opinions on why it's wrong. now i have to sit through seasoned, jaded queer individuals like me, give some of the worst reasons to cancel a film and call it problematic?

The characters are not pinnacles of perfection and I'm here for it. I don't want a cardboard vincian protagonist. some

of the reviewers clearly don't understand what nuance is and I'm okay with that. some of us who have grateful access to resources and inner pride meetings forget that there are those still in closet, those who still don't know that gender is a social construct. that we still live in a country which has some of the most homophobic outlooks. sure, homophobia was a concept popularized by the British, but are we really going to forget that there are scriptures dated BC that have specific laws for punishing lesbians? homophobia has been as rooted in our culture as the urge to search for a suitable groom for a girl the minute she comes of age (the number may change with each passing century, but does it really matter?).

those that go as far as the city's outskirts for a chance to live a life free from the heteronormative eye. there are also those who want a child as their own. what's so heteronormative about that? what's so heteronormative about wanting to be a mother? are we seriously going to nitpick on the littlest things? and let us not forget that guru isn't at all interested in the child. he states this himself and is hesitant to join Shardul until he is told that it is just to be by his side. the ending is not meant to be perfect. heck, I would go as far as to say that the true ending was when it was just Sumi and Shardul with the child. perhaps the filmmakers wanted to offer us a happy ending, or at least, a bittersweet one. and i will quote the director from his interview with PeepingMoon: "they never really come out of the closet. instead, the closet just gets bigger."

this is coming from someone still in the closet, living in a somewhat conservative society and still grasping with their own gender identity. my closet keeps getting bigger, with the recent addition of my mother to it. watching this movie encouraged me to come out to her and my mother to give some of most supportive words a queer child can hear. and for that, i cannot thank Badhaai Do and its makers enough for it.

[in-tua-deep]

au where five found out about vanya's powers in the apocalypse? Like maybe he found Reggie's book or he saw the eyes of vanya's corpse?

oh man like. that would be interesting to be sure, if Five managed to find Reginald’s book in the apocalypse

(He doesn’t read it at first, not for a few months after he finds it. He opened to the page that detailed Reginald’s experiments with how long Deigo could hold his breath in clinical unfeeling words and has to put it away while he breathed - not too deeply though, he didn’t want to breathe in more ash than necessary)

But he eventually does. He sits Dolores up and rages and vents to her, cursing Reginald’s name with every new sordid detail, every new terrible sin he now knows to hurl at Reginald’s feet. He reads no great loss under his section and he’s too dehydrated to weep but something breaks inside his chest nevertheless

(He’d never thought that dad loved them, not really. He might have hoped, back when he was little but he knew better now. He was thirteen, old enough to know better. But he’d at least thought that dad found them useful. 

Five had tried to hard, trained so much, been so adaptable. Even then he was no great loss.)

Five finds out from Reginald’s book about Ben’s death. Cold words that describe the way his brother died. Reginald seemed to care more about Ben’s death than Five’s presumed death, but that could be becuase Ben’s power was always bigger than Five’s. More violent. More efficient. Of course Ben was a greater loss, Five’s power wasn’t even inherently useful for fighting.

(Klaus’s power wasn’t useful for fighting either. Reading Dad’s dismissive words calling Klaus a failure makes him bristle. Reading about Reginald locking Klaus away in the mausoleum for days make Five want to hurl the book against the wall.)

Finding out about Vanya is - it’s weird. Vanya was always so ordinary. He loved her of course, for fucks sake he was the only one who cared to interact with her half the time. He loves all of his siblings but he has no illusions about how casually cruel they could be to one another.

But he reads about her powers and clenches his fists and wonders what Reginald would have done if Five had stayed, if Five had kept on his path of rebellion. Would Reginald have drugged him, too?

(Reginald had the power to take their powers away. Five wonders what Klaus thought when he found out, if he had cursed and sworn and raged at the man who watched his son suffer and turn to drugs to deal with seeing things no child should ever see. Reginald had the power to help, and he tortured Klaus instead.)

Because - of course Five assumes that they know. He reads Vanya’s books as well when he comes across it, tucking it into his wagon. He wonders when the truth came out, because the rage that drips from those pages is very real. Vanya doesn’t mention her powers in the book of course, but she would have been what, in her 20s when she wrote it? 

Vanya said in her book that she left home at 18, which means she’s had years to get the drugs out of her system and discover what their father had taken from her. Did she think that they knew? That they had kept it from her? Is that why the pages of her book drip with bone deep hurt, making Five’s fingers shake with the ache of them

(Or it could be the hunger, a now constant companion)

Five keeps both books close, even though he wants to vandilize Reginald’s book half the time. It’s strange to see the insight on them and their powers from the perspective of a scientist, odd to see the written results of the torture they went though

(He almost rips the page on the effects of electricity on his warping powers out on principle, but he just ends up curled around Dolores as he trembles involuntarily at the memories)

Five has so few belongings when he is recruited to the Commission, or at least has very few personal ones. He leaves Dolores behind in the apocalypse with a heavy heart but she’s too big to take with him. Too big to hide.

(Five always learned to only take what you can hide, because what you can’t hide will always be used against you.)

He tucks Reginald’s notebook in the waistband on his pants, the hard edges against his back a constant almost reassuring pressure. Vanya’s book gets pushed into one of his deep pockets. The glass eye gets shoved into his sock the same way he used to hide scavenged bills and quarters he would then place beneath the floorboards of his room

(He wonders absently if his money stash was ever found, but it doesn’t really matter now does it?)

He goes through the Commission with the knowledge that he has a bomb hidden away. As much as he keeps the notebook around out of a sense of sentiment he knows he doesn’t want it to fall into the hands of the commission, doesn’t want them to have this dissection of his powers on hand

(he has so little of his siblings left, just the bitter words of Reginald and Vanya both - the irony is that no matter how much Vanya extolled being excluded she had constantly been by Reginald’s side to write down observations, listening to his words, by his side more than any of them. sometimes he reads Vanya’s vicious words and hears the echo of their father in them. It makes sense. He still hates it, just a little bit)

He writes his equations into Vanya’s book instead of Reginald’s. He doesn’t like to read the red book, only opens it to look at the photos included so that he won’t forget what his siblings look like, tries to ignore the words that detail exactly how much force it takes to pop Luther’s bones out of his oh-so-durable joints

He solves them one day, or at least comes close. Closer than he ever had before, and he figures why not? Time for another little experiment. Who knows? Maybe he’ll add this one to dad’s book.

He pushes, and pushes, and then he falls and he’s in a courtyard he hasn’t seen in decades staring at people he hasn’t spoken to in just as long. He looks at them all with wide eyes

(He looks at Allison and hears his father’s clipped tone stating how Allison in improving at overriding survival instincts, he looks at Luther and hears Vanya’s childish voice accusing him of caring more about being a hero than anything else in his life, including his family, he looks at Klaus and sees a face covered in ash and blood with unseeing eyes)

He looks down at himself and sees smaller hands with smoother skin, absent of the burn marks from the variety of fires he’d set in the apocalypse, absent of the crooked knuckles from when he’d crushed two fingers in some rubble trying to get to a can of food, absent of the cracked and brittle nails from malnutrition and food issues

“Shit.” He says, with feeling.

He can feels the press of the glass eye against his leg, the solid weight of Vanya’s book in his pocket, the edges of Reginald’s notebook digging into his skin as he hauls himself off the ground and into a standing position.

They have a family meeting in the kitchen.

Sort of. Five flits about, snagging bread and peanut butter and marshmallow fluff from the cupboard to make himself a sandwich, trying to avoid looking too desperately eager. He hasn’t had his favorite food in so long that the anticipation is actually insane.

“What’s the date?” Five asks, and learns that he doesn’t actually have all that long until the end of the world. But hey, it’s doable. Probably. Unless the reason the world ended was like, political nuclear war or something? But there would probably be survivors of that somewhere, so it was more likely something bigger scale.

(It has to be something he can stop, or this was all for nothing. He refuses to believe he doesn’t have a chance.)

“Cool, so like, the world is ending.” Five says, because why the fuck not? He has all his siblings in one room (except Ben, he has failed Ben, will always have failed Ben because he’s a coward who couldn’t return to a time when Reginald Hargreeves was alive) and he has Reginald and Vanya’s words pressed into his brain, “We have eight-ish days to fix that.”

“Five, what the hell are you talking about?” Luther demands.

Five waves his hand, “Dad sucked, I time-travelled, the end is nigh. I figured even you could grasp that.”

(His eyes ghost over Luther, skittering about the room. He can’t look at Luther’s body without remembering the cruel diagrams pain stakingly inked into the book as Reginald grumbled about failed experiments.)

“You went to the future?” Diego says, voice full of doubt that make his voice harsh. It’s so much deeper than when Five left, no more of the cracks of puberty.

“No shit.” Five says, and he’s so tired. “I was in that hellscape for forty-five years.”

“Forty-five years?” Diego squawks, as though he’s personally offended.

“That would make you... fifty-eight?” Luther’s voice also has doubt in it, and Five can’t really blame him looking at his squishy little barely teenage body.

“Dad was right,” Five manages to get out without gritting his teeth, “Time travel is a crapshoot and sometimes your body does fun and wacky things on you, blah blah blah trees and acorns.”

“Prove you’re from the future!” Klaus demands, eyes bright as he leans across the table, “What’re the lotto numbers, baby brother?”

“I think they’re ‘fuck you the world had already ended by the time I ended up stuck there,’ Klaus.” Five says, mock thoughtfully before tearing off a chunk of his sandwich.

It tastes like ash and peanut butter. Only Five’s genuine trauma regarding food waste and the fact that most things tasted like ash in the apocalypse have him still chewing his food and swallowing.

“Rude.” Klaus says, making a ‘blat’ noise in disappointment.

“Dad’s rich as fuck, wasn’t him kicking the bucket essentially like winning the lottery?” Five points out, and this time it is Luther squawking at him in disapproval.

“Don’t talk about Dad like that!” He demands, and Five has some more uncharitable thoughts about the way Luther’s arms flex just a little unnaturally underneath that big trenchcoat.

“I like this version of Five better.” Klaus declares, looking like Christmas has come early.

“Dad was murdered and you guys don’t even care.” Luther spits out, looking very offended.

“You were murdered and I care very much about that.” Five retaliates, and the entire kitchen goes quiet.

“Can you elaborate a little, Five?” Allison says, ever the diplomat.

(That’s a lie. Allison started more fights than Diego, probably. She just got caught way less often.)

“Well. I mean, I dunno if murdered is the right word considering everyone was dead. You might have just been collateral damage, who knows? Does murder imply intent?”

“Everyone was dead?” Vanya says, voice very quiet.

Five shrugs, then nods, then shrugs again. He doesn’t like thinking about it. “Yeah, but that’s not going to happen this time.”

“I don’t have time for this nonsense.” Luther mutters, and Five valiantly tries to ignore him. 

“Five, are you - are you sure you’re alright?” Vanya’s voice wobbles and she looks like she wants to reach out and hold him or something ridiculous like that. She looks at him with big sad brown eyes, “Dad did say that time travel could... mess with you a little.”

Allison nods and oh, Five does not have time for this bullshit. 

“I have proof.” He says, and he reaches back and pulls out Reginald’s red notebook and slams it onto the table.

“Is that Dad’s - ” Luther cuts himself off, looking at the notebook with wide eyes.

It is very clearly beaten up to hell and back. Ash has stained the edges of the pages grey and there may or may not be a gouge across the front from a near miss with a bullet while working at the commission. It is a book that has clearly been through hell.

Five also dig’s Vanya’s equally beaten up book from his pocket to dump on the table as well, equally stained with ash and barely held together after being read over and over again for decades, including being used as a notebook in the final years.

(Vanya lets out a little gasp, hand flying up to her mouth with the knowledge that at least one of her siblings read her book. Certainly not the one she thought it would be.)

Five reaches into his sock to pull out the glass eye triumphantly, setting it down on his small stack of treasures.

“What the fuck?” Diego is the one to ask.

“If I time travelled from that day in 2002 to right now, how the fuck would I have Vanya’s book?” Five says triumphantly, “It came out in 2015.”

“Why do you have an eye?” Allison sounds slightly horrified.

“It’s the key to figuring out who caused the apocalypse.” Five says, turning it over in his hands, “It’s gotta have something to do with it at least.”

“Why does he have Dad’s notebook?” Luther demands, sounding equally outraged.

“Found it.” Five shrugs, like the little scavenger he is.

(Emphasis on little. His suit still almost fits, and reading the numbers in Reginald’s notebook versus seeing how fucking tall all his siblings got in person is frankly unfair.)

“Oh my god, okay.” Allison says, throwing her hands up in the air like they’re all nuisances. It’s a familiar Allison look, and Five actually feels a little soothed by the memory. “So the world is ending, Five is back from the dead, and our only clue is a goddamn eye?”

“I was never dead.” Five points out, “But basically, yeah.”

“I don’t have time for this, I have to get back to my daughter.” Allison says, shaking her head.

“I mean if you want Claire to live I would think stopping the apocalypse would kind of be a priority.” 

This draw Allison to a halt from where she’d been gathering herself to leave, “You... know her name?”

Five makes the executive decision to not mention the torn out magazine cover featuring his sister and niece that is pressed between some of the pages in Reginald’s journal. “I’d like to meet her one day.”

Just like that, Allison has been won over.

“Do you think it has something to do with whoever murdered Dad?” Luther asks seriously, even if the question makes Diego groan like this is an argument they have had before.

“Who knows?” Five shrugs, “But if we’re splitting into investigation teams, I call Vanya.”

Vanya startles from where she has been sitting quietly, “Me?” She asks, eyes wide.

“Yeah.” Five nods, “I mean, with Ben gone you’re probably the team’s heaviest hitter.”

“What?” Several voices ring out in confusion.

Five blinks, a little confused himself. Unless - “Wait, did you never train your powers?”

“Five,” Vanya says slowly, like she’s explaining a simple concept to a particularly dim child, “I don’t have powers.”

This was - this was unexpected. Why did he not think of this explanation? It’s just - he has now known about Vanya’s powers for like way longer than he hasn’t. It’s almost second nature to think of Vanya as having powers by now. And she doesn’t know.

“Oh boy.” He says, picking up Reginald’s notebook, “This debriefing may take a bit longer than I first thought. Oh, and at some point we should probably cut the tracker out of my arm as well.”

“The what out of your what?”

Yeah the day doesn’t really get much better from there.

[thenukacolachallenge]

Some snippets about Dee Davis, my Stranger Things OC:

-She's a military brat. Her dad is active duty and as a result, her family rarely stayed in one location for longer than a year and a half at the absolute most. She’s lived in loads of places as a result, including Texas, California, Arizona, New Mexico, Florida, South Carolina, and more. She even lived on-base in Japan for a very brief amount of time, but she was a toddler and doesn’t remember a lot of it. Because of the constant moving, she doesn’t put much stock into cliques and popularity drama in the schools she goes to, calling that sort of thing “the pipe dreams of people who peak in these years”.

-She's not really close with either of her parents, even before the divorce. Her mom is a well-meaning but chronically-unable-to-get-her-life-together old hippie, who still calls Dee by her birth name, Dawn, despite Dee's insistence on disliking the name. She's also, surprisingly, more strict than Dee's father, who despite being a military parent, is pretty absent at home. It's part of the reason why she chooses to stay with her father after the divorce: yeah, he's never around, and when he is, he's not paying attention, but that's how she likes things.

-On the other hand, her older brother Danny is her closest friend. He’s about three years older than her, and they bicker and fight as siblings do, but when push comes to shove, they always have each other’s backs. Danny is a black belt in karate, and taught her how to fight. He also loves punk rock and gets her into more obscure and hardcore music. Unlike Dee, however, Danny is a total extrovert, and always has a large group of friends wherever the family moves, although he makes sure to include Dee on the friend shenanigans. He also loves to play music, and taught Dee to play bass guitar solely so they could have jam sessions no matter where the family moved. When Danny decides to stay with their mom after the divorce, Dee becomes even more reserved than before, having lost constant contact with her best friend outside of phone calls and holiday visits. And when Danny comes to visit Hawkins, she’s usually the one bailing him out of Hawkins PD lockup, since dad’s always working or sleeping.

-She’s a pretty severe introvert, typically only talking a lot when in one-on-one conversation with people. When in crowds, she tends to not speak unless spoken to, usually answering in one-word phrases and burying her head in either a book she’s reading, or a notebook she’s writing or drawing in. She keeps to herself for the most part, doesn’t really involve herself with extracurricular activities, keeps her head down, does her schoolwork, and gives off a specific air of “good but quiet kid”. it’s mostly a front. she’s just as much of a troublemaker and just as irritable and vulgar as her punk older brother, but she’s a lot sneakier than he is, having learned how not to get caught from all his failures. She’s small enough to get into really confined spaces, she’s been practicing picking locks since she was in middle school, and she’s FAST, which means she can get away from any crime scenes easily. She also smokes(weed and cigarettes), drinks, and knows how to pickpocket, although she doesn’t do the latter often. People are almost always surprised by how much of a vulgar delinquent she is, when they find out.

-Because of the chaos of her home life, between her mother’s constant forgetting of bills, her dad’s absentee status, and Danny’s constantly getting into trouble, she tends to be the most organized of any group she finds herself in, because SOMEONE has to step up and do the damn thing. She tends to take care of most of the household chores and cooking at home, even after the divorce(mostly bc her dad can’t cook for shit and his “cleaning” is half-assed at best). She also keeps meticulous notes in class, as well for her writing and drawing, even developing a reputation as “the girl to go to if you missed class and need the notes” in her later years at Hawkins High. In fact, the only reason she and Robin know each other prior to the events of s3 is because Dee gave her copies of all her biology notes while Robin was out for a week with the flu. After she finds out about the Upside Down and the unusual events plaguing Hawkins, she begins to sort of “interview” everyone she met at the Battle of Starcourt Mall, chronicling everything she can think to, just in case They come back again. it comes in handy during the events of s4.

-When she first moves to Hawkins, she has a very disheveled appearance. most of her clothing is old hand-me-downs from Danny, so she wears a lot of oversized tees, old worn denim jeans with the hems rolled up, old scuffed and worn boots, and doesn’t do anything nice to her hair, either pulling it up into a ponytail or wearing it in a side braid. Some kids start to pick on her for her appearance and standoffish and quiet attitude, but when Carol Perkins decides to dump an entire carton of chocolate milk over her head in the lunchroom, and subsequently ends up with a broken nose for her trouble, people learn to stay out of Dee’s way if they don’t want to end up the same way.

-Carol’s boyfriend, Tommy H., tries to get back at Dee for breaking Carol’s nose. Nobody but Dee and Tommy know about this, since Tommy loses the fight, badly.

-As she gets older and starts doing part-time work, she gets money to buy her own clothes, but it still tends to be very nondescript clothing. simple tees, a flannel over top, still rocking jeans with the cuffs rolled up(although slightly more form-fitting), and either plain converse or boots. She ends up getting a shag cut in the spring of ‘85 as well, and starts wearing makeup even. She’s still not big into fashion, but she also buys some fishnets and mini skirts, although she’d never wear that sort of thing to school. those types of outfits mostly get worn when she’s visiting Danny in Indianapolis and sneaking out to punk shows.

-Her first real friend in town is Eddie “The Freak” Munson, since she smokes a lot of weed(blame Danny for getting her into it so young). They meet by complete accident when Eddie goes out to his picnic table in the woods for a sale(during the summer before the events of s1), and instead finds Dee reading a book while smoking from a custom made glass pipe she picked up during her time in California. He tries to get her attention and accidentally scares the shit out of her, causing her to cough like crazy off the hit she’s taking. She recovers fairly quickly and plans to immediately run, before Eddie explains why he’s there and what the picnic table is usually used for. He ends up becoming her plug, and they meet up once a month after that point, at first out in the woods, but eventually they start hanging at Eddie’s trailer or in the Davis family basement, smoking(and sometimes drinking) and playfully dogging each other’s music tastes and behavior. Dee relishes in giving Eddie shit for constantly walking on the cafeteria table. (”Were you raised in a fucking BARN, Munson? People EAT there! Don’t walk on the table with your gross dirty shoes!”) Eddie makes fun of the fact that she listens to Top 40 pop, even though she listens to all sorts of genres. (”Duran Duran, Davis? You think this is good music?” “Eat shit, Munson, we can’t all listen to 8-minute guitar solos all the goddamn time.”)

-She puts on a hard and uncaring exterior, but she’s secretly a huge softie, even though she’d deny it with her dying breath. She hates to see people get hurt unless they deserve it, and when Will Byers goes missing she immediately signs up for search parties. Even though she’s never met the kid, she cries all night when his “body” is discovered, as well as at Benny Hammond’s “suicide”. She’s also present at the Battle of Starcourt Mall, and even though she actively dislikes Billy Hargrove, watching him be ripped to shreds by the Mind Flayer traumatizes her pretty hard. She has nightmares about it for months.

-After the events of s3, she becomes pretty close friends with most of the Party, especially the Scoops Troop, since she was with them for most of it. She teases Steve along with Robin about his love life(and he does the same back to her when she lets slip that she’s got a crush on Eddie due to the truth serum), she’s close with Robin bc her brother Danny is gay, and she also becomes close with Dustin and ESPECIALLY Erica(she loves the kid’s attitude, thinks she’s hilarious, and knows she’s going places in life). When Dustin, Mike, and Lucas enter high school and get drafted into Hellfire Club by Eddie, she constantly gets onto Munson for “being too hard on them”. He doesn’t know what all they’ve been through, of course, but she always chides him if she sees him being overly aggressive to them. She’s less close to Nancy and Jonathan, but she admires Jonathan’s tenacity and Nancy’s quick thinking and excellent pattern spotting. She’s also one of the few people Max still talks to on a regular basis, and Max is the only one outside of Steve and Robin who know how close Dee is to Eddie(since she’s ALWAYS at his place by the events of s4).

