#also like wasn’t her dad in the military? like no wonder she’s about the proper order of things

[ionlylikemycat]

i don’t know if i’d call it out of step, i think she’s a mostly deeply kind person who can be Particular and stuck in her ways

but honestly don’t we all know just how we like our sandwich? wouldn’t it be better to say what you’d prefer at the beginning than be dissatisfied with your meal and waste the food? wouldn’t it be more disrespectful to not finish the meal your host graciously prepared for you?

okay i’m calm again about the sandwich scene but really she was raised by a military man and she’s a older single woman in a world that hates older single women, i mean she won’t even be able to have her own damn bank account until 1970-something and she’s Still financially independent and living comfortably Alone

i do think it all fits together pretty well

this miss higgins story reminds me of a moment a season or two ago, there’s this young teenage couple who want to keep their baby but the mother/grandmother arranges for an adoption

and there’s this horrible moment where they’re taking the baby away from these screaming crying sixteen year old kids

and miss higgins stops the adoption worker to carefully snip off the baby’s name bracelet to give back to the parents so they will always keep a piece of their baby with the name they chose for him and i just

can’t stop thinking about young millicent higgins and the name she chose for her son and the way she kept it close to her heart all these years because his name was the only part of him she was allowed to keep

[mrsemilybartrum]

AND She Got Away with It.

PROLOGUE

Bianca was so tired of everything. She loved her husband and child. She loved her seemingly perfect life with the picket fence and the manicured lawn. She even loved the problems that arise with that much wealth and prosperity. After all, what better way to brag to people that she had more money than they did?

        But regardless of how grand and wonderful their lives seemed to the average looker-on; cracks were clearly present in Bianca’s life. She hated those cracks like she hated the wrinkles around her laugh line and smile. Thank God she never truly smiled, or she’d also have crow’s feet. Then again, nothing was ever really good enough for Bianca.

        She was at her wit’s end. The mundane world of being prim, proper, and perfect caged her creativity. Her husband didn’t appreciate her. Their only child, a daughter who was beyond spoiled, didn’t appreciate her either. She tried. She really tried.

        She gave those two the best of her. She sacrificed and put herself dead last if you asked her. But others would say she never did enough. She always appeased her husband, and she always went above and beyond for her daughter. But that was never enough. She could never be enough.

        No matter how perfect she tried to be, no matter how much shit she took from her husband and daughter, she truly kept trying to make it work for the longest time.

        When the local news first arrived at the crime scene, nobody ever expected that something so horrifying could happen in their little town. That’s a story as old as time, though, isn’t it? Small town people with big city egos always seem to get the headlines with these kinds of stories.

        All the authorities knew from the crime scene was that her husband had been shot in the head, repeatedly. Her daughter hadn’t been home, as she was out of town looking at colleges with her boyfriend. Had she came back that night like she promised her mom and dad, her daughter would’ve been home. She would’ve been slaughtered, too.

        At the center of the tragedy was a mother and daughter lost for words as to why anyone would want to brutally murder -no, execute – their beloved father and husband. The detectives had no leads, they whispered. But they told the news it wasn’t a threat to the community. How did this even happen?

CHAPTER ONE- WHEN BIANCA MET CHRIS

Bianca and Chris were inseparable from the day they met. Chris was in the military, and Bianca was spinning her wheels working fast food. She loved to have fun, and he loved that about her.

        They met when she was in high school. Chris was much older than Bianca. She was six teen, and he was thirty-seven. It was love at first sight, really. Chris had been working for a company called Clark’s that tested coal samples. He was going through a separation with his wife, and he was struggling.

        Bianca started working at McDonald’s the weekend she turned sixteen. She was raised by two parents who loved her but didn’t know anything about anything. She was always a smart girl, and it showed in her work ethic. Anyone who knew Bianca loved her. She was charming and kind, and she had a way of making others feel special around her.

        Some say it was fate when he came into the drive thru that morning and saw her. Others would later say that it was her big tits and magnetic smile that got her everywhere she ended up. Once the wheels were set in motion, though, it didn’t matter. Chris and Bianca would become what many saw as an unstoppable couple.

        Their relationship was almost doomed from the beginning. You see, when Chris met Bianca, he failed to mention to her that he had a wife and children at home...

[aggressive-positivity-network]

Okay, so you said I could send an ask for headcanons about the childhoods of some specific merc(s)... I think I would really like to read your headcanons about Soldier’s and Engineer’s childhood :)

Thanks in advance and I hope your well.

Ooooh…I’ve been waiting for this! And thank you for being specific and not just saying “the rest of them.” Sometimes I get overwhelmed with nine specific mercs to write for. Your specifics are much appreciated.

****************

Soldier:

Soldier doesn’t talk very much about his childhood - whether it’s because something happened or he just doesn’t remember it, no one can tell. It’s nowhere in his file, either…he refused to do anything except tell fantastic tales of a fictional youth.

However, in a rare streak of almost lucidity, he spouted off the entirety of his younger years, much to the team’s surprise. Usually, if anyone asked directly, he changed the subject.

But now he described everything in vivid detail. And, with a bit of research from Miss Pauling, everything fell into place.

Apparently he had been born in a small military town in Georgia. His father was overseas, leaving he and his mother alone in their small yellow house.

In order to make ends meet, his mother worked at a nearby factory, mostly leaving Soldier to fend for himself and the house.

“Can you be a big, strong soldier like daddy for me?”

Soldier would always agree, finding his own food, his own entertainment, and his own friends. No matter what happened, he never bothered his mom. If anything, his job was to protect her.

That’s why, when his stomach started hurting and his arms and legs ached, he said nothing about it.

When he forgot the chores he was supposed to do and even the names of his friends, he didn’t bring it up.

When he felt tired all the time and some days could barely get out of bed, he just chalked it up to laziness like his mother did.

It turns out the factory they were next to was polluting the water next to the house with dangerous amounts of lead, which soon overcame Soldier’s immune system of steel.

He could barely remember anything anymore, and he became more and more distraught every day. Sometimes he would forget where he was and run outside, then get lost in the woods, only coming back once he remembered where he was supposed to be.

Soldier began to wear one of his father’s old helmets after his mom commented on his red eyes and the dark circles around them. He didn’t want to worry her. Besides, it helped bring back a few memories if he ever got lost again.

Finally, it got to the point where he didn’t even remember his mother, or his promise to her. He began to wander farther and farther away from home.

One day, he didn’t come back at all.

Out in the world with not a single memory to his name, Soldier wandered far and wide. He usually slept in barns and old, abandoned houses, cut off from most people.

Occasionally, he would find a family that wanted to “raise him as their own,” only to turn him away after finding him too difficult to care for.

He had frequent nightmares, ate little due to his unresolved stomach issues, and could barely walk ten feet without forgetting where he was going.

If he accidentally wandered into the same house twice, he would be chased out with either a broom or a gun - usually the latter.

He became “the demon child” in some counties, and “g*psy kid” in others, due to his long, unkempt hair, hidden eyes, and odd habits.

It even got to the point where Soldier couldn’t sleep on anyone’s property because he would be actively fought off like a wolf or a bear.

His only pleasure was an old movie theater that, as he recovered from his lead poisoning, remembered the location of and frequently snuck into.

The only thing that played were romance movies - which, like many children, Soldier hated - and war movies, which he watched over and over again with starving eyes.

Because of these movies, a single memory from his mother’s house came to him. A woman, tall and muscular from hard labor, giving him a shiny badge to hold, asking him to be a strong soldier like his father.

And thus began his life-long dream of becoming a military officer.

He trained according to what he knew from the films…which was mostly running, doing jumping jacks, and occasionally rolling around in the mud.

This only served to distance him further from his fellow human beings, but he didn’t care. Soldier had a mission, and he was going to do it well.

But the biggest change was his hair.

He had started cutting it off with sharpened rocks, but he was always saving up coins he found for a “proper army cut.”

Finally, he had quite the collection in a dirty mason jar, and marched into the barber shop in his town to ask for a haircut.

The manager was appalled, and at first refused, but Soldier stood his ground.

“Civilian, I’ll have you know that by denying a soldier with a haircut, you are denying America one of its best fighters! I can’t curdle the enemy’s blood looking like a hippie!”

After a short yelling match that, of course, Soldier won, the manager decided it would be in his best interest to comply.

He walked out of that shop with no hair on his head, but a huge grin on his face. Next stop, the ranks.

Soldier went from draft office to draft office, applying for and being denied entrance to the army for his obvious lack of mental stability.

This is when the personal retelling ended, since Soldier became very upset by the memory of his recruitment failures, but Miss Pauling concluded that he just bounced from state to state until Mann Co. found him, quote, “sitting in an alleyway, eating army draft paperwork while sobbing uncontrollably.”

Engineer:

Engineer also never really talks about his childhood, but both Medic and Spy (Spy knows everything about everyone on the team) know that’s for a good reason.

He grew up in a trailer community near an almost ghost town in Texas.

His father was an abusive car mechanic with a mean streak a mile wide and a shop full of failed inventions. His mother wasn’t any better - she was bitter and reclusive, only really coming out of her room to pick a fight with her husband.

However, what Engie lacked in family, he more than made up for in friends.

He had a rag-tag, Rugrats-esque team of pals from all walks of life: Rhapsody, the daughter of a struggling porn star; Tom, the son of two farmers wiped out by blight; Cici, an adopted girl that could barely walk into her trailer without a black eye and a string of slurs; Quinn, the nervous child of a single mother that serves as guidance to the other kids; And Fred, who didn’t seem to have any family, but had become a greaser big brother to all of them.

Together, they explored the desert near the trailer park, pooled their resources to feed and support each other, and used their individual strengths to get through each day.

Engineer, whom everyone affectionately called “Big Dell,” snuck parts from his dad’s workshop for his own creations.

By the time he was twelve, he could make a small, running engine for the soapbox cars his friends frequently raced.

No toy, piece of clothing, glasses, or tool was out of his line of expertise.

One day, though, upon finding that some of his parts were missing, Engineer’s dad gave him a terrible beating that broke a few of his fingers and left a huge gash near his eye.

Since then, he refused to fix, make, or even touch a tool.

He wouldn’t tell anyone what happened, but they could make a pretty good guess, since they knew where the scraps and parts had come from.

The whole group was furious with Engineer’s dad - their Big Dell was funny, smart, and was more loving than every family member they had combined. Even Quinn was red in the face.

They wanted to break into his dad’s workshop and destroy all of his inventions, just to teach him a lesson, but they knew Engineer would take the fall for it.

Instead, they rummaged through trash cans, searched their toy chests, and looked under their trailers to find things Engineer could use.

They waited until his birthday to unveil the massive pile of supplies they had stowed away.

Engineer immediately dropped to his knees and began to cry, and everyone else dogpiled him for a huge hug.

As the creme de la creme, they gave him a pair of welding goggles - the same welding goggles he wears to this day, having modified them so they still fit his growing body.

With his healed fingers and renewed spirit, he made each of them a gift: a toy car for Rhapsody, a skull ring for Fred, a full set of candle wax crayons for Cici, a chewable necklace for Quinn so they wouldn’t chew on their collar, and a mini-planter for Tom.

But Engineer was given the greatest gift - confidence in his own abilities and that he can be and was appreciated for more than his services.

This gave him the drive to build bigger and better things, which his friends happily assisted in creating.

Engie’s best memories are with that motley crew of scrawny, beaten-up kids.

But, as he became a teenager, the abuse grew worse by the day.

He was often kept in his dad’s garage to fix cars in sweltering heat and with nothing to show for his work except threats of what would happen if a customer complained.

His mother finally grew bitter enough to pick on him, wondering aloud and pointedly if she had made a mistake by having him, then immediately contradict herself by wailing in his arms about how she’s the most awful mother in the world, and how she would be gone soon, and then nobody would have to deal with her anymore.

Engie grew more and more distant from his friends as they either moved out, ran away, or, in Rhapsody’s case, died.

He thought of just shutting the garage door and turning on a car a couple times, but he would always return to his memories of the hidden cave of goodies his friends had collected or the many inventions they had helped him build.

It just wasn’t worth it.

On a night when his depression and self-doubt was especially bad, he decided to build a personal invention for the first time in years - a small, robotic chicken made out of bent gears and empty oil cans.

He worked on it for a few weeks, but made the mistake of leaving it on a work table once it was finished.

Engie came to work the next morning with his dad ready to chew him out. But, before any finger could be lifted against his son, he was interrupted by a sweet older couple that was having their tires replaced.

“Now, Ethan, ain’t that just the cutest thing you’ve ever seen in your life?”

“Hm?”

“That there chicken statue over there! It looks like it could very well get up and start peckin’ for worms, don’tcha think?”

Engie looked at the couple, then at his dad, then at his chicken. He slowly lifted it from the table and turned the key.

It started to slowly lean forward, then took a few steps on it’s long, spring-loaded legs. The neck went down, and the chicken’s rusty beak began to scrape at the pavement.

Now he had the husband’s attention.

“Didja build that yourself, son, or did your daddy help ya?”

Engineer looked at his dad for a split second before answering.

“My own sweat ‘n blood, sir. My daddy says I should stop wastin’ time on ugly thing-a-ma-jigs an’ put my hands to somethin’ worth doin’.”

The man smiled. “Well, this ‘ugly thing-a-ma-jig’ shows real skill. We could use somebody like you, once we train you up a bit.”

“Now hold on a damn - !” his father interjected, but was silenced with a cold stare.

“We’ll put ya through a state-of-the-art school, then put ya straight inta the work force. You can build whatever you like…and you’ll have a lot better materials than rusty tin. Whaddaya say, son?”

Engineer just nodded, and the man grabbed his hand and shook it.

“We’ll keep in touch.”

Engineer left that trailer park at age seventeen, leaving his fuming father and drunken mother behind.

He only stopped to visit Rhapsody’s grave before embarking on his new life.

There is still a stone plate with a message carved into it next to the headstone. If you brush off the leaves and dig out the moss, you can see Engie’s parting words:

“A friendship with you and the rest of the gang is the greatest thing I ever built. -Big Dell”

[wolfflock]

Reactions to Superman and Lois S01E08

Lois seeing a therapist, damn, look at them going for the mental health angle again. Good for them. Also, Lois hurt someone!?! Oh God. panics

And they are talking to the kids about how they are??? About time. But then... they don't actually talk. 😫 And it's Jon WANTING TO HELP again. Baby, let them help you 😭

Isn't it weird that the RV is with the Kents? Like, shouldn't that be in evidence, protected by the government or military? 😅

Little AI bot: "Identify yourself" Lois: "Lois Lane" Bot: "Voice authentication completed. Good morning, Lois." Lois: "How do you know my name?"

Sweetie, YOU JUST TOLD THAT THING YOUR NAME 😂 "How do you know who I am" might have been a better question.

Sarah is getting some extracurricular activities, okay. Tying stage performance to her and Jordan's anxiety, nice. I can roll with this.

Okay, but why are the boys AND Clark stepping back from the football team? Like, what is their excuse? The Coach is just "okay, fair"?

"THE KRYPTONIANS ARE HERE" what?!?!?!

I'm sorry, but Tyler has such a soft boy look, even in the suit. How can you think he will turn on anyone? He's a puppy 😅

Fuck you, Sassy Clark, I love you so much 😂

"Learning that the man who's trying to kill your husband is your other husband from another world? It kind of feels like new ground to me."

Sooooo when is that talking about feelings with the boys thing coming? Because I'm still waiting.

I like how excited Kyle is about Sarah and her music career 🥺 Now I'm wondering what Kyle is regretting not doing.

Jon being sad about not meeting his sister, Nat, I am CREY 😭

The RV locked him in!!! IS THIS WHEN JON FINALLY SHOWS POWERS!?!? No, false alarm, Clark saves the day. 🙄

AND IT'S JON LOIS YELLS AT????? Poor kid just wants to help, and he gets shit? LET HIM FUCKING TELL HOW HE FEELS. LOIS WTF DON'T CALL HIM STUPID!!!??? Okay, Clark, sweetie, this is when you jump in, while the kid is there, and stop her from calling him stupid. Not after it's all been said and he runs away in tears. But at least he said he would talk to him. Which WE NEVER FUCKING SEE, GODDAMIT, WHY????

FUCK, and Kyle knows Lana didn't put his name down on purpose. Fuck, they were finally getting better as a couple.😫🥺

MISCARRIAGE?????? WHAAAAAAAAAAA. The name they picked for the baby is Natalie, right???? Fucking called it! Natalie gsgagahdhjaha

KRYPTONIAN DUDE in the army!!!

Okay, but Lois thinking they lost the baby because of her 😭😭😭🥺 Also, thank you, therapist, for saying it's so often genetic and not environmental, and that her doing regular stuff during is totally fine. It wasn't her fault.

I understand her but I really hope she has a proper heart to heart with Jon where she asks HIM about his feelings.

"The only person I have here" JONATHAN IS LONELY, give him friends!

Jordan helping out Sarah with the audition 🥺They are so cute playing music together and yet again, no one is talking to Jon because other things are more important

Okay but why didn't we see Clark talking to Jon?????? Fucking no one is comforting that kid on screen...????!

Clark going to the sector where weapons could literally kill him... yes 🥺 immediately gets blasted in the face with kryptonite aerosol

Another fight Superman doesn't win? YUP, saved by Irons, then by Lois. 🙈

Clark believes John Henry, YES. Hopefully John Henry will become Steel soon enough.

Kyle is failing as a dad. Again 😓 I hope that's rock bottom for him and he can start getting up from there because I'm getting tired of him fucking up over and over again with no improvement. Guess him chucking all the booze could be considered a start?

Jordan now has a new/old hobby, he's playing the piano. WHY DOES JON NOT HAVE SOMETHING LIKE THAT?!

When the twins were 18 months old, that's when the miscarriage happened? They made it sound like it was so recent. Those feelings have been festering inside Lois for 13 years!?!?!?

WHY DOES JON FORGIVE IMMEDIATELY??? LET HIM BE MAD ffs, he's a 14-year-old teenager, saying "I had already lost a kid and I didn't wanna lose another" shouldn't make a teen go "yeah, that's rough, I'm sorry" like she didn't call him stupid or said he would have been the only one to blame had he died.