-i probably have more i’ll add onto this later but the well is dry for now, if you read all of this i am kissing you on the mouth(platonically)

[richincolor]

Today is Rich in Color’s eighth anniversary! Can you believe it?

We’ve read so many fantastic books over the years, so our bloggers compiled a list of eight books that we wanted to recommend to our followers. These books are ones that we love and that have stuck with us through the years. How many of them have you read?

All American Boys by Jason Reynolds and Brendan Kiely Atheneum/Caitlyn Dlouhy Books

In an unforgettable new novel from award-winning authors Jason Reynolds and Brendan Kiely, two teens—one black, one white—grapple with the repercussions of a single violent act that leaves their school, their community, and, ultimately, the country bitterly divided by racial tension.

A bag of chips. That’s all sixteen-year-old Rashad is looking for at the corner bodega. What he finds instead is a fist-happy cop, Paul Galuzzi, who mistakes Rashad for a shoplifter, mistakes Rashad’s pleadings that he’s stolen nothing for belligerence, mistakes Rashad’s resistance to leave the bodega as resisting arrest, mistakes Rashad’s every flinch at every punch the cop throws as further resistance and refusal to STAY STILL as ordered. But how can you stay still when someone is pounding your face into the concrete pavement?

But there were witnesses: Quinn Collins—a varsity basketball player and Rashad’s classmate who has been raised by Paul since his own father died in Afghanistan—and a video camera. Soon the beating is all over the news and Paul is getting threatened with accusations of prejudice and racial brutality. Quinn refuses to believe that the man who has basically been his savior could possibly be guilty. But then Rashad is absent. And absent again. And again. And the basketball team—half of whom are Rashad’s best friends—start to take sides. As does the school. And the town. Simmering tensions threaten to explode as Rashad and Quinn are forced to face decisions and consequences they had never considered before.

The Marrow Thieves by Cherie Dimaline Dancing Cat Books

In a futuristic world ravaged by global warming, people have lost the ability to dream, and the dreamlessness has led to widespread madness. The only people still able to dream are North America’s Indigenous people, and it is their marrow that holds the cure for the rest of the world. But getting the marrow, and dreams, means death for the unwilling donors. Driven to flight, a fifteen-year-old and his companions struggle for survival, attempt to reunite with loved ones and take refuge from the “recruiters” who seek them out to bring them to the marrow-stealing “factories.”

Wild Beauty by Anna-Marie McLemore Feiwel & Friends

Love grows such strange things.

For nearly a century, the Nomeolvides women have tended the grounds of La Pradera, the lush estate gardens that enchant guests from around the world. They’ve also hidden a tragic legacy: if they fall in love too deeply, their lovers vanish. But then, after generations of vanishings, a strange boy appears in the gardens.

The boy is a mystery to Estrella, the Nomeolvides girl who finds him, and to her family, but he’s even more a mystery to himself; he knows nothing more about who he is or where he came from than his first name. As Estrella tries to help Fel piece together his unknown past, La Pradera leads them to secrets as dangerous as they are magical in this stunning exploration of love, loss, and family.

Picture Us in the Light by Kelly Loy Gilbert Disney-Hyperion

Danny Cheng has always known his parents have secrets. But when he discovers a taped-up box in his father’s closet filled with old letters and a file on a powerful Silicon Valley family, he realizes there’s much more to his family’s past than he ever imagined.

Danny has been an artist for as long as he can remember and it seems his path is set, with a scholarship to RISD and his family’s blessing to pursue the career he’s always dreamed of. Still, contemplating a future without his best friend, Harry Wong, by his side makes Danny feel a panic he can barely put into words. Harry and Danny’s lives are deeply intertwined and as they approach the one-year anniversary of a tragedy that shook their friend group to its core, Danny can’t stop asking himself if Harry is truly in love with his girlfriend, Regina Chan.

When Danny digs deeper into his parents’ past, he uncovers a secret that disturbs the foundations of his family history and the carefully constructed facade his parents have maintained begins to crumble. With everything he loves in danger of being stripped away, Danny must face the ghosts of the past in order to build a future that belongs to him.

The Astonishing Color of After by Emily X.R. Pan Little, Brown Brooks for Young Readers

Leigh Chen Sanders is absolutely certain about one thing: When her mother died by suicide, she turned into a bird.

Leigh, who is half Asian and half white, travels to Taiwan to meet her maternal grandparents for the first time. There, she is determined to find her mother, the bird. In her search, she winds up chasing after ghosts, uncovering family secrets, and forging a new relationship with her grandparents. And as she grieves, she must try to reconcile the fact that on the same day she kissed her best friend and longtime secret crush, Axel, her mother was taking her own life.

Alternating between real and magic, past and present, friendship and romance, hope and despair, The Astonishing Color of After is a novel about finding oneself through family history, art, grief, and love.

Pride by Ibi Zoboi Balzer + Bray

Zuri Benitez has pride. Brooklyn pride, family pride, and pride in her Afro-Latino roots. But pride might not be enough to save her rapidly gentrifying neighborhood from becoming unrecognizable.

When the wealthy Darcy family moves in across the street, Zuri wants nothing to do with their two teenage sons, even as her older sister, Janae, starts to fall for the charming Ainsley. She especially can’t stand the judgmental and arrogant Darius. Yet as Zuri and Darius are forced to find common ground, their initial dislike shifts into an unexpected understanding.

But with four wild sisters pulling her in different directions, cute boy Warren vying for her attention, and college applications hovering on the horizon, Zuri fights to find her place in Bushwick’s changing landscape, or lose it all.

The Gilded Wolves (The Gilded Wolves #1) by Roshani Chokshi Wednesday Books

Paris, 1889: The world is on the cusp of industry and power, and the Exposition Universelle has breathed new life into the streets and dredged up ancient secrets. In this city, no one keeps tabs on secrets better than treasure-hunter and wealthy hotelier, Séverin Montagnet-Alarie. But when the all-powerful society, the Order of Babel, seeks him out for help, Séverin is offered a treasure that he never imagined: his true inheritance.

To find the ancient artifact the Order seeks, Séverin will need help from a band of experts: An engineer with a debt to pay. A historian who can’t yet go home. A dancer with a sinister past. And a brother in all but blood, who might care too much.

Together, they’ll have to use their wits and knowledge to hunt the artifact through the dark and glittering heart of Paris. What they find might change the world, but only if they can stay alive.

Felix Ever After by Kacen Callender HarperCollins

From Stonewall and Lambda Award–winning author Kacen Callender comes a revelatory YA novel about a transgender teen grappling with identity and self-discovery while falling in love for the first time.

Felix Love has never been in love—and, yes, he’s painfully aware of the irony. He desperately wants to know what it’s like and why it seems so easy for everyone but him to find someone. What’s worse is that, even though he is proud of his identity, Felix also secretly fears that he’s one marginalization too many—Black, queer, and transgender—to ever get his own happily-ever-after.

When an anonymous student begins sending him transphobic messages—after publicly posting Felix’s deadname alongside images of him before he transitioned—Felix comes up with a plan for revenge. What he didn’t count on: his catfish scenario landing him in a quasi–love triangle….

But as he navigates his complicated feelings, Felix begins a journey of questioning and self-discovery that helps redefine his most important relationship: how he feels about himself.

[wefoundloveunderthelight]

Love or Duty by GleefullyCaptainSwan - Chapter 5/8

Read on AO3: | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5

Or on FF

Stacy's Tortured Crew: @teamhook @kmomof4 @stahlop @lfh1226-linda @ilovemesomekillianjones @itsfabianadocarmo @mariakov81 @qualitycoffeethings @zaharadessert @jrob64 @jonesfandomfanatic @natascha-ronin @tiganasummertree @xarandomdreamx @therooksshiningknight @batana54 @superchocovian @onceratheart18 @ultraluckycatnd @snowbellewells @karlyfr13s @the-darkdragonfly @xsajx @deckerstarblanche

Chapter 5: A Dangerous Game

Emma spent the next few days locked away in her chambers, only leaving the room for supper. Anytime she came in contact with Killian, she would bow, keeping her eyes away from his, and retreating back to the safety of solace as soon as she was able.

It wasn’t that Emma had never kissed a man before, though she had never seen one naked, that much was certain. Seeing him strip down in front of her, exposing himself to her without remorse, had caused sensations she had never experienced before. She knew she never should have followed him into the water that night. She was never one to back down from a challenge and once he had pressed forward, she had no choice but to follow suit.

She knew that was ridiculous, she always had a choice. Yet with Killian, she wanted to rise to meet him where he was. He pushed her in a way that no other man had done before. She wanted to prove herself to him, to prove that she was more than just a Princess being offered to a man as a trophy to collect. Emma was capable of so much more; she was born to lead.

No one ever saw her that way, not her parents, she was sure that Liam saw her as a woman fulfilling her role, but Killian, he didn’t seem to back away from her strengths. He wasn’t afraid of her desires, her need to be more than she was thought to be. He understood her.

It was that understanding that should have sent her back to the castle instead of into the lake with him, baring her soul, her body, giving into the desire she couldn’t seem to contain for the man. She couldn’t wait to return home to be as far away as she could be from Killian Jones.

There was a knock on her door, and she jumped from the bed as Ruby entered the room. “Liam has returned. You will be expected at supper.” Emma groaned. “What has happened? You haven’t stepped out of this room for days. You won’t tell me why, or what is going on.”

“I’m fine, I just want to go home. I miss my parents.” She said, only half telling the truth as she spoke. That was better than fully lying to the girl, right?

“Are you sure it has nothing to do with the reason that Prince Killian has been moping around the castle? Did something happen between the two of you?”

“What are you insinuating?” She asked with her mouth wide open.

“Just that the two of you seem to be not getting along. I know he has been most disagreeable toward you recently. Perhaps he has not enjoyed needing to watch over his brother’s betrothed.”

Emma frowned, oh he was enjoying it quite well, if she were being honest, but since she was not, she instead shrugged. “How am I to know what is wrong with that insolent child, I’m not his keeper. Let us ready for dinner, I do not care to discuss such unpleasantries.”

“Of course, Ma’am.” Ruby conceded and set about braiding Emma’s hair and helping to stuff her into her gown for the evening. When she approached the dining hall that evening, she paused, gathering herself before she entered the room, a smile plastered onto her face.

“Good evening, Emma. I apologize for being absent as long as I was.” Emma bowed her head to Liam and smiled.

“What news of Locksley?”

“Much of the town was destroyed. We brought many people back with us to take shelter until repairs can be made. I am afraid I am only home to replenish supplies before I must return to assist with rebuilding the town.”

“Do you need assistance, I may not look strong, but I can pound a hammer better than any man.” She laughed.

“I would not see you put in any danger. Father plans to send you home in the morning, Killian will see to it that you and your maid arrive home safely. I shall come to Misthaven as soon as the village is safe again.”

Emma frowned, wishing he would allow her to help, the people of Locksley had been friends of her father’s. They were good people. But of course, she was only seen as a trophy that needed to be protected. She tried not to take offense, Liam was simply thinking of her safety, but she wished she could be seen as useful in ways that did not require her to be put on display or locked in a tower.

Across the room, Killian seemed to pace the wall, watching the two of them as they talked near the table. Emma could feel his eyes glaring into her. She purposely cast her eyes on his brother, not allowing his steely gaze to distract her from the man speaking to her.

“I do hope my brother was a good host in my absence. Mother says his mood has been quite gloomy.”

She laughed loudly, ensuring that the entire room could hear her, knowing that it brought a frown to the skulking Prince keeping eye on their conversation. She reached out and touched Liam’s arm, “Well your brother is a bit of a child, isn’t he? He’s probably still angry that I was able to tame his wild mare.”

His eyes widened in shock. “You rode Jolly?”

“Of course, I did. She was most agreeable, a fine horse indeed.”

He shook his head in amazement. “Incredible. No one has ever ridden her save for Killian himself. That does indeed solve the mystery of his malady. He can be insufferable when he is angry.” He said with a whisper and a laugh.

Emma laughed loudly again, keeping her hand firmly on his forearm, her fingers caressing his skin as she trained her eyes on his. “Indeed.” She agreed and turned toward his brother, watching as he stormed across the room toward the large banquet table.

Liam leaned his face toward her ear. “Do not worry, his bark is worse than his bite.”

Emma flushed, visions of her escapade in the water, feeling his mouth against her neck, his teeth grazing her earlobe. She suddenly felt faint and reached out to steady herself against Liam’s sturdy arm. “I’m sure it is.” She replied in a raspy voice.

“Let us find our seats, I am sure it is almost time for supper.” He said with a smile, ushering her toward the large seat near the table.

~*~

Killian felt the anger rising in his throat the longer he watched Emma parading around the room on his brother’s arm. He didn’t know why he was behaving so irrationally; this woman was marrying his brother. She was never his and one night, one error in judgement on her part would never change that. Liam would be King, Emma would be his Queen, and together they would save Misthaven and Jonesboro. Liam would be the savior once again, and Killian would be the pitiful idiot who sat pining for his brother’s wife.

Emma laughed again from across the room and Killian found himself stomping toward the buffet of fruits on the other side of the room. He could not stand there and watch this charade in front of him.

“Does your town always supply this much fruit for a single evening?” Killian turned to his right as Emma’s handmaiden appeared beside him. Ruby was her name if he remembered correctly.

“We have been blessed with an abundance of a bountiful garden.” He laughed. “Father loves to show that off whenever he is able.” He added with a sarcastic groan.

The woman laughed. “I never had a chance to thank you for valiantly fighting on the road here. I am most certain you saved our dear Emma’s life.”

Killian glanced over as Emma and her brother continued talking at the table. “She seemed capable of handling her own. All I did was deliver her to the carriage.”

“Emma is an accomplished fighter, though she has not been allowed to use her skills in public. It’s not proper for a lady of her stature to be seen sparring with men.”

He narrowed his eyes, “But she does…spar?”

“Oh yes, she’s been known to meet the knights in the garden at night to practice her skills. Emma has never wanted to be left needing to rely on others to protect her. It’s important to her that she can protect her people and herself.”

“I’m sure her father just loves that.”

Ruby snorted loudly once the words left his mouth and Killian took advantage of the attention it brought with the crowd turning in their direction. His hand found its way to her back, guiding her toward the table as he glanced in Emma’s direction, her cheeks reddening, her eyes locked on the scene in front of her. Killian’s smirk grew on one side of his face. Perhaps his conversation could be both pleasing and advantageous for him.

“King David loves his daughter, don’t misunderstand me, but I do wish that he would consider her as the worthy and rightful heir to the throne.”

“You think she should be Queen? Doesn’t she have a brother?”

“Yes, Henry is still young, he could no more take over the kingdom than he could find hair to shave on his face.”

“A woman at the head of the throne, it’s unheard of.”

“It’s only unheard of because men refuse to see women as more than objects to be seen yet silent. I can assure you that Emma would be a most noble and courageous Queen to Misthaven.” She paused, horror filling her eyes. “But I fear I have spoken my mind too loudly tonight, courage brought on by too much ale, I fear. Please do not misunderstand my words as anything more than wishful thinking for my dear Princess. We are most grateful to Jonesboro and Prince Liam for the chance to save both of our kingdoms.”

“Do not fear, Lady Lucas,” he said in a whisper against her ear, “I think you will learn that I find many qualities of women worthy of more than just the place that society has put them.”

She giggled and he caught the glare of angry green eyes darting in his direction. Before he could dwell on his victory he felt a sucker punch to the face when Emma leaned over and pressed a kiss to Liam’s cheek, her hand resting on his chest.

The rest of dinner he brooded as Ruby talked softly beside him, he hummed an answer in the negative or the affirmative but did not spend much time listening to what he was responding to. Instead, he was consumed with anger at the game Emma was playing with him. She had no interest in his brother, he was sure of that. She was playing the part because it was what was required of her.

Even before Ruby had told him, he knew that Emma felt she was the rightful heir to her home. He knew that Emma was capable of being more than a trophy for his brother to parade around Jonesboro. There were other ways to win the fight against Regina and her army that did not involve compromising who Emma was. Yet here she was playing the bride to be with a man she had no interest in marrying.

It was preposterous to think, but he knew that there was more to his anger than Emma not standing up for what she wanted for herself. His anger was because she rejected him. It was irrational to think that she could do anything but reject him but having her walk away from him when it was just the two of them, leaving him there in the forest, tortured him nightly.

He could no longer close his eyes at night without seeing her naked body pressed against his in the moonlight. Thrice since that evening he had taken himself in hand, guiding himself to release while he remembered the feel of her breast in his hand, her legs wrapped around his waist, her throbbing center pressing against his stomach. He could do nothing to keep himself from that need, the desire to hold her, an insatiable need to have her.

He had tried at first to distract himself with a maiden from town, but one kiss from the bar wench sent him reeling with anger back to the solitude of his own bed and hand.

But now, lying in his bed, the anger of seeing her with his brother fully tearing him apart from the inside had him unable to sleep and unable to finish the task of satisfying himself. Frustrated with this turn of events he got up from his bed, pacing the room as he mumbled to himself.

He didn’t realize his intent until he had dressed in clothing and headed down the halls toward her room. He knew he shouldn’t be seen near her room; it would be a scandal if anyone were to find them together, alone in a room this late at night, but he needed to see her. He didn’t even know what he intended to ask of her, but he needed to hear the answer anyway, needed to hear it from her own mouth if she was as haunted as he by their night at the lake.

He knew it was not wise, he should go back to his room, but instead he found himself nearing her bed chamber, his back pressed against the wall as the guards made their rounds. He approached her door, pausing for a moment, one last chance to back out, to stop this ridiculous pursuit and retreat to his own room.

~*~

“Are you sure you are alright? You appear unsettled, quite unlike yourself.”

Emma shrugged as she felt Ruby unlace her corset, exhaling once she was able to breathe again. “I’m tired. At least we will be returning home tomorrow.” She sighed.

“Killian will be traveling with us; he was telling me tonight that he plans to join his brother once he has returned us home safely.”

Emma frowned, unsure how she was supposed to spend the trip sitting across from the man who was haunting her dreams. She was pleased with herself when Killian stormed out of the dining hall that evening, seemingly tired of the game he was playing with her by flirting with Ruby. However, knowing that her attention toward his brother had caused him such jealousy also caused something else to stir deep inside of her: desire.

Had he really wanted her so badly that he was brooding over the attention that she was providing to the man she was to marry. He knew that she had no choice but to marry Liam, she had no time for childish needs and wants. She had a duty to her family, her kingdom, her home.

“Emma?” Emma’s snapped her attention back to Ruby. “Did you hear me? I asked if you were alright if I went down to the doctor to gather supplies for our trip home. I want to ensure we have enough ointment for your wound since it is still healing.”

“Um yeah sure, that’s fine, I’m just going to go to bed.”

“Alright, I’m certain you will feel better in the morning.” She smiled and hugged the girl.

“Thanks Ruby, goodnight.”

The girl gathered her clothes scattered through the room and placed them at the trunk near the armoire. They would pack in the morning and return to her home. Ruby closed the door behind her, and Emma sank into her bed, pulling the heavy blankets up her body and tucking them under her chin. She wanted to disappear into the expanse of the bed, forget everything that had happened here and everything that was yet to come.

The creak across the room alerted her that she was not alone in the room. “Ruby? Did you come back already?” She called out into the silence and a shadow emerged from across the room causing her to sit up quickly. “Who’s there?”

The shadow got closer until it came into the light, the cause of all her strife tonight stood in the moonlight, staring at her.

“What are you doing in my room?” She exclaimed, jumping out of her bed, and rushing toward him. “Do you know what would happen if anyone found you in here, with me, like this!” She said anxiously, looking down at her nightgown.

“That night dress is quite scandalous, however I’ve seen you in less, love.”

Anger took over her emotions. “Stop that.” She said at an angry whisper. “Why are you here?”

“I needed to see you, to talk to you, about the other night.”

“I said everything I needed to say. That was a one-time thing. It can never happen again. I’m marrying your brother.”

“Why are you marrying him?” He asked and Emma’s eyes narrowed.

“You know why, it is our duty to protect our kingdom’s. Our union will bring our people together to…”

“That’s bullshit and you know it.” He exclaimed, stepping toward her. “You do not wish to marry my brother. You have no other duty but to yourself.”

She laughed. “It’s not that easy and you know it.”

“I can’t stop thinking about you.” Her heart stilled as he reached for her. “I’m haunted by the memories of your kiss; you plague my every thought and dream.” He took another step toward her, his hand brushing against her shoulder.

“You need to find a way to forget, I’m marrying your brother.”

“But you do not want my brother, do you? For all your theatrics this evening, it is not he who causes your heart to stir, your legs to quiver…” His hand was in her hair and Emma needed him to leave. She could scarcely hear his voice from the sound of her heart pounding in her ears. “Or the desire that pools between them.” She gulped.

“We can’t do this; we must put our people first.” A mischievous smile grew on his lips. “Our Kingdom demands that we do what is necessary to survive.” He bent his head to her neck, sucking at the skin below her ear and she held back the moan that threatened to escape her lips. “You’re being selfish, putting your needs above others.” She groaned and he lifted his head to meet her eyes.

“I’d much rather put your needs first, love.”

“That’s not what I meant.” She admonished him as he stared at her as if she were his last meal.

“I want you.”

She laughed. “You only want me because you’ve had every other woman in your kingdom. I’m a conquest to you, nothing more.”

His mouth pressed against her jaw and Emma could feel the warmth between her legs, the moisture pooling in her center as he continued his way down her jaw. She had never been with a man before, never knew that it could bring about such pleasure in the way that he was giving simply from kissing her.

“This is something more than a conquest, I feel it, I know you do too.”

Her heart was pounding out of her chest. “We can’t…” She protested once more as his mouth met hers and she could resist him no longer. She fell into his arms, allowing him to lift her off her feet, carrying her to the bed as he lay her on top of the pool of blankets, his mouth never leaving hers, his fingers tangled in her hair.