Jordan Elsass is nailing it, damn. And Bitsie is right there with him. 💜

This was a very emotional episode, dealing with a lot of heavy stuff but they did it really well 🥺

[yozzers]

vexos hcs and random notes

ill update as i go, because yes i do update my masterlists every once in awhile, i should probably add them to my pinned... 

General

I sincerely hope they have a small living arrangement so I can inflict them with the pain of having to share almost everything with each other

I just want Shadow and Lync to share a bunk

Like to think that alongside Volt, Mylene and Lync were also recruited by Hydron

None of them officially joined until they were a bit older but probably trained to eventually join the Vexos; in the mean time they probably worked for Hydron or something like that

Volt recruited at 11; Lync a year later and Mylene following not long after (respectively 13, 8, 12 when they’re all gathered)

My reasoning to why Volt is patient with Lync’s antics and Mylene less so but doesn’t lash out as badly as you think she would around annoying little kids; grew up tgt moment

Spectra probably forced his way into the Vexos like “hiiii i see you dont have any Vexos members <3″ bcs obv he wasn’t using royal scientist dad privelages (i think, bcs Clay seems horrified abt Spectra being a Vexos and well, being Spectra) 

Shadow had an advantage of being a nobleman (in terms of him being accepted into the Vexos’ ranks)

the Vexos and their set of rules magent-ed on the fridge door or something and every time they go over a page they have to staple/tape a new page on

Joined in this order, Volt, Spectra, Shadow, Mylene, Lync, Gus 

Vexos being a “chance of death low but the chance is still there” type of job... they feel like idols girl help they are bakugan idol group who work for the government 

sorry the way the vestal kids talk about them... going to treat the Vexos like a kpop group now

Spectra Phantom / Keith Fermin 

[canon] son of a (royal?) scientist. definitely had it good and comfy

think it’d be REALLY funny if he already knew Shadow before he became Spectra, Shadow just doesn’t recognize him bcs of his stupid get up

throws childhood friends Shadow Spectra at you, just two weirdos 

Keith specifically keeps Shadow from ever meeting his sister which is why neither of them really recognize each other

Pre-Spectra; probably would’ve been really into bakugan biology and what not. Feels like the kind of person to talk w/ his dad about “do you think we could change their appearance if we messed w/ their mechanical ball form or would it not carry over to their released forms”

this mf looks like a biology major i feel it in my guts 

mom isn’t dead she just divorced Clay bcs he didn’t know how to balance family and work, good for her

probably lives in another city now, and it’s a bit more of a hassle to meet with her kids so they don’t see her as much but she is present in their lives (keep in contact in other ways) 

probably went a bit silent when Keith went missing

didn’t bleach his eyebrows bcs he didn’t want to harm the skin around there and he never thought he’d take the mask off around others, or about how stupid he’d look without the mask

please please please please draw him with his pink hair roots in his MS fit he should've grown out some of his bleached hair by then

daddy issues is truly the root of evil

Gus Grav

Just Some Gut background; middle class just living life

[canon?] was going on a route to being an “idol brawler”, because that’s kind of what their brawls felt like, since it was all purely for show with some competition. it felt less like a sport and more spectacle.

Gus wanting to be an idol brawler is actually such a funny string of words put together I’m making that a thing, if he didn’t join the Vexos he would’ve been an idol brawler

I like the Gus needs glasses hc (shoutout to @marmeladebois ‘s post on that) 

The hc of him being half human and Runo’s half brother is so good 

Cooks well but refuses to help cook fr the Vexos (unless Spectra specifically asks) --> that job is usually left to Volt

not related but reminds me heavily of yugioh vrain’s Spectre (or other way around... Gus was the blueprint) 

Shadow Prove

[handbook canon] a vestal nobleman 

has an older brother (oc; Lux- casual Haos brawler)

inferiority complex or whatever, the only thing he bested his brother in was Bakugan

the Prove family being typical prim proper noble family and forcing Shadow to be repressed is something, but the Proves having the same kind of wavelength as Shadow but in different variations is funnier. They’re just Like That.

Probably not a military family, does work closely with the government still; um im thinking somewhere under the Fermins but not by much

Considered running away from home several times 

Unwillingly has knowledge on Vestal classic literature/ music

hard clutching a wall whenever he wants to join in on discussions about it bcs he knows this stuff but no way is he going to make himself look like a nerd + hes not actually that interested

*debates you for fun and bcs i hate u <3* 

You know how he doesn’t take his job as a Vexos member super seriously, I wonder:

did his parents force him to be a Vexos since he wasn’t interested in the political side of his family and probably against taking up anything related to it, so they had him do something that’d still be beneficial to the family?  

joined to pursue a freedom he didn’t have as a nobleman and is now just taking it really easy?

has clowns > jesters debate with volt; obv he’s team clown, volt is team jester

incredibly irrelevant but if he was a human he’d be chinese, i’ve claimed him, prodigal son older brother and fail son dynamic is there 

Mylene Ferrow

While I like the idea of her being from a military family, I want to make her like Ling Wen (TGCF) in the sense she started from the bottom and climbed to the top... it fits her ambitious nature of grasping for more, she hasn’t reached what she considers the top just yet... 

[very Ling Wen specific but Mylene being put in jail fr crimes unknown to me and being recruited  by Hydron bcs she kicked serious ass is an entertaining thought] 

I like to think she’s closest to Shadow due to the fact he kind of forces his presence onto her so... not her choice in that matter. “annoying” to “endearingly annoying, you still aren’t getting special treatment though”

Ofc Volt and Lync are on the same level, but I think they all know when to give each other space so they’re more of a “we hold each other at a distance, but we’re aware of out closeness which is enough for us”

Then its Spectra and then Gus in the “closest to Mylene” scale; she just straight up hates Gus and it’s mutual

whoever made the “Mylene and Spectra were exes” hc I think it’s really funny so I’m adding it here 

terrible fashion, she’s the one who chose the outfits when she and Shadow went to earth; her fashionable armor look she usually has was designed with Volt’s help, she just voiced what she generally wanted 

Her red lipstick look was bcs she thought it’d make her look more serious/ intimidating (Volt and Lync approved, it rlly does work on her)

Shadow matches w/ her (via his red nails) after they get teamed up tgt several times bcs he thinks they’re basically the go-to duo matchup whenever they’re assigned work n it’d be cool

Very forthcoming about the fact she used to be considered a criminal and was from same rundown area Volt and Lync come from

She’s grateful she got out of jail but she still has no respect for Hydron and despite how much she tries to hide it she does make it pretty clear to him she doesn’t really like him

I wish I had more to say about her... but It’s all relationship esque, i think in general she’s enjoyable and good so what I want more out of her is character dynamics

Lync Volan

[eng dub] he has grandparents; whether they’re still alive or not is...? 

was part of the same area Volt is from

probably aware of each other but didn’t really know each other

you sound like you have mommy issues 

came from the same area as Volt, but lived further out and closer to those areas where there were some bits of nature left 

ill expand on why he got picked up by Hydron another day lazy rn

Volt Luster

[canon] he’s from an area that just straight up looks like yugioh 5ds’ Satellite, and Hydron was the one who pulled him out of there  

He says Hydron pulled him out of there when he was a kid? I’d assume at youngest it’d be like Hydron (8) and Volt (11)

has a neat collection of handmade jester dolls 

lot more artistic than he seems 

Had his guardian bakugan with him the longest; had Brontes even before he met Hydron

Would the others consider him weird fr having a talking Bakugan that acted friendly with him n cracked jokes? 

[chronicbatfictioner]

Exchanges and Compromises - Chapter 16

Just as Tim predicted, a week later, Bruce Wayne requested to meet him at work. While the request itself - sent through proper channels that is Tim's secretary - it specifically requested Tim by name. It had made a little stir with the other members of the company's Board of Directors, as they all thought that 'little Timmy' shouldn't be meeting the 'big and scary' Bruce Wayne by himself. "What if he manipulated Tim into a merger??" some had asked. It wasn't until Tim assured them that he would not make any corporate decisions without prior consulting - and stating that he 'doesn't like Bruce Wayne at all. He's a doof,' - that the rest of the BOD relented.

Bruce came in accompanied by Alfred Pennyworth, the family's butler. Bane, Tim knew, was accompanying Dr. Thomas and Mrs on a trip overseas. For some reason, the Waynes did not promptly send Bane away, even after he literally and physically got tossed out of the Wayne Manor's living room's bay windows - courtesy of Jason - when he tried to attack Damian.

"If this is a business meeting, Bruce, I would appreciate it if you wait for the rest of my BOD members to come up here," Tim hinted.

"No, no, no it's not..." Bruce seemed a little thinner than when Tim last saw him in person, a little disheveled and worse for wear, which would be odd given the fact that Alfred was right by his side. No self-respecting butler would have allowed their masters to leave the house looking like Bruce then - Tim knew, his dad had one since Tim was very young. Tim might not opt to keep the butler when his parents passed, but he knew the tenets fairly well.

Yet, Alfred just looked mildly disapproving but had walked into the office in the same eager speed as Bruce did.

Tim briefly wondered to whom Alfred's loyalty lies.

"I need... I need to know that there are no recording devices in here," Bruce stated.

Tim took a few blinks to choose an answer, "I'm not of the habit of having recording devices in my office. You, however, came with a tracking device," Tim pointed out.

"What?? I've left my cellphone in the car! Is it... can it listen? Record?" The shock on Bruce's face was more prevalent than when Damian came out of nowhere and called him 'father.'

Tim checked his monitoring system, courtesy of Harper Row, which can detect the type and model and broadcast type of any gadget and displayed it on Tim's cellphone. "No, it just tracks your location and is GPS-based. Why...?"

"Oh thank god..." Bruce slumped in his seat. "Alfred, can you make sure that no one would come here until I'm... until we're done?"

"Certainly, Master Bruce," Alfred bowed lightly and walked out the door.

"Wow, okay... whatever this is has got to be... better be important. I mean, you sent your butler out the door..." Tim commented.

"It is. It's about..." Bruce still hesitated. "Look, I don't usually do this. I don't know why. But you, your work-- your company and its line of business would make you-- would get you in touch with your end-clients, right? The common people who used social security benefits to get their meds, Doc Leslie Thompkins' patients and all that..."

He paused, so Tim shrugged. "I do try to personally meet my end-client to figure out what kind of medications they would need more; and Dr. Thompkins is one of my clients, too, whose assessment I can quite trust. You're not planning to get into the generic meds business also, are you?"

"No, no, no... This has nothing to do with WE. I mean... it should be, in the long run. But in the short run... Look, this would sound odd. But when you talk to your clients, have you ever hear of the Birds of Prey?" Bruce asked. Tim studied the man before him for a good long while. Before he could answer, Bruce continued, "my cousin Kate... she has just gotten kicked out of the military academy. She said she thought of donning a costume and joined the Birds of Prey to fight crime, so she could feel useful again, you know? I told her they're criminals, vigilantes. She said I should go down to meet the common people of Gotham and ask them what they think of the Birds of Prey. And then I thought of you."

"Yeeea... I'm not following..." Tim feigned - but only partially. He could already tell where the direction of Bruce's conversation was trying to take.

"Do you think they're criminals or heroes? I mean, does anybody ever mention them doing like, extortion, murder, stuff like that...?" Bruce insisted.

"Are you like, worried for your cousin Kate or... is there anything of significance that I should know about?" Tim finally decided to just bite the bullet and ask right out. There is no recording device in his office, all right. But his tiepin doubles as a camera that would send to Barbara as soon as Tim turned it on. And he had turned it on the instant Bruce walked in.

"As far as I've heard, the Birds of Prey -- ooh, I hate the pun, but it's right there-- preyed on criminals. Those who take advantage of the weak and all that jazz. I've experienced their... service if you will; when my delivery trucks were hijacked by some supposedly-metahuman group. They stopped the hijacking and arrested the group. They even found out that the group had an inside man right here." he elaborated.

The case was widely publicized, after all, when three trucks in succession that contained generic medications to be delivered to Gotham General and several free clinics were hijacked. The short version was the Birds of Prey stopped the hijacking as it was happening, then the glorious GCPD arrested those men, and they also discovered the inside man within Drake Industries - one of the Directors who had planned to jump ship while sinking DI along with it.

In reality, it had been Tim's work. The Birds - Dinah and Helena - helped with physically stopping the hijacking; while Tim dug out the paperwork and discovered the traitor. Barbara had then sent the evidence to the police, along with video footage of the man talking to a competitor of the company.

"Oh yeah, I've heard of the case. So you don't think they're bad people?"

Tim slow-shrug, just for the sake of dramatization. "I won't say they're totally good people - I mean, them hijackers looked like they've gone 12 rounds with Ted Grant the boxer. And they supposedly have like, superpowers or something. But I'm not gonna say they're bad people - they knew exactly where those shipments were going and who'd be using them, and they worked hard to stop the hijacking, you know. Financially speaking, DI might be able to weather like, a dozen hijacking. But for those people who needed the meds..." he let the sentence trailed for Bruce to fill in the blanks. He knew that the man has the same metaphorical bleeding heart as Martha Wayne, his mother.

"Okay..." Bruce actually looked a little more alive after the explanation. "Do you know how to contact them? I need to ask them for help."

"Oh, wow... Heh. It's not like I have them on my speed-dial... I think they maybe have an inside man in GCPD? They showed up right after I made the report of the third hijacking." Tim hedged, internally cursing himself for not finishing his project of the Birdcall app. The cellphone app would have made it easier for anyone to call the Birds or to alert the Birds of crimes. Alas, the whole issue with Jason and Damian's appearance has delayed its development. Tim made a mental note to assign Harper on it.

Bruce looked disappointed. "I see... then I will need you to relay this to the GCPD for me, Tim, can I trust you? I mean, it's... crucial," he said.

"What is this about, the kid and his guards?" Tim tested, just for kicks.

"Oh, no. The kid... Damian and his guards were actually a kind of reprieve in the household. They made sure that everything would be... proper and in order." Bruce smiled thinly. "It's about Bane. I have evidence that he has murdered a lot of people."

"Oh my," Tim gasped earnestly, really. Jason and Dick, and even Damian, have reported that aside from Bane's obvious animosity against them, he had tried nothing - yet. They were also the ones who told Tim that Bane has placed nanotech trackers on all three Waynes' clothing. Unfortunately, they were not able to actually snoop around - as there would always be one of the Waynes in the house.

Bruce handed him a small USB drive. "It's all here. Please, Tim. I mean, before this, I couldn't care less if that brute would leech all of the family's fortune. But now I have a son to think of... Talia might have made sure he's physically well-guarded. But Bane is a long-con kind of person and is really patient. He came to Gotham specifically for us after so many years. He..." he paused. "I believed my father when he told me that he had not betrayed my mother. But without a shred of physical evidence, there is nothing either of us can do. And how are you going to ask for a DNA sample from someone like Bane?"

"Spoon? Toothbrush? Hairbrush?"

"He's bald," Bruce replied dryly. "I'm not even sure he'd showered. Alfred said his bathroom has always remained tidy."

"Ew. No. Okay. Uh... I can't promise you that any bird would come your way, but I'll figure out a way to let this fall to the right hands, yeah?" Tim replied, putting the USB drive into his suit jacket - where Barbara could remotely access it through the circuitry in said pocket.

"Okay," Bruce looked relieved. "And now, since Bane is tracking me and I'm sure he knows what this building is, how about we come up with a stupid cover story?"

A proposal landed in Tim's sight just as Bruce finished talking. He grinned mischievously. "How about we collaborate to expand Leslie Thompkins' Free Clinic? Everybody's happy, and neither of us won't lose sleep over it."

"You'd have made a great corporate spy, do you know that?" Bruce grinned back, looking a thousand times happier than when he walked in.

"Oh yeah, but I already have my own ways to get secrets," Tim winked as he handed the proposal over. "Have a look at this, and let me know what you think. I think we can spend the discussion over lunch. Would Alfred mind if we ask him to acquire our lunches?"

"I'm sure he would be delighted if he hasn't already..." Bruce replied, getting up and opened the door. Alfred stood there with several paper bags in his hands. "He has already, it seemed," Bruce reported.

"Indeed, sirs. It is most rude to visit an associate without bringing anything. I daresay a quick lunch is sufficient for you, Master Timothy?" Alfred replied as he entered and set up the contents of the bags - several types of sandwiches and salad mixes.

"Oooh, more than sufficient, thank you, Alfred!"

"Not a problem, Sir. Please indulge, gentlemen." Alfred smiled. "Might I remind you, Master Bruce, that the Doctor and Mrs. Wayne shall return in two hours? It would be prudent to conclude your discussion by then." he hinted.

"Definitely, Alfred. We're just talking about what needs to be done to expand a hospital." Bruce grinned triumphantly at him, showing him the proposal. "Mother would be delighted at this."

[gender-critical-analytical]

not to vent on main, but,,,

tw: mentions of rape and child abuse

I'm moving out of state in a month or so, which is kind of a big deal for me, as I'm still technically a minor. I'm moving across the country with my room mate, who just turned 18, and until we both have jobs and have built enough credit to rent an apartment, he and I are going to be staying with some family of his while he starts college. Before moving officially, I'm taking a brief trip to Florida so his family can actually meet me, and vice versa, and to really get a more full picture of what I'm walking into. I'm not worried too much in regards to his family's opinion of me, they've all been rather receptive to the idea of me moving with him, and his nana (who we'll most likely be staying with) insists that rent won't be an issue and she's happy to have me (partially because my family took him in after his mother's passing; his father is verbally, physically, and psychologically abusive, and my room mate couldn't stand living with him anymore. There was an empty room in my house after my little brother moved in with his dad, and I convinced my family to let him stay with us. None of his family have acknowledged this outright, but I have a hunch that the whole situation has something to do with their immediate kindness towards me, not that I'm complaining).

However, with the move date moving closer and closer, the reality of the situation is starting to really sink in, and I've decided to make plans with a lot of people I know so I can say proper goodbyes, catch up, or even just establish whether or not we'll still have contact; whether I should text them when I'm in town for visits, that type of thing. I think it will be good for me to see familiar faces one last time, and I think having a sense of closure will be good for me. At the very least, it lets me catch up with a lot of people and find out what I've missed over the past year, or however long it's been since I saw them. There aren't too many people I'll wind up making plans with, at least not from my school, since I got booted from my friend group for being a radfem. I have one longstanding friend who I know heard about what happened, and for a while I thought she simply wasn't ever going to talk to me again, but just a few days ago she hit me up and we talked, and it turns out she had just been really caught up in her job and her family life. She made no mentions of the drama at school, and we just chatted and reminisced. She and I both agreed that we should go out for dinner before I leave, and that she wants to keep in contact. There's also a few people from outside my friend group that I went to school with I want to say goodbye to.

There's S, who my room mate talked to a while back. Apparently the word of my exile hasn't reached her, and she took my lack of communication as anger, which I feel bad for now (though she actually might have heard about what happened and simply chose not to make comment when I think about it. She's a detransitioner, and one of the biggest dramas in our eighth grade year was when she bound her chest too tight and passed out outside of the building between classes and had to be carried inside because she couldn't breathe. Makes me wonder if she might have some likeminded thoughts).

There's also R, who's detrans in the opposite direction. He used to be a really violent dude, but he's gotten a lot better about it. He's had a rough home life (not to make excuses) and loves his mother, but hates his father (who has abused both him and his mother physically. I don't know why I meet so many people with terrible traumas, it really just gets worse from here). I see him taking his mother's side as a good sign in regards to his character though, and I'd actually like to say goodbye to him. He admitted that he thought he was trans just because he likes the idea of painting his nails and doing feminine things, and has since decided that he was wrong, and after a while came out as bisexual. He's also taken a lot of steps to stop being loud and violent (he was the type of guy who would punch walls and storm out of the classroom in freshman year) and has actually put effort into learning to calm down on his own (I flipped out on him when he kept calling or texting me when something was going on, which was kind of mean, but he was just constantly sending me updates on terrible shit that I couldn't help with and it was stressing me out) and solving his own issues. So I agreed to come chill with him and his dogs for a bit before leaving.

Aside from them, I have some work friends I want to make plans with. I've quit my job and made a full human resources report, because that place is a shithole and I want to go out with a bang, and it just doesn't feel right to take off without seeing some of the cool people I met one last time.

I intend to visit my little brother. I'll have to text him personally and make plans without my mom finding out, because he has her blocked, and I know he won't see me if he thinks she's involved. he moved out almost two years ago and stated that he didn't want to see my mom again until she was sober, or trying to be. My mom has tried bribing him with gifts to see her, and she keeps getting increasingly more frustrated when it doesn't work. She's also started to resent me for deciding to move, and from telling her that when my room mate and I have our own place, she won't be welcome there unless she's been sober for at least six months. I don't know how seeing my brother is going to go, it's been a long time, and the last time I saw him (around christmas, I went with my mom to drop off her bribes, and he came outside to see me. He sounds completely different now, and he's gotten taller than me) it was very overwhelming. I'm still going to arrange to see him somehow, and hopefully that will go well. I can't imagine all of the things we'll need to catch up on.

And, lastly, I want to arrange to see my cousins. I only thought to visit them in the past day or so, as they're sort of estranged when it comes to my side of the family. They're my mom's sister's kids, and my mom and my aunt don't speak anymore, so I haven't seen them in over 4 years. The family drama started after a holiday party. My aunt is married to an ugly piece of shit man (and, of course, he's a military guy) who's very controlling over her. He raped my mom at the holiday party his wife threw, and when my mom eventually got the courage to tell my aunt what he did, she didn't believe her and sided with her husband.

My aunt has two sons, my cousins G and R. I'm the oldest child in my family, and up until my little sister was born, the only girl. My cousin G is about a year younger than me, and my cousin R is about 4 years younger. Both my aunt and uncle very, very clearly have a favorite between their children (they both favor R) and even when I was little, I was aware that my cousin G was mistreated, although subconsciously. He had a tendency to get upset and cry so hard he would throw up, and he was easily freaked out by loud noises or quick movements. Although I haven't thought about my cousins much in the past few years, I recently stumbled upon my aunt's instagram, and her most recent picture was of my cousins holding their dog (a present from my grandmother that my uncle took credit for. My family had two puggles who had puppies, and we gifted the sweetest puppy to my cousin R as a birthday present. My aunt has always disliked animals, but both G and R had expressed during a visit that they desperately wanted a pet). I hadn't realized just how big my cousins had gotten, and it made me miss them. Along the way, I started to remember just how bad it used to be for G, and I started to wonder how he's been over the years. My biggest worry is that the whole 'cycle of abuse' thing might happen to him. That he'll become aggressive because that's what he grew up with, but from what I can tell he still seems a lot like he was when he was younger. But, knowing his father, things probably haven't gotten much better. His dad is a very aggressive man, who even hit me once before my mom put a stop to it. I sat too close to R when he was opening his birthday presents, and my uncle grabbed me by my hoodie, dragged me backwards, and slapped me. My mom took him into another room and threw a shit fit, but when I think back on it, it definitely gives some perspective on what that household was like, and why G cried so often.

He's still a minor like I am, but the way I figure, by time I'm fully settled in Florida, he'll be old enough to leave the house for however long he wants, and I think that after giving my cousins my socials and my number, I'm going to let him know that he's always welcome to come visit and stay as long as he needs.

long ass vent over

[ourplaceinthecosmosphff]

Chapter 1. The Case Against Fairytales

'his eyes across a room tangled up in her imagination they had spent a lifetime together by the time he said hello' atticus

My brother died the same way he came into the world: silent, eyes closed, changing my life as I knew it. 

We spent our whole lives trying to convince anyone we could that we were as regular as they were, but here's the first fundamentally different thing when you are royal: the meaning of the word ‘everyone’. 

In our case, we usually mean anyone in the country, most of the international media, and at least a sizeable majority of the world's population. It's not that everyone knew us... it's just that enough people did. Enough for it to be easier to call them 'everyone'. 

When my brother Louis was born, mom had been rushed to the hospital in the middle of a Sunday afternoon. The press was notified, they promptly set up camp at the hospital entrance, and the people started prayer campaigns to the safe arrival of their new prince and heir. Everyone rejoiced at his arrival. I remember, I was there. 

At three years-old, it felt like everyone was every single person in the planet. It was mostly just the people in our country; to everyone else, his birth was a quick, short line of announcement, maybe some notice to the fact that the newborn baby boy was taking his older sister's place as heir, and not much else. 

When he died, everyone was every single person in the planet. The second thing fundamentally different when you are a royal: from a very early age you must learn that tragedy sells more than joy. And in any constitutional monarchy country, a royal family is merely another commodity.

A few people talked about my early graduation from University. A lot more people talked about my boyfriend breaking up with me. There were a few articles about my little sister's victory at the ice-skating junior final. When she fell on her face in front of the cameras while attempting a risky move, she went viral. When my brother came into our lives, a few people took notice. 

When he left us, everyone did.

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

I, too, am a victim of culture appropriation. Since the dawn of time, from the moment humankind developed communication skills, there has been storytelling. And for the past few thousands of years most stories that parents tell their young as they tuck them into their blankets every night, have been about my culture. As far as that goes, it is not the most damaging kind of culture appropriation. But I have a duty today, and I will not shy away from it. I am sorry to say I must, and will, shatter the beautiful image of fairytales that kids have been fed for so many years now. 

I know what you are thinking – oh, boo-hoo, the poor little princess girl; is life too difficult in your beautiful palace with all the money a person could ever need? And yes, I know. I am not a victim. The same colonialism that placed my ancestors, and therefore, me, in the position of privilege and power I am in today has created many more actual victims around the world. But that is also why I must tell this story the way it was always meant to be told: truthfully. With all the weird, awkward, awful, bits and pieces that fairytales tend to skip. 

Fairytales would, for instance, skip straight to the grand, majestic welcome ceremony between the Queen of the United Kingdom and the King of Savoy in a sun floored courtyard with guards on tall, furry black hats strutting around, standing in a red-carpeted dais, with a handsome prince making eyes at me. But in my story, we will start with the train. 

That’s right, in modern fairytales you don’t take a lovely carriage ride to a neighboring kingdom. You take a train there – a commercial train, if you can, because modern times beg for demonstrating to the masses that the Monarch isn’t throwing money around. We were trying to highlight the easy routes of access to our neighbors to the northeast, and so we took the ferry across the Celtic Sea to Hugh Town Island and from there, Eurostar number 2 train that made a quick stop in Penzance, UK, and then went straight to London. 

The train ride isn’t comfortable – even if you have a first class private car. It’s bumpy and crowded and a terrible place to spend three straight hours. On that particular morning, I was in our car with my father, his household secretary Auguste, my private aide, Cadie, and a few other staff members. 

In fairytale world, when a princess does not look the part, there is usually the appearance of a fairy godmother who sings a nice song and magically transforms her into a Proper Princess™. There is no fairy godmothers when you are a real princess- real ones, sure, but they are not magical-, but you do learn from an early age what a Proper Princess™ should look like, act like, and sound like, and god forbid you don't. 

In the train that day, I heard all that was keeping me from being Proper™ from Auguste, who was in many ways the exact opposite of a fairy godmother. He had all the menacing authority of one, with none of the charm. He also didn’t have wings or a sparkly wand; he had greying short hair, and thin, small, reading glasses that he always pushed down to the tip of his nose to look above, which made me wonder what was the point of the glasses at all.

Before our arrival, I had to change my lipstick, which was too dark, my dress, which was too short at the daring height of above my knees, my shoes, which were open toed and therefore wrong, and finally, make sure to brush my hair once more.

My parents never subscribed to the idea that we were forbidden to do anything. They were raised on stern rules and heavily traditional costumes and wanted their kids to live more freely. So, growing up, they revolutionarily told us that we were free to be whoever we wanted to be – in private. In public, we had an obligation to be Proper™. After all, as I heard repeatedly growing up: royals don’t make mistakes, we make history; and history remembers.

So, yes. I, a grown, 25 years-old, law-school graduate, bar-approved acquisitions lawyer, changed out of my dress into a more proper one because my dad asked. Because as a princess, you’re never just yourself; you’re the country. And if your country comes from a Roman Catholic tradition, your hemlines must reflect that, no matter what century it is.

The country in question was just to the south of the United Kingdom, west of France, a large island named Savoie. The English call it Savoy, which is how it was pronounced anyway. It was originally populated by the Irish, but over the years it was conquered by the English, the Spanish, and the Portuguese until finally, in the 13th Century, it was conquered by France. It was bigger than Ireland, but smaller than England, and one of the biggest GDPs in the world, with a population of 49 million. Under the reign of Louis XV, however, France lost most of its possessions after its defeat in the Seven Years' War, and to secure Savoy, the king sent part of the court to live there and to reign in his stead as his emissaries. Louis XV's reign grew weak, including his ill-advised financial, political and military decisions, which discredited the monarchy and arguably led to the French Revolution 15 years after his death. France dealt with its dissatisfaction by revolting, Savoy however, secluded away at sea, decided to declare independence before the Revolution had even taken steam. The political leaders of the Island reached an agreement with the king's emissary, Prince Louis, the highest ranking monarch on the island; in exchange for support for the severance of all connection to France, he was then made King Louis I of Savoy. The Royal House of Savoy grew steady and strong by protecting its people and assuring them a freer, better life than the one they'd known under French reign.

A few years later, I sat on that train in front of the current King of Savoy. My father. 

“You look beautiful, Maggie.”

“Thank you.” 

“The other dress was beautiful as well. Just not for today.”

“Mm-hm.”

A moment of silence went by. I picked up my phone and checked my emails. There was one from Sophie with the subject ‘urgent!’ so I clicked in it feeling my heart race.

It read,

‘Marie, I’m sorry to bother you on your days off, but the depositions got moved up to Monday and we can’t find the notes on the manager deposition, you were the one who did them. Is there any chance you have a copy and if so can you send them to me? Enjoy England! XO Soph’

Sighing, I put down my phone and quickly found my laptop on my suitcase. I turned it on as I replied to Sophie’s email to tell her to expect my deposition notes shortly. 

“You know if we could I’d let you wear whatever you wanted.” Dad added as I logged into my computer.

“I do.”

I moved quickly through my folders realizing the most recent update on my notes hadn’t been uploaded to the cloud. Sighing, I logged on to the train WiFi and checked the storage service online. It didn’t connect.

“Honestly, darling, you look even prettier with this dress.”

I looked up, mentally wondering if the previous versions of the notes would be useful.

“This isn’t about the dress.”

I realized, then, that it wouldn’t matter anyway because I wouldn’t be able to send them to Sophie without internet. I looked out the window, realizing perhaps too late that we were in the tunnel, underwater. Of course there wasn’t internet.

“Well, what is it about?” Dad asked, putting his book marker back inside the page he was on and laying down the book to give me his full attention.

“Work, papa. I have a job.”

“Yes, and it’s your day off. Maybe you should try and turn off from work for the next few days?”

I smiled down to my computer, “maybe this is a conversation for another time.”

Dad adjusted his posture, looking a little taller, and looked around the room to Cadie and Auguste sitting in a booth nearby with our private hair and make-up artist, and dad’s footman, and personal aide.

“Excuse me, everyone, would you be so kind as to give us the room? Or, uh, the car? There is a little lounge outside, isn’t there?”

“Of course, sir.” Auguste said, jumping up immediately with the aide, and Cadie and Cass, the make-up artist, followed.

After they had left and closed the door behind them, I looked at my father. He lurched back in his seat and smiled at me. 

“Go on,” he said. “If you don’t scream I don’t think they’ll hear us.”

“Why would I scream?”

“I don’t know, Maggie. But I don’t know why you would be so passive aggressive, either. Can you tell me?”

“What do you want, dad?” 

In truth, I added the ‘dad’ at the end of the sentence to make it sound less aggressive, but as he stared at me, I felt uncomfortable not explaining myself.

“I’m here, aren’t I?”, I asked, tiredly. “I’m here, wearing a proper, long, not-slutty dress-“

“No one here used that word-“

“My toes will be perfectly hidden away when we arrive, I have hidden my ugly, evil legs under some stockings-“

“Really, Maggie, no one said your legs were-“

“My make-up is light and my hair is simple and non-threatening. I know not to smile too much or too little and to let the adults lead the conversation”, I said, the word ‘adults’ dangling bitterly from me lips. “And not to walk ahead of you, but always behind, taking your lead.”

“You make it sound so stiff and calculated.”

“And I have taken time off of work to be here.” I said. “All other Junior Associates are working overtime and through weekends to cash in as many billable hours as possible to be promoted to Full-time Associates, and instead I took off four days to travel with my dad.”

“Work, for work!”

“So, again, what do you want? How else am I not meeting your expectations?”

I spoke calmly, gently, and as low a volume as I could just to confront his joke not a minute before about how if I didn’t scream the others wouldn’t hear us. I made sure to be as poised and contained as I could. He heaved a sigh.

“I’m sorry you had to take time off work.” 

I waited, as he stared in his usual lovingly, patient way. I smiled, more as a peace offering than genuinely. 

“You know very well they won’t fire you.”

Still, I was quiet, smiling as sincerely as I could. 

“And I know that isn’t fair, but there’s nothing I can do about it. So tell me something I can do and I will.”

“Okay.” I said, nodding. “I want your honesty. Don’t treat me like a child you need to protect, don’t patronize me. All I want is an honest answer.”

He adjusted himself in his seat and cleared his throat. “Alright. Go on.”

“Why am I here, papa?”

He blinked, seemingly confused. I could tell he expected a harder question.

“Your- Because your mother sprained her ankle?” he answered, still unsure. “What- do you mean philosophically? Why are any of us here, really? I don’t understand.”

I tried not to smile. “I mean I have a life. I am not your heir. Louis is your heir, it is his job to help you when mom has emergencies.”

He sighed deeply, finally arriving at the same page where I was.

“Your brother is in school.” He said. “And you are our oldest child. So, I’m sorry if it disrupts your life, Maggie. But you are needed.”

“And after school?” I asked “His graduation is in 6 months. Are you telling me that after he graduates university and moves back home, when he is starting his career, maybe moving to the capital, when you and mom have an emergency, you will call him up instead of me?”

He gave the table a sad smile. “If that is your wish, yes.”

“So that’s all, then?” I confirmed, suspiciously. “He moves back after graduation and you will give me the space I need?”

He smiled. “Is that what you want, then?” it wasn’t a confirmation. It was a tone of accomplishment. Of finally realizing what was it that I wanted, as if this entire conversation that’s what he had been trying to find out.

“I went to school for years. I interned for a year. I studied hard for the bar exams in America and Savoy. Yes, dad, I want to use the degree I worked hard for.”

“Okay, then. We will give you space.” He said. “Space from us, to be who you want to be. To be normal.”

I rolled my eyes, smiling, slightly amused at his dramatics. “That is not what I meant.”

“But it is accurate.”

“Papa...” I sighed.

“I’m just saying, sweetheart, I understand.” He insisted. “It’s why you went to America for University, it’s why you are based on the capital now. As long as you’re too close to us, you can’t live a normal life.”

“I can never live a normal life. We are not normal.”

“But you wish to try.”

I chuckled. “How?! You said it yourself, they will never fire me. My firm, I mean. Wherever I am, I am never just me and my degree and my career. People look at me and see you, as if I am you. I am their King. I am the Royal Family of Savoy. They’ll never take me seriously or afford me the same opportunities as everyone, because I am not everyone.”

He nodded, slowly, then sighed. “Yikes. You’re right. That sounds tough.”

“And I’m the passive aggressive one?”

“Job security and the attention of your bosses. That sounds awful.”

“Papa...”

“You want the space to dedicate yourself to your career without us pulling you away for royal work. Is that it? Okay. You got it. As soon as your brother is back from University, I will make sure you’re only needed for official events, and only if you’re not working.” 