She tilted her hips upward, needing to feel something, anything, some type of friction between them. He groaned against her mouth, the sound of which set her body on fire, her lips bruising his as she fought to stop the burning between her legs. She needed whatever he could give her, wanted it so badly that she could see nothing else but him, the feel of his mouth, the touch of his hand, the cold steel of the hook on his arm that was pressing against her back. “Killian.” She moaned, frustration from needing something she couldn’t describe.

She felt a hardness against her center, happy for the friction it provided to her dripping center, as she rubbed her hips against him, eliciting more sounds from his throat that sent shivers down her spine. His hand was under her chemise, his fingers dancing across her breast, his thumb brushing against her hardening nipple. “Oh…” She sighed before she was alerted to the sound of the door, the heavy wood creaking against the floor.

Killian rolled to his side, sliding onto the floor beside the bed before Ruby was able to fully enter the room. “Back so soon.” Emma said, sitting up and yawning. “I barely made it to the bed.”

“Yes, I gathered everything we need for the trip. Get some sleep.”

“Can you get me water?” She asked suddenly. “I’m parched.”

“Um, sure, one second.” She retreated from the room and Emma tilted over the side of the bed, looking underneath to see Killian lying there.

“Go before she returns.” Emma jumped out of the bed, rushing toward the door.

He was on his feet, rushing ahead of her before he turned back to face her, dragging her into his arms and placing his lips against hers. “There is not a moment that I won’t think of you tonight.”

She smiled against his lips, “Good.” She stated before pushing him out the door and slamming it shut behind him. Ruby returned from the small room to her right and stared at Emma.

“Are you quite alright? Why are you out of bed?”

“I needed to stretch.” She said with a yawn, returning quickly to bed and pulling the covers over her head.

“Don’t you want your water?”

She pulled the blanket down, reaching for the glass. “Of course.” She drank the entire contents that were held in the glass and then fell back against the bed, closing her eyes and pulling the covers back over her. “Good night Ruby.”

“Good Night, My Lady.” She said with apprehension.

Emma’s heart was pounding, her mind was racing, her body was still on fire in all the places he had touched her. He wanted her. Killian Jones wanted her. She knew it was wrong, she should not entertain these thoughts, such wanton desire for a man she could not be with was irresponsible. In the end, she would have to marry his brother.

But as she closed her eyes, soft blue eyes swirling around her, his touch haunting her dreams, he was all she wanted, all she desired. And something told her that he would stop at nothing to have her. A thought which both excited and terrified her to no end. Emma Nolan had a duty to her people, a responsibility to unite two kingdoms to keep them from the brink of war.

But more than anything, she could not ignore the feelings that were threatening to grow for Killian Jones.

She knew if she continued to play this reckless game it would lead her to two paths. And she would eventually have to choose.

She could only have one.

Love or Duty.

[spiltscribbles]

You're doing prompts! Yesss you have no idea how happy that makes me cause I love you're writing so so so much its so amazing soo yayyyyyy 🥳🥳 can I request prompt 32? Things you said I wouldn't understand. Maybe some wolfstar? I'm just a slut for your fics so I would probably die if you wrote this. Even if you don't that's fine I never wanna pressure you soo yeah love you 💕💕

~Notes: Gorgeous, this message is literally so fucking kind and I am absolutely SOBBING!!!! You are such a fucking gorgeous soul! And this means the galaxy! And I’m sorry! This screams angst, but I had a really really fucking awful day, so I just wanted to escape with some fluff :( But if you want me to redo I promise I will! Or you can send me another prompt and I’ll write angst! I adore you!!!

.-

A Reblog Is Worth A Thousand Stars  »  Send Me A Prompt  » Things You Said That I Couldn’t Understand

.-

Sirius realizes on an ordinary Tuesday morning as he spills the chocolate chips into the batter of the first batch of flapjacks, that he and his husband of over a decade haven’t had a date night for three months.

Three! Ruddy! Months!

THat’s completely not on! especially considering that now that the twins have entered their terrible twos they’ve barely had any energy at all  to go beyond furtive hand jobs and messy kisses in almost just as long. Sirius misses his bloody husband damn it!

“Daddy?” Angelica asks with owlish eyes  from where she and her younger brother, Teddy, are standing on either side of him with their expectant  plates in hand. “You look peaky.”

“Like you’re gonna puke,” Teddy tacks on helpfully, his ordinarily tawny curls  turning a putrid shade of  green just to emphasize his point. And Sirius silently reminds himself to tell Tonks off for teaching his kid such rude gestures once she gets back from her honeymoon with that Muggle bird of hers.

“Oi, you guys are going to make your old man feel like he’s the Hogwarts squid if you keep on.” Sirius tells them with a soft tug on Angelica’s ponytail and a cluck of a tongue directed towards his son.

“You’re father’s probably still just getting use to the time difference after getting back from the states.”

Sirius straightens up— pulse spiking in that way it always has around Remus ever since they had first begun to go out as fifth years— and spots him padding into the kitchen, beautifully sleep rumpled and cradling a babbling Maeve in one arm, while her twin, Matthew, toddles along side them with a meaty thumb in his mouth. Though he immediately begins sprinting towards Sirius once realizing that he’s finally home from teaching those Americans the newly enhanced defense tactics that the British Aurors have been utilizing to successful degrees.

“THere’s my Matty,” he crows, lifting him up in the air and blowing a raspberry into his belly while the toddler squawks with glee.

“Daddy home! Daddy! Daddy!”

“And he brings with him enough noise to rival the frog choir,” Remus notes absently.

Sirius waggles his tongue over at him, heart stuttering when he watches the morning sun spilling through the wide partition and unspooling golden in Remus’s hair. “You need it, gorgeous, considering you couldn’t wake up to your own ruddy alarm.”

Remus smiles in that abashed way that’s always been more devious than most give him credit for, “It’s the seventh year Ravenclaws, I think they will actually end up giving me an aneurism with how much extra they write in the essays.”

“Alas, I’m too pretty to be a widow,” Sirius sighs, tossing Matthew up in the air once more and cradling him into  his arm before walking over to Remus and dipping down to kiss the corner of his mouth. “I’ve missed you.”

“You could’ve woken me up you know,” Remus mumbles, shifting from foot to foot while sliding Maeve into her high chair. “The moon’s not til tomorrow night.”

Sirius ducks his head, scratching the back of it with appropriate diffidence. “I just didn’t want to disturb you, love.”

Remus doesn’t catch his eye as he begins to walk over to the counter and brings the other portions of the meal to the table, lips pinched and shoulders stiff. “I’m not a total invalid, Sirius. I could welcome my husband home after a week apart.”

“What’s that mean, Tad?” Teddy asks, oblivious to the undercurrent of hurt in his father’s tone and  energetic as always while scrambling into his own seat around the breakfast nook, wide eyes glowing with that easy mirth that Sirius is thankful every day his children can feel without any lingering ghosts. “A, erm— In—valvid."

“It means your Tad’s a bit brassed off at me, Ted.” Sirius answers for him, affecting a light hearted cadence. "And that I better get round to finishing up breakfast or else he’ll give me that stiff upper lip of his.”

Remus pins him with a glare from over his shoulder while Sirius sets Matthew into his own seat besides his sister, but his features are softened and Sirius knows that it means he’s close to being forgiven.

“Daddy can I have blueberries in mine,” Angelica asks as he returns to the oven.

“Course, jellybean,” Sirius answers, adopting the pet name that Hope had called her granddaughter ever since they had brought her back from the hospital eight years ago. Sirius loved it even more once finding out that it was actually a reference to some sort of Muggle treat that Remus use to eat by the handfuls as a lad.

“OmyChocomydadzee,” Ted yells towards them with a wedge of cheese in his mouth before sticking his fork into the plate of sliced fruit so to waggle it in front of a giggling Maeve.

“Sorry, son, I don’t understand trollish. Or is that some sort of highly advanced Metamorphmagus language that your Aunty Dora has been teaching you on the sly that we lowly, ordinary wizards couldn’t possibly understand?”

Teddy rolls his bright eyes with a huff, swallowing down pointedly before speaking again. “Only chocolate in mine, just like Tad!”

“Manners, Ted, remember please and thank yous.” Remus says, long suffering as he eases down into his own seat and sips from the mug of coffee that Sirius had already prepared for him. “Though yes, I’d like mine to be chocolate too, Sirius, if you’re taking orders.”

Sirius grins indulgently at them before peering down to his eldest. “Angie darling, what shall we do with their teeth once they fall out from all that sugar?”

Angelica laughs glowingly, and Sirius brushes back her chestnut bangs with a reverent hand.”The snow warlock outdoors could use it since he’s only got a carrot nose after Matty ate the chocolate frogs we were s’pose to  use for his smile.”

“Brilliant!”

.-

After they’ve all eaten, Teddy and Angelica race outside to await the Potters amidst shouts of “Shut your trap,” from a peeved off Teddy every time Angelica taunts him over his crush on Effie, and the twins dig into their toy chest in the living room while Sirius and Remus spell away the mess that always ensues after a meal with the Lupin-Blacks.

“Andromeda wants us to bring the Christmas pudding this year,” Remus idly tells Sirius while he enchants the dishes to begin washing themselves with a graceful flick of his wand. Remus ordinarily prefers cleaning them by hand, so Sirius has an inkling that the impending full moon has already  begun aching in his bones. Merlin’s saggy bollocks does he wish this new, experimental potion would just escape the bureaucracy of the Ministry so that the man who is his other half could at least have a small relief.

“Is that along with the wine and fresh cranberry sauce she’s asked for?” Sirius says, saddling up behind Remus, bending slightly so to nuzzle his nose along the hollow of his long neck.

“Mmm, she thought you might say that, and wanted to kindly remind you that she carried a set of twins for us when she was forty even though we promised that Ted would be the last sprog.”

“Pff, as if I’d let potter outdo us.”

“We definitely didn’t let that happen,” Remus snorts. “The twins and Pip will surely be the next generation Marauders, God save Minerva.”

“Exactly!” Sirius sneers, locking his arms around Remus’s torso. “Besides ’s not like it’s our fault Meda’s bloody eggs decided on a two for one deal.”

Remus stifles a laugh, leaning back into the embrace and setting his hand over Sirius’s where he’s begun thumbing small circles against his abdomen. “Yes, well if you’d like to have that argument with her?”

“Oh, she’s full of it. I know that the twins are her favorites, spoils them rotten I tell you Moons.”

“Well it’s hard not to with such cute faces,” Remus says, turning his head slightly so to peer over at the pair of them through the doorway. Maeve is munching on the leg of her barbie and Matthew is clashing together pieces of two completely contradictory puzzles. Sirius swears that his chest might implode with the love he feels for his chaotic, little family.

“Course they’re cute, Moons,” he says loftily instead of the incredibly sappy emotions that are flooding his insides. “They’re are kids, cute is in the genes.”

“Cocky bastard,” Remus snorts before turning around in his arms and kissing him full on the mouth. And yes, the sight of Remus curled around the latest essay he’s meant to be marking up with the baby monitor for the twins’s room clutched in his left fist, was an absolute heavenly sight, but Sirius thinks this more hands on approach is a much more appropriate welcome after dealing with an ocean between them and six nights apart.

“Mmm, does this mean I’m not in the dog house anymore?” Sirius asks hopefully, trailing a path of kisses along Remus’s jawline and stopping at the hinge where it meets his neck so to suck only slightly, reveling in the beautifully familiar taste of his husband.

“You were never in the dog house you daft mutt,” Remus reproves in a voice that could’ve been caustic if it weren’t for his words going breathy half way through and his hands clutching tightly onto Sirius’s shoulders. “’S just— Just… Nothing.”

Sirius feels his stomach twist, pulling off of him with a scowl set on his face, and refusing for Remus to just brush this aside, the way he’s always want to do instead of talking about anything that actually might be hurting him. Like he’s afraid that his sodding feelings are somehow a burden, the self-possessed bastard.

“Tell me,” he intones, brooking no arguments while he gently takes Remus’s face in hand so he can’t look away.

His gorgeous features twist up, indignant and mulish, but they relax almost just as quickly, a defense tactic that’s melt away almost completely after so long of being intwined with one another in the most intimate of ways.

“Sirius, there was a time that you could hardly keep your hands off of me after being away for less than half as long,” Remus tells him, voice wavering only slightly. “And I understand if it’s getting tiring having to parent around the moon’s schedule—“

“What the bloody fuck are you talking about,” Sirius really meant to listen to him all the way through, he did! But he can’t help just how furious he got at the sound of that absolutely ridiculous conclusion Remus has somehow conjured up in his impossible mind. Positively hates how this is still such a point of sensitivity Remus has when it regards to their relationship.

“Sirius—“

“Don’t be a completely idiotic arse, Lupin!” Sirius very nearly shouts, absolutely broiling. “You are the love of my life, and I wouldn’t change a single sodding thing about us! And I swear to Merlin or Morgana or whoever the fuck else, that if you begin speaking such rubbish again, I’ll have to lock you up in our bedroom, and show you just how intensely I mean that.”

Remus’s face has gone flushed throughout Sirius’s diatribe, and his hazel eyes twinkle with that adoring way of his that always makes Sirius’s heart lodge somewhere in his diaphragm. “Lupin-Black.”

“Pardon?”

“You called me Lupin, it’s Lupin-Black now, has been for quite a while.”

Sirius chuckles lowly, feeling his righteous anger  deflate as  he crowds Remus against the kitchen island and presses their foreheads together. “You done being a senseless sod then?”

Remus locks his hands around Sirius’s neck, kisses his cupids bow with a tender earnestness. “You still could’ve woken me up.”

“I just wanted to make sure that you wouldn’t be exhausted for tomorrow, love.” Sirius reiterates, kissing him with feeling before pulling apart once more. “Though if I’m being totally honest,  I would’ve liked it if you could’ve wanked me off in hello.”

“That’s all you would’ve wanted?” Remus asks smugly, the tip of his index finger tracing idl patterns  against Sirius’s neck.

“Mmm, don’t tease me, Moony.” Sirius tells him before sharing another snog. “I was just thinking earlier on that it’s been three ruddy months since I’ve had you to myself for the entire night.””

Remus’s smile brightens, “Oh yeah? You’ve missed that have you?” He bucks forwards, and Sirius can feel him pressed completely against his front.

“I think I might go mad very, very soon, Mssr Moony if we don’t correct this most awful of grievances.”

Remus laughs fondly, kissing the tip of his nose with a smile on his face. “Well I reckon that the twins are old enough to sleep through the night, and Grandma Lupin is always asking after them.”

Sirius brightens ten fold, “Really?”

“I’m sure the kids won’t mind spending an extended weekend on the Welsh coast.” Remus nods.

“Right, good. Yes! Let’s use that tellamabob thing.”

“But the kitchen’s still a mess.”

“Remus, please have mercy on me,” Sirius begs with his best pleading look until his husband finally relents in that worldweary way of his, even if it’s him who snatches Sirius’s wrist and drags him to that muggle contraption, an excited jittering to his grasp all the while.

Sirius is irrecoverably in love with such a bellend.

~*~

My Wolfstar FIC Masterlist

[findingnemo19]

Because of Seaweed (Percabeth AU)

A percabeth AU fanfic. That I had originally made because my friend didn't believe my writing was good, and now he's refusing to read the damn thing. Oh well. You guys will read it. That's more than enough. And, Shout out to my friend, Isha. She helped me with the plot to this fic. For this (mortal) AU, Malcolm is 2 years younger than Annabeth. Annabeth and Malcolm are Athena and Fredrick’s kids. Summary: Annabeth froze. She’s heard the 8 words multiple times in a teasing voice from her brother and her friends. She’s replayed the time she’d meet her soulmate in her head multiple times in multiple different ways. But never had she thought her soulmate would manage to get seaweed on one of her favorite books.

Read on AO3

She matured early, according to her parents.

Since Annabeth was 8, she hated the idea of “soulmates”.  Why does she have to spend her life with someone? Why does she have to fall in love with someone? And why isn’t it her choice?

Of course, her parents tried explaining it to her, ( “It is your choice. The soulmate idea is like… telling the future.”) but she wouldn’t have any of it.

Unfortunately or fortunately, the fateful 10th birthday of Annabeth’s rolled around. Most people would wake up on their 10th birthday, immediately looking at the inside of their dominant hand wrist. Annabeth on the other hand avoided even letting that side of her right hand in her line of sight until her dad came back from work right before dinner.

Both her parents and her 8yo brother, Malcolm, were fed up with Annabeth delaying to look at the words her soulmate will tell her. Rolling her eyes at this, she turned her wrist over, “‘ You’re more worried about your book rather than yourself? ’” She recited the words slowly to herself, the bold cursive writing, murder on her dyslexic eyes. “‘ You’re more worried about your book rather than yourself?’ ” She spoke more clearly, looking up at her family around the dining table. “That’s what it says.”

Athena let a teasing smile across her face as Annabeth’s father and brother burst out in laughter. “Fitting. Very, very fitting.” Annabeth scowled at her mom, “Be quiet.” she grumbled. Stabbing her fork in her noodles she took a bite, stuffing her face with food.

->->->->->

She’s in middle school, and maybe she’s stopped absolutely loathing the soulmate idea. Not that she’s 100% ok with Fate deciding her relationship or anything. But maybe she didn’t hate it.

Plus, the 8th-grade halls are (oddly enough) filled with people asking each other out, and then arguing over the fact that “YOU’RE NOT MY SOULMATE.”

Apart from that, at least Annabeth has friends now. (Read: Piper, Frank, Hazel, and Reyna.) And thank whatever god is up there, her friends aren’t the annoying 8th graders fighting over soulmates in the hallways.

She’s happy and content. Apart from the assload of homework she gets, content. Content with her family, her friends, her classmates, and teachers-

(Ok maybe she wants to stab that “Caleb” guy in the eye with a very sharp pencil if he says anything about Annabeth being “a dumb blond” one more time. And her Science teacher. If he says “Mitochondria is the powerhouse of the cell” one more goddamned time-)

->->->->->

Annabeth unlocked the door to her house, wincing a little in reaction to the yelling between her parents from the inside. She shook her head, stepping inside, praying that her parents aren’t near the stairs so she wouldn’t have to face that. God must have decided to be nice to the blond-haired girl, because her parents were arguing in the living room, and couldn’t even see the staircase from there.

No. It’s not out of the ordinary for her parents to fight. They’ve been doing it almost every day now. However, Annabeth hasn’t been able to understand why they fight. But they do and it bothers her. Let a girl and her brother in high school get some rest, would you?

About an hour later, she was typing up an essay that she completely forgot about, that's due the next day, when there was a loud sound from downstairs, the sound of someone running up the wooden staircase, and a frantic knock on her bedroom door. Confused and slightly concerned, she said, “Come in!”

As the door opened, Annabeth pushed her chair back across the wooden floor, cringing at the sound. “Malcolm?” Annabeth stood up as her brother shut and locked the bedroom door behind him. “What happened?”

Malcolm rolled his eyes, sitting down gingerly on Annabeth’s (for once unmade) bed. “I went downstairs to ask mom a question about homework, started talking before getting down the stairs, and she threw a plate- I wouldn’t say at me but pretty much at me.”

Annabeth raised her eyebrows in shock. “That's- that’s new,” she muttered under her breath.

Her brother scoffed, “No shit, Sherlock.”

Annabeth chuckled with no humor, saving her word document before sitting down next to the blonde-haired boy. “You ok though?”

Malcolm rolled his eyes fondly, “Yeah I’m fine, Beth.”

“Good.” A beat of silence passed between them before, “You could’ve just asked me for help instead of going to mom.”

He pondered this, “I guess.”

Annabeth chuckled, flopping down back on her bed, covering her eyes with her arm, “I’m tired.”

Malcolm fell into an almost imitated position, staring up at the ceiling, “Of what?”

Annabeth sighed, “Everything. It’s so stressful. Homework, essays, finals coming up, college applications, our parents fighting practically 24-by-7. It’s just too much-” Her voice cracked and she silenced herself.

“Yeah, I get it. Ninth isn’t much easier. Oh god, I forgot to tell you. Remember Calissa? From middle school?”

Annabeth nodded, “Mhm. The middle school ‘Bitch Girl.’ Why?”

“She asked me out today.”

Annabeth took her arm off her eyes and sat up looking at her brother with an unreadable expression. “ What?”

“Whoa, whoa Annie. Don’t go all “protective older sister” on me. I’m 15, I can handle this stuff myself .” Malcolm sat up as well. “I told her I’d think about it.”

Annabeth raised her eyebrows, crossing her arms at her chest, “You’d think about it? Malcolm this is the same girl who bullied 75% of your middle school. Including you. Are you-”

“Beth. Breathe. I’ll say no. I just said that at the moment.”

Annabeth scoffed, getting up from the bed and walking to her desk. “You better say no.” Malcolm hummed in response, getting up from the bed and leaving the room.

The sound of a ceramic cup breaking made Annabeth flinch (don’t ask how she knows what it was. She’s a little clumsy ok?). She bit her lip, turning to face the half-closed door, “Malcolm?”

“Yeah?” her brother’s muffled voice answered.

“Work in my room.”

->->->->->

Annabeth loved reading at the beach. The light wind messing up her hair, the random, delicate spray of water refreshing her; it was calming, relaxing, soothing...As long as she was a solid 30 feet away from the surfers.

Yet today was a different day, for Annabeth had actually come down to the beach with her brother and Calissa. Turns out, Malcolm ended up saying yes to go out with Calissa because he hasn’t “actually dated anybody.” So great.

To get her mind off things, she had decided to bring a book down to the beach like she always did. Picking up “Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows” for the 7th time in her life, she opened the book to where she left off.

She was engrossed in her book when she heard the loud splash before she felt the water.  Gasping, she stood up, facing a boy only slightly taller than her, maybe the same age. He had raven hair, which was splattered across his face from the ocean water. His eyes were a startling sea green color. Annabeth, with all the people she knew, had never come across someone with that color of green eyes.

Shaking her head slightly to get the seaweed out of her hair (and maybe that slight trance the guy in front of her left her in.) Picking up her book from the ground where it fell she winced, “What the hell!? You got seaweed on my book, damn it.”