He sounded serious now. Sincere as when he delivered the End of Year address every Christmas, which was meaningful. Getting dad to afford me the same seriousness he afforded his subjects was as much seriousness as I could get from him. Still, there was no mistaking the sadness in his eyes. 

“Even before his affirmation ceremony?” I asked, trying to sniff around for a trick.

The affirmation ceremony was meant to make clear to the country that an heir to throne had the seal of approval of the Monarch, and it usually happened when the heir was 21 years of age, to signify the Monarch believed in the event of a tragedy, the heir was ready to rule.  In modern times, it meant an heir was ready to start working as a full-time royal. Though my brother was 22, the family had decided to wait until he had graduated university to do his ceremony. 

Dad took longer than I wished, but finally, he nodded. “Yes. I promise.”

If you’re paying attention, then you might have noticed the math doesn’t add up. How come my 22 years-old brother is the heir when I said I am 25, the oldest child? Well, as with most fairytales, as well as with most of life, the problem is the patriarchy. For the thing is, though I was older than Louis by three years, because I was born a girl, he became the heir when he was born. So, at three, I went from future-Queen to lower ranking older sister. 

It wasn’t unusual, my father himself had two older sisters who were lower than him and his brothers in the line of succession. As a result we had older cousins who we outranked. I cared about all this at 25 the same as when I was 3: not at all. 

Absolute primogeniture law was passed in Savoy when I was 5, propelled by my birth and the new times. It was, however, not retroactive. This meant the law was changed for future births, not past ones, so all girls born after the law came into effect would be heirs in their own right, no matter how many brothers they got after, and all girls born before would go into history as having missed it by ‘just a bit’.

Louis and I, though, didn’t sit around having long discussions about who would be a better ruler. There has never been an instance in which we were arguing and I yelled something like, “first you stole my throne and now you stole my cookies! I hate you!”. For us this was just a little footnote in the family tree. A little fun fact to tell our future kids one day. And although I couldn’t remember what it felt like, I always knew it was much better not having to be the Crown Princess of Savoy.

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

When we finally reached Penzance, the small town in the tip of the isle of England where sat the second Eurostar station, I was able to finally connect to the internet. My father left our train car to walk about with his security because he wanted to witness the new English policy of installing a check-point at the entry due to the immigrant crisis – a huge part of why we were there. While he did that, I sent Sophie my notes on the deposition, and answered some messages.

There was one from Louis, my aforementioned brother:

‘are you close?’

And one from our baby sister, Lourdes:

‘what do you think??!!!!!!!!’, with an attachment of two videos.

And, lastly, one from my mother, Her Majesty Queen Amelie-Elyse, back home with a sprained ankle.

‘Hope all is well! Let me know when you’re with your brother. Don’t forget to let your hair down before leaving the train!’

She didn’t mean it in a philosophical, have fun kind of way. She literally meant let my hair down, apparently it softened my features. 

I replied to her with a selfie, with my hair properly brushed and down, in preparation for the arrival in London, which was close now. Let Louis know we were almost there. And sent a quick, uncommitted ‘woah!’ to my sister, without opening her attachments. They were always the same: videos of her practicing. There was only so much ice skating I could watch in a lifetime.

My mom answered my text with, “why did you change your dress?!”

I sighed, getting ready to justify this decision as well, already anticipating she would argue that the fascinator wouldn’t go with this one dress, so I told her I already had another fascinator standing by. 

Growing up with fairytales they don’t tell you about the little annoying details. Characters who are annoying usually are the villains, the ones the Princess escapes from, usually saved by the prince. They don’t tell you sometimes, actually a lot of the times, the people you love can be equally as annoying. 

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

When we arrived at the station in London, I was already wearing my disc fascinator in a light shade of blue matching both my lace dress, this time reaching all the way to my ankles, and eyes. We were quickly greeted by the Savoyen Ambassador to England in front of the press, and escorted into government cars towards Whitehall. 

The large parade ground was a traditional courtyard in central London that usually housed ceremonies related to the military and the royal family. When we arrived, the day finally was washed in a feeling of ceremony. 

The place was lined neatly with military guards, security barricades and the Scotland Yard Police kept watchers and paparazzi at bay, the press lined up inside to have the best view of all involved. As we arrived, the traditional 41 gun salute was already sounding on. A military band was playing. People waved and yelled hello as we drove inside. I suddenly knew what to do, as if my body had the gene for it. This was one thing that was definitely genetic.

I stepped out of the car delicately, smoothly, knees together like a proper lady, polite smile on my lips in thanks to the guard who saluted as I left. My father greeted a handler who escorted us to the front of all the lined guards, where three structures had been set up: one large one in the middle, with a red-carpeted stage and a large roof, the British Royal Coat of Arms in the center with the British flag to its right and the Savoy flag to its left. Decorative flowers and elegant plants here and there. Two smaller, simpler structures to both of its sides. Inside all of them, men and women in formal suits and ties and knee-length, appropriate dresses and hats. 

We walked the grovel path to the larger structure as the band played and the press, lined up in front of this platform, took their photographs. My father climbed the steps first, quickly being received by the small, elder, lady in a lavender overcoat and matching hat, impressive set of pearls dangling from her neck. She smiled as he lowered himself down to kiss both her cheeks warmly. 

The queen then looked at me and I approached, just as our handler told Her Majesty:

“And may I present, Her Royal Highness, Princess Marie-Margueritte of Savoy.”

I lowered myself in a curtsy, and as she extended her hands to hold mine, I also kissed her cheeks, trying to avoid knocking her hat with mine. 

“Welcome.” She smiled. “I hope the ride was forgiving.”

“Very comfortable.” My father told her. “Always surprising how fast it is.”

“Yes. You’ll remember, I’m sure, the Prince of Wales.” She said, walking us to the center of the platform where another two men awaited.

My father and the Prince of Wales greeted each other warmly, they were more used to running in the same circles – royal weddings here and there, international summits and meetings, or whatever it is they do. 

“We’re so glad to have you.” He told my father. 

“I don’t know if you’ve met my daughter, Princess Marie-Margueritte.”

Smiling, I curtsied to the Prince of Wales as he held my hand, before kissing my cheeks. 

“You brighten this day, Your Royal Highness.” He told me, before stepping closer to add, in a whisper. “Sorry you have been dragged to this.”

I giggled, “I’m happy to be here, sir.”

Straightening up, he noticed my father was already greeting the man behind him. “Hopefully we won’t bore you too much. I have tried to bring someone else closer to your age. Have you met my son?”

The handler didn’t know it, but there were no introductions necessary. And yet, all I could do was smile politely as we were introduced to:

“His Royal Highness, Prince Harry of Wales.”

I wondered, for a moment, if he would acknowledge that we already knew each other. 

“It’s a pleasure, Your Royal Highness.” Holding my hand in his, he brought my knuckles to his lips. 

The answer was, obviously, no. So I lowered myself again in a curtsy as an excuse to avert my eyes from his.

I couldn’t understand why, but I had been unprepared for him. With all of Auguste’s preparation, all the briefings, with all the preachings about my appearance, no one had prepared me for him. I don’t know if it was that, like me, he was one of the youngest there, or how absurdly, almost ridiculously tall he was, or maybe how the blue in his eyes contrasted with the red of his hair, but he just… stunned me. When he kissed my hand, his eyes traveled down my legs all the way back to pierce mine, igniting a wave of electricity down my spine I was unable to control. 

He leaned back, and there we stood, hand in hand, wordlessly. 

“You can follow the King, ma’am.” Auguste whispered behind me, his voice making me jump slightly, as I quickly pulled my hand from Harry’s, not before realizing he had something scribbled on his palm.

My father and the Queen were deep in conversation, with Charles besides them, as they reached the center of the platform to watch the guards. The Queen in the middle, my father to her right, and the Prince of Wales to her left, I walked forward to stand beside my father, while Prince Harry walked to his. 

We waited just a moment, and then the band started playing the Savoy National Anthem, and the British Anthem after it. A few words said, more ceremony here and there, and the Prince Wales formally invited my father to inspect the Guards, so they left together, accompanied by one of the military leaders to walk among the rolls of guards,  as the three of us stood behind to watch.

“I was sorry to hear about your mother, ma’am.”

“Thank you, Your Majesty.” I said, looking regretful, walking towards her, closing the gap left behind by the others. “She was sorry she couldn’t be here.”

“I hope it’s nothing serious.” Prince Harry interjected.

“A sprained ankle.” I explained, looking ahead. 

“Harry is also here after a small hiccup with the Duchess of Cornwall, my daughter-in-law.” His grandmother told me. “An illness in her family, nothing serious.”

“Hopefully I’ll have time to meet her before we leave.”

“Oh, I’m sure.” She nodded. “How did you mother hurt herself?”

“Horse fall. She was never very fond of Polo, I’m afraid this will drive her further away from it.”

“Oh, that is regretful.” The Queen said. 

Harry looked at me. “Do you play?” 

“I do, sir.” 

“Harry is very good,” his grandmother told me, “he will be the one playing with you in the charity match in the coming days.”

“I look forward to-“, I started, but Harry had started the exact same sentence. We locked eyes, and chuckled.

“You first.” I said.

“Please, I insist.” He responded, cheeks reddening.

His grandmother looked between us, and then back to the uniformed men in front. She then said, in a low tone, something I would spend a large part of the upcoming months thinking obsessively about:

“Be careful with him... He will charm you, but he is a heartbreaker.”

The words astonished me so much I looked at her, unsure she had actually said them. But she had, clearly, because Harry was also looking at her, quite shocked.

“Granny!” he complained, in such a whiny tone I broke into laughter.

“Do I lie?” She asked him, grinning. It only made him look more shocked. 

“Don’t ruin my reputation in front of foreign royals!” he said, in a low tone, before looking at me. “Specially such pretty ones.”

My giggle froze in my throat under his intense glare, and I could feel my cheeks reddening.

The Queen looked at me. “Oh, you’re blushing. It’s too late, I see.”

It was.

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

Margueritte’s outfit

The ask box is open! Let me know your thoughts? And if at all possible, like this page so I know you liked it? Thank you so much!

[A/N: Attention: by continuing to read you are accepting that some sad stuff is coming. You been warned. Thanks for checking this out! Let me know your thoughts?? thanks!!!!]

[A/N2: Hey! Nat here. I wanted to talk a little more about the story we are about to go on together.

In the upcoming chapters you will be introduced to the Royal Family of Savoy, a fictitious European country right below the UK, to left of France. When I first posted a fanfiction, FIUYMI, I made the main character latina, since that’s what I am, and I had previously felt that I couldn’t relate to other characters I had read. In this one, however, I decided I wanted to write about a fictitious monarchy, and I knew I wanted to make it as realistic as possible. 

As much as I wanted at many points in the story to make the character look more like me, the idea felt like cheating: Margueritte is a blood royal, born to a life of specific privileges and hardships, and pretending she could look like the type of people who don’t have white privilege would be trying to ignore a very real issue: all monarchies - past and present - existed, lasted and gathered riches on the back of people of color. Most of their descendants still carry white and wealth privilege because these royal families, however many years ago, supported and perpetuated colonialism and white supremacy that left countless countries and their populations still recovering today.

That is a legacy Margueritte didn’t chose, and which she also doesn’t have to face, but in this story she will chose too. As you’ll see, she finds herself in a much more influential position she thought she would have, and as such she realizes she has two options: she can stick to the message her family - and other royal families - have perpetuated for generations and keep her head high, mouth and ears shut, so their legacy can survive; or she can chose to be a modern Queen who will make the institution relevant again. I want to write about this because this issue is important for the times we live in, particularly after the way the Duchess of Sussex was treated in the United Kingdom.

What that will look like will depend on who Margueritte is as a person and whose advice she takes, and that is a journey I hope you’ll take with us =) ]

[fullmetalscullyy]

the way it was - chapter 23

summary:  what if riza never went to war?  riza hawkeye has just married the man she loves. six months into their marriage, an unexpected surprise stops her from following roy to the military. a canon divergence au that explores what might have happened had riza been unable to join the military. there will be plenty of family fluff, angst, and royai.

rated: m | warnings: no archive warning apply

read on ao3

1914

so many miles between us now

but you are always here with me

Riza took Mia to Chris’ once more, on the day Roy was going after the people with the Ouroboros tattoo. Her heart felt like it was constantly in her throat throughout the day, and there was a lead weight nestled uncomfortably in her stomach with her worry for what “going after” these people would entail, but she knew Roy and his team would be able to handle it.

“We’re going to Grandma’s again?” Mia asked as they walked to Chris’ after school.

“We are. Remember, Dad is working late tonight, so I thought it would be fun for the two of us to go and visit.”

“Oh, yay! I do like Grandma’s cooking. What are we having for dinner?”

“Steak pie.”

Mia gasped excitedly. “With mashed potatoes?”

When Riza confirmed it, Mia skipped happily alongside Riza, their joined hands swinging high in the air between them.

Rebecca was meeting them there too. It had been a while since they caught up with one another, so she would come after work and sneak in the back. She and Chris got on extremely well. It was fascinating to watch and made Riza wonder if Rebecca would ever venture into the same business as Chris Mustang. It certainly seemed like it would be a possibility, but Rebecca was also content in the military.

As the evening wore on and there was no news from the team, Riza became more antsy. She knew they would be fine, but it didn’t settle her nerves. At least she didn’t have to worry completely about Roy. He was holed up in one of Fuery’s safehouses, directing the plan of attack. However, her worry for her friends still unsettled her, and it turned out her worry was warranted.

They were all having dinner with Chris when the phone rang in the background. Vanessa entered the dining area.

“What?” Chris’ question was sharp as she stood from her chair.

Riza’s fork was halfway to her lips when Venessa entered, but was now poised in mid-air, frozen. Her thoughts were no longer on the piece of food though because Vanessa’s gaze wasn’t directed at Chris. She was completely focussed on Riza. Her expression looked slightly pained. Her perfectly painted lips were pressed into a thin line, her eyes worried.

“It’s Falman on the phone,” she whispered. “He - He wants to speak to you, Riza,” she added, clearing her throat to make her voice stronger. “It’s about Roy.”

“What happened?” Rebecca asked from Riza’s side. She too had risen from her chair. However, where Chris had stopped in her tracks, Rebecca pressed forward to get the information she needed. Always the practical and efficient soldier. 

But… He’d been in the safehouse. No one knew its location, so he was going to be safe… Riza’s mind was stopped in its tracks as images assaulted her mind. Roy, lying on the floor, bloody, while an unknown threat stood over him. Roy, buried in the ground like Maes…

Riza stood and passed by Chris and Rebecca, ignoring what they were talking about. Taking a deep breath, she lifted the phone to her ear.

“This is Riza.” Her greeting felt like it needed to be forced out of her throat. She held her breath, waiting to see what news Falman would give her.

“Riza,” Falman answered. He sounded regretful. It caused her to grip the phone tighter. “It’s Warrant Officer Falman here. We’re at the hospital with Colonel Mustang and Lieutenant Havoc. There’s been an incident, and the two have sustained some injuries.”

“Is he all right?”

“The Colonel is stable,” Falman answered. “The doctor is in the room just now with him. We’re outside while we wait, and this has also been the first opportunity to call. Once the doctor comes out, we’ll have a better idea of how he is then. Lieutenant Havoc is in a similar position.”

Riza nodded. Fear gripped her heart and the weight in her stomach that had made itself comfortable was now churning inside, making her feel slightly ill. 

“Okay.” Her voice caught in her throat. “I’ll be there soon. What room?”

He gave her the details she needed then bid her a quick farewell.

“Roy and Havoc have been hurt in an incident,” Riza announced quietly to the room. Rebecca froze, simply staring at Riza, while Vanessa gasped. Chris took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Falman doesn’t know yet how they’re doing, but he said they were stable.”

“I’ll watch Mia tonight,” Chris told her, glancing to her right where Mia was playing with her Aunt Roxy in the family area, through a door ahead of them. Mia laughed happily, lifting the toy car into the air, completely oblivious to the mood of the room not ten feet away from her. “You look after yourself and him, all right?”

“Right,” Riza nodded, swallowing past the lump in her throat. She grabbed her jacket off the back of her chair.

“Keep us updated,” Chris added.

Riza’s stomach was tying itself in knots at the unknown. She didn’t know what to expect. Surely, though, if it had been fatal, Falman would have either come in person, or told her immediately over the phone… Right?

He has to be okay.

“Come on,” Rebecca urged, shrugging on her military jacket. “I’ll drive you there.”

“Thank you,” Riza replied, grateful for her friend.

The drive was tense, both clearly worried about what would face them when they arrived at the hospital. Riza’s stomach was roiling still, not giving her any reprieve. The lovely dinner Chris had prepared was threatening to make an appearance again. Quietly, she hoped and prayed that he’d be all right. Tipping her head back against the headrest, Riza closed her eyes and tried to calm herself.

“Thank you for driving me,” Riza murmured, breaking the silence that had been suffocating her. “I know you were expecting a stress-free night –”

“Of course, Riza,” Rebecca interrupted, eyes never straying from the road. “I wasn’t going to make you walk.”

“I know, but still, I appreciate it.” Riza stole a quick glance at Rebecca, noticing how tightly she was gripping the steering wheel. Her eyes were hard, brows furrowed into a frown. At first, Riza had thought it was in concentration, but she bit her lip. There was a hint of concern in there too…

“Roy and Havoc have been hurt in an incident.”

Havoc… She remembered seeing him and Rebecca sneaking out at the military ball a few years ago. Riza hoped for both their sakes, their men were all right.

*          *          *

Riza walked as quickly as she could up the corridor of the hospital. It felt like she couldn’t move fast enough, like it took them both forever to walk the length of the ward. Riza’s eyes scanned every board in every doorway, looking for her husband’s name, but never found it.

“Can I help you?” a nurse asked kindly.

“I’m looking for my husband,” Riza quickly answered. “Colonel Roy Mustang.”

The petite woman cocked her head for a second in thought, then nodded, ushering the two women forward. “He’s further along. Follow me, I’ll take you there.”

“What happened to him?” Riza asked.

The nurse turned and looked at Riza over her shoulder, her face full of sympathy. It did nothing to alleviate her worry or the dread settling over her. “I’m afraid I don’t know all the details,” she replied. “However, I just saw the doctor leave, so you’ll be able to get more information from her once she’s written up a report of their condition. The Colonel’s men are there too. They haven’t left his side since he was admitted,” she added, giving Riza a comforting smile. “He’s been in good hands.”

“We were told there was a Jean Havoc admitted too,” Rebecca cut in. “Any news on him?”

“Afraid not,” the woman replied, shaking her head. “But they’re in the same room. Once I drop you off, I’ll go and find the doctor so you can get a proper answer,” she offered with a reassuring smile.

Riza watched as her friend’s face fell slightly, the concern replacing the hope in her eyes. Riza grasped Rebecca’s hand tightly and gave it a squeeze.

The relationship between Havoc and Rebecca was a mystery to Riza. They’d slept together the night of the ball, when Riza had met the team, but whenever pressed about it, Rebecca would shrug and tell her they were “keeping it casual”. After a few weeks, there was no more mention of their relationship, so Riza dropped it. They still seemed close though, every time they were in the same space… Perhaps there was more going on than Riza thought, but for whatever reason, they were keeping it to themselves. Not that it was any of Riza’s business. Rebecca was clearly worried, though, which led Riza to believe there was more going on than she thought. She gave Rebecca’s hand another squeeze for comfort, which she returned this time.

Entering the hospital room, Riza stopped in her tracks. Roy was unconscious in the bed. His skin looked pale but covered in sweat. His face looked slightly pained, even in sleep. The nurse had explained they were both sleeping still, but they could get a quick look inside and see them. Havoc was in the bed next to him, his face much more relaxed. He looked almost peaceful. His face was turned towards the door with the blonde mop atop his head falling over his eyes.

“Riza,” Falman greeted. He’d been leaning against the wall opposite the door, next to Havoc’s bed, with one foot propped against the white paint. When he saw Riza, that foot dropped, and he stood straight. He wasn’t in his uniform. He wore grey trousers and a green pullover.

Fuery was also in the room, sitting next to Roy’s bed, but also not in his military garb. He was dressed in black trousers and a plain white t-shirt. He stood when they entered, his eyes sympathetic. “Here, takes a seat,” he offered, but Riza ignored him. Not on purpose. She didn’t even hear his kind offer. Riza only had eyes for her husband.

“What happened?” Her voice was barely above a whisper. Out the corner of her eye, she noticed the two men shift in place, sharing a look with each other. “Please don’t keep things from me,” she added, her voice gaining strength. She looked at both in turn, her eyes daring them to do it.

“He was stabbed,” Fuery explained after taking a deep breath, but his voice was still quiet.

Riza froze, but before she did, she noticed they were watching her carefully, gauging her reaction.

“It was by the ones who are trying to stop him, isn’t it? The ones you went after tonight?” As she stood there, her body had become slightly numb – Roy had been stabbed – but she needed information and she needed it now. She wouldn’t sit at the side, helpless anymore.

Her eyes returned to Roy, scanning his body for anything that looked out of the ordinary. There was nothing obvious she could see, except his clammy skin. Her fingers looped into his, gripping them tightly. Even his palm was sweating, but his touch was cool.

“It was, yes,” Falman replied. His tone was firm and sincere.

Taking a deep breath, she let it out shakily and felt her body tremble. He’s alive. She didn’t know what condition Roy was in, but he was breathing, and right now, that’s what mattered to her the most. One step at a time.

“What about Havoc?” Riza asked, glancing over at the blonde Lieutenant.

“Stabbed too,” Falman replied. “By the same person.”

“Who?” Rebecca hadn’t looked at anyone else but hadn’t moved any closer to his bed. It was almost as if she wanted to but was holding back.

The two men shared a look. Fuery nodded, and Falman answered Rebecca’s question.

“It was a creature called a homunculus,” he explained. “They’re synthetically made humans, powered by a Philosopher’s Stone.”

“Synthetically made?” Rebecca sounded doubtful, and Riza didn’t blame her.

Falman nodded. “The Colonel told us before he passed out that their attacker was called Lust. Alphonse confirmed it. We met Gluttony earlier on in the night,” he added, nodding towards Fuery. “There are seven deadly sins, so we’re assuming there’s seven homunculi.”

“The Colonel and I dealt with Gluttony earlier,” Fuery piped up. After he spoke, Riza noticed for the first time how off he sounded. His voice sounded hoarse.

“Are you all right, Fuery?”

“Fine, Ma’am,” he replied. Despite her reassurances, he still insisted on being so formal with her. “Gluttony got me for a second, but the Colonel saved my life,” he stated, glancing towards Roy. Riza did the same. “I was being strangled and the Colonel saved me.” He looked up at Riza, his eyes earnest. “I’ll be forever grateful to him for it.”

He’d left the safehouse early that evening...

“Yeah,” a new, raspy voice chipped in. “The bastard is crazy for pulling that stunt.” All heads whipped around to face Jean Havoc as he groaned in pain, lifting a hand to his head. “Fuck, it hurts.”

“Lieutenant Havoc!” Fuery cried out in relief, his voice cracking. He stood from his chair, expression happy and with a grin.

“You’re all right,” Falman smiled.

“Of course, I am,” Havoc grumbled. “No bitch with freaky nails is going to take me out so easily,” he grumped, trying to shift in place, but he couldn’t go far. Falman approached quickly and helped him. Out of the corner of her eye, Riza noticed Rebecca step forward, then hesitate.

“Welcome back, Sir,” Fuery grinned.

Riza was relieved. That was one patient awake and accounted for. Now, they just needed Roy to wake up.

Havoc opened his eyes blearily and properly looked around the room, tensing when he noticed both Riza and Rebecca were there too. However, his attention was on the latter.

“Rebecca.” Havoc sounded like he couldn’t believe she was there. His eyes widened slightly, his tone taking on a wondrous quality.

“Good to see you awake, Havoc,” Rebecca replied. Her tone was firm, but there was relief in there too. Riza scrutinised her friend closely. It certainly looked like she wanted to say more but held herself back. Again.

“Thank you,” Havoc replied, a soft smile on his face.

There was definitely more than meets the eye there.

A knock on the door interrupted any further conversation. A head poked through the door. “My name is Doctor Jones,” the woman introduced. “Is now a good time to talk?”

Riza nodded. “Please,” she almost pleaded.

The others in the room had eased her worries for a brief moment, however now that the doctor was here and she could get some answers on Roy’s condition, the uncomfortable knot in her stomach returned. It twisted painfully as she became anxious.

“Good to see you’re awake, Lieutenant Havoc. I will go over the extent of your injuries with you now, if you’d like?”

“Uh, later,” he replied. “Yeah, do it alter,” he muttered. He lifted another hand to his head and rubbed one of his temples.

“All right,” the doctor nodded. She flipped the page over on her chart and turned to the expectant faces. “Colonel Mustang will make a full recovery.” That was all Riza needed to hear. The grip on her husband’s hand tightened subconsciously and Riza felt her knees shake. She straightened them, forcing herself to remain upright in her relief. “He lost a lot of blood, so that’s why he hasn’t woken up yet. His body is still healing from the wound he sustained, but we anticipate he will wake tomorrow morning, at the latest.”

“What wound?”

The Doctor paused and met Riza’s eyes. “Are you his wife?”

“I am,” she confirmed with a nod.

“A pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Mustang. If you would walk with me outside, I can give you the full report?”

“Whatever you have to say can be said in front of the people here,” she explained to the doctor. Roy’s men were just as important to him, and if they knew the full extent of his injuries, they’d be able to help him in the field once he recovered. “I don’t mind.”

The doctor paused, looking around the room at their faces, then nodded. “Of course, Ma’am. The burn wound on the skin will heal nicely.” Burn wound? “One thing to be wary of is infection, so we will monitor it closely and keep him in for longer than we normally would with this kind of injury. There will be a large scar, however, but it shouldn’t affect his physical movements too much with the correct amount of physical therapy. That, of course, will be established once the wound has healed significantly.”

“Okay, thank you.” If possible, even more questions were swirling around Riza’s head. The men had said he’d been stabbed, so where had this burn wound come from?

When she voiced that thought out loud after the doctor left them, they all looked as clueless as her, except from one soldier lying in a bed similar to Roy. His eyes were on his legs and didn’t lift.

“Lieutenant Havoc?” Fuery prompted, noticing his silence and his posture like Riza had.

“He…” Havoc swallowed. “He tried to use the homunculi’s stone to heal me, after I was stabbed. She reformed around it and then stabbed him with her nails. Then, he…”

“What?” Riza asked fearfully. She was glad Fuery had lifted a chair over to her. She still hadn’t let go of Roy’s hand, and refused to do so, but now she was sitting down by his bedside, she knew she wouldn’t fall as her knees shook.

“He cauterised his own wound closed so he could do the same for me, then go and get help.” Riza’s heart thudded in her chest as Havoc’s hands fisted in the bedsheets. “Crazy bastard,” he spat bitterly, but Riza saw in his expression there was a lot of love and respect there for Roy “Should’ve left me and just gotten out, but he didn’t.”

“He’d never leave a man behind, and you know that,” Fuery replied gently.

“But he didn’t need to do this to himself,” Havoc challenged, gesturing towards the man lying unconscious in the bed. “He didn’t need to burn himself just so he could get me help. I didn’t mind him doing it to me. It saved my life,” Havoc continued. “But…” He let out a tsk and turned his head away.

“He did it to help Alphonse, too,” Flaman supplied. “Respectfully, Sir, you know as well as I do that he would rather die than leave you behind. He’d never forgive himself if he did.”

Havoc scoffed again, but from his expression and posture, Havoc knew Falman was right.

After witnessing the exchange, Riza glanced down at her husband. He’d put himself in danger to try and save Havoc. He… Riza felt tears creep up and into her eyes. He was crazy, but Falman was right. Roy would never have forgiven himself if he left Havoc behind. And what had happened to Alphonse? Was he all right? Was Edward?

“Oh, Roy,” she whispered quietly as the rest of the room continued to discuss what had happened, but Riza had heard enough for the moment. She just wanted Roy to come back to her.

He had been reckless, and that terrified her. She could have lost him today. Again.

It’s the nature of his job.

Riza knew that, and understood that, but it didn’t mean she had to like it. She shut her eyes briefly, then opened them, a small smile appearing on her face. She brushed his fringe off his forehead gently, shifting the hair that was almost identical to Mia’s.

He would do anything for those he cared about, and while that comforted Riza, it also scared her to death. Still… He was alive. He was breathing.

He’s going to recover.

She took another deep breath and got comfortable, settling into her chair as she listened to the team discuss things further behind her.

*          *          *

“Would you like a lift home?” Falman offered Riza before she left for the night.

She shook her head. “Thank you, but Rebecca has already offered to take me home.”

“Not a problem.” He paused for a moment, suddenly unsure about something. “Give me a call when you get home, just so I know you’re safe.” He handed over a piece of paper with his number on it. “The Colonel made us promise to look out for you if he was unable to,” Falman explained further. “Despite that promise, I’d request this of you regardless. I know you’ll be with Lieutenant Catalina but just… if you could let me know. Please.”

“I will. Thank you.” She was touched by his care and concern.

“And let us know if there’s anything you need, okay, Ma’am?” Fuery piped up, appearing from behind Falman. “Just give the office a call any time and we’ll be over as soon as we can.”

Riza appreciated all their concerns. It was nice to know the backup was there if she needed it, but she’d be fine. She just wanted to get home and hug her daughter.

Ideally, she would have stayed in the hospital until Roy woke up, but the nurses said she couldn’t. Had she just been by herself, Riza may have fought it, but the stress of the situation, combined with her pregnancy, had left her feeling exhausted. Sleeping on chairs in the hospital was far from ideal for her and the baby, plus she’d sworn to herself after the fall she’d do everything in her power to protect her baby. Sleeping uncomfortably wasn’t the way to do that.

“Where’s Daddy?” Mia asked, brow furrowing when she noticed Riza had come home by herself. Chris had taken Mia to their house and gotten her settled for bed, but apparently their daughter refused to go to sleep until her mother came home. Her eyes were drooping as she greeted them, but Riza knew she would be fighting like hell to stay awake.

Chris glanced towards Riza, her mouth parting, but hesitated. She wasn’t sure what to tell Mia, and was leaving it up to Riza, which she appreciated. However, she’d never lied to her little girl before about what was happening in her life. Riza didn’t hold back about Maes and she couldn’t lie and pretend her father was okay when he wasn’t.

“How about I take you up to bed, Mia?” Riza offered. “You must be sleepy.”

“I’m not,” she argued, but she rubbed her eye at the same time.

Chuckling, Riza pressed a hand to the top of Mia’s head, ruffling her hair. “Let’s go.”

Mia grumbled, sounding so much like her father, and trudged through to the hall to walk up the stairs.

“Thank you for looking after her.” Riza waited until Mia was out of earshot before speaking, but also kept her voice low.

“Don’t mention it,” Chris waved away. “Is he all right?”

Riza swallowed. “He’s been stabbed.” Speaking it out loud made her tongue feel like lead. “He –” Riza cleared her throat. Retelling what happened made it a lot more frightening. “Havoc has also been stabbed. Roy cauterised the wound so he could help Havoc, and then go and assist Alphonse.”

“Where did this happen?” Chris asked.

Riza shook her head. “I don’t know. No one mentioned it.”

“I’ll do some digging myself,” Chris nodded. “See if I can find out what’s going on.”

“That would be great, thank you.” Relief settled in her bones. Again, it was a large comfort to have that backup behind her.

“Get some rest, Riza.” Chris pulled her in for a quick hug, which Riza returned eagerly. She took solace in the gesture, drawing on Chris’ strength. She would need it until Roy was awake and able to tell her he was okay.

After a quick call to Falman, Riza locked up the house and went to see her daughter.

“Mia?”

Riza entered Mia’s room quietly. There was movement in the bed and Riza closed the door behind her.

“Mummy?” Her voice was so small and quiet. Riza almost ran over to her there and then. Hayate was already by her side, curled between Mia and the wall next to her bed.

“I’m here, Sweetie.”

“Where’s Daddy?”

Riza climbed into Mia’s bed and pulled the sheet over them both. Instantly Mia cuddled into Riza’s side and it was a welcome feeling. Wrapping her arms around her daughter, Riza settled into the bed to get comfortable. She would sleep in there that night, Riza decided. She wouldn’t be able to sleep in their bed without Roy there. Riza would just toss and turn all night but she’d need to be at one hundred percent to deal with tomorrow and to visit Roy again.

Bracing herself for the reaction, Riza gave Mia a squeeze.

“Now, I know you’re going to feel scared and upset when I tell you, but I’m right here for you okay?”

Mia nodded. Her eyes were wide with fear.

“Daddy’s in the hospital.”

Mia’s body jerked up and out of her arms. “Is he hurt?” Despite the blatant fear, her voice was steady and even.

Riza nodded. “He is a bit hurt, but he’s in the hospital so the doctors can make him feel better.”

“Why?” Mia’s voice wavered.

Riza observed her as she spoke, noticing how scared she looked. However, she didn’t cry. There were no tears in her eyes. Riza had mentioned it to Roy before, and he’d proclaimed that was because she was so like her mother. Roy was adamant about that fact, stating their little girl was so brave because she’d spent so much time watching and learning from Riza. But she was still a child. She didn’t need to know someone had tried to kill her father.

“He’s okay right now, I promise,” she soothed Mia, cupping her face in her hands. “He’s doing really well, and he will be all better soon. The doctor told me that herself. Dad has a lot of very good people looking after him.”

“Did you see him? Is that why you disappeared?”

Riza nodded. She should have known Mia would pick up on that, no matter how much Chris tried to reassure her. “I did. He wasn’t awake yet, but the Doctor was very happy with how he’s doing. Daddy is doing a lot of resting right now.”

Mia was silent once Riza finished speaking. Opening her arms, Riza didn’t even get a chance to gesture properly for Mia to hug her. Before she could, Mia launched herself at her mother. Her fingertips dug into Riza’s back, desperate for comfort.

“He’ll be fine,” Riza murmured, running her hands through Mia’s hair. “Dad will be home before you know it.”

“I want him home now.” Mia’s fingers dug in deeper to Riza’s skin, and Riza felt the same sentiment.

“I do too, Bear. It will be a little while. He has to get better first, but he will be soon.”

“I don’t like the hospital,” Mia muttered.

That surprised Riza. “Why not?”

“Because that means people are hurt and I don’t like it when you or Dad are hurt.”

Riza swallowed. “I know,” Riza reasoned. “I don’t either. However, it’s important for him to be there because that’s where people go to get better. Dad’s in the best place right now.”

Mia removed her arms from around Riza and placed them on the mattress. She pushed up, moving to her knees, and looked Riza right in the eye.

“Do you think a cuddle will make him feel better so he can come home quicker?”

Riza chuckled. She couldn’t help it. Her little girl was so sweet. Riza cupped her cheek gently. “It will definitely make him feel better. He might not be able to come home quicker, but it will make him extremely happy.”

“Okay,” Mia sighed. Her body flopped down onto the bed. Mia would take that compromise, so long as her hug made Roy feel better.

“Do you want to go and see him tomorrow after school? Then you can give him his feel-better hug?”

Mia bit her lip, then glanced over to her mother. “Can we?”

“Of course,” Riza reassured her. “But sleep first. The sooner you sleep, the sooner you can go see Dad.”

“Okay.” Mia curled back into Riza’s side. She placed a hand on her daughter’s head, running her hand through her hair one last time before bending to kiss the top of her head.

“Get some sleep, Mia Bear. I love you, and so does Dad.”

“I love you both too, Mummy,” Mia yawned, her voice already clouded with sleep.

[famedroleplayarchive]

YOON SEOLA is the LEADER, MAIN DANCER, AND LEAD VOCAL of 7ROPHY under DIMENSIONS ENTERTAINMENT. She was born on SEPTEMBER 27, 1995. She looks a little like KWON EUNBI, FORMERLY OF IZ*ONE.