She saw the guy in front of her rolling his eyes. “You care more about your book than yourself?”

Annabeth froze. She’s heard the 8 words multiple times in a teasing voice from her brother and her friends. She’s replayed the time she’d meet her soulmate in her head multiple times in multiple different ways. But never had she thought her soulmate would manage to get seaweed on one of her favorite books.

“Well shit.” She heard from in front of her.

Laughing humorlessly she ran her hand through her hair, “yeah shit.”

“Annie!” Annabeth looked over to her right, seeing her brother and Calissa walking over to them. “Found your soulmate?”

“Malcolm. Were you spying on me? You’re on a date, aren’t you?”

“We got bored.”

The raven-haired boy in front of her chuckled. “Annie.?”

“It’s a nickname.” She snapped. “That I will not allow you to call me.” Annabeth sighed, putting her hand out in front of her. “Annabeth Chase.”

The guy smiled, slipping his hand in Annabeth’s. “Percy Jackson.” Percy Jackson. Jackson. She recognized the name. Percy must’ve read her expression, for he laughed and said, “Yes, Sally Jackson’s son.”

Annabeth’s eyes widened, “Oh my god, her writing is beautiful. Her characters are so well written. The way she carries the series, oh my god it’s incredible!”

Percy laughed. From beside Annabeth, Malcolm gave Percy a look, “She's a little obsessed with Sally Jackson’s books.”

“A little?” Percy asked, teasing.

Annabeth glared at him, “Whatever.” My soulmate is Sally Jackson’s son. Oh my god.

Percy cleared his throat, “Uh. Sorry about the seaweed and everything. I lost control for a bit.”

Annabeth hummed absent-mindedly, wrinkling her nose in annoyance at the realization that her book was covered in saltwater and seaweed and she probably won't be able to save it. “Well, one of my favorite books is now soaked but I guess I’ll forgive you.” She then added, “But only because you're the son of one of my favorite authors.”

Percy laughed lightly, “Not surprising. All my friends love my mom more than me.” Percy reached his hand out and brushed off a piece of seaweed from Annabeth’s hair. Suddenly, it seemed like she forgot how to breathe. Annabeth saw Percy’s eyes search her face, his hand delicately resting on her cheek.

Too soon, Percy pulled back, and Annabeth wasn't sure why that bothered her. He glanced at the setting sun, “I should get going before my mom gets worried.”

Annabeth blinked, “Uh yeah, yeah ok.”

Percy smiled, turning, grabbing his surfboard from the ground, and yelled to some people in the distance, “Hey, Thalia! Jace, Neeks, we gotta go.”

“Don't call me that, Jackson!”

Annabeth smiled. “Hey, uh, Percy?”

Percy looked back at her, a smile still on his face, “Yeah?”

“Could I- Could I have your number?” Wincing, as she worried she might’ve stepped over a line.

Percy’s smile only grew, “Of course.”

->->->->->

She was happy. More than happy. In the past two years, a lot happened.

A few weeks after the beach incident, Annabeth had called Percy, asking to go out on a date, because, “we’re soulmates anyway, might as well.” He agreed. 2 weeks and 4 dates later, they had their first kiss. Under a street light that was already dying out, with a leaf or two, landing on Annabeth’s head, which Percy teased her about for weeks. ( “It was just a leaf Annabeth.” “We were kissing. Can you blame me for getting startled?” “No one’s blaming you. I’m just teasing you, Wise Girl.” “Yeah, I can tell, Seaweed Brain.” )

Oh and the nicknames. They’re stupid because they’re cliché. ( “But clichés are only clichés because they work, sweetie.” “Sure, Mrs. Jackson.” “Sally.” )

And Percy’s mother is a gem, and so is his half-sister, Estelle Blofis. Apparently, Percy’s parents are divorced, and Percy’s mother remarried, to an English teacher, Paul Blofis. Percy’s friends are great too. Thalia, Nico, and Annabeth immediately hit it off. Percy met Annabeth’s friends as well, at some point, and she found it cute how nervous he was.

Also, she got accepted to Queens College. And better yet, so did her boyfriend.

->->->->->->->->->->->->->->->->->->->->->->->->->->->->->->->->->->->->->->->

Thanks for reading!!

[baoshan-sanren]

Chapter 15 Part 2

of the wwx emperor au that’s now more like the terrible horrible time the Lan Sect is having ugh

Prologue | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 Part 1 | Chapter 8 Part 2 | Chapter 9 | Chapter 10 | Chapter 11 | Chapter 12 | Chapter 13 | Chapter 14 | Chapter 15 Part 1

The wait goes on forever. Nearly two hours pass before the commotion announces the Emperor’s approach.

Gone is every trace of the boy who had carried a child on his hip. Wei WuXian’s robe is liquid black, gold dragons climbing over his shoulders and twisting down the arms. Above this unforgiving color, his cheeks appear hollow, each line of his face sharp enough to cut.  

Nie HuaiSang is walking by his side, light of step next to Wei WuXian’s heavy stride, flowing green robes next to Wei WuXian’s stark lines. The Emperor is leading him, Nie HuaiSang’s hand lightly resting on the Emperor’s embroidered sleeve, and WangJi thinks that the Royal Companion has never more looked an equal partner in power, as if his rightful place is by the Emperor’s side.

It is a bitter, pointless realization, one that WangJi does not have time to analyze.

Behind the Emperor, there is a flash of red robes and dark hair. WangJi recognizes Wen Qing, the granddaughter of the Head Healer. Behind her, two servants follow. One of them carries a tray. Inexplicably, the tray holds a tea pot, and three cups.

The Emperor leads Nie HuaiSang to the dais. He sits down, his eyes passing over the kneeling forms before giving them the permission to rise. Nie HuaiSang settles by his feet. Wen Qing and the two servants remain at the bottom of the dais.

“High Councilor,” the Emperor says, without looking at Jiang FengMian, “the rumors in the palace halls are running rampant. I hope you have a more coherent narrative to present.”

“Your Majesty,” Jiang FengMian says, “the HeJian Fan Sect Leader has been poisoned.”

“I am aware,” the Emperor says, “as I come from his bedside. The correct antidote has been provided by the Head Healer, and will see him back to full health in a matter of days.”

“Ah, this is very good news. Excellent news,” Jiang FengMian says, “Ah-- yes. The Young Master of the Lan Sect has been accused of giving the Fan Sect Leader the poison.”

“Who has accused him?”

Two men step out from the sea of people. They both kneel, and the Emperor impatiently gestures that they should rise.

One of them wears the uniform of TingShan He Sect, the other, a uniform of the LanLing Jin. WangJi vaguely remembers seeing the youth wearing the Jin Sect uniform, but the other is unfamiliar.

The man in the TingShan He colors steps forward, “Your Majesty, I was seated at the HeJian Fan Sect table. The Fan Sect Leader did not consume any food or drink prior to joining the Lan Sect Leader. I remember it clearly, because Fan XiaoHu had complained that her father does not eat enough, and that she must always place food in front of him. I--“ he shifts, appearing nervous, “It is not my intention to make an accusation, but to stand as a witness to the fact that no poison could have been consumed at the Fan Sect table.”

“I will accuse him,” the youth in the Jin Sect uniform arrogantly steps forward, “I saw, with my own eyes, Lan XiChen pour tea for the Fan Sect Leader. Less than an hour later, the Fan Sect Leader was bleeding from his nose and mouth.”

“Did Young Master Lan only pour tea for the Fan Sect Leader?” Wen Qing asks.

The Jin disciple seems offended that she had chosen to speak to him, but after one look at the Emperor’s face, he swallows whatever complaints he may have offered.

“He did not. He poured for both Sect Leaders, and himself. But he could have easily slipped the poison in Fan Sect Leader’s cup.”

“He could have,” Jiang FengMian says, “but you did not see it.”

“No, I--“ the Jin disciple is beginning to turn red, “I saw him pour the tea.”

“You saw some tea being poured?” a small Nie Sect disciple pipes up scornfully from the other side of the hall, “How is that a crime?”

Nie MingJue shoots a murderous look in kid’s direction. The boy scrunches up his face, and decides to study the floor instead.

The Jin Sect disciple’s face is very red now, “If both Lan QiRen and Lan XiChen drank the tea, and only the Fan Sect Leader was poisoned, then Lan XiChen must have put the poison into the cup.”

“But you did not see him put the poison into the cup,” Jiang FengMian says kindly.

“No, I--“

He looks at if he wants repeat the fact that he had seen Lan XiChen pour the tea, but then thinks better of it, and shuts his mouth with a click.

Throughout all this, XiChen is still kneeling, perfectly still, head bowed. There is no fear or tension in his posture. WangJi cannot see his brother’s face, but he can picture the forced calm, the acceptance of whatever may come. It is infuriating.  

WangJi will not accept this. Anyone who thinks that they can lay a hand on his brother, for a crime he did not commit, will lose that hand by WangJi’s blade.

“Jin ZiXun is half-correct,” the Emperor says coldly, “the poison was in the cup. Wen Qing?”

The girl picks up the cup, “The poison in question is the venom extracted from the black ring snake. It is known as the poor man’s poison; it can be easily obtained in any region of the Empire. It is extremely bitter to taste. In heavily spiced foods, the taste can be hidden, but it would have definitely been noticeable in the mild tea that was served this morning. The common practice is to mix the poison with beeswax, which neutralizes the bitter taste. You can see, by the shine on the porcelain, that the inside of the cup is still coated. The application of this beeswax is time-consuming and takes an infinite amount of care; any direct contact with skin could have introduced the venom to the bloodstream. In other words,” she places the cup back on to the tray, “the inside of the cup had to have been coated ahead of time. As Young Master Lan had been so closely watched,” she nods to Jin ZiXun, “it would have been impossible for him to apply this poison to the cup without being seen.”

“So, he did not put the poison in at the picnic,” Jin ZiXun says, “he could have done it ahead of time.”

“Are you stupid?” the little Nie Sect disciple explodes again, “The cups were placed on the tables by the Imperial servants. Does Young Master Lan look like a servant to you?”

WangJi expects the Nie Sect Leader to scold the boy again, but no such thing occurs. Nie MingJue is staring at Jin ZiXun, the scorn on his face mirroring that of his disciple.  

“General,” Jin GuangShan smiles, “will you allow your disciple to display such poor manners in front of the Emperor?”

A clamor from the back of the hall saves Nie MingJue from having to answer the accusation.

“Move!” a furious voice snaps from the middle of the crowd.

They part to show Jiang WangYin striding forward, two of the Emperor’s guards behind him. For the first time, the Emperor’s face shows something other than cool indifference. He leans forward slightly, his lips parted in anticipation.

“We found them,” Jiang WanYin says without preamble, “The two servants who had set the tables and set out the cups are both dead. Their throats were slit, and their bodies stuffed in the stairway of the old north-west watchtower. Gr-- the Head Healer estimates that they could not have been dead for long. Four hours at most. Their rooms are being searched as we speak.”

The Emperor leans back, his face growing cold again.

“Where was Young Master Lan at that time?” Jin GuangShan says, “I seem to remember him being absent when the Fan Sect Leader fell ill.”

“He was with me,” Nie MingJue says coldly.

“The Jin Sect seems determined that the Lan Sect is at fault,” a soft voice comes from the back.

WangJi recognizes the voice immediately. He does not have to turn around and look to be sure.

“Such a curious thing to keep insisting,” Jiang YanLi says gently, “in the face of all the evidence to the contrary. Perhaps I should mention that the Second Young Master was with me, before someone thinks to accuse him as well.”

“Lady Jiang,” Jin GunagShan says, “I am only trying to be helpful.”

Nie HuaiSang snorts, and Jin GuangShan whips his head around as if someone had pinched him.

“You--“ he bursts out.

No other words come. He has belatedly realized who, exactly, he is speaking to, and in what tone of voice.

Nie HuaiSang, casually leaning against the Emperor’s seat, now slowly and deliberately closes his fan. He is staring at Jin GuangShan with a singular focus, as if challenging him to continue.

Jin GuangShan’s mouth opens and closes. His face begins to turn purple.

“A-Sang,” the Emperor says, “Do you have something to add?”

“The Lan Sect is clearly the victim here,” Nie HuaiSang says, tapping his fan against the Emperor’s leg, “the cup was placed at the Lan Sect table. The Fan Sect Leader ended up at the table by chance. The poison was not intended for him, it was intended for the person whose seat he was occupying.”

It seems to take everyone a few moments to make the connection.

“But this--” Jiang FengMian says, looking lost, “Why would someone try to poison Lan WangJi?”

A hush falls over the hall.

WangJi has no interest in the details of the attempted poisoning.

Why would anyone be so quick to accuse XiChen of committing a crime, after seeing him do nothing more dangerous than pour a cup of tea? Those who despised them had never seemed to need a logical reason.

For the first time since leaving the South Lakes courtyard, he feels no fear at all, but a deep, bone-crushing relief. He is so stupidly grateful that someone had tried to kill him. Unless they mean to accuse XiChen of trying to poison his own brother, they must recognize that he is innocent in this matter.

As if hearing his thoughts, Wei WuXian stands up, “Please rise, Young Master Lan. You are no longer under suspicion.”

WangJi does not know how long his brother has knelt on the hard floors, but he knows that XiChen would not want the others to see him stumble. He steps forward to offer assistance, but the Nie Sect Leader is already by his brother’s side, lifting him up.  

“High Councilor,” Wei WuXian says, “You will investigate this throughly. Please inform all our guests that the competition will be postponed. No one is to leave the Immortal Mountain City until the persons responsible for this incident are discovered and brought to justice.”

Only after the Emperor has departed the hall, does WangJi realize that the entire time, Wei WuXian had had not looked at him at all.

[thiswasinevitableid]

Pleasant Surprise (Indruck Superhero AU)

A little fic I’ve had bouncing around my head for awhile, set in the universe of “The Thrilling Adventures of the Green Knight.”  It takes place after that story, and after the events of the small fics “Aww, Rats” and “Back in Time”. You can read it as a standalone, but it does contain some spoilers for main fic.

“You know how you always say communication is important in a relationship?” Indrid drums his fingers on the arm of the couch. 

Dr. Mwangi nods, the chain on her glasses glinting in the soothing lights of her office.

“I...there is something I am not sure how to communicate to Duck. I, it’s something I’ve been dishonest about. I” Indrid takes a deep breath, “I lied about the date of my birthday.”

Dr. Mwangi doesn’t so much as cock an eyebrow, much like she managed not to gasp in horror when he told her what his training regime involved when he was learning to be a villain. Indrid’s going theory is that this self-control is his therapist's super power. 

“Do you want to spend part of our session today figuring out how you’d like to talk with him about this?”

Indrid fidgets with his glasses, “Yes, please.”

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

Duck comes home to one of his favorite scenes; Indrid sitting with his easel in front of the rat run. His boyfriend decided he needed to cultivate his artistic streak, so that one part of his life would not involve superheroing or villainy in any capacity. From the look of it, he’s still on the theme of inserting the rats into still-lifes of different styles. 

Duck loves watching him paint, in a way at once connected to and completely different from the attraction he feels observing the other man train in the hideout or dig himself into engineering a new invention. There’s the same cleverness in his hands, the same concentration lining his face. But there’s an innocence that’s absent other places, a kind of happiness that only exists in activities untouched by his past.

“Hello, chivalrous one.” Indrid murmurs as Duck comes to drape his arms over his sweater clad shoulders.

“Hey sugar. I like the new paintin’--is that Dr. Harris Bonkers?”

“Indeed.” Indrid turns his head, his grin as bright as the streetlights flickering to life outside, “The fuzzy medical practitioner in the style of Seurat. I foresee Aubrey liking it as a Christmas gift, and I wanted to do it while the inspiration was still fresh.”

“Bet she’ll get a kick outta it.” Duck kisses the top of his head, then starts removing his work clothes, “you had dinner? Thought I might reheat some pizza.”

“I ordered us dinner, it should arrive within ten to fifteen minutes, depending on whether this is the broken stoplight timeline.” Indrid sets his brushes aside, stands so he can follow Duck down the hall to the bedroom.

“Thanks for doin’ that.”

“There is, ah, something I wish to discuss before it arrives.”

Duck turns and his heart twinges. Back when Indrid was his nemesis, Duck learned to read his emotions, a skill that eluded everyone else. He can tell when Indrid is nervous and, most often, when Indrid is nervous and doing everything he can to hide it.

“What’s on your mind?” He takes a soft step towards the other man, who goes very still as he summons his next words. 

“Do you remember what I told you about my birthday?”

“That it was in the spring and you’d let me know when we were gettin close to it. Wait, fuck, you never did, not this year or last year. Then again, last year was when the White Star boys kept tryin to fuck everythin up, think a lot of stuff got missed. Do you, uh, wanna do a birthday observed or somethin? Could even get a little goofy and do a half-birthday.”

Indrid shakes his head vehemently, “No. That is not it. I, I ah, I lied. My birthday is not in spring. And before you ask ‘when is it,’ the answer is I have no idea. We never celebrated birthdays. I only know my age because my father unleashed my brother and myself upon the world some time after I, or rather we, turned eighteen.” Indrid tucks his hands into the pockets of his sweater, “that is all I wish to say.”

It would be easy to giggle at his serious tone. 

Duck pulls Indrid into a hug, “Thanks for tellin me. Do you want help tryin to work out when it really is?”

“I...I do not know. I was simply tired of such a small lie weighing me down.”

“Okay. You wanna cuddle until dinner?”

“Of cour--oh damn it all.” Indrid steps back, pulling off his sweater, “Baron Thorne is going to try and hold an entire dormitory of students hostage in forty-five minutes.”

“More than a two hero job?”

Indrid tips his head back, then replies, “it’ll go best with for. I shall alert Barclay and Aubrey.”

“Roger. I’ll get the car.”

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

Duck’s researching potential plants for Dani to modify into non-lethal weapons when the secure elevator dings open and Agent Stern hurries out, looking a kind of excited he hasn’t seen since Barclay’s parents landed their ship to meet their son’s new boyfriend. 

“Gettin the feelin you got good news for me.”

“I do.” Joe pulls out his datapad, “I went through the files we confiscated from Abbadon to find the one on Indrid. It did indeed have his birth date, and you are not going to believe what it is.”

Duck looks at the little boxes of letters and numbers beneath the photo of a much younger Indrid with a much crueler smile. 

“No fuckin way.”

“I know right?” Joe grins, “ I think he’ll get a kick out of that.”

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

“My birthday is on Halloween?”

“Yeah!” Duck looks so happy that for a moment the emotion carries Indrid as well. 

“That is rather fitting. It’s always been my favorite holiday.” He can see it now; little orange lights, a black tablecloth, some cake.

“And it’s three weeks away, so we still got time to plan somethin to mark the day. I was thinkin we could have it Friday, since Halloween is a Saturday and I know at least Barclay and Dani got things they do every Halloween. How’s that sound?”

He isn’t sure. Something circles up from the deep, animal part of his mind, but he can’t name it and so does his best to ignore it. 

“It sounds wonderful.”

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

Indrid cannot escape. Everywhere he turns there are birthdays; on the T.V, in the restaurants he and Duck go to, on cards and balloons when he’s getting groceries 

It’s your big day!

“You don’t turn thirteen everyday”

To my son, on his eighteenth birthday

“To my brother, my favorite partner in crime”

“This week on ‘My Neighbor’s a Werewolf,’ Jamie throws Max a surprise party, and gets a big surprise of his own.” 

When that one flickers across the screen, Indrid clicks the T.V off with a little hiss. He’s tense, feels like the embodiment of the moment a knife-tip meets skin; resistance and resignation in the instant before it all comes pouring out. 

“You got a cake preference?” Duck rests his hand on the couch near Indrid’s shoulder, tone light as he continues, “know you like really sweet stuff, I could get mom’s hummingbird cake recipe from Jane-”

“Whatever you think best.” Indrid flexes and coils his fingers.

“‘Drid, it’s your party, you get to mark the occasion however you want.

“And what if I do not wish to mark it at all?”

“Uh…” Duck clears his throat, “uh, that’s fine too.”

Indrid turns his head to see the expression he knew would be there. 

“That upsets you.”

“N-uh, fuck, I uh, it don’t uh-”

“Duck, please do me the courtesy of not drawing out the lie.”

Ducks shoulders sag, “Guess I’m a little disappointed. I, uh, I was havin fun plannin it with you. Thought I could make up for all the times you didn’t have one.”

“Well, you can’t.” Indrid snaps, stands more dramatically than he means to. He just wants this to be over, wants to stop seeing the memories he thought he’d properly laid to rest, “you cannot make up for what I saw, what was done to me, what I did.”

“I-”

Indrid holds up his hand, “I know you see it as your job to remove all traces of my tragic past that you can.”

“Hold the fuck on.” Duck shakes his head, “Is that what you think I’m doin? ‘Drid, it’s just a party. If you don’t want it you don’t want it, but don’t fuckin pretend this is some indicator of us as a pair.”

“Oh but it is.” Indrid feels his lips curl into an old smile, “you get to play the nice, normal hero making everything better, while all I am is someone to pity, broken long before you ever met me!”

Duck goes still, and in his visions he sees the rats finishing skittering to the far side of Ratopia. It’s at this moment he realizes he’s been yelling. 

“I…I am going to bed. Goodnight.” He hurries down the hall, only bothering to change his pants before crawling under the covers. In most futures, Duck follows him and demands they finish their argument, leading to a far larger fight. But the hero doesn’t come. This gives Indrid time to get his breathing and heart rate back to normal, to try and work out why the thought of his loved ones gathering to celebrate his birth makes him want to disappear into the night. 

He’s not quite asleep when Duck comes in. He’s not quite ready to apologize. As he’s contemplating his options, his boyfriend slips under the sheet and lays in such a way that his right hand is inches from Indrid’s own. 

Without opening his eyes, Indrid slides his fingers across Duck’s palm. Duck shifts to interlink their fingers, and closes his hand. 