CHARACTER INFORMATION

faceclaim: kwon eunbi, former member of iz*one

legal name: yoon seola

stage name: -

pronouns: she/her

birth date: 09/27/1995

hometown: toronto, canada

position: leader, main dancer, lead vocal of 7rophy

claims:

MUSIC VIDEO: MARS (Eternity, 2017 - female lead)

FEATURING: MARS (You’re Mine, 2015 - Minah’s part)

BIOGRAPHY

triggers: injuries? (do they count as a trigger?)

Born and raised in Toronto, Canada, Yoon Seola was expected to be a star from the moment she was born. She had always been an intelligent child, gifted if her parents would dare say so themselves. After all, Seola’s father was a figure skating coach in Canada, while her mother was a former ballerina. Meanwhile, her older sister was also an overachiever of some sort, so it only made sense that Seola was expected to achieve great things as well. As she was old enough to start understanding things, Seola had dabbled in many things such as academics, theater, and the two things she would come to love the most: music and figure skating.

Despite taking lessons with her dad ever since she was four, Seola began skating competitively in 2008 after seeing Kim Yuna on TV. At the time, she wanted to be the second Korean woman to win a medal for the country. She began competing on the domestic scale and a few minor international level competitions. Despite winning a few medals at minor competitions, there were other girls better than she was that she still had yet to represent the country in major competitions.

Seola continued to train and grow, and her dreams grew even bigger after Kim Yuna won the gold medal at the Vancouver Olympics. In August 2011, during the South Korea Trials for Junior Grand Prix, Seola placed 1st in the short program, and things were looking up for her. Unfortunately, she fell badly during the free skate, injuring both her hip and back in the process. Despite persistent hip and back pain, she pushed to compete anyway. When she had her back and hip checked after the competition, she was told that she had to give up skating if she wanted her back to recover properly.

The end of her skating dream had been the end of the world for Seola, until her mother had recommended that she takes up singing and dancing as a new hobby. Without thinking much of it, Seola had agreed. Mostly because she already had prior ballet training as a figure skater. What Seola didn’t expect was to discover that she can actually sing. As she learned to sing and dance, Seola never expected to actually fall in love with performing. It’s almost like a dream for her.

In 2012, Seola and her family had been on vacation in Korea when a Dimensions casting agent approached both Seola and her cousin. While her cousin jumped on it immediately, Seola hadn’t actually considered a showbiz career. After all, Seola had plans of being a lawyer or a broadcaster. However, this is a chance not many people often get, so Seola agreed to give it a go.

To her surprise, Seola actually passed the auditions. Although her cousin didn’t pass this time, they were still genuinely proud and happy for Seola all the same. Seola can only wish it was the same for her parents, who wanted her to enter a high-powered career as an adult. With this opportunity in hand, Seola’s parents had agreed to let her go, on the condition that she finished her education and got a college diploma.

To fulfill the end of her promise to her parents, Seola enrolled at Hanlim Arts High School for her final year of high school and juggled both being a trainee and a student at Sungkyunkwan University. Thankfully, not many people knew who she was, so she didn’t have to entertain too many questions.

Uprooting her whole life from Canada to Korea had been a major life decision for Seola to take, and the difference in culture was something to get used to. Thankfully, Seola’s background as an athlete has somewhat equipped her to be competitive, yet friendly with the other trainees in the company. There was a lot she had to work on, but she wanted to see this through. She braved every challenge, evaluation, and struggle that came her way. Seola was an athlete, so she had expected the trainers to be military sergeants. Regardless, she was determined to be the best there ever was.

Other than hard work and discipline, another skill Seola had taken from her student-athlete days to her student-trainee days was the importance of camaraderie and teamwork. Although competition for a spot in a future Dimensions girl group was intense, Seola went out of her way to be friendly and helpful to those with problems singing and dancing. She was the youngest child at home, so being a supportive younger sister to the older trainees is nothing new to her. However, being the older sister figure to the newer and younger trainees that came after she did was a new and interesting feeling.

To be honest, debut comes as both a relief and newly added pressure to Seola. Especially after her parents have been begging her to quit being an idol and go back to the plans they had before she auditioned. Seola knew what she was good at, but it surprises her that she gets to be the group’s leader as well as the main dancer and lead vocal. However, 7rophy’s lack of immediate success has led to Seola’s parents trying to convince her to leave the group and pursue a proper, better-paying career almost every time she talks to them. Every time they had a spark of hope that they finally struck gold, they ended up moving several steps backward. The girls of 7ROPHY deserve better than this, and Seola couldn’t help but feel that this was her fault. She failed the group as a leader and that she should have done better for them, even if she had no idea what that entailed. Seola wasn’t stupid, and she had heard of those disbandment rumors. Honestly, she couldn’t blame them. After all, they couldn’t produce the results 7ROPHY wanted and deserved. She would never admit it to anyone, but she was beginning to see the merit of her parents’ advice.

Seola’s not a quitter, and thankfully, their effort as members of 7ROPHY have begun to pay off. Thankfully, they finally seemed to be getting their stride after achieving their first win with “Latata”. She also graduated from college in 2019, which is a year or two longer than what her parents would have liked. In her time with Dimensions, Seola hadn’t exactly been pushed into the spotlight compared to the other girls. Honestly, her parents nagged her about this more than the group’s lack of success. No matter what she does, it’s like she’ll never be good enough. Other than a music video role and a song feature with MARS, everything she has expressed interest in doing outside of group activities — acting, musicals, OSTs, and variety shows — have been denied to her for various reasons. She supposed it was mostly to pacify MARS’ angry fangirls who were sick of seeing her face or the company thought she was a liability; she didn’t really know. It was hard staying at home while watching the rest of the group getting to do their individual activities. Honestly, Seola wondered where she went wrong in her life to be denied anything she asked for herself.

Because of this, she has more free time compared to some of the other girls. While she prepares for her moment to shine, Seola is trying to take on a more active role behind the scenes as she learns more about choreography and songwriting. Unfortunately, Seola is being denied opportunities in these endeavors at the moment. She knows she has something left to prove, but she has no clue what that something is.

Even after Queendom, Seola still finds herself struggling to allow the company to give her an identity outside the group. As the leader, Seola is willing to sacrifice her individual glory for the group’s benefit. However, she also wishes for her shining moment to finally come.

[silwenworld]

Until The Last Petal Falls (Part 2 in the War Roses Series)

Summary: He could see the flowers floating before his eyes. A Bouquet. A single flower. Every time in different configuration but one thing was constant - the petals were falling away. Each time there were fewer and fewer petals attached to the stalk. And each time that happened, he could feel himself slipping further and further away.

Or: Captain Gold has a son to find and woman to come back to, and nothing short of dying will keep him from doing just that.

A continuation of the Rumbelle Showdown 2020 fic “The Dried Rose”

Category: M

CHAPTER 7 [AO3] [First Chapter]

Storybrooke was a small town with most of its residents being born and raised there as their parents and grandparents had been before them. Although it hadn't changed much throughout the years, the town itself wasn't spared from the dreads of wars that overtook Europe in the span of the last thirty years. Shortage in supplies had been one of the many consequences, but it wasn't so cumbersome as it could have been considering the close community of the townsfolk. Nevertheless, when the soldiers had come to town, everybody looked at them in distrust.  It wouldn't have been as much of a problem if not for the fact that they had drafted some of the younger men, thus leaving the people even more biased towards the newcomers.

Leroy hadn't been the only one who had remembered all too well the horrors of the first War, so when the soldiers came to stay, he had been the first to be all overly cautious of them. He had never talked about any of his worries, preferring a bottle of cheap alcohol to any nagging Martha Lucas could cause him - Wilfred's wife had always been good at that, he would give her that. Still, he had never felt comfortable around that woman. Wolf would probably slap him for even thinking badly about his wife and call him an idiot, but Leroy had never particularly cared about his friend's antics. He had been one weird man, albeit a good friend and every week since his death Leroy was drinking one glass of Scotch at the man's grave in honour of that friendship.

Well, the point was, Leroy hadn't trusted the soldiers that had came with the second War with the pretext of training exercises. Within two weeks, he had been quite confident most of those lads wouldn't be seeing the next day when sent to the battlefield. But they had improved, at least most of them. Those training exercises had been how he had met captain Gold or more accurately seen him. The man had been different from the others. It had been clear to anyone looking that he had preferred to spend most of his time alone. Leroy could respect that, but it had been weird, seeing some other officers scoff at the man, and him doing almost nothing. It hadn't seemed to bother him at all as he had carried out his duties. Leroy was quite sure that there had been no malice behind Gold's clipped answers and the way he had been interacting with others, but his almost cold demeanour had been the reason that almost no one had been missing him when the boys had been called to arms. At least that's how it would have been if then the kiss between the Captain and Belle French hadn't happened and the whole town hadn't been turned around on its axis.

And then when Gold had come back, even though he had been supposed to be dead, Leroy hadn't been surprised - men like Gold were determined to say the least, and the whole story that Gaston had presented had been scrappy at best, Leroy hadn't spent his time around Wolf to not to recognize those things. The man who had come back, though, had been different from the one who had set off.

Even now it was down to the details, but when looked close enough, one could see the contrast. The Captain was good at hiding it in public, a skill that spoke of an experience in the matter, and almost everyone could be fooled into believing that the War had left no mark on Gold. Leroy often wondered if it had something to do with the way the other officers had been looking down at the Scot or had he mastered that skill even earlier on.  

Well, it wasn't any of his business, and frankly, Leroy didn't want to know. But watched on he did. And through those months after the Captain's return, he had spotted another curious thing - Gary Gaston had been avoiding the man like the plague. He had never approached nor spoken to him, but Leroy could swear there had been something chilling in the young man's eyes when he was looking, no - glaring at the older man.

Curious.

And Unsettling.

*

The phrase nervous as a schoolboy was very accurate to his current state. One could have thought that he was 43 years old, for God's sake, not a sweating teenager, but that's how Gold felt right now. Not like a soldier - or at least an ex one - who had killed, lost men under his command and dragged himself almost literally from hell, but like a kid so apprehensive that tying the knot of his only tie was nearly an impossible task.

What on Earth had persuaded him that it was a good idea?

Gold sighed frustrated and let his hands fell to his sides in resignation, leaving the tie unmade. The answer was quite simple, really - it was Belle.

"I don't think, that's such a good idea, sweetheart."

"He won't bite you or anything you know? He's my dad, not a hound from hell."

"Sometimes I have doubts..." he murmured under his nose.

"What was that?"

"That I don't like crowds?" He answered lamely, which earned him a playful hit to the shoulder. Gold chuckled, rubbing the spot. "Sorry."

“Remind my, why do I keep spending my time with you?"

"You insist that it's love, but why is beyond me."

Belle bent down and kissed the end of his nose, smiling. "Yes, if it's not love I don't know what else it could have been."

So yeah, he had agreed to come to dinner at Belle's house, thus meeting her father properly for the first time. Come to think of it, it was quite an achievement, considering he had been back for months. Not that he had been talkative in the first place - Gold had traded maybe three sentences with the man before being shipped to the front, and now he was about to seat at the same table and manage a proper conversation. He had never been good at that, despised it even, and had wanted so badly to refuse, but the look on Belle's face had stopped him.

This dinner, for whatever reason, was important to her, she wanted him in her house and meeting her father. It was a step forward in their relationship that he was so afraid to take because, after that, there was only one step left. One he was dreading the most and couldn't push himself to make, at least not yet.

Grimacing, Gold grabbed his cane and limped towards the bed to sit heavily on the unmade bedding, his head dropping to his chest. Resigned, he pulled at the end of the tie, not looking as it hung limply in his hand, almost touching the ground. How easier it would have been to just stay in his room, but right after thinking it, he knew he couldn't do it. He had already missed the Chrismas dinner as a nasty case of pneumonia had decided it had been the best time to make him cough out his lungs. He still felt guilty about it as Belle had decided to spent almost all her free time with him then, putting cooling compresses on his fevered forehead when she should have been with her father instead.

To add to that, Gold wasn't blind nor stupid. Belle might have been smiling and telling him he just needed time and would be standing next to him through all of this, but he watched her when she thought he wasn't. She looked tired, to say the least, and he had caught her whipping her eyes more than once. Gold had tried to bring the subject subtly with Ruby Lucas but still couldn't find the right words how to do it. He was sure Belle was speaking with her friend, he really hoped she did, but Roy also knew that he was the reason behind her worries and confronting that fact was scaring him. He didn't want to be a burden, despised the fact that he was, but she kept on insisting on being there for him with every step, and no matter how much Gold hated it, he was glad that she did. Roy didn't want to think where he would have been if not for her.

But it was taking the toll on Belle and the least he could do was to go for a dinner with her father present at the table.

When younger, he had wanted to be a part of a bigger family as his own was lacking in every aspect, but had never gotten the opportunity to meet Millah's parents. It had never occurred to him at that time that maybe Millah's reluctance had been one of the early warning signs. She hadn't invited them to the wedding nor Bae's christening. His ex-wife it seemed hadn't been good at maintaining emotional bonds, and he, on the other hand, had been young and too eager to form them. It had been a miracle they had lasted together for as long as they had. Baylen had probably been the only thing keeping them together, but even that hadn't been enough in the end.

Baylen. 

Was he even alive at this point? He would have been eighteen by now, or more accurately, almost nineteen with his birthday coming in March, and the military could have been all too eager and drafted him by the end of the War... Gold hated the fact of how young the boys under his command had been, how young they had died... Could he even hope...?

Roy ran his hand through his hair, letting out a shaky breath. He needed to pull himself together. He had to. For Belle.  And his boy.

 Please, be alive. 

*

"I have a bad feeling about this."

"You'll do fine, papa."

"You know, I can maybe go to the shop? And you can spend some time toge- "

"We're spending most of our free time together. You know it's not about that."

"Right."

Moe had spent the week before Christmas almost going bald from the nervousness about sitting at the same table with Gold. He had scolded himself all that time and had almost been ready to face the Captain when the message about the man's sickness had come. Maurice had known he should have felt bad about the other man, but it hadn't been easy to hide the relief that had washed over him. Before he had known it, he had been nodding all too vigorously as Belle had told him the news, saying she would be checking on Gold. He had known the meeting sooner or later had to take place, but to say he didn't look forward to this was underestimate. In the months after the Captain's return, Moe had learned to accept the fact that his daughter did love the man and that it hadn't been some fleeting feeling. He didn't have to like him, though. Moe had one opinion about the soldiers, and it wasn't a nice one.

"You'll do fine, papa. You'll see that you'll find something to talk about."

Well, it was inevitable. Moe sighed and cut the stems of the red roses that he freshly arranged into a bouquet then glanced at his daughter leaning against the counter.

"Alright. You can invite the Captain over to the dinner if he's willing."

"He has a name, you know."

Moe just muttered approvingly, focusing more on putting the roses into a vase. They would do nicely for the new years event; the mayor would be peased.

He didn't see Gary Gaston slipping to the back of the shop with a grave expression.

*

Deep breath in.

Deep breath out.

Easy.

Yet not so in the slightest.

Wrapped in the thick woollen coat - a Christmas present from Belle which cost he really didn't want to spend to much time focusing on - Gold watched the mist that left his mouth. Despite the cold, the hand that held the cane was sticky with sweat. He had been standing like that for what felt like hours, but probably were mere minutes wondering if he should knock or not.

He had almost done so when an unwanted realization had stopped him. He had never been to Belle's house before. Yes, he had stood on the next side of the road many times, but had never set a foot over the porch.

It was a lovely house, painted a soft yellow, with an entrance through the flower shop overgrown with vines that had once been Belle's mother's pride and joy. Now, preserved and ran by Moe, it was one of the best-known places in Storybrooke.

Gold corrected the satchel on his left shoulder and took a step forward. It would not do to stand there like a scarecrow. He was almost touching the doorbell when the doors had opened, and someone would have almost barreled into him if Roy's reflexes weren't quicker.

"Sorry, I di -. Captain. "

The sentence was cut short as it seemed the owner of the terse, low voice had realized into whom he had almost walked in. Gold had bearly managed to avoid the collision only thanks to his instincts that had him twisting his shoulder just enough to only brush against the other man. He didn't need to look up to know who had been now blocking his path. It was easy to guess, and quite an achievement on itself that the encounter had happened just now and not a long time beforehand.

Gold drew himself up to his full height, trying to lean on his cane as little as possible. It didn't help much as he was still a lot shorter than the other man, but it had never stopped him from intimidating him.

"Sargent. Haven't seen you for a while - how have you been?"

Gold's tone was light as if he was conversating about the weather, but his eyes were slightly narrowed, betraying that the encounter hadn't been a nice one in the slightest. There was an edge to his voice too, but he doubted that Gary Gaston had noticed it. Neither this nor the fact that Gold's fingers curled tighter around the cane's handle as his ankle screamed at him to elevate the weight that he was now putting on it.

"A lot of work, sir. Glad to have you back."

I bet it is.

"Yes. I've been told I've been declared dead in action. What a relief that I wasn't, won't you say?"

"Yes, sir. A huge relief."

Lair.

He could see it in the other man's posture - the want to say and do a complete opposite of the words that were leaving his mouth. Gold had spent enough time around Sargent Gaston to be able to read him like an open book, and it wasn't hard really. Besides, the younger man had already tried to get rid of him once, so Roy wondered what was stopping him from acting. But Gaston kept on standing as he had been - back straight like during the drills. The thing that betrayed him had been the muscle in his cheek that kept on spasming now and again.

"Well, I must be going. I have a dinner to attend to, you see."

Gold watched for a reaction and Gaston didn't disappoint. His right eyelid twitched, his jaw clenched and it seemed that he tried really hard not to ball his hands into fists.

"Of course, sir. I won't keep you waiting."

Oh, you already did.

Gold could feel the man's eyes on his back as he turned around, his every instinct screaming at him not to expose himself - the last time his back was turned Gaston had put a bullet through his shoulder. And it had been Gaston - now Roy was more sure of that than ever.