Indrid wakes up five hours later in two discrete stages. The first is coming out of the nightmare, of his body registering the need to move, to hide, before his brain is fully back to the present. The second is waking up enough to wonder why he always hides in the closet after these dreams; he didn’t have a closet growing up. 

He creeps into the living room, hoping he hasn’t woken Duck. He has woken Chicken, who decides it’s close enough to her breakfast time to yowl at him until he feeds her. While she crunches her cat food, he opens one of the doors to Ratopia. The mischief is mostly asleep, but at  the sound Void rouses from his spot atop Mallard and scurries over to Indrid’s hands. 

“You forgive so easily.” Indrid murmurs, cupping him in one hand and closing the cage with the other, “or perhaps you just forget with much greater skill than I.”

He knows when Duck is behind him. Without turning, he sets Void on his shoulder and says, “I think I know why I have been so unpleasant tonight. I...I have only ever marked two changes in age; being old enough to face the trials of my order and being sent out to cut down those who dared oppose us. My ‘birthday’ is a harbinger of suffering and death. And I, I know that is not the real truth, but it is the one my body believes, the one my mind has been bracing for without me fully understanding that’s what it is doing. I did not mean to take that fear out on you.”

“‘Drid” Duck’s voice is scratchy with sleep, but when Indrid turns his eyes are alert, “I’m so fuckin sorry. It, uh, it didn’t occur to me that your birthday would be wrapped up so tightly with the shit you went through as a kid. I never meant to push you into somethin you didn’t want.”

“But I do want it!” Indrid shoves his hands into his hair, “I want to have dinner with our friends, to get gifts, to enjoy a thing that millions of people partake in every day. And I am so, so very angry that I cannot, that instead I am dealing with all of this.” He gestures vaguely to himself, then looks at Duck, his body registering safe as the hero joins him by the rat run. When Duck opens his arms, Indrid nestles into them without hesitation. 

“Whatever you decide on, that’s what we’ll do.” 

Indrid hums, snickers when Void clambers onto Duck to tickle his cheek with his whiskers. After the shadows of the past recede in the warmth of Duck’s embrace, Indrid whispers, “I would like to have the party. I would like to help you plan it. But I...I would like a few of the details to still be surprises for me. It might be nice for my birthday to bring me a pleasant one for once.”

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

“Oooh, this looks so cool!” Aubrey sets a gift on the table as she admires the mothman string lights, banners, and balloons, “dang, Duck, didn’t know you had a decorator streak.”

“Don’t get a chance to flex it much. And it’s kinda easy when the theme is so specific.”

“I’m trying to compliment you, doofus.” Aubrey playfully whacks his arm, then squeals, “honey, look, rats in hats!”

“Awww” Dani joins her to regard the mischief in their tiny party hats (only Mallard is still wearing his, the others in various states of tossing them about), “Indrid, did you make these?”

“Indeed, though Barclay made these.” He slides the enclosure open and sets five rat-sized cupcakes on the floor, “which is wonderful, because I did not want them to feel left out. They’re getting them earlier than the rest of us because Barclay is looking for ways to keep me out of the kitchen.”

“It’s your birthday, that means letting someone else cook!” Barclay calls from the kitchen.

“But I modified the blender and the mixer to be self-operating!”

“Wait, what?” Is all they hear before Barclay is drowned out by whirring. 

“Should we help him?” Dani says through their laughter.

“He’s a professional, he’ll be fine.” Joseph steps from the kitchen, his casual wear of jeans and a Loch Ness Monster dress shirt still somewhat jarring to the former villain who only ever saw him in suits, “Aubrey, Dani, can I get you anything to drink?”

“Yes please. Okay doctor, time to play.” Aubrey opens the special hatch in Ratopia and deposits the rabbit, who settles in to be groomed by his smaller friends. 

Dinner is fancy macaroni and cheese and fruit salad, Indrid’s favorites. As Ned regales the table with his latest misadventures in fixing up his new van (“I was unaware an owl could nest in a seat cushion”) Indrid glances at the entryway. 

“Everythin okay?” Duck whispers.

“Yes. I, ah, I simply did not expect so many gifts. I know it’s customary to receive them but I thought you got one or two. Not that everyone brought them.”

“You wanna open them?”

Indrid nods, grinning, “very much so.”

He takes care not to peek at the futures when unwrapping them, wanting to preserve the excitement as long as possible. Aubrey gives him a six pound bag of Lucky Charm marshmallows, Dani sneaks out to the car and returns with a potted plant (“I modified it so that the blossoms will be extra attractive to moths”). Ned gifts him a signed, limited run poster from Red Dust on His Soul, Joseph and Barclay a stack of new romance novels (“I think you’ll like Agent X, it’s a mystery series but he romances quite a few characters in them”). Mama sent a package from West Virginia that contains a small, wooden duck she carved herself and made especially smooth so it would be soothing to rub). And Lydia Little, AKA Sylvia Cold, presents him with a mug declaring him “Favorite Brother.” 

Duck’s present is the last one he opens. Waiting for him in the rectangular box is a white shirt with “World’s Greatest Rat Dad” on the front. The back is covered in squiggle-scratches of five different colors, which Duck explains are signatures from the mischief made in rat-safe fabric paint. 

“It’s perfect.”  Indrid sighs, kisses his boyfriend and then beams at his friends, “it is time for cake.”

They dim the lights, sing to him as Barclay emerges from the kitchen with a massive, mothman shaped cake with lots of candles. To his delight and surprise, the inside is layers of pink and yellow, flavored with strawberry and vanilla. He eats far more than is perhaps wise, but it is his birthday and it is his understanding that such things are allowed.

His guests linger for a few hours more, Aubrey and Dani the last to leave with a reminder to put the plant on the balcony. Indrid waves goodbye, closes the door and arms the security to full. He turns back into the house, sees the cards and gifts his friends put so much thought into locating for him, the stray dishes and half-empty glasses that signify they were here. For him. Because they wanted to be, because they care about him.

“‘Drid? You want any more cake before I put it aw--oh fuck, sugar, what’s wrong.”

“Nothing” he sniffles, grins, “these are tears of happiness. I, ah, I hurried us into cake because I felt them upon me when I opened the gifts. It will take some time yet for me to be willing to show such feelings around our friends.” He wipes his eyes, “thank you, my love, for arranging this.”

“Any time, darlin.”

He smiles, “Have I mentioned lately that you are my hero?”

“Pretty sure you called me that this mornin. But I sure as hell don’t mind hearin it again.”

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

“What is this?” His brother scowls up from the paper plate Indrid passed to him through the complex delivery system keeping his cell from the world around it.

“Cake. Today is our birthday. Did you know that?”

“Who cares for such frivolous things, little brother?”

“Those of us who do not spend our lives steeped in the misery of others, twin brother. If you do not want it, give it back and I shall share it with one of the guards.”

Apollo looks at the cake. Then he kneels on the floor, tearing into it with his hands. He doesn’t eat it what he destroys, and after a moment Indrid grasps why.

“Did you really think I hid some device to help you escape in there?”

“Yes.” His brother is now trying to light stab the cake with his gaze. 

Indrid rubs his forehead, “Perhaps some day you will learn to see things for how they are, not how you believe them to be.” He starts for the door, looks over his shoulder and says softly, “happy birthday, Apollo.”

A slam as his brother strikes the see-through front of his cell, “Get back here this instant you worthless, traitorous, coward!”

The door slides open and Indrid steps into the hall. Joseph is waiting for him, drops his eyes from the security feed to the man in front of him, “what a waste of Barclay’s cooking.”

“Agreed.”

A gentle pat on his shoulder, “You tried, that counts for a lot. Now go enjoy your night.”

“And my knight?”

“Him too.” Joseph waves goodbye, then adds, “and happy birthday!”

Indrid gets home before the city trick or treating hours begin; he’s feeling rather good, all things considered, and Halloween is so beloved by villains that the odds of his evening being interrupted by work are almost none. 

Duck is on the porch lighting their Jack ‘O Lanterns, grinning brighter than all the candles and lights on the block combined when Indrid walks up the steps to join him. He sees in the futures that he’s made him a special, Halloween themed birthday dinner. 

He pulls Duck into a hug, kissing the top of his head with happy sighs, thanking whatever twist of fate pushed him into the arms of the man who was, in many ways, his first-ever pleasant surprise.

[a-ghostlight-for-roman]

how to never stop being sad

Summary: Following his brother's acceptance, Roman's life felt like it was falling apart. His family was turning against him, that awful snake was being allowed in their home, and worst of all, he still couldn't seem to do anything right, no matter how hard he tried.

How does he choose to deal with it?

Not in a good way, that's for sure.

Warnings: Gore/Death/Violence (none actually occur but it is described), food mention, cursing

AO3 link

Chapter 1

Repeat to yourself that they’re not really gone

Time has proven

That fooling yourself into believing a lie

Is the most effective way

To deal with things you have no control over

Roman was fine. Completely 100% percent, absolutely fine, and he would tolerate no thinking to the contrary. Things were abnormal, sure, but he was coping. Maybe he felt a bit (a lot) guilty for letting things in the Mindscape get so bad, but it’s okay! He’s managing! Maybe he’s surrounded by people that barely tolerate him now, but he’ll fix it!

...eventually.

Right now, though, he’s in his room. Alone, as is usual these days. Usually, he’d ask Patton or Virgil to hang out with him, but after the last video, things were… Tense, to say the least. 

Patton wasn’t mad at him, of course; he wasn’t ever truly mad at any of them. However, Roman would have to be stupid not to notice the disappointed looks Patton gave him when he thought he wasn’t looking or the way that after Roman left the room, he always made a point to talk to Janus afterwards, as if he needed special attention just for enduring Roman’s presence.

Things were a little better with Virgil, but he was frustrated with Roman for tolerating Janus’ presence at all. Despite his obvious vitriol towards him, he still outright refused to talk about what exactly Janus had ever done to him. So Roman was forced to choose between Patton, his father figure who’d never meant to do him wrong (who had acted like Roman was unreasonable for sticking to the very moral rule set that Patton had imposed on him since they were children), or Virgil, who Roman had been wrong in not listening to before, & who was obviously extremely hurt and betrayed by both Janus, and now his own family.

He still hadn’t quite been able to choose, straddling the line between adhering to Patton’s kindness policy towards Janus and respecting Virgil’s feelings. It didn’t really work-- rather, it just seemed to leave them both dissatisfied. Roman could hardly stand it.

...but it’s fine. Really. It’ll blow over eventually. He isn’t quite sure how, exactly, but things always turn out alright in the end, right? There’s always a happy ending.

Except when there isn’t, but… bad endings only happen in Remus’ stories, & he doesn’t have power here in the Mindscape.

...except he sorta does, now. After his video, he’d (albeit reluctantly) been accepted. His ideas were considered, even valued, now. Sometimes, he was even chosen over Roman. Not only by Thomas, but also by the other sides, at times; Logan may think he’s slick, but Roman’s seen him specifically request his brother’s assistance in the Imagination, in the living room, in the archives, in his room- It made Roman sick to think about, and whenever he walked through the house, he could see evidence of his brother’s influence littered throughout. For the life of him, he couldn’t understand the appeal. When had society fallen so far as to value a duke more than a prince?

---

Roman hadn’t thought he’d been in his room for long; he’d only meant to duck in to get a breather after having to endure Remus’ maniacal ramblings for nearly half an hour, but it seemed he’d been brooding long enough to attract Logan’s concern. He heard a knock at his door and broke out of his haze, looking towards it.

“I apologize for bothering you Roman, but I was wanting to inquire whether you were alright. It’s been an hour,” Logan said. Had Roman really been away for that long? No wonder Logan was checking on him.

“Yeah, Specs- Sorry. I’ll be out in a minute, just finishing a project,” he lied. Logan was so cold, calm, rational- Surely he would look down on Roman’s groveling simply because he couldn't deal with his brother for more than a few minutes. As much as Roman was full of himself and proud of his work, he thought if Logan talked down to him, he’d break down and cry.

“We’re currently 'hanging out' in the common room. You’re welcome to join whenever you finish. I look forward to hearing about what you’ve been working on.” Roman could hear his footsteps slowly grow farther from the door.

Shit. Now Logan thought he’d been working on something, so now he had to do something-- he couldn't just show up empty-handed. They’d see through his lies in an instant. He’d be just as bad as Janus, imagine what Virgil would think--

He took a steadying breath. Okay, yeah, he’d lied, but that wasn’t so awful, he just had to make it right. He just had to make something, and that shouldn’t be so hard, right? That’s his job! He’ll just think of something real quick, and it’ll be done in a jiffy, and then it won’t be a lie anymore, and on top of that, he’ll have something to talk about! Talking parts were hard to come by sometimes when you had to find something that would include the two people you hate most, your former-enemy-turned-best-friend, your dad and your colleague (as he insisted to be called), but everyone was always eager to hear his new ideas, so this would be perfect.

---

It was nothing special, but it would do. He hadn’t had the time or energy to think of a concept for a whole scripted video, so instead, he’d written the next Shoutout Sunday. Simple, but it had to be done, and it was already Friday, anyways. He closed his notebook, and stood up, keeping it under his arm. He never knew when inspiration would strike, so he tried to carry it with him whenever possible. He opened his door and stepped out from his room, making his way down the hallway past the multicolored doors of the other sides, pointedly avoiding looking at Janus’ signature black and yellow-colored door. Out of sight, out of mind.

As he walked into the commons, the conversations faltered for a moment, but everyone quickly returned to what they were doing. Remus was noticeably absent; Patton and Virgil were curled up on the couch, sharing a blanket between them and speaking in excited whispers; and Logan and Janus were speaking across the counter separating the living room and the kitchen while Logan made dinner on the stove and Janus leaned with his hands crossed under his chin. 

Roman lingered by the stairs for a moment, caught off guard by the lack of greeting, but continued to the side of the couch not occupied by Patton and Virgil. He’d hoped to share his script with Logan, but he was busy at the moment, and he so rarely was this casual with the others; Roman figured it better to let him be for the time being. He pulled his notebook from under his arm and summoned a pencil from his desk. If he couldn’t share his idea, he might as well get started on the next.

He spent around five minutes doodling a new creature to introduce into the Imagination when Logan finally seemed to notice he was there.

“Ah, Roman! Apologies, I hadn’t noticed you were here. What was the idea you were working on?” he asked. He turned off the stove and fully turned to Roman, looking past Janus. Roman was almost ashamed to say he felt a certain degree of satisfaction that Logan had put aside his conversation with Janus in favor of speaking with him. Keyword being "almost."

“Well, it is a most illustrious, melodic creation--” Roman sunk down from the living room and rose into the kitchen, laid his now open notebook on the counter, and gestured towards it with a bow-- “Behold, the newest Shoutout Sunday!” He smiled and rose from his position, bouncing on his feet a bit as Logan rested his chin on his hand, looking thoughtful, and read it. Logan gave a slight, satisfied smile.

“So you’ve worked ahead of schedule, then. Wonderful! Good work, Roman."

“I know,” Roman replied, beaming, “I shall have a new idea by the morn-- perhaps I can even start the next video script!”

“So long as you do not burn yourself out, Roman. Otherwise, I look forward to your next contribution.” Logan closed Roman’s notebook, handed it back to him, and then opened a cabinet, gathering bowls for… Whatever healthy monstrosity was in the pot on the stove. Roman could only guess what it was. Some sort of soup, maybe? “Will you be joining us for dinner tonight, Roman?”

“I’m afraid there are simply too many ideas and too little time, I must return to my work!” Roman replied. Janus narrowed his eyes at him from across the counter.

“I wouldn’t be witnessing any self-neglect right now, would I, Roman?” his voice dripped, cool and patronizing. It carried a lilt of care, but it was clearly faked-- Patton would have scolded him if he’d been listening. Roman rolled his eyes.

“No, I am simply dedicated to my craft! Creations don’t come from thin air, do they?” he replied. Logan tilted his head, brows furrowed.

“...They do,” he said. He raised his palm, and atop it, a paper appeared. “As you can clearly see, I’ve just summoned this piece of paper- Now, it’s not on par with many of your creations, of course, but I’m sure you understand my point. Just last week, you summoned me a new Rubik’s Cube. Don’t you remember?”

Virgil snorted from across the room, and Roman sighed. “Yes, Specs, I- I remember. I meant that metaphorically.”

“That was not a metaphor. According to Oxford Languages Dictionary, a metaphor is 'a figure of speech in which a word or phrase is applied to an object or action to which it is not literally applicable.' Would you like an example?”

“Not now, Logan. I’ll be taking my leave-”

“Aw,” Patton interrupted, “why not stay? You’ve spent so much time up in your room- Now, I know sometimes we need our alone time, but spending some time with your famILY won’t kill ya!”

“Did someone say kill?” came Remus’ shrill, excited voice from by the lamp where he’d just appeared.

“Not that kind of kill!” Patton rushed, “there will be absolutely no killing on my watch, mister!” Remus put his hands on his hips and blew a raspberry at that, exaggeratedly pouting at him.

“You’re no fun,” he replied. “Nothing wrong with a little casual murder to pass the time! Everyone dies sometime, might as well make it exciting.” Patton grimaced as Virgil’s eyes went wide and he groaned.

“...Everyone dies sometime. We are going to die. Thomas is going to die. Death is inevitable,” Virgil mumbled shakily, though it was still quite loud once the tempest tongue kicked in. He put his hands in his hair, but before he could pull at it, Patton led his hands away.

“Now Remus, that may be true, but there’s no need to dwell on it, especially when you know it will upset Virgil,” Logan said with a strict tone.

“Oh oh, I wonder who’ll go first when Thomas dies? Think it’ll be all at once, or one by one? I vote Roman-”

“Won’t you just shut up?” Roman spoke up, voice raised. “You’re harming Virgil and you know it. Keep your ideas in your side of the Mindscape; We don’t want them here.” His fists balled up as he glared at his brother. Oh, what he’d give to be able to walk up to him, to punch him square in the jaw. He’d love to unsheathe his sword and bury it right in his fucking stomach, to watch the emotions flicker through his eyes as they slowly went glassy and he collapsed to his knees, the blade continuing up through his skin like it was paper, the blood leaking through his clothing and pooling around him on the floor-

Roman blinked hard, brows furrowed. No one had responded to him yet, because it had only been a moment. What kind of thought was that? Certainly not one becoming of a prince. Was Remus messing with him somehow? Roman knew he could project thoughts into Thomas and the others’ heads, but Roman had never experienced it himself-- Why would Remus give him an intrusive thought right now, especially one so gruesome as to include his own gory death by Roman’s hands? He didn’t look like he had done anything, but he had to have, right? Roman didn’t come up with ideas like that. He was light creativity, he was good creativity!

Patton must’ve noticed his distress, as he quickly looked between the two. “Oooookay,” he began, “Remus is being a little inconsiderate of Virgil. And that isn’t okay! But that doesn’t mean we don’t want him at all. Everyone messes up from time to time!”

“But he’s doing it on purpose!” Roman exclaimed. He gestured his arms towards Remus and waved them incredulously. “I mean, look at him! He doesn’t even care!” 

Remus didn’t respond, continuing to stand in his spot, smiling and unblinking. Janus cleared his throat, gathering their attention. 

“I’m sure Remus just loves being talked about as if he isn’t here. Regardless, it’s hardly fair to criticize him for one incident that’s a result of his function as intrusive thoughts, especially considering that you’ve shown a pattern of worse behavior over the past… What, three years?” He looked towards Logan for confirmation.

“Yes, approximately that long, although that’s a misleading usage of the information. He’s improved over time,” Logan responded.

“Only if you consider his treatment of Virgil exclusively. Regardless, you've proved my point,” Janus said, sounding satisfied. “If it took Roman three years to warm up to Virgil, why does Remus only get a few months? Not to mention that he’s just being told that he’s unwanted and to leave, you've never experienced despite your actions, and which is preposterous notwithstanding.”

Virgil finally ripped his hands from Patton and covered his ears, shutting his eyes tightly.

“Shut up shut up shut up!” he said frantically. Patton bit his lip and looked around the room.

“Listen, usually I’d encourage a healthy family discussion, but now’s really not the time to be doing this-- Roman, please go to your room. Remus, I’m not mad at you, but I’d really appreciate it if you would go ahead and leave for the night, too.”

Roman stared at Patton for a moment, mouth agape and brows furrowed. “My room- Patton, I’m not five! This isn’t even my fault-”

“Don’t argue, Roman,” Logan cut him off, “Do as Patton said. We’ll discuss this more in-depth later.”

Roman gave a loud scoff as he trudged across the room and began making his way up the stairs. He gave one last glare to Remus, who’d finally begun to move, and then continued to his room, where he fell backwards onto his bed. He closed the door with a flick of his hand, and stared at the ceiling, letting out a resigned sigh as he reminisced. Why was everything so backwards nowadays, he wondered? When had the dastardly acts of his brother become the new norm, overshadowing his own heroism and creativity?

It wasn’t as if Roman could even do anything about it, either; Patton’s decisions on what was right and wrong was like the word of law in the Mindscape. Sure, Roman could challenge his thinking, but he hardly wanted a repeat of his… Frog incident. He couldn’t bear it if he distressed him that much again. All Roman could hope for was that one day, sooner rather than later, someone would either talk some sense into him, or he’d come to the realization himself that Remus was merely a parasite to their famILY.

For now, at least, Roman could dream. 

‘Patton loves me just as much as the others. He’s a dad! Dads love all their children equally.‘

‘Even if it seems like it sometimes, no one really hates me- Well, besides Remus.’

‘...And even if they do, I can fix it.’

Even if it meant lying to himself.

[once-upon-a-pirate-ship]

How Restlessly the Stars Do Gleam 3/?

Chapter 3: Moments Long Remembered

read it on AO3 here | from the beginning

chapter 1 | chapter 2

story summary: Princess Emma isn't the princess of much anymore. It's been months since her parents and brother were taken, and she's been on the run with her godmother Red. When Emma and Red board a merchant vessel to sail to Arendelle, Emma quickly finds that the captain is not to be trusted. After helping two slave brothers, Emma takes over the ship and begins her journey to save and rebuild her kingdom.

what's in store for chapter three? New characters (not new new, but new to this particular world)! Some background! Pining & tension!

thank you all for reading and staying with me even when I am too busy (just for this one week and a half time period) to post on schedule

Moments Long Remembered

On the worst day of her life, Princess Emma rode out far beyond the castle walls. She was alone, as she preferred solitary rides on her trusted horse, and the cold air was nothing to her as she raced through the snow covered forest. For a few hours each day, she got to feel entirely free. All responsibilities could wait, every forced smile was just a distant memory. She had no one to try to impress, no one who expected anything from her, no one who needed her to be someone she was not.

It wasn’t the excursion, nor the weather, nor the steed that made this day so horrible. Rather, it was the enemy who had breached the castle walls in her absence.

The most poignant part of this particular memory, for her, were the moments directly before she was made aware of the events inside the castle. She was at ease, content, blissfully happy and oblivious to the screams that tore through the halls she called home. She wasn’t worrying about her parents when they were stolen and taken far out of her reach. She didn’t consider her brother, her little lion cub, as he was yanked from the joy he knew and shown the truths of the world she’d wished he’d never have to learn.

Her happiness was shattered when the Evil Queen appeared before her, the black gown cutting across the crisp white snow in her path. Terror as she’d never known it dropped into her stomach as her hands gripped the reins and her horse skidded to a stop, and the fear that sliced down her spine was colder than the shards of ice that hung from each tree branch.

The Evil Queen’s mouth was curled into a wicked smile, white teeth framed by the wine color of her lips as she moved them to speak.

“Emma.”

But it was not the Evil Queen who stood in front of her now and called her name. It was her most trusted friend, her ally, her godmother, Red. The memory, as vivid as if it had only just happened, dissolved into nothing, sizzling in the early summer air as Emma blinked it away.

“Yes?”

“Liam and I are leaving,” Red told her, “I doubt we’ll be gone more than a few hours.”

Emma could’ve counted on one hand the number of times that she’d been separated from Red in the last months, and no matter how irrational it was, she couldn’t stop her muscles from tensing as if bracing for pain. But they needed some new crew, and Red was more than capable of the job.

“Good, good,” Emma said absently. She wished she had something more intelligent to say, but her mind was still fixated on moments long gone. “I’ll be here,” she added.

“Yes,” Red grinned, “you and Killian.” She didn’t give Emma time to inquire after the tone she’d used before Red turned and called, “Liam!”

Liam stood across the deck in conference with John Terry, but at the call of his name, he excused himself from his fellow sailor and joined Red and Emma where they waited by the gangplank.

“We shall return shortly,” Liam promised his captain. “I hope Killian won’t give you too much trouble,” he added in good humor.

“We’ll be just fine,” Emma told him. The trouble Killian Jones gave her was of a different nature, and she wasn’t about to disclose those particulars to his older brother.

Emma watched Liam and Red until they disappeared into the crowd past the docks, forcing her thoughts from straying to the fear that was an ever-present buzz in her blood. Instead, she planted herself on the steps leading up to the quarterdeck, her mind occupying itself with whatever it could latch onto.

As if her thoughts had summoned him, Killian appeared from below, offering Terry a few words as he passed on his way towards her.

“Swan!” he called, and her eyes immediately met his. He’d called her that three times that morning, and it hadn’t seemed unusual once. But perhaps that had less to do with the moniker and more to do with who had said it.

Killian dropped onto a step below hers, a gentle and genuine smile spreading across his lips. “Terry’s gathering his group and then they’ll be off,” he told her. “I double checked the list with the storeroom, and it seems that everything’s in order.”

“Perfect,” she replied, willing a coherent sentence to present itself as she looked away from his striking eyes.

“Tell me, Swan,” he began, his voice low, “do you always dress in a layer of knives, or do you save that for special occasions?”

She laughed, and it made her realize how long it had been since that had happened. Her head thrown back like that, the bounding joy in her chest—weeks, at least. Probably months, probably before that morning ride that featured the Evil Queen.

Emma leaned back a little, her hand going to the edge of the vest to pull out a blade and pass it to him. “Eight in total, four on each side,” she explained. “And yes, I’ve fixed every garment I have with some sort of weapons holder.”

Killian’s eyebrows shot up, glancing up at her from the knife he had been examining. “Isn’t that dangerous? How have you not injured yourself?”

“Not any more dangerous than being unarmed and running into some Black Knights,” she said with a shrug, glancing away to avoid his concerned gaze. “But each blade has a metal casing. That’s what keeps it from hurting me or tearing the fabric, and it snaps into place to stop it from falling out.”

His dark brows furrowed, his eyes flitting from the knife to where she’d pulled it from. “The casing, is it tricky?” he wondered. “Does it get stuck?”

“Only when I forget to clean them,” she replied. Without pausing to consider what she was doing, she reached for his free hand. “Here, try it,” she said, guiding his fingers to the spot on the other side of her vest.

Killian moved slowly, hesitantly, but he allowed her to line his fingertips against the hidden pocket. His eyes locked with hers, and that familiar tug and snapping of electricity surged between them.

“Just, um, push up a little until you feel a click, and then it’ll slide out,” she explained, slightly breathless despite the fact that she’d been sitting for several minutes.

His gaze didn’t stray from hers as he followed her directions, the thin handle of the blade dropping into his hand. She could feel his body heat like this, his hand against her waist, and it seemed like he was both too close and not close enough.

“Captain?”

Emma and Killian broke apart at the sound of Terry’s voice. She stood, brushing back some of the hair that had fallen out of place. “Yes?” she asked, glancing quickly at Killian who had returned to an upright position and was currently examining the two blades closely. The tips of his ears were red.

Terry smiled, and Emma pretended not to notice anything but politeness in it. “With your leave, Captain, we’re off.”

“Yes, yes, of course,” she replied, looking between him and the several crew members gathered a few feet behind. “I look forward to receiving your report upon your return.” It was best that she maintained the pretense of captain with the crew, according to Red. Something about safety or respect or concealing her identity from newcomers. She could hardly remember now.

Emma waited until they were out of sight before returning to her previous position, and Killian had recovered enough that the blush had even faded from his cheeks when he looked at her. He passed her the knives without a word.

He cleared his throat, forcing his eyes back to hers rather than where her fingers secured the blades. “You mentioned Black Knights,” he said, “have you fought many of them?”

It wasn’t that surprising of a question, honestly, given that she’d mentioned them off-handedly before. She just couldn’t figure out why she had mentioned it in the first place. Perhaps it was the same reason she showed him how her vest worked.

“Can you define ‘many’?” she asked, her voice calm and soft and not at all befitting the subject.

Killian’s eyes widened, his jaw tightening to restrain some emotion she couldn’t place. “It’s been…months,” he murmured. “You’ve been fighting them all this time?”

“Fighting them, running from them, gathering information from them,” Emma answered. “Until I figured out that she was tracking me with magic, at least.”

“What did you do?”

“Red got her hands on some potion,” she said, trying for a smile that ended up a little sad. “So that’s why we’re here now. And that’s why there’s not a single Black Knight searching this port.”

Killian was quiet for a moment, and it wasn’t until his jaw released its tension that he spoke. “What information?”

“At first, we tried to get them to tell us where my family was, but they’re not particularly talkative,” she explained, hoping she sounded more unaffected than she felt. “Eventually, we started following them, finding their camps. We spent weeks combing the forest, tracking their movements, and making maps of their locations.”

“Did you find them?”

The ghost of a smile on her lips was revealing. “We discovered where she’s holding my father. It’s remote, not to mention protected by battalions of Black Knights. Red and I are good, but we’re not that good.”

“That’s where Arendelle comes in,” he concluded. “You’re hoping they’ll help you to free him with magic.”

She sighed, her eyes trailing away from him and fixing themselves on the gangplank. “That’s our hope,” she said. “If I can get to my father, he’ll be able to find my mother. And I have no doubt they’ll make quick work of locating Leo.”

“You and your brother,” Killian continued after a moment, “are you close?”

The question was enough to bring happier, lighter memories to the forefront of her mind. “Very,” Emma replied. “He’s like light personified. Always overly enthusiastic, always making me laugh. But he’s driven, too. Spends all day in the practice yard unless I convince him to do something else.”

“He’s probably just trying to keep up with his sister,” Killian said, the beginnings of a smile on his lips.

“Maybe,” she allowed. But thinking about her brother fighting made her think about her brother losing, and then the guilt that had lived in her chest since that day slammed against her heart. “I wish I’d been there to protect him when he really needed me,” she confessed, and the words were almost shocking for her to hear. She’d thought about it again and again, but never had she voiced it, as if keeping it to herself made it less real.

“What happened, exactly?” Killian asked. “If you don’t mind sharing,” he added quickly.

“I used to go for a ride every morning,” she began, “and that morning was no different. Until the Evil Queen showed up and outlined her perfect plan to destroy my family one curse at a time.”

“She cursed all of you?”

“No,” Emma replied, a bitter laugh on her lips, “not me. Because the knowledge that my family is slowly dying while I am powerless to stop it…that’s a curse in its own right.”

“Swan,” Killian breathed, and the emotion in his voice was overwhelming. “I don’t pretend to know the specifics of the Evil Queen’s magic, but you must know that it wasn’t your fault. If your parents, your brother, your numerous castle guards couldn’t stop her, why do you think you’re to blame?”

He paused, shaking his head as he gathered his thoughts. “I have no doubt that you will defeat her, love, but it’s not only your combat skills that are going to take her down.”

Killian believed in her. She’d known it since the very beginning, but her doubt had been strong enough to convince her it was a misled belief. But now, with his head bent in reverence and his startling eyes that wouldn’t waver from hers, she had no choice but to accept his words as truth.

The guilt and the doubt didn’t evaporate into nothing, but their power over her waned.

Emma nodded—acknowledgement, gratitude, something else, she wasn’t sure—and they ventured into safer, less dramatic topics that allowed for a lighter atmosphere to settle over them.

Watching the ship, as it turned out, was not the most interesting job. There was very little for them to do except wait for the others to return, though Emma was relieved for something unexciting for a change. She needed the respite much more than she’d realized, and though the absence of constant panic was almost jarring enough to cause panic itself, she convinced herself that she was secure for the afternoon.

The first interruption to her temporary peace came when a figure appeared on the dock a few steps from the gangplank. Killian and Emma stood, their hands reaching for their swords in a synchronized motion that made the stranger chuckle softly.

“Exactly as Red described,” the woman said, pushing her hood back to reveal a heart-shaped face and blonde hair that was piled atop her head. “Permission to come aboard, Captain?” she asked, looking expectantly at Emma.

Emma relaxed at the mention of her godmother, but she did not alter her posture to show it. She nodded sharply, and Killian stepped forward to put himself between her and the stranger. The action wasn’t shocking or offensive to Emma’s pride; instead, it asserted the rank she held and the loyalty of those who followed her.

The woman was petite, but she moved with the surety of someone who had seen hardship and battle. “They call me Tink,” she informed them once she’d boarded. “I was told I could find you here.”

It took everything in Emma’s power not to revert to her diplomatic training. She could not smile politely, could not offer refreshments or entertainment. Here, she had to appear coarse and immoveable like the captain she was supposed to be, at least until they knew Tink could be trusted.

Killian, following her lead as always, did not falter to play his part. “What is your business here?”

“Friends of yours—Red and Liam—told me you’re looking for a few additions to your crew. I’d like to offer my services,” Tink said, unshaken by their front.

“Why?” Emma asked, and her gut pinched at the rude tone in her voice.

A smile spread across Tink’s face as she paused before speaking. “Well, they’d hardly tell me, would they?” She laughed at her own joke, and then continued, “But they seemed significantly more interested once they learned about my dislike for the Evil Queen, so I suspect that’s got something to do with it.”

“You have a personal vendetta?” Killian asked, though it didn’t quite seem like that much of a question.

Tink’s arms folded across her chest, the smile disappearing from her lips. “I’m an ex-fairy,” she replied, “and let’s just say that before I met Regina, I was not an ex-fairy.”

“And now you’re looking for revenge,” Killian offered.

“Justice,” Tink corrected. “But yes, I’d like to help in the fight against her.”

Emma glanced at Killian just as he was turning back to her, and their eyes locked for a moment. Had Red and Liam been there to witness the silent conversation that passed, there would have been a hushed discussion between them later. Without them there, the only acknowledgement of the event was Tink who smiled to herself.

“Joining this crew would guarantee a death at her hand if we’re caught,” Emma warned, her demeanor nearly returning to normal with Tink’s objective revealed.

Tink cocked her head slightly, her wide eyes studying Emma with a level of perception neither she nor Killian could comprehend. “You’re not just a captain, are you?”

“No.”

“You’re someone special,” Tink added, “I may not be a fairy anymore, but I can still feel it. Who are you?”

At this question, Killian tensed, his eyes scanning their surroundings. Once he’d determined that there was no one close enough to become a threat, he looked back at Emma, another silent inquiry.

Emma moved, a hand on his shoulder to calm him as she passed, and when she stood directly in front of Tink, she almost felt like the princess she hadn’t been in months.

“My name is Emma, and I am the daughter of Snow White and Prince Charming.”

The shock on Tink’s face was less than Emma had anticipated, but the grin that replaced it eased her worries. “I knew you weren’t just running,” she said, “and I would be honored to join you in saving your kingdom and your family. Beating Regina is simply a bonus.”

Emma offered her hand to shake, and Tink accepted both the gesture and the wordless accord that came with it. “Welcome aboard,” Emma said.

--

Emma returned above deck from checking the storeroom with Terry, finding Killian speaking with Tink and the other sailor who had been sent by Red and Liam before the suppliers had made their way back.

August Booth was a man who could be charming when he wished to be, but the scowl that had overtaken his expression upon the mention of the Evil Queen left Emma with no doubt of his loyalty. He asked fewer questions than Tink, but his curious eyes were revealing to anyone who cared to look.

To any passing observer, Killian looked relaxed as he stood before the two crew members. His shoulders were back, his left hand resting casually against the hilt of his sword. But Emma could tell by the angle of his neck that he was watching the pier for unexpected visitors, and the set of his feet prepared him for a fight.

“It’s definitely a step up from the last ship I sailed on,” Tink said, her nose wrinkling at a distasteful memory.

“I’m afraid my sailing experience is limited to what I’ve learned in the last few months,” August said with a glance towards Killian, “but I’ve been told that I’m a fast learner, so I hope the captain won’t throw me off at the next port.”

Killian chuckled, “So long as you follow orders, you’ll be fine.”

Emma was pleased to find that Killian had warmed somewhat to August, as he’d been uncharacteristically sharp upon meeting him. While Emma had eased into the topic of the Evil Queen, Killian had been skeptical and quick to determine August’s exact beliefs regarding Emma’s family. August’s father had been murdered when Regina had torn apart the village outside the castle, and though Emma read his grief and anger as nothing threatening to her, Killian had bluntly asked if August found the former king and queen at fault in the tragedy.

Now she leaned casually against the mainmast, neither announcing herself nor bothering to hide to effectively eavesdrop as she watched the group while they talked.

“I’ve heard that the princess is quite the fighter,” August added, studying Killian carefully as he spoke.

It was not the sun that brought red to Killian’s cheeks and to the tips of his ears. “Aye, I have yet to see her equal,” he admitted, making no attempt to mask the pride in his voice.

“Do you suppose she’d agree to a demonstration later?” Tink wondered.

“We could prove our worth with a sword,” August offered, grinning at the prospect.

“You’d have to ask her yourself,” Killian replied. “I’d be happy to spar with you both if you’d like. I don’t pretend to be as skilled as the princess, but I can manage well enough.”

Before Emma could interrupt to agree to the demonstration, a creak of the wood and a flash of movement from the corner of her eye brought her attention away from them. Her defensive instincts sputtered when she recognized Red and Liam, though the third person to step onto the gangplank was a stranger to her.

Killian reacted as she’d expected him to, turning away from Tink and August to meet his brother. They exchanged a nod that held unspoken words, and when Killian stood before the potential crew member, his body language conveyed his reserve. Tink and August fell back, acknowledging Red and Liam without moving towards the man.

“This is Will Scarlet,” Red announced, not meeting Emma’s gaze though she was aware of her presence.

Will Scarlet had no scabbard to hold his sword, but rather a knife that was secured in a leather casing along his belt. His lips were pressed into a tight line, his gaze traveling from each person until it settled on Emma, and she had a feeling that he knew more than he should’ve with a single glance. It was the kind of thing that one learned when forced to, the ability to read a person’s intentions by their movements and everything they did not say.

“I suppose you’re the captain,” he said, causing every eye to shoot towards her. His tone was casual, unaffected, but there was a gravity in his posture that revealed something much more intense.

Emma nodded slowly, but she didn’t move from her position as she leaned against the mast. Her gaze drifted from Will to Killian in a flicker, but she focused back on the stranger before a second had passed.

“I hope our choices have been acceptable thus far, Captain,” Liam said, more a question than a statement. The tone was unfitting of the camaraderie they’d achieved, maintaining the pretense of rank in front of Will.

“Indeed,” Emma replied. She paused, testing the bounds of their attentiveness and therefore respect. No one moved, no one breathed, all waiting for her to speak as they knew she would. There were many differences between acting as a captain and acting as a princess, but commanding the attention of a room, or a deck, was a similarity.

“I was about to consent to a sparring exercise—a demonstration, if you will—for our new recruits when you arrived,” she continued. When her eyes landed on Will, she made a show of studying him. “I assume that you carry no sword because you have no need of one,” she added.

The corners of his lips twitched, his hand patting the leather case that held his knife. “They’re a waste of metal, if you ask me,” he told her, “I prefer to keep things simple.”

She hummed, gauging his expression to determine if he boasted a skill level that he did not possess. “And you believe that you deserve a place on this ship?” she asked, pushing his temper, his pride, to see if she could find a weak spot.

“What I do or do not deserve isn’t important, is it?” he replied, a grumbling sound that came from his throat that revealed either a mild irritation or anger directed towards a third party. “The way I see it, it’s what the Evil Queen deserves that really matters,” he nearly spat, though there was no lack of control in his voice.

Emma, though she couldn’t admit it without first determining Will’s loyalty, was impressed. His eyes burned with a familiar enduring rage that she had seen each time she’d looked in the mirror.

“I’m guessing you’re aware of the risks you’d be taking should you join us?” Emma asked, measuring each shift in his expression for anything alarming.

“I’d hardly be here if I couldn’t face the consequences,” Will said. “And you’re not the first crusade against the Evil Queen that I’ve joined, although Red seems to think you’d give me a better chance than that lot ever did.”

“We beat her or we die trying,” Emma told him as she pushed herself off the mast and moved a few steps towards him, all the ferocity she’d been attempting to hide away behind the sadness and the guilt leaking out in her voice. “Are you ready for that?”

Will grinned, his eyes darkening. “You can count on it, Captain.”

Emma didn’t wait more than a moment before she turned to face the others. “Red, fill him in. Liam, make sure Terry’s ready to set sail and get us going. I want us in the wind before sunset, and we’ve got a prisoner to hand over before we can leave,” she ordered, though her tone had dropped the unforgiving command as she surrendered her facade. “Killian, show our newest allies to their quarters once Scarlet has been briefed, and then I’d like you and your brother to join me in escorting Silver off this ship.”

No one hesitated to obey the second she finished speaking, and though Killian lingered to hold her gaze for a long moment, he said nothing. Emma could not regret this, because there was no lack of communication in his sparkling eyes.

--

Violence had always been a part of her life. It was a byproduct of her existence, a necessity, a simple truth. But before her last ride from the castle, she had never considered herself a violent person. True violence was always accompanied with a driving force beyond rationality, perhaps a hatred, a passionate fury, or bloodlust. Those particular feelings did not promote impartiality or decorum, and they had certainly never been a part of her training. But as Emma walked behind the Jones brothers, watching Silver stumble and fight against his restraints and the firm hands of Killian and Liam, she felt at least two of those three feelings.

He hadn’t come quietly, neither physically nor verbally passive, and the bit of cloth preventing him from speaking had been a necessary addition. He had swung at her and at the brothers, he had tried to kick and scratch at them before the rope had limited his movements, but none of that had affected her the way his words had.

It was not his insults towards her that had stirred the violent feelings she felt now, but rather it was his cutting remarks aimed at Liam and Killian that had led to the swelling cheek he now brandished.

She had known cruelty—hell, she had looked it in the eye and watched its wine-colored lips smile at her—but she had never known it quite like this. Because Silver held no power. He would hang, he would die, he would never be seen by any of them again, and yet he still attempted to slice at the brothers and prod every wound he believed they had. He was a desperate man, she knew. He was a coward. He was a fool.

Silver was defenseless, hopeless, powerless, and yet Emma still wished to draw her sword and cut him the way he’d tried to cut the Jones brothers.

Her hand curled around the hilt of her sword, her grip so tight that it nearly hurt her to hold it. She focused on her steps rather than the anger that swirled in her chest, the hatred that shuddered in her stomach and traveled up to her shoulders and made them tremble as she restrained herself.

Liam spoke quickly and efficiently with the jailor when they arrived, and Emma kept herself three paces behind them to prevent her violence from pushing her to interfere. There were a few formalities that took some time to sort out, some documents to sign verifying witnesses, and the only thing that held Emma back was the look on Killian’s face.

It didn’t lack the anger she felt, but his was the expression of a man resolved. He accepted Silver’s fate and wished for nothing more. His fists did not clench in preparation of beating him, his lips did not part to issue his sentence or even a parting taunt that bragged of flipped roles or lost and gained freedom. If Killian could watch the man who had carved lines into his back with near equanimity, what right did she have to act on her desires?

She signed her name Emma Swan, gave Silver one last pointed glare, and then she led the brothers back towards their ship, eager to put as much distance as possible between them and this port.

[mdelpin]

Male Order Bride - Chapter 2

AO3 | Prev: Ch 1 | Ch 2 | Next: Ch 3

Chapter 2

Gray examined the crowd of people, attempting to figure out what they were doing there. There were a lot of young couples in attendance, which seemed strange for an old building away from the town center. Several recognized him and offered a friendly wave.