But he did turn around and limped through the flower shop's door and even when they closed behind him, he could swear, Gaston's gaze was still drilling holes in his back even through the wood.

He purposefully didn't turn around and tried to ignore the itching between his shoulder blades. Gold wasn't an amateur. He knew how to mask his emotions most of the time - he wouldn't have gotten to where he was now if he didn't - so he limped further into the shop without a glance back.

The place itself wasn't big - cluttered with flowers at every possible surface and all, but it gave away a homely feel. It was easy to spot Belle's hand in some areas. There - a careful arrangement of blue hyacinths with golden ribbons on the far right and then the bouquet of roses arranged in a heart in the middle of the display. She had mentioned once that putting flowers into shapes calmed her mind. It was something she had inherited from her mother it had seemed.

Gold looked around, unsure of where to go next, feeling like a fish out of water. Noone seemed to be at the front, and there was no move at the back indicating either Belle or her father hiding there, so not wanting to snoop around, he made his way towards the counter. The curiosity got better of him when he spotted a small photo frame, sitting on the edge. Gold picked it up without thinking, the corner of his mouth curling slightly when fully seeing the photograph.

A young woman was sitting on a rocking chair and smiling while holding a wee baby girl. Even without the colour, it was quite obvious who the woman was - her eyes and mouth were the same shape as Belle's not to mention the wavy hair. If the woman was who he thought she was then the child... Gold's smile winded.

"I'm sorry, we're closed! Oh." Gold bearly stopped himself from jumping in surprise and letting go of the frame upon hearing the low voice. He turned around and found himself looking at Belle's very uncomfortably looking father.

"Mr French. I apologize for barging in. The door was unlocked."

"Yes, yes. Not your fault, Captian."

By the look of it, it seemed that Gold wasn't the only one nervous about the oncoming dinner. Moe rubbed his hands on his trousers, then made a gesture towards the door. "Just a moment."

Gold watched him turning the lock, only realizing that he was still holding on to the frame when French's gaze fell back on it after turning around. The silence that followed couldn't be more awkward.

"Belle resembles her mother a lot,"  remarked Gold while putting the frame back on its previous place, trying for a casual tone.

"Oh, she does. And not only in looks."

Not knowing what more there was to say they stood watching one another for good two minutes before French remembered that it would be better for both of them to head upstairs.

Yes, the dinner had already started to look like quite a disaster.

*

How a simple dinner could become an awkward affair was quite beyond her. Belle fisted her hand under the table, trying really hard not to bang her head on any of the china. It wasn't like she didn't notice and appreciated the effort that both men were putting into this assemble, no. The problem was, they were trying too hard it seemed - both of them.

Her father looked like he wanted to bolt away any minute from the start, but he had politely inclined about the weather and Roy, looking like he had been facing a fairing squad would answer even more politely to his enquiries.

They were dancing around each other, shooting her sideways glances from time to time, and it was making Belle want to bang their heads together. She really didn't know what to do.

Roy had been back for months, and even if he looked and acted better than he had at first, she knew that a considerable part of it was just an act or more likely an act that slowly was becoming a reality. She made her peace that he would probably never tell her about what had happened during the War, but she wished he would trust her enough to know it didn't matter to her. She just wished he would understand and believe that he wasn't as worthless with his disabilities as he thought himself to be.

She had thought she had lost him once.

That belief, that feeling - it had almost destroyed her. She didn't want to feel it again. It didn't change the fact that the helplessness was slowly getting to her.

"43."

"Oh? And you say you fought in the First War?"

Belle was pulled back from her thoughts by the sudden change of topic. It looked like her father had stopped bitting around the bush and judging by the look on Roy's face, it would have been better if he hadn't.

"But that would make you - "

"16. Now lads had only gotten younger."

The silence that fell over the table felt heavy. Nobody liked to talk about the losses that the War had caused, most of all, Roy. A shadow fell over his face every time the topic was breached, and now it seemed, those scars laid far deeper in his past than she had thought.

"I didn't know you have fought then," Belle whispered, looking down on the plate. She wasn't even born then, and Roy had already... She glanced up, and he sent her a small yet sad smile.

"That last year hadn't been one of the fondest memories."

16...

"Hey," she glanced up when she felt his hand on hers under the table, squeezing reassuringly. Roy was still smiling, even if it didn't reach his eyes. "It's in the past. Not important."

She rotated her hand, threading her fingers through his and squeezed back.

"Nothing that's part of you is unimportant."

His smile winded, not enough to show his teeth, but enough to finally to reach his eyes and he was just about to answer when a clutter of cutlery made both of them jump in their sits. Belle turned her head towards her father, bearly resisting from grinning at how he tried not to look affected, busing his hands with cleaning the splatters of soup on the table with a napkin.

"How silly of me. Clumsy and all, can't reach for a cigarette without a mess," Moe muttered, not looking at them but the flush on his cheeks betraying him.

Belle chuckled then and stood up, taking the napkin from her father and kissing him on the cheek.

"I'll leave the two of you to your smoking and be back in a minute, all right?"

She needed some fresh air.

"You sure?" Moe looked up, his eyes running over her face, searchingly. "I can clean up - "

"It's fine, papa. Relax. You both behave yourselves."

The remark made both Gold and her father almost choke on their drinks, and she shook her head while taking the dishes away.

"Men," she muttered.

Gold watched her go with a lump forming in his throat, briefly wondering if she was doing it on purpose. He knew she needed time to breathe, the small remark that he had been a part of the First War seemed to shake her, and he chid himself for not speaking about it sooner. Maybe then the air between them would have been cleaner? But he had seen no reason to add to the already heavy baggage of guilt. Besides the topic had just simply never come up.

"Well, it seemed we had been left once again alone," Belle's father muttered which made Gold glance in his direction. "Care for a smoke, Captain?"

The corner of Gold's mouth twitched.

"I never say no to that."

They smoked in silence; both of them focused on the smoke rising and dancing in the air. When younger, Gold liked to look for shapes and make rings that rose high towards the ceiling, he had a brief memory of his son clapping at the display those rare times Roy had been smoking indoors.   He didn't know when he had ceased doing those silly things.

"Colette wanted me to stop," remarked Moe as he shook ashes from the cigarette. "Couldn't bring myself to do it, honestly. A nasty habit."

Gold grimaced. "Belle doesn't like it either."

"She's stubborn, I warn you. She got it after her mother."

Gold didn't answer. Instead, he flexed his fingers over the handle of his cane that rested against his leg. Stubborn was one way to put it.

"You got any children, Captain?"

He closed his eyes briefly, inhaling the smoke. That question was one of the reasons he hated small talks. Gold knew he could lie, or brush it aside, but something in him didn't want to. A little honesty wouldn't hurt, would it?

"A son," he answered, managing not to react to the surprise written all over French's face and resisting from riching towards the absent pendant. He took a long drag instead. "He's away." More or less.

"Well then," Moe cleared his throat. "As a parent speaking to a parent, you must understand why I'm worried."

"Mr. French - "

"No, Captain, Let me finish." - He raised his hand, looking at the ex-soldier through the smoke. "I can't say I like any of it. I can't say I understand. But what I can say is that I want my daughter happy. So, are we on the same page here?"

Gold looked to the side, through the doorway that Belle had disappeared earlier. Yes, he had remembered how she had told him how her father had been insistent about her relationship with Gaston, but could he blame him? If he was in Maurice's shoes, wouldn't he act the same? On one side, a young man and a friend of the family while on the other, there had been an old soldier, new to the town and unfamiliar - Moe's choice and opinion weren't as surprising when faced with the facts.

He turned his gaze back towards the other man. "Yes. I think we are."

"Good." They lit another cigarette. "Have you thought about proposing?"

Gold choked on the smoke. How could that be that it was the man, who had looked like he had wanted to escape earlier was the same one as asking those questions?

"I think that this matter is more between Belle and me," he remarked, not wanting to dwell on the subject.

Moe shrugged his shoulders. "I would have given you her mother's ring, but I had pawned it years ago. I was quite - "

"Would you excuse me for a moment?" Gold stood up, putting out the cigarette and gripping his cane tightly. A polite talk he could do, but this conversation was starting to enter areas that he really didn't want to poke.

"Yes, yes, of course."

Judging by how relieved Belle's father looked at the announcement, he was more than happy to let it go.

Gold limped through the doorway, but not finding Belle anywhere near the kitchen he made his way towards the open balcony door. The air was chilly, as adequate for early January, and Gold shivered as a gush of wind blew some of the snowflakes against his face. He cautiously stepped over the threshold, instantly spotting Belle by the railing. She was leaning on her elbows, her cheeks red from the cold, although dressed in a heavy coat - his coat.

"You'll catch a cold if you keep standing there, you know?"

She didn't jump when hearing his voice only slightly turned in his direction, a smile dancing across her lips.

"Care to warm me up, then?"

His eyes softened, and without hesitation, he draped his arm over her shoulder, enjoying the warmth that spread inside of him as Belle snuggled closer, bringing her arms around his middle.

She didn't speak for a while, face buried in Roy's coat, listening to his heartbeat as her cheek rested on his chest. He smelled of tobacco that weirdly didn't match him as her father smoked a different brand, but beneath it, there was that other smell that was so undoubtedly his that it made her feel safe and calm.

"Did my father scared you off?" she mumbled.

"Hmm? No, I don't think so. He... um, he spoke of proposing, though," he added after a moment, hesitant. She could feel his shoulders tensing.

She glanced up, searching his eyes, but he avoided looking at her. She didn't know what to feel. Hope? Fear?

"Roy - "

"Would you like me to?" He interrupted, meeting her gaze. There was something in his eyes that she didn't know how to read. Uncertainty? "To propose, I mean."

"And would you?"

A question for a question. Only fair, considering they both seemed to know the answer.

Roy sighed, looking into the distance.

"Of course, I would. But is it bad that not yet? I- Well, yeah."

Belle couldn't help but smile softly and only after a moment she climbed on her toes and kissed him on the cheek.

"No. How about we both wait a little bit longer, then?"

"I'm sorry, I keep worrying you. You don't deserve that."

"Roy - "

"No. Let me finish," Roy interrupted her for a second time, twisting so he could look her in the eye. "You can't keep doing this to yourself, Belle. When was the last time you went out with Ms Lucas or anyone else?"

Her silence was enough of an answer, so Gold took her chilly hands in his. "I can't love you enough for what you're doing for me, but you need to take care of yourself too. It's enough that one of us is, well, not enough."

By the end, he wasn't looking at her anymore, and Belle rubbed her hand over his cheek to comfort him as best as she could. They were quite a pair.

"You're enough for me."

He turned his face and kissed her palm.

"I love you."

"I love you too, and you're right, but you can't stop me from worrying."

"I worry too, you know?"

She giggled lightly. Yes, quite a pair they were.

"How about a deal?" She asked, taking a step away from him.

"You want to make a deal with me?" He asked, frowning.

"Yep. I will try not to over-worry, and you'll try not to think about yourself as inadequate."

He raised his brow.

"Hard terms, but it seems fair, I admit."

"Then deal it is, captain Gold."

"All right, miss French. A deal is struck." They shock their hands just as a chill went down both of their bodies, making them shiver. "Now, how about we head inside, or your father may wonder what we have gotten into."

Belle giggled then hugged him one last time before taking his hand into hers and tugging him towards the flat. "God forbid, he came looking."

The rest of the dinner went more smoothly, but as Gold returned to his small room, the remark that Belle's father made about his wife's wedding band kept playing over in his head. There was only one pawn shop in Storybrooke. Maybe it was time to make a short visit there.

*

Gary Gaston stood outside the flower shop door for a long time after they had closed after captain Gold.

He didn't know what to do. After he had heard about the accident involving Nottingham, he had hoped the man would be in bad enough shape to do Gary a little favour and die, but it seemed to be a futile hope. Getting his own hands on Gold was continuing to be a problem considering he was hardly ever alone...

Some would think that Gary had forgotten, that he had gotten over the humiliation that was loosing to an older man, but no, he hadn't. Nor had he forgiven.

A lone snowflake fell on the tip of his nose, making him look up to the sky.

Well, he had been inpatient and too sure of himself once. He wouldn't make the same mistake again.

Gary Gaston turned on his heel and marched towards his home.

It didn't matter if Gold suspected him or not - a good hunter could wait as long as needed, and if anything, Gary was a good hunter.

[greenwaterskeeter]

i finally have a coherent personal narrative, and here it is. It’s quite long, but i think of some interest, and might be encouraging!

-Mentions of suicidal ideation, emotional and financial abuse, emotional incest, fatphobia, misogyny, capitalism. Whatever the qpr equivalent of romance is. Ends happily-

I felt for a long time that i should have died when i was 20. Not in the sense that i deserved to, but in the sense that by then i’d accomplished as much as i ever would and was therefore obsolete– taking up resources unnecessarily.

When i was 13, i felt forced to choose between my parents. My bus driver/karate teacher, a kind person who i very much admired, advised me to flip a coin and then, if i didn’t like the result, pick the other. I chose my mother and (privately) pledged absolute loyalty to her (I was obsessed with LOTR at the time and felt that it was the purpose of my life to be a Sam for somebody).

While she was single and struggling to keep the farm and raise my brother (a toddler then), that devotion was used and rewarded. There were times i thought with satisfaction that i might as well be her husband, as well as a parent to my beloved brother. I was proud. I felt righteous. The joy of supporting and protecting her was real. The intermittent anguish of being a minor who could legally only do so much to help was also real. (I believed in laws then).

When I was 17, she remarried (a perfectly nice, wealthy man, as devoted as me and much more powerful) and i went to college. I slowly imploded across all four years, though I didn’t realize that until nearly the end. I think now it was because nothing i could offer her was needed anymore. Every time she treated me like a child instead of the valued partner i had been, i was crushed. Emasculated. i began to feel positively Tortured without understanding why. It sounds like a villain’s origin story, doesn’t it?

When it started affecting my performance, i could only think the trouble was that i was pining for a married professor, as you do. I had fallen in love with him, and made myself his best student (and then his TA, and then began to feel gross about it, quit, and started avoiding where i knew he’d be, all without telling anyone). Once my decline became known and answers were demanded, this was all i could offer in explanation.

I didn’t blame anyone consciously then, but i think now i felt betrayed by how my friends and family reacted. They all thought i must have seduced him (or vice versa if they were generous) to be so torn up. It was too foolish to become suicidal over a crush. They didn’t believe me, or accused me of grandiosity, when i said the professor didn’t even know how i felt. I have always struggled to keep in touch with people, and once my oldest friends gave me the Adultery is Bad talk, it was hard to keep trying.

Everyone did their best and we were all very young. I didn’t understand any more than they did. But still, i can acknowledge now what it would have meant to have just one person who believed in me regardless of understanding. On a deeply hidden level, i felt that my mother, at least, owed me that, after years of faithful service.

But horribly, once it became clear my suicidality was almost entirely passive, she turned on me. She was very frightened. I guess she had also been thanking her lucky stars all that time that i wasn’t turning out like my dad, but here i revealed myself at last to be a freeloader, just like him. I was supposed to go to medical school. I had been the pride of the extended family, the eldest and purest of my generation, a marvel of the local intelligentsia, and i wound up dragging myself back home inept, directionless, cringing, the same as so many unfortunate young cousins and neighbors who’d used to have me pointed out to them as an example. Who would my brothers look up to now?

I endured living at home for a few years. My mom couldn’t keep up the punishment constantly, so although there was no telling when she would start in on me again, or whether she might finally go through with evicting me, there were beautiful things too.

I worked for her husband’s business for no pay, which i understand now was abusive, but i have always enjoyed working with my hands, and when they left me to it, it felt like the old days, like i had a use, even if it was now peripheral. My brothers weren’t sure what to do with me, but we still had fun when we could. The animals comforted me, and it’s special to be able to give affection and gentleness to a creature who depends on you. The woods and mists and early mornings and silent moonlights were still beautiful, and gradually i could appreciate them again. When i was with people, i felt my disgrace abjectly. But on the farm there were many chores to be done alone.

The more i recovered, the more trapped i felt. I even, very alarmingly, spent about two hours one afternoon silently consumed with resentful feelings towards my mother (this hadn’t happened since i was 10). I began to be afraid of losing control and doing something desperate (I totaled two different trucks during this time, on roads i knew well, for no apparent reason). I had given up my spot at a medical school i would not get into twice, and the obvious escape was to reapply elsewhere. I attempted this, and sabotaged it, multiple times.

I got a job at a nursing home, which was hard on my back but full of wonderful people, and was forced to quit when it made me late to my shift at my stepfather’s business too many times. By this i understood that a local job was not getting me out of there. I asked for money to get an EMT certification and was refused. I applied to many online jobs, none of which i had enough time to make money from. I called up one or two branches of the military, and was rejected for being too fat, thank God. I applied to medical school again, and managed to not sabotage it enough that i was accepted into a master’s program instead. It was across the state, five hundred miles away.

And still it might have come to nothing, as i had no conscious plans, actually, of staying away once i was done with this master’s program. The expected thing would be to go on to medical school, but i was only anticipating the first day of being free and couldn’t imagine anything more than a week in the future. I looked at the amount of debt i was taking on for this, knowing in my heart that i would not get a job that could pay it back, and was only relieved that they hadn’t caught onto me and i could still get loans.

There are a lot of things in my story that aren’t what they say is healthy or proper. I shouldn’t have romanticized my own parentification, i should not have had feelings for a 50 year old man, i should have kept trying with my friends, who have good hearts and only made one mistake before i ghosted them, i should have kept telling the truth, i shouldn’t have taken moral injury from things that weren’t my fault, i should have been properly angry with my mother at some point, i should not be grateful that my tendency is to harm myself rather than others.

One person alone should not have been able to save me.

In the second month of my year away, i was in a study group with my roommates and some of their acquaintances, and i laughingly shared some anecdote or other that i thought was harmless. I don’t remember whether anyone else laughed, but one person said: “That sounds kind of fucked up.”

“Oh,” I said, embarrassed. “Eh, well.”