It appeared Lyon hadn’t caught the guy yet, as he observed some of his father’s hirdmen walking around the room and studying the faces of those assembled. Gray was further impressed by the fire mage, although considering his outlandish appearance, it probably wouldn’t be long before they found him. He kept an eye out, hoping to catch sight of him again.

Gray continued to explore the large room, careful to avoid any attempts at conversation. He noticed a platform at the back decorated in silver and blue, the colors of Isvan, while a colorful sign welcomed everyone to the Isvan Employment Auction.

Employment Auction? He’d never heard of that before.

“What are you doing here? I thought I heard Erza say you went home.”

Gray recognized Lyon’s voice behind him and turned to smirk at his friend. “Never thought I’d see the day someone else would put you in your place.”

“It’s just a matter of time. He’s in here somewhere.”

Lyon didn’t seem concerned in the slightest, instead looking around the room with an odd smile. “This place takes me back.”

“Huh? Back to what?”

“Don’t you remember? This is where your Dad found Ur and hired her to take care of your sorry ass.”

“Here?”

“Oh, that’s right. I forgot we met later.” Lyon pointed to the platform, “Right up there. The organizers had demanded I wait in some back room, but Ur wouldn’t have it. Your dad came to see what the commotion was. That’s how they met.”

“What is this place?”

“Well, most of the time it serves as a storage building for merchant cargo, with the occasional dock worker meeting thrown in. But twice a year it hosts this employment thing for women. They can get hired as governesses, teachers, housekeepers, nannies, you name it. Ur had heard about it when we were in Brago. It’s what brought us here, actually. She’d wanted us to start a new life. You know, after everything.”

Back then, Gray hadn’t cared about where Ur and Lyon had come from, but he struggled to accept that Ur’s introduction into his life had stemmed from anywhere so ordinary.

He’d resented her at first, convinced she was trying to replace his mother. But once her magic lessons began, he’d cast all those feelings aside. Ur was strong. Stronger than any other ice mage he’d ever met. He’d figured if he worked hard and learned everything he could from her, he’d soon be able to avenge his mother and grandfather, and the countless others who had died at the hands of that foul demon. Lyon had been the perfect training partner, equally determined to push through all their limits.

Why had he never thought to ask him why? He’d always known Ur wasn’t Lyon’s mother, but it startled him to realize that even after all these years, he had no clue how they’d ended up together. Lyon was the closest thing he’d ever had to a brother, and it disheartened him to realize how little he truly knew about him.

He opened his mouth to say something, but never got the chance as a man he recognized as Invel Yura, one of his father’s advisors, stepped onto the platform and commanded everyone’s attention.

“Ladies and Gentlemen, I am pleased to welcome you to this year’s Winter Employment Auction.”

The participants crowded around the platform eagerly, applauding the announcement.

“As many of you might know, our late Chief, Sterling Fullbuster, founded the Employment Auction over twenty-five years ago.” Invel peered at the audience, smiling when he recognized Gray.

“An ardent supporter of women’s rights, Chief Sterling sought to create a safe environment for women to find employment in our great town. Over the years, we have helped place hundreds of women, and as word of our experiment has reached other towns, we have seen increased participation. We are proud to continue this tradition, and we hope that our future Chief, who is with us today, will see fit to continue it for many years to come.”

Gray groaned internally, even as he smiled and waved at those who acknowledged him, realizing he now had no choice but to stay until the conclusion of the event. He attempted but failed to ignore Lyon’s laughter at his predicament. With a parting clap on the shoulder, Lyon informed him he was returning to his search, promising to check in with him later.

He listened as Invel followed his introduction with an explanation of how the auction worked. It seemed to be divided into three phases. In the first phase, employers received a clipboard with several bid forms and were allotted two hours to interview candidates. Each candidate wore a pin on her right shoulder that showed her identification number.

Once time was up, the second phase began. Employers submitted their bids at the platform, placing them into envelopes marked with the candidate’s identification number. Each bid needed to describe the job duties and pay offered clearly.

During the third phase, all candidates would receive their envelopes. They would then evaluate the enclosed offers and pick out the job situation that most appealed to them. Should any issues arise, Invel would mediate them. Seemed simple enough.

With the explanation now at an end, Invel announced the candidates’ entrance and ceded the platform.

Gray was curious to see how many women were taking part, considering the number of people present, but Invel’s approach blocked his view.

Invel bowed his head briefly, and then immediately launched into a scolding. “This is most unusual, Master Gray. All prospective employers must pass a thorough investigation before being allowed to take part. It is one of the safety measures we’ve set in place. Given your position, however, I will allow it this one time. In the future, see that you submit a request in advance.”

Invel thought he was here to hire someone? For what, court jester? Lyon already filled that role nicely. Still, it was easier to play along than attempt to explain how he’d gotten there.

“I apologize, I wasn’t thinking. Thank you for your understanding.”

He accepted the clipboard Invel offered him with a polite smile.

“Of course,” Invel said, “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I see someone trying to get my attention. Good luck.”

Gray killed time by walking around the room and trying to blend in, half-listening to conversations around him while keeping an eye out for his mystery man. He still found it hard to believe Ur had been a part of one of these. None of the participants seemed remotely like her. His eyes nearly popped out of their sockets when he recognized one candidate.

Shit! What in Hel’s name was Lucy Heartfilia doing here? She’d been the last girl he’d sent home before Juvia. Was she here because of that? Should he go talk to her?

Just as he was deciding it would be best for him to avoid her, another girl joined her. One that immediately drew his interest. Her steps were awkward, and she seemed ill at ease in the formal clothes. Her walk reminded him of a young Erza proudly showing off her first pair of heels, even though she could barely walk in them.

Her pink hair came down to her shoulders in loose waves, while the blue gown she wore contrasted nicely against her tanned skin. At first glance, Gray merely thought her a beautiful girl, until he got a good glimpse at her face.

His eyes widened as he recognized the features. He forgot all about avoiding Lucy, compelled by the need to know if he was right.

“Hi Lucy.”

“Gray.”

Her tone was not welcoming in the slightest, but he ignored it, smiling at her as if they were old friends. His gaze soon shifted to her companion, hoping to force her to speak. If he was right about who she was, she’d try to avoid it.

“Hello, I’m Gray Fullbuster, a pleasure to make your acquaintance.” Gray offered his hand in greeting. The girl had been about to shake it when Lucy noticed.

“Natsu!”

The girl’s hand stopped in midair, and she peered at Lucy in confusion. Gray smirked, that was one point for him.

“Natsu, that’s a lovely name, and something we could certainly use a lot more of in Isvan.”

She tilted her head, frowning cutely at him.

“It means summer, doesn’t it?”

“Oh yes, it does,” Natsu replied in a silken voice, which was not at all what Gray had been expecting. Could he be wrong? Was she just a small-town girl who’d come to Isvan in search of a job and was understandably nervous?

“What sorts of jobs are you interested in?”

“We’re looking to be nannies, or governesses. Something I know you’re not in any need of, so if you’ll just excuse us,” Lucy grabbed Natsu’s hand and yanked her away towards a young couple.

Natsu tried to keep up, but ended up losing her balance. Gray was quick to catch her, and as he did, he felt her magic flare, materializing into a thin layer of flames that traveled across her arms.

“Let go of me!”

She struggled in his arms; the flames spreading as she did so, skirting ever closer to the fabric of her dress. Gray’s eyes darted up to follow their path, noting absently that her pin had the number seven emblazoned on it. “I don’t want to hur-.”

“Steady there,” Gray interrupted, smiling down at her as he called on his magic, coating her arms in an icy mist that quickly put out the flames before they could blaze out of control.

Natsu’s jaw dropped as Gray dispelled his flames, “How did you do that?”

Gray wasn’t able to respond right away, for after the initial satisfaction at having succeeded, he’d peered into Natsu’s eyes and now found himself utterly lost in them. He’d never seen any more beautiful. Bursts of green converged on a gold-rimmed pupil, reminding him of the early morning nature walks he’d once taken with his mother in the summers. And when those eyes met his, Gray couldn’t help but recognize the fear and desperation that lurked in their depths.

Pink hair, tanned skin, fire magic, fear - not to mention the awkward way she carried herself. Everything pointed to this being the guy Lyon was after but made up to look and sound like a strikingly beautiful woman. Hell, he’d done such a good job it would even convince Silver.

Natsu must have gotten help from someone here. No, not someone. Gray knew exactly who.

Lucy Heartfilia.

What was her magic? He wracked his brain but couldn’t remember, and that more than anything forced him to acknowledge he'd barely paid any attention to her during their meeting, or to any of the others. But none of that mattered right now because he had a choice to make.

“I just used my magic to push yours back,” Gray finally replied, struggling to keep his voice level so as not to give away that he knew Natsu’s identity.

Natsu gazed at him, his mouth suddenly breaking into a lopsided grin that elicited a strange fluttering in Gray’s chest and complicated his thoughts further.

“Let’s gooo, Natsu,” Lucy urged, and while Natsu had seemed ready to protest, she spun around and followed.

Gray turned to see what had spooked her and spotted Lyon walking swiftly towards them. He could tell from his friend’s expression that he’d already reached the same conclusion.

What should he do, which side should he take?

Gray was the future Chief of Isvan. He knew well that his thoughts should be on the danger this man could pose to his people. But that brief interaction had shown him his instincts had been correct. Natsu didn’t appear to have control over his magic, and Gray had sensed no malice coming from him. In fact, it had been just the opposite. He'd acted terrified when his magic had flared. It just didn’t add up.

Still, Lyon was his best friend, his foster brother, and he didn’t want to get him in trouble either.

Then Gray thought about how his heart had felt at the sight of that grin and how he’d considered Natsu’s appearance could fool even Silver, and a plan formed in his mind.

Confident that Natsu didn’t pose a danger to Isvan, Gray considered pursuing a different choice. One that could both help him and protect Natsu from the hird until he could learn control of his magic.

The more he thought about it, the more convinced Gray became it was the only way to get out of this wedding mess. If he could persuade Natsu to pretend to be his fiancee, he wouldn’t have to marry Juvia and it would give him time to see if something could blossom between them.

He grabbed Lyon by the arm, ignoring his protests as he searched for a place where they could speak privately.

“We need to talk.”

0-0

Gray found a small office near the building’s entrance and shoved Lyon inside. He closed the door behind them and launched into a swift explanation of his plan, but Lyon wouldn’t even let him finish.

“Absolutely not!”

“You’re being unreasonable. Erza said no one was hurt in any of the fires. You must have felt his magic signature. If that were his intent, why only target abandoned buildings?”

“To gauge our response for when he launches his actual attack.”

Gray groaned as he recognized Lyon’s stubborn streak kicking in. He didn’t have time to argue. For his plan to work, he’d need to put a bid in soon.

“What did you expect me to say?” Lyon crossed his arms over his chest. “You don’t know the first thing about this guy, and what little you know points to him being a criminal.”

“He’s terrified. I could see it in his eyes when he lost control a few moments ago. You didn’t see his face when I pushed his fire back. He was relieved.”

“He lost control here?! That’s even more reason to keep him away from our house. He could hurt everyone we care about.”

Lyon had that I know better than you expression on his face that Gray hated with every fiber of his being.

“While surrounded by ice mages?” he snapped, struggling to keep his temper in check despite Lyon’s attitude. He’d known this wouldn’t be easy, but he’d hoped Lyon would be more willing to see his side. Screw it, if logic wouldn’t work then he’d go for pity. It’s not like he wasn’t desperate.

“When I talked with him earlier, I felt something.”

“You just met him, Gray.”

“I know that, but feeling something is already more than the nothing I feel for Juvia. And if I don’t find someone soon, I’ll have no choice but to marry her on my birthday. Fader said so after you left.”

“He said that?”

Lyon looked away, the first outward sign that he was weakening.

“Time’s up, please enter your bids now,” Invel’s voice echoed through the building’s speaker lacrima, injecting an air of urgency to their conversation.

Lyon had shifted his gaze back to him, his eyes boring into him for what seemed like a lifetime. Gray held his breath, worried the slightest gesture from him might work against him.

“I won’t pretend to understand the attraction you feel toward guys, but I can’t imagine how I’d feel if Ur forced me into a marriage.” He remained silent for a few more moments before announcing, “I’m so going to regret this.”

It took Gray a full minute for the meaning to seep into his brain, but once it did, he beamed with excitement. “I knew I could count on you!”

Lyon grinned, “You mean you knew you could con me.”

Gray didn’t have time to refute the charge as Lyon swiftly turned serious, “Just promise me you’ll be careful,”

“I will.”

And he meant it. He understood the trust Lyon was placing in him, and he would do his best to be worthy of it.

“I gotta go put in my bid,” Gray reached for the doorknob, but Lyon grabbed his arm.

“Hold on there, Romeo. You’re going to have to hire someone for real.”

“What? Why?”

“Invel saw you, dumbass. I’m sure he’ll mention it to Silver. If you only show up with your dream girl, Silver will know something’s up.”

“Oh.”

Gray hadn’t considered that, but had to admit it made sense. Who could he hire and for what? The only other person he’d talked to was Lucy, and he was pretty sure she hated his guts.

But if she’d helped Natsu, he should probably monitor her too, just in case he was wrong about all this.

“Oh, and Gray?” Lyon said as Gray opened the door.

Gray turned his head impatiently, waiting to hear what Lyon had to say, even though he was pretty sure he already knew.

“If he refuses your offer, I will arrest him.”

Gray scowled at the words but nodded his understanding. He’d just have to make sure that didn’t happen.

As Lyon issued new orders to his men through his communication lacrima, Gray offered a silent prayer to his favorite deity.

He had a feeling Loki would understand where he was coming from..

0-0

“I can’t wait to see how many bids I got!” Lucy said as they stood with the other candidates, waiting for the organizer to arrive with their envelopes.

“I just want to get out of here.”

The last two hours had been incredibly stressful for Natsu. He’d felt ill at ease with all the stares and attempts at conversation, not to mention the uncomfortable clothes Lucy had forced him to wear. It had taken all of his self-control not to run out of there. When that light blue-haired hirdman had walked towards them, he’d thought he’d get arrested for sure.

The organizer finally got to them, checking the numbers on their pins against the large envelopes he was carrying and handing them each one. They both thanked him.

“I bet you I got a bunch,” Lucy said while opening her envelope, “I was killing it out there!”

Natsu held on to his envelope but didn’t bother opening it, assuming it was empty. Instead, he watched the expressions of the other women with interest. There were a lot of happy tears, and it made him feel good that things had gone well for them.

“One?! I got one stinking offer? Don’t these people know who I am?”

Natsu turned his attention back to Lucy, alarmed by the loudness of her voice. “Hey Lucy, can you keep it down? We’re trying to avoid attention, remember?”

“Right,” Lucy said, her voice coming back down to normal levels. “I’m sorry, it’s just when I stuck around here for this I thought I’d have lots of choices, you know?”

“Well, but one is better than none, right?”

“I suppose.”

“What’s it for, anyway? Is it from that guy that kept staring at your boobs?” Natsu nudged her with his shoulder, trying to get her out of her foul mood.

“Ew, I hope not,” Lucy giggled, “You’re right though, I bet it’s gonna be something great, and at least I won’t have to go back home.”

He should have realized her sudden silence wasn’t a good sign, but he was too busy thinking about how he couldn’t wait to get back into his clothes to notice. His thoughts wandered back to that ice mage, wishing he’d been able to talk to him longer and ask him for help with his problem. He’d seemed like an okay guy.

“That sonofabitch! Does he think he’s funny? Is that it? Is he trying to ruin my life?”

Lucy continued to rant, getting progressively louder. All the other candidates had moved away from them and the man who had handed them their envelopes was making his way towards them, his features set in a scowl. Natsu wanted nothing more than to leave his friend there and make a run for it, ridiculous shoes and all. He could feel his magic surging and his panic mounted.

“Shh, Lucy, please!”

Natsu closed his eyes, resigned to his imminent arrest, this time for disturbing the peace.

“Invel, you may return to your duties, I’ll handle this.”

“Of course, Master Gray, I’ll leave it in your capable hands.”

“You!”

The venom in Lucy’s voice surprised Natsu but not as much as recognizing the other voice. It belonged to the guy who had caught him earlier, who, now that he thought about it, had acted as if he knew Lucy. His pulse sped up as he realized there was still a chance to ask him for help.

“So, you finally found someone who wasn’t quite so... what was it you said? Oh yes, perky,” Lucy seethed, “and now you want me to be your nanny? Do you even know what your little stunt cost me?”

“Look, I’m sorry about the whole turning you down thing,” Gray said, “It was nothing personal, okay? I’m sure you’re perfect.”

“Damn right I am!”

Natsu looked from one to the other, completely lost to what was going on.

“Could you keep your voice down?” Gray hissed, “I just want a minute to plead my case before you decide.”

“She only got the one offer,” Natsu revealed without thinking.

“Seriously?” Gray laughed, “Must be her charming personality.”

Natsu wanted to laugh at the retort, but he knew better than to provoke Lucy when she was seriously pissed. “Dude, you are so not helping your case.”

He frowned, hating how strange his voice sounded.

“Oh, right.” Gray ran his fingers through his hair, and flashed a sheepish grin that, while oddly distracting to Natsu, did nothing to placate Lucy.

“Well, you can take your job offer and shove it where the sun doesn't shine.”

Gray’s shoulders slumped at her words, “I already said I was sorry, didn��t I? Besides, I only wrote nanny cause it was something you were considering. You can do whatever you want. If you’d bothered to look at the actual offer, you’d see the pay is more than fair.”

Lucy examined the paper, her eyes widening as she read the offer over, finally looking up at Gray with a guarded expression. “I don’t understand.”

“I’ll be happy to explain, but not here. I’ll need both of you for what I have in mind. Well, to be honest, it’s up to Natsu. If she doesn’t agree, then the offer is off,” Gray said, turning to Natsu.

“You want my help?”

“Yeah, didn’t you see my offer?”

“There’s something in here?” Natsu opened his envelope, saw there were several pieces of paper inside, and snapped it shut quickly.

“Well? Let’s see it,” Lucy gave him a curious glance, “What did he put down on yours?”

“Um, it doesn’t matter. He can just tell me.”

“Honestly, I’d rather you read it, it’s kind of embarrassing.”

“It, uh, doesn’t matter what it is,” Natsu said, hiding the envelope behind his back, “I’m happy to do it as long you promise to help me with my magic.”

“Yeah, sure, I can do that.”

Gray looked relieved and Natsu wondered what he’d just gotten himself into, but it didn’t really matter. Lucy had saved him from the hirdmen, and it seemed as if she wouldn’t have a job if he didn’t accept. Plus, he wasn’t afraid of hard work, and getting help in controlling his increasingly erratic magic would make it worth his while.

“Alright, then you have yourself a deal,” Natsu offered his hand to seal the deal, not knowing how to respond when Gray pulled it up to his mouth for a kiss instead of shaking it.

It was then he understood two things. First, why Lucy had yelled at him earlier. It hadn’t occurred to him that girls rarely shook hands. Second, and by far the most important, Gray thought he was a girl.

He was about to clear that up when a more pressing issue presented itself. The hirdman who’d been chasing him earlier walked up to them, and although Natsu desperately wanted to run away, he knew he couldn’t do that without giving himself away. He only hoped that the guy would leave quickly and not look at him too closely.

“Everything okay over here, Gray?”

“Everything’s fine!” Gray smiled, “I’d like you to meet Natsu. And you remember Lucy?”

“Yes, of course, lovely to see you again, Lucy,” The hirdman bowed slightly to both of them, gazing at Natsu with open curiosity.

“Natsu love, I’d like you to meet Lyon, my foster brother.”

That guy was Gray’s foster brother?!

That complicated everything! How could he tell Gray the truth about who he was now?

He couldn’t and he didn’t like what that implied. The more agitated he became, the more his magic roared, itching to get out. Natsu had almost given up on containing it when Gray placed his hand on the small of his back, reining in the fire that churned inside him with one simple gesture.

Natsu didn't understand the how or why of it, but it made him realize that the safest place for him right now was by Gray’s side, at least until he could regain control of his magic. So he met Lyon’s gaze and flashed him his most disarming smile.

“It’s so nice to meet you.”

[falsegoodnight]

✰ say a little prayer: an outtake ✰

*a harry-centric drabble from sleeping on our problems taking place the five days after louis told harry about the baby.

(obviously: major spoilers from the fic!

a birthday present for @louislyrics <3 thank you for asking the question that sparked this!

The door shuts behind Louis with a dull thud, silence echoing as Harry stares at the wood, mouth still dropped open with his protest lingering on his lips. 

A wave of nausea rises in him, strengthened only by his disbelief, confusion, and slowly festering panic. 

Pregnant. Louis is pregnant. 

With his baby. 

The panic grows, tightening in his chest and filling his lungs. He exhales jaggedly, hands shaking as he sits down on his bed stiffly and places them on his knees, bracing himself.

He’s twenty. He’s twenty years old and he’s gone and knocked up an omega. He’s just recently been picked as captain. The season is picking up soon and he’s got classes and responsibilities and he’s knocked up an omega. 

A product of him and Louis has been planted in Louis’ stomach and will grow into a living breathing human after just nine and a half months. The white gap on his wall between his window and a poster sears into his burning eyes as he stares blankly. 

He doesn’t realize someone has entered his room until a hand lands on his shoulder, jerking him out of his tense actions. Liam’s face slowly comes into view when he glances down, a worried furrow between his brow. 

His mouth is open too, closing and widening as if pronouncing syllables and words, trying to communicate - except Harry can hardly hear a word through the thundering of his heart, deafening in his ears and making his vision go blurry. 

“Harry,” Liam says, maybe for the fifth or dozenth time, “Harry, are you okay?” 

Opening his mouth, he is unable to respond. Is he okay? Is he okay after finding out he’s going to be a father when he’s only twenty years old? 

And it’s like - Harry has always known he wants children, wants to find a nice omega and settle down and put a baby or a bunch of babies in them. He wants to have a family. He gets off on the idea, for fuck’s sake. But it’s different having it sprung on him so suddenly. It’s different because he’s not ready. Not even close. 

He’s Captain for fuck’s sake. He’s got a year to play well and play hard to up his chances of being drafted to a good team in the summer. Not to mention, an entire team not to let down. Hockey is his life - it’s been his life since he first got onto the ice at eight years old and fuck, he wants it to continue being his life for a long time. 

“H, you’re worrying me, what’s wrong?” Liam continues, sounding completely bewildered. Harry can’t blame him. He’s Harry - always cool headed, calm, and driven. Not much rattles him, though it’s safe to say this definitely has. 

“Liam,” he says slowly, voice hoarse. He forces himself to make eye contact with the fellow alpha, taking a deep shuddery breath. “Liam, I’m going to be a dad.” 

He watches as the words process and Liam’s face morphs into one of disbelief. He watches as Liam looks at him, face pale once he sees the tears in Harry’s eyes and the raw honesty on his face. He watches as he realizes it’s the truth. 

Fumbling for words, Liam sits down on the bed beside him. “Um,” he starts, giving Harry an anxious look. 

Shaking his head, Harry explains properly. He reminds Liam about Louis, the omega he hooked up with at their end-of-summer party and who helped him with his rut. He tells him that Louis wants to keep the baby. “I mean, s’his body, his choice, of course,” he says panickedly. “But he also wants to know if I want to be involved and-” He cuts off, unable to continue. 

Liam is silent for a bit. “What’re you going to do?” he asks eventually, voice soft and gentle. 

It’s still enough for Harry to break. Suddenly he’s crying into his hands, shaking because he has no fucking idea what he’s going to do. He’s twenty - he’s twenty years old and he has no fucking idea what he’s doing. 

He thinks of Louis. Sweet and beautiful Louis who’s caught his eye more than any omega he’s ever met, who his inner alpha feels an inexplicable pull towards, against his mind’s wishes. If he hadn’t been so dedicated to hockey, he wonders how things might have been between them. If this would be playing out a little differently. 

Most of all he wonders how Louis isn’t in pieces like him. He’s the same age as Harry and yet he was so sure - so certain of this new permanent fixture in his life. 

Even when he left, face crumpled and close to tears much to the torment of his inner alpha, there was no trace of regret or doubt in his face. He wants to keep the baby. He’s okay with being a mother and raising a child. 

Meanwhile Harry feels like he’s going to puke. He keeps crying, letting Liam awkwardly pat his back and murmur semi-encouraging words, struggling to handle an emotionally distressed Harry when he’s never even seen him cry before today. But Harry soaks up the little bit of comfort Liam offers, closing his eyes shut and wanting to scream because the ultrasound picture  he left on his desk is still branded across his eyelids. 

One thing’s for sure, he needs to make a decision here. But first he has to come to terms with it. 

-

Harry wakes up on Sunday morning and almost forgets the revelation of the evening before. 

He told Liam to tell their frat brothers he was feeling ill and would be eating in his room. Then he proceeded to have his dinner, which was tasteless and overall unappealing to him, while staring aimlessly at his laptop screen where Criminal Minds was playing. He remembers nothing of the two episodes he watched, putting his laptop on the nightstand and yanking his clothes off so he can sleep about three hours earlier than usual. 

Though he forgets, it comes back to him like a knife to the chest when he glances at his desk where the ultrasound is sitting, black and white little blob and all. He sucks in a breath and then exhales through his nose, heading to the door and slamming the door shut behind him.

Liam must have told the others to leave him alone because no one comes up to tell him good morning or complain about current chore assignments. He’s sure he’s radiating frustrated pheromones as he grabs some cereal and an energy drink. 

There’s a morning practice in half an hour so Harry brings his breakfast upstairs with him, eating as he gets dressed and grabs his stuff. 

He stares at the ultrasound as he gathers his gear, eyes latched onto it even when he’s stuffing everything in his duffel along with his water bottle, before turning his head and looking away. He pushes it all down. 

Striving to the door, he hesitates, glancing back at the desk. With an exhausted sigh, he walks back to the desk.

After spending the entire morning avoiding the elephant in the room, it all comes rushing back to him, a heavy weight in his lungs making it hard for him to breathe. But he makes himself look at the paper, lets himself study the small blob in the middle that will be his and Louis’ pup.

His pup. His child. 

He wonders what they’d look like. Would they look more like him or Louis? He imagines a baby in his head but its face flashes between Louis’ delicate features and his sharper ones, Louis’ big blue eyes and his green ones, Louis’ soft smile and his own. 

“Harry,” Liam says, knocking gently on the door. He’s cautious as he reminds Harry that they have to get to practice.

Harry nods, gnawing on his lip. “I’ll meet you down there,” he murmurs, not moving his eyes from the ultrasound picture. There’s traces of Louis’ scent on it, sweet ripe strawberries. So lovely and intoxicating and so much deeper now. Deeper because of the baby. He glances at Liam who hasn’t left, a concerned frown on his face. “I’m fine,” he swears, voice lowering to a whisper. 

Liam dips his head to his chest in acknowledgment and backs out of the room. 

Heart fluttering painfully, Harry realizes that he just spent five minutes thinking about his child and not panicking. 

Examining the black and white sheet carefully, he folds it gently and tucks it into his jacket pocket. It sits there like a promise through the entire day. 

-

Harry spends the next couple of days going through his normal routines and attending classes and practice completely dazed. He zones out during lectures, mind wandering to heartbeats and tiny limbs. He’s distant with his frat brothers and absent from his friends; ignoring text messages and Snapchats and cutting all interactions with everyone, except Liam, short. His mind is constantly spinning with thoughts of ultrasounds, parenting, and panic. 

How is he expected to talk to people normally when a lump the size of a boulder is clawing up his throat and fighting to spill out, his thoughts utterly consumed by something the size of a cherry. 

(A size of a cherry. That’s what the internet said when he googled information on babies at 9 weeks in the middle of Music Theory. Itty bitty. Just bigger than the pad of his thumb.)

He’s distracted in practice and everyone notices, including Coach, who pulls him aside during a practice game to tell him off for being sloppy. He’s captain for fuck’s sake and the season is just kicking off. He can’t afford to be so spaced out - he’s lectured on this point over and over, head ducked and shame curling in his stomach. 

And yet, he can’t stop himself from pulling the picture out of his pocket during class or practice or in the middle of the night when he wakes up staring at the ceiling, while his insecurities and nerves whirl around him like a never ending nightmare. 

The folds grow cracked and worn with the amount of times he opens and refolds the paper; looking, staring, and memorizing the lines of his future pup as his heart beats painfully. 

On Wednesday, three days after he found out, he calls his mom.

She answers with a, “Hey, lovey,” like she always does, chipper and happy.

Harry swallows, closing his eyes. When he speaks, his voice shakes. “Mom, I have something to tell you.” 

As if sensing the panic in his voice, her response is soft and encouraging. “You can tell me anything, darling.”

“I don’t want you to be disappointed,” he whispers. 

“You’ve never disappointed me and you never will,” she says easily, sounding confused and curious. 

It doesn’t make him feel any better. His stomach is twisting painfully when he finally works up the courage to blurt it out. “I got someone pregnant.” 

His mother’s shock is palpable, bleeding through the phone and seeping into his skin until he’s flinching, the hitch in her breathing almost deafening to his ringing ears. 

Before he knows it, his tears are brimming again. 

“Mom,” he says desperately. “Say something.” 

“Harry,” she says. “Oh my god.”

Needless to say, he starts crying again. The whole story comes tumbling out and his mother is achingly indecipherable, asking him questions about if they used protection (no, but Louis had been on birth control) and how far along Louis is (9 weeks and 4 days as far as Harry knows) and how well they know each other (“Not well at all,” he had been forced to admit). 

“Honey,” she starts, voice gentle but firm. “I’m your mother and you know I always want the best for you. But you also know I’ll never bullshit you, which is why I feel comfortable telling you that there’s a right and wrong decision to make here and I swear to God, Harry Edward Styles, that if you choose the wrong path - the coward’s path, I will come up there and -”

“Mom, I’m not abandoning him,” he interrupts, gaping. “What the fuck?”

“I know you’re not,” she scoffs. “I meant if you choose not to have a joint-custody. I know you, darling, and I know how much you’d regret it if you let one of your own flesh and blood slip through your fingers even when you’re as young as you are.”

“I…” He trails off, swallowing. “How am I supposed to raise a child when I want to be in the NHL?”

“How is this omega supposed to carry a child while attending classes and living his own life?” she counters. “I’ll tell you how. You figure it out. You work your ass off and you come up with solutions and you never give up. When it comes to family, you can move mountains if need be.” 

Harry exhales, words embedding themselves into his skin and sticking there. He nods even though she can’t see him. She’s right. She’s completely right. It’s been four days and his pup is still just an embryo but he’s already attached. He’s in too deep and there’s no way he can settle for anything less than as much as he can get. “What about weekends?” he suggests.

“Weekends,” Anne repeats. “Is that what you want?” 

He takes his time to respond, mulling it over and considering every option. Is it possible for me to do this? he thinks. Is it possible that he can live and breathe hockey and other obligations while still being a father that his pup deserves?

In the end, it’s an easy question to answer. 

“Yes,” he says, no signs of hesitance or doubt in his voice. “It’s what I want.”

“I’m glad to hear that, darling. So glad. But I also need you to understand. Being a parent will change your life forever - it’s the most satisfying and fulfilling and beautiful thing, but it’s hard. Looking after another human being is a full-time commitment and I know you want kids, but it’s different when you’re actually having them.”

“I know,” he says. He’ll need to do research and tag along to appointments and be as involved as he can. He’ll need to find time for his pup - make time for them - both before and after they’re born. “I’ll do my best.”

“And I don’t care if you and this omega are nothing but strangers,” she continues fiercely. “That child is half yours and this omega will be carrying it for the both of you these next nine months. You better be there trying to make it even a little bit easier for him every step of the way.”

He sputters. “Of course,” he says, defensive. “I would hope you’d expect better of me than that.”

“And I’d hope I raised you well enough that you’ll treat this omega as good as if he were your own omega and support him as much as possible,” she says.

“You did, I will,” he argues, brows furrowing. He thinks about Louis and how much discomfort, pain, and struggles he’ll have to endure over his pregnancy and how he knows he’ll handle it brilliantly. Because Louis is smart and determined and he’s going to be a brilliant mother. 

He knows it. 

“I love you and I’m proud of you,” his mother says after a beat, voice softening. “And I’ll be here for you whenever you need me, honey. Just a few hours away. For you and Louis.”

It’s the first time she’s said his name out loud and Harry’s heart does a funny thing at the sound. “I love you too,” he says belatedly. 

“Robin’s going to be home in a few minutes, so stay on,” she says. “I want you to be the one to tell him the news. You have to tell your sister too, but maybe in a little bit. I don’t want to overwhelm you, darling. But how long do you think is the appropriate time to wait before telling the relatives?”

Harry can’t help but smile as she rambles on but it fades as his earlier worries return. She wants to tell the relatives but Harry’s still scrambling to process, to believe. 

“Mom,” he says, voice ragged. 

“Yes, lovey?” she asks softly, sensing his distress.  

“Do you think I’ll be a good dad?” he breathes, wiping a stray tear with the back of his hand. He hears his mother’s shocked inhale before she’s crying too, telling Harry of course, darling, the best dad in the entire world. 

And Harry, through his tears and worries and anguish, believes her. He can feel it in his bones, in his mind, in his heart. He will be. For his pup, he’d be anything. 

They stay on the phone for hours. 

-

It’s Thursday afternoon, five days after he found out, and Harry’s staring at the creased and wrinkled ultrasound picture - staring at his future - when he pulls out his phone and writes out a text. 

Hey Louis...

-

this is one of quite a few drabbles i have on a list for already-posted fics and the first one i’ve actually finished (whoops) - hopefully i’ll get to the others too!! :) this was really fun for me to write and i hope it was nice to read :)

thank you @soldouthaz and chelsea for looking this over for me! <33

[recycledcactus]

c!Wilbur & Eight by Sleeping At Last analogy

because apparently c!Wilbur was based off that song? Link here

!!!!Okay so this is not all in canonical order. It’s just based on every lyric/line!!!!

Most of it is during the Pogtopia arc and Wilbur insanity arc though.

For @soot-spots I hope you like it. It’s written very weirdly and not like a regular analogy so bear with me here:

Lyrics are in italics like this [My analogies are bolder and in brackets like this]

I remember the minute It was like a switch was flipped I was just a kid who grew up strong enough To pick this armor up And suddenly it fit

[I think here, during the unknown of time before L’Manburg and after his childhood, Wilbur is thinking about his past with Philza. How Philza ‘raised’ him, AKA was an absent parent half the time. He knew how to survive, yes, and he knew Phil was somewhat proud of him. But Wilbur always felt he needed to prove himself. Techno constantly had Phil’s attention, so Wilbur wanted some for himself. He forced the metaphorical armour to fit. He forced himself to be responsible and strong. To act like he knows what he’s doing. People believed him, they followed him, so maybe the armour could fit.]

God, that was so long ago, long ago, long ago I was little, I was weak and perfectly naive And I grew up too quick

[I’m thinking this is probably in Pogtopia. Wilbur reflects on his past self and laughs. How naive could he have been? Thinking if he started a nation, Phil would pay attention to him? He was so stupid. So needy. Phil never cared. He forced himself to be responsible and grow up and prove himself that he didn’t take the time to be a child. And now look where he is, in a ravine, without his home, country, or people. Just Tommy. (Tommy, who also grew up far too quick. Tommy who should still be growing up and not exiled in a ravine separated from his best friend).]

Now you won't see all that I have to lose And all I've lost in the fight to protect it I won't let you in, I swore never again I can't afford, no, I refuse to be rejected

[(Pogtopia arc). He stops writing letters to Phil. He stops ranting on and on, filling up the pages with messy scrawl, about his victories, his losses, his thoughts and feelings. He stops pouring his heart out in these letters and telling Phil about everything he’s done. He rarely gets replies and when he does, they’re always short and blunt. His heart can’t take how little his father cares anymore, so he stops all contact.]

I want to break these bones 'til they're better I want to break them right and feel alive You were wrong, you were wrong, you were wrong My healing needed more than time

[(Pogtopia arc). Tommy tried desperately to encourage his brother and tell him that things would work out, that Wilbur could be better with more time. But Wilbur could only lash out and yell, punching walls and pacing wildly and tearing at his hair until small indents were carved into the floor of Pogtopia. He yelled at Tommy, screamed and berated him. And for what? Tommy was a kid. Tommy was forced into this. Tommy was trying to help. Wilbur can’t take back those words now. He couldn’t do anything. Nothing was enough. Nothing could bring him out of his head. He’d lost. It’s over. There’s nothing left, there’s— he’s—]

When I see fragile things, helpless things, broken things I see the familiar I was little, I was weak, I was perfect, too Now I'm a broken mirror

[(Pogtopia arc). Wilbur looks at himself in a mirror and doesn’t even recognize himself. The bags under his eyes are too big and his hair is too matted. There’s dirt cakes on parts of his coat and his shirt is covered in patches to keep it together. But he thinks maybe he’s stronger. He’s learned from his old self. He used to get too attached to people and things only to be betrayed and thrown out of his own country. He was weak. But now that he had nothing, he was stronger than ever, right? They say a man with nothing to lose can do anything he wants, right? There can’t be a harsher consequence than being exiled and thrown out of the country you built. Wilbur can do what he wants. He looks into Tommy’s eyes and sees a reflection of himself––broken, too. Broken and lost. But not the same. Tommy is so much stronger than him and maybe that does make him mad.]

But I can't let you see all that I have to lose All I've lost in the fight to protect it I can't let you in, I swore never again I can't afford to let myself be blindsided

[(Pogtopia arc). He puts on an air of self-confidence and (albeit grim) cheeriness for Tommy. He can’t show his little brother that he has no hope. He can’t show him he’s truly planning on blowing up L’Manburg and that it’s not just ‘Plan Bomb’. He can’t bring himself to talk to Tommy about how shitty things are for him because he knows Tommy has it shittier. Tommy is 16 and scared and traumatized and is holding himself up for his brother & Tubbo. He doesn’t need more problems to worry about. Wilbur smiles only to walk away and break down. He covers up how hopeless he feels and how far gone he thinks he is. He offers up plans of taking his country back just to see Tommy’s eyes light up. But he can’t help but know L’Manburg will all be blown up. He can’t get distracted from doing that because it’s the one thing that might make this pain go away.]

I'm standing guard, I'm falling apart And all I want is to trust you Show me how to lay my sword down For long enough to let you through

[(Pogtopia arc). Wilbur needs Tommy or Phil or hell, even Techno. He just needs someone. Someone to snap him from his intrusive mind. His thoughts that run rampant and scream at him to destroy everything. His plan that is both self-destructive and literally destructive that will leave everyone he cares about in shambles.

But he has no one. He can’t speak to Tommy without further scaring or hurting the boy. He refuses to write to Phil because he doesn’t even care (he wouldn’t come running to save his ‘son’ from himself). And Techno only supports the idea of destroying L’Manburg——he wouldn’t bother helping Wilbur with his problems.

Wilbur doesn’t know how to make the first move and let his guard down. (His mind briefly flashes to Eret and how much he used to trust the man. It was thrown away as soon as the Dream Team walked out of those walls though). That’s one of his last mistakes.]

Here I am, pry me open What do you want to know? I'm just a kid who grew up scared enough To hold the door shut And bury my innocence But here's a map, here's a shovel

[(At the beginning of L’Manburg and the drug van). This symbolizes Wilbur starting L’Manburg——starting a country from nothing but a van, his brother, and a crazy dream. He left his small childhood home behind––finally being able to breath in relief when he doesn’t have to relive all the times he and Phil had yelling matches when he walks through the kitchen, or to feel a bitter sadness remembering Tommy waking up screaming from nightmares and being the only one to console him whenever he passed the blond’s room. He can finally push the past behind and open up to people he cares about and trusts–– his friends and citizens.]

Here's my Achilles' heel

[(During L’Manburg when it was still a new country and they still wore soldier outfits). He soon realizes that L’Maburg is more than a country. It’s his home. It’s his family. His weakness. He cares about it because it’s the only place he could ever truly call his own. A small, nagging part of his brain whispers to him that if he’s not careful, it could be his downfall. He pays no mind though, because that seems so unlikely. He’s happier than he’s ever been and he won’t let intrusive thoughts ruin in]

I'm all in, palms out I'm at your mercy now and I'm ready to begin I am strong, I am strong, I am strong enough to let you in

[(Pogtopia arc). It dawns on Wilbur that L’Manburg has not been his downfall yet. Sure, he’s exiled, but he always imagined his downfall would be dying for his country. His country still lives though and he is not dead. Instead, the game is still on. His Achilles heel has not yet been struck. So maybe L’Maburg was not his Achilles heel all along? With that belief, Wilbur can’t help but still want L’Manburg back. He can’t push L’Manburg away when he’s trying so hard to get it back. He thinks maybe if he becomes president again and gets rid of Schlatt, his downfall would not come. He would be safe.]

I'ma shake the ground with all my might And I will pull my whole heart up to the surface For the innocent, for the vulnerable And I'll show up on the front lines with a purpose

[(Pogtopia/insanity arc). There’s still a possibility of L’Maburg being the end to Wilbur. With plans of war and overthrowing Schlatt, the thought is more prominent than ever. While Wilbur goes mad in Pogtopia, he’s quickly realizing that L’Manburg can’t be his Achilles heel if there is no L’Manburg. If he gets rid of L’Manburg, there will be no other problems. His symphony won’t be finished and therefore his Achilles heel will be protected.]

And I'll give all I have, I'll give my blood, give my sweat

[Oh but... but what if he is his own demise? L’Manburg was his. His dream. His home. He pushed everyone away for L’Manburg. He ignored his son, his brother, his best friend. Would it not make sense if he fell too? Should he not perish too? To let his brother rest? He knows the way they look at him——like he’s unstable, untrustworthy. Which he is. And Tommy... Tommy who still trusts him, who still looks at him like he could do no wrong, like he’s still a fearless leader. (He catches his small flinches though, the way he sometimes bites his tongue and hesitates before blurting out his words loudly, like usual). No matter how many times Wilbur hurts Tommy and tears him down, he’s always back——loyal and unwavering. Tommy did not deserve this. Tommy should be free. Wilbur cannot live in a world knowing Tommy is hurt because of him. Wilbur cannot see Tommy free with knowing what happened daily in that stupid, sold ravine. Wilbur cannot live and be anything to Tommy.]

An ocean of tears will spill for what is broken I'm shattered porcelain, glued back together again Invincible like I've never been

[Wilbur watches the leader who took his place, fall. He watches as his people cheer and fall over each other in exhaustion. Their wounds are deep, but smiles deeper. He elects Tommy, who in turn elects Tubbo (the discs again, when will it stop?) Wilbur listens to the man he once called father try to convince him not to destroy L’Manburg. He listens to the screeches of Withers and muffled cries of people.

It’s time.

Wilbur takes the arrow and strikes his Achilles heel.

He watches in twisted, painful satisfaction as his world blows up before him. People cry out for other reasons. They——especially Tommy——look at him in horror. But why does the arrow not kill him? Nothing else can hurt him like this does, right?

No, the wound is not deep enough. He is too happy to be injured like this for it to be fatal.

“Kill me” He begs. He thinks it’s good revenge on his father for being ignorant. And a good way for the arrow to strike him dead.

Philza stabs him.

The arrow in his heel digs deeper.

And then all is calm,]

----

[Also I feel like every one of those strong brassy bursts in the song is like a fist against the wall——Wilbur striking out against the walls of Pogtopia in anger and (self-)hatred and frustration.]

Hope you liked it. It was certainly an experience to write and I really enjoyed doing this