Nothing more was made of it, and we went on studying. Later, this same person saw me sitting in the cafeteria alone and came to sit with me. We met to study again, just us two, and they showed me a video about white tears and watched me closely for my reaction. We compared ideals and found them the same. We came up with a project to collectivize flashcard-making for our class and had to meet frequently to carry it out. “We’re colleagues,” my new friend said, firmly, when people asked if we were together. We discovered ethical problems with the program and protested them, formally and informally. We were accused of being too insular. We talked about our families, and they said things like: “That’s not okay, you realize that, right” and “I think if more people loved the way you do, I’d have a reason to smile in the morning.” It became normal for my eyes to be sore from crying.

Neither of us got into medical school that year. We got an apartment together after graduation, and worked together too until i was fired (I was new to challenging authority and not very subtle in my distaste for our bosses). My friend’s parents wanted them to quit too, to come home while they reapplied, but they said: “Not without Autumn.” So after some negotiating, we went to live with their folks for a while…

We’ve been together for 5 years now. At first I did the same as I’d always done, but my partner made it clear they don’t want self-abnegation from me. I started trying to have boundaries, paradoxically, to make them happy. I’ve dipped into therapy as money allows. I’ve been reading and thinking and writing. Above all, I’ve been loved.

And all this time, I’ve still been deeply ashamed. I’ve spent the last ten years in some degree of emotional pain 24/7. But somehow, two weeks ago, another thing happened that shouldn’t, and i suddenly knew that i was a human being like any other.

I still feel that I should have died when I was 20, but now it’s in the sense that people say, “You shouldn’t have survived that! What a miracle!” Still existing feels like a bonus. I might live a long time from now and i might not. Either way, I’m incredibly lucky to turn my face to the world and know that i am a creature in it, like other creatures. I am well. It’s good that I’m alive.

[flutteringphalanges]

                                              Mirabile Visu

Summary: Sister Agatha Van Helsing discovers she’s in over her head when a competitive game of chess ultimately results in her becoming pregnant with the child of her worst enemy, Count Dracula. Now tied by a bond deeper than blood, the two must learn to coexist and adapt in a world that could be potentially hostile towards their offspring. Parenthood has never looked so batty.

Characters: Dracula/Agatha Van Helsing

Chapters: 9/?

Read on FFN and AO3

A/N: Thank you all for the love and support! This story wouldn't be what it is without you! Feedback is greatly loved and appreciated! Knowing there is an audience for this story keeps me regularly updating it! Stay healthy and safe! -Jen

                                                Chapter Nine

                                               Dracula Residence

                                                  Present Time

This was different from the raid on Whitby beach, that much Dracula realized. As he stood there, trying his best to shield his wife from the onslaught, he found it very difficult as the guards formed a circle around them, pressing in so that he couldn't make a tactical move. Suddenly, from the blown in door, a woman stepped inside. She was familiar, her scent immediately assaulting his nasal passage ways. Dr. Bloxham. Ah, the thumbless scientist.

"You know," the woman sighed, looking from Dracula to Agatha. "It didn't have to come down to this. Your flat is rather lovely, it was a shame really."

"If this is about your finger," the count commented. "The nine others aren't completely useless."

"Dracula," his wife hissed quietly. "Don't antagonize…"

"She's right," the woman answered, cutting Agatha off. "I'd be mindful if I were you. I'm sure you've noticed, but there has been quite an adjustment made to our weapons?" She motioned to one of the men, his black uniform masking his features. "Military grade fabric designed to withstand 3,000 PSI bite power. Extra padding around the neck to protect the throat and jugular. Pure silver buckles and," she smiled, pointing to a deep pocket. "Stake holster. But that's not the best part."

Both vampires watched as Bloxham's fingers trailed across the strange device each figure held.

"A crossbow rifle combination," the woman smirked. "Equipped with bullets fashioned similar to stakes with pure silver tips. And," her eyes sparkled maliciously. "Even managed to get them blessed. I must say, the cost was incredible, but thankfully the Foundation has money to spare."

Count Dracula snorted. "I've been shot many times, mortal bullets don't cause us any harm."

"Oh really?" Dr. Bloxham inquired, cocking her head to the side. "Care to wager on that?"

Before either could react, the scientist nodded towards one of the men who pointed the weapon towards Dracula. With a click, he aimed and fired the device, the bullet embedding itself into the count's shoulder.

"Dracula!" Agatha cried out, turning to her husband in horror.

The vampire gripped his arm in pain, trying not to give the doctor the satisfaction of a groan. When he looked to his wound, to his utter surprise, dark red liquid began to trickle down from the entry point. Blood. He was bleeding. And it wasn't immediately healing either. He felt Agatha's hand pressing tightly over his, her eyes wild with concern.

"Detain them," Dr. Bloxham said, turning on her heels. "And if they give you any trouble, shoot them." Her lips curved into a small smile. "Dr. Van Helsing...never trust someone who's emotionally tasked with such a job..."

                                    Zoe Van Helsing’s Residence

The sun had just disappeared below the horizon when Sorina eyes fluttered open. Yawning, she sat up in her bed, blinking back sleep. She was not surprised to see Jack sitting against the wall opposite of her, mindlessly tapping away at his phone-one of his game apps for sure. He'd stayed over after the incident with her parents, Zoe surprisingly allowing it.

"Hey," she smiled tiredly. "Did you get any sleep?"

"Hey yourself," Jack chuckled, putting his cell away. "A little," he admitted. "Zoe gave me a pillow and a throw blanket. At least it was something. Can't exactly complain there."

Sorina sighed, running a hand through her messy hair. "Last night was…"

"Unexpected?" The young man finished. "Look, I know I should've told you about your dad and his...opinion on me, but you just got reunited with your parents and I wanted you to rekindle your relationships before I blew it up."

"If anyone blew up, it was me last night," the halfling stated. "And Mum is pregnant, wasn't expecting that curve ball." She shook her head, glancing at the curtains that still hung over the window. "Where's Zoe anyway?" Not that she really cared. After last night, there had been a long period of silence between them.

"In her room, I think," Jack replied. "Last time I checked she was trying to contact the Foundation. It's strange, she said the phone lines kept sending her to the public voicemail, not to the laboratory itself despite the password. Maybe there's a mishap in the system."

"Could be," Sorina agreed. "I mean, the place is nearly as old as I am. It has its occasional blips." She exhaled, moving to stand up. "Hungry? I was thinking we could order a pizza?"

"Extra pepperoni and bacon?" He smirked, meeting her gaze. "I'll call it in."

"You know me best," Sorina grinned. Pork had, of course, always been a food she gravitated towards. "I'm going to go have a word with Zoe. Hopefully it won't take too long."

Still dressed in her clothes from yesterday, she headed in the direction of her aunt's room. As she drew nearer, Sorina could just make out Zoe cursing softly under her breath. Peering through the slightly ajar door, she watched as the doctor repeatedly typed a series of numbers onto her phone before holding it up to her ear. Seconds passed. Nothing. And the scientist brought the device down to her desk with a sigh.

"Zoe?"

The woman jumped, slightly startled by the sound of her name. Hesitantly, Sorina slipped inside, closing the space between them. Zoe looked tired. More exhausted than usual. Sorina noted a small cut on her bottom lip where the woman must've been chewing on it nervously.

"Sorina," her voice was flat. "You're up." She turned in her chair, now facing the girl head on. "Are we going to have a proper discussion about last night?"

"About how you not only neglected to tell me that my Mum was pregnant, but also the Foundation wanted to 'study' her like some exotic animal?" Sorina nodded towards the phone. "Why are you trying to reach them anyway? To attempt to call things off like some hero?"

"This is a lot deeper than you realize," Zoe sighed heavily. "But yes, I'm trying to handle the situation in favor of your parents. However," she ground her teeth together as she spoke. "No one is taking my calls. Not Bloxham. Not the research facility. No one." Shaking her head, she moved a strand of hair out of her pale face. "I'm sorry, Sorina, what I did was not done with the intention of hurting you."

"If you'd really cared, you'd leave the Foundation for good after this," the young woman exclaimed. "Once my Mum's safety is secured." She paused, noting the gaunt expression on Zoe's face. Anger momentarily melted into concern. "You should've left a long time ago. Have you taken your pills today?"

"They only dull my senses," Zoe stated wearily. "And right now, having a clear mind is needed to figure things out." She glanced at her laptop and her frown deepened. "It's almost like my key card has been cancelled…" It was then her eyes lit up. "Ask Jack to come downstairs, I want to try something."

Sorina studied her aunt curiously for a second, before doing as she requested. Once Jack had joined the two women in the room, Dr. Van Helsing sat up straighter in her seat, expression one of determined nature.

"Call the Foundation," she informed the young man.

"I thought the lines were down?" Jack posed, dialing the number on his own phone. "What makes you think," he continued, now holding it to his ear. "That they'd answer to-"

"Jonathan Harker Foundation," a voice responded on the other line. "Please enter the twelve digit code on the back of your key card to proceed."

The room grew quiet and, though she wasn't sure at the time why, Sorina's blood grew. Jack, looking rather unsure, only continued when Zoe nodded eagerly at him. He typed in his identification number and was immediately redirected.

"Hello," a man answered. "Who am I speaking to?"

"This is Jack Seward," he said with hesitation. "I was wondering if I could reach Dr. Van Helsing?"

"I'm sorry," the person responded. "But the person by that name no longer works for the facility. Have a good day."

With that, the other line hung up. Jack lowered the phone from his ear slowly, his eyes locked on Zoe's. It had been loud enough for all three to hear it. The halfling felt a lump growing in her throat, even her aunt's expression had paled. Something was wrong. Terribly wrong.

"We have to go back to your parents' flat," Zoe said, breaking the silence. "I've made a horrible mistake."

                                 The Jonathan Harker Foundation

The prison situated in the center of the Foundation's research room seemed even smaller than Dracula remembered. The vampire found himself pacing, his shoulder still aching from his injury. It had begun to heal, his body pushing the bullet out within a few hours, but the sting was still there.

Agatha watched nearby, her eyes scanning the room as if trying to figure out some solution that would lead to their escape. At every given corner, a guard stood poised and ready to take action if provoked. One hand rested on her still smooth abdomen, a feeling of helplessness hanging over her. A mother was sworn to protect their child and being trapped here was going against that instinct.

"Bloody Mina Murray," Dracula growled, turning on his heels. "Should've killed her when I had the chance. Why didn't you let me?!"

"We're really going to argue about this now?" Agatha frowned. "About me saving the life of an innocent woman during a massacre you caused?"

"Well look where it brought up!" The other vampire gestured around. "She had to go and created this ridiculous little institution of hers."

"Well if I hadn't," the woman countered. "You wouldn't have me, Sorina, or…" her voice trailed off as her eyes flickered down to her stomach. The count seemed to sense her worry and moved to her side.

"I won't let any happen," he promised, placing his hand over hers. "To either of you."

"It's funny," she smiled weakly. "You said to me once all those years ago that I can't save everyone and yet here you are, proclaiming the same thing."

"Perhaps you unfortunately rubbed off on me," he smirked. "You do have a way of doing that."

"Must be the inner nun in me," she chuckled, leaning into him. "To think a game of simple chess led us this far."

"Remind me to burn the game when we escape," he replied.

"Not after I challenge you to another round," she countered, the mood beginning to lighten. "I…"

The former nun's words were cut short as the heavy metal sliding doors opened and Dr. Bloxham strode in. She seemed to study the two vampires, expression void of any emotion as she approached, two men at either side. In her hands, she clutched a clipboard, her focus shifting to whatever paperwork was attached to it.

"It's rather unfortunate that I never got a proper examination of your daughter," the woman commented. "Based on the relationship between the Van Helsings and the Murrays, it was declared that she was off limits. A pity, I would have loved to learn what made her tick." A low growl escaped from deep within Dracula's chest and the doctor smirked. "Did I hit a pressure point?"

"For a place that relies so much on Christian faith, you sure lack the understanding of it," Agatha answered bitterly. "Forgiveness, Kindness, Humility…"

"I don't take preaching from a fallen nun," the woman countered. "As for my beliefs on God, they pertain solely on the idea of how to destroy a monster such as yourselves." She paused, amused by Agatha's threatening glare. "I will say, I am quite curious though as to what's inside you. I may have missed out on your daughter, but your second child and its development. I think I'd like to have a better look at that."

Dracula nudged Agatha behind him as the armed men began to circle around in close proximity to the prison's frame.

"Restrain him," Bloxham said simply. "I'm only interested in her."

                                          Dracula Residence

Sorina was the first to leap out of the car and bound towards her parents' home. She could hear Jack calling out, his footfall far behind hers. There was something off. She could sense it. And as she rounded the corner, her heart immediately sank at the sight.

"No," she whispered. "No, no, no!"

The damage was done. The door blown right opened, wood splinters. She could smell it. The scent of blood. And it was not human. Zoe and Jack stood behind her, both humans panting as they too took in the sight.

"Sorina," Zoe said breathlessly, reaching out for her niece. "I…"

"You!" She snapped, turning to face the scientist. "This is your fault!"

"I didn't know this would happen," she replied, pain laced in her tone. "I didn't…"

"I don't care," Sorina muttered. "About you or about the Foundation. I'm going to get my parents back alone or otherwise."

Her eyes had grown dark, and for the first time since he'd known her, Jack felt afraid of her.

"They just fucked with the wrong family..."

[x-spooks]

Just Right. (Got7 AU) Ep. 1

This is going to be a tugboat of a love storyline. Your name is Inez-Mi. Your stage name is Nyx. You’re the newest member of an existing K-Pop girl group, Goddess, who happens to be under JYP. You’re replacing the leader who left abruptly and under shh, shh, circumstances. This is my first post so if you have questions/concerns/comments please fell free. 

Sweat ran trails down the curvature of your neck, disappearing under the collar of your plain black T. It clung to your tacky skin leaving nothing to the imagination. Your chest heaved as your lungs were forced to take sharp scorching breaths. You were definitely questioning your sanity as you stared at your reflection and those of your fellow members. You weren't Asian slim. You weren't build for show. You weren't quite athletic either. Nope. You were comparing yourself to the 4'10" to 5'5", 90 to 100lbs, flawless Koreans, Chinese, and Japanese dolls. The instructor snapped his fingers. "Nyx, you're delayed half a step." He voiced annoyed in Hangul. "I'll improve." You breathed. Your smoky gray eyes met his black ones. You lowered your gaze and bowed deeply.  He narrowed his eyes while a hiss of disbelief left his thin lips. Mister Cho had made his disapproval painfully clear. Specially in front of your fellow members and the big wigs.  If it wasn't for your father's reputation and name you would've bounced after two days. But you were a Moon. A daughter of an Idol turned famous producer/Actor who gave his free time to excel a company he was a board member to, JYP Entertainment.  You rose from your bow.  "Again." Mister Cho demanded. Over dramatized groans filled the practice room. A Korean member, Song-I, mouthed a few curses about you being a foreigner and something about choking you to death.  A laugh busted from your pouters lip. You weren't one to flex, but you wouldn't take anything physical from anyone specially Song-I dramatic whiny no having ass.  "Moon Inez-Mi!" Mister Cho yelled. "Are you wasting all of our time?" Your laugh died in the back of your throat at hearing your full name, "No, Sir." You military straightened your spine.  "Everyone dismissed expect Nyx." He growled with impatience, "You stay here until you get it right."  You nodded refusing to get upset. You bit hard on your inner lip until you tasted iron. You waited until everyone was long gone before you let your frustration leave you. Your lungs took in a long stinging pull of air. Instead of trying to break your knuckles against the wall of mirrors, You counted backwards from hundred letting your breath leave your chest slowly.  After a good five minutes, You walked over to the sound system and snatched up the remote. You stabbed the play button. Music pumped out of the giant speakers arranged in the far corners. You started to do the mind numbingly simple steps. You felt like such a sale out to your gender. Women in history fought tooth and nail to not be seen as walking sex and how you were flushing their progress down the toilet.  With every movement your voluminous curves gave way more than your full Asian members.  You needed to talk to your Dad.  You shoved all those thoughts aside and focused on the task at hand. Listening closely to the music you continued to dance. You sighed at your reflection after dancing to the same track fifteen times. But You finally got the timing right. Your hands found your slim waist. You did a side turn. You stared at your side profile through the mirrors. Your butt and bust were big even with the tight sports wear. You kinda wished you took after your dad more. But your mom's Mesoamerican/north-western European genes were definitely dominate at least in you.  Your eyes were large, circular with smoky gray iris and a deep double lid. Your  skin tone was pale with pink undertones. A body that definitely had a Mexican flare. You did have your dad's full pouty lips, delicate nose and his cheek bones.  You shook your head. "Fuck this." You sighed in English. You weren't ever going to be one of them. Movement caught your attention. You assumed it was your Dad checking in. He did it from time to time making all the other girls swoon. You let out another sigh, before masking your frustration. "Dad, your avid admirer are not here." Your perfect pitched Hangul voice was stinky with sweet sarcasm.  "Dad?"  Through the mirror, your eyes settled on a much younger man. He was handsome in a classic Korean drama way. It was then you noticed a few other guys staring in at you over his broad shoulders. They were all handsome in their own right. Your face went from white to scarlet in your embarrassment. You bowed deeply as you turned to face them. You tried to recall their names. "Please. Forgive my tone." You rose as she spoke in Hangul. K-Drama onyx eyes were cold as he took you in. You forced your expression to stay neutral. "I did not mean to be disrespectful." You tacked on. "Moon's daughter?" The tallest one asked not to you, but to K-Drama who had casually leaned in the door jam.  He nodded slowly with a blank expression, but his eyes were steady and unyielding.  Had you pissed him off before?  "You must need the room." You forced yourself to blink so you wouldn't be staring at their stunning faces. GOT7, you suddenly remembered. "Please excuse me. I will leave you be." You rushed over to the equipment stand and set the remote back.  "I heard you can do gymnastics?" One asked in perfect English.  You glanced over your shoulder and nodded slightly, "I did participate when I was younger." You confessed in Hangul as you turned towards the sound of a masculine voice. Mark. Of course, you would remember the only American other than yourself. Well that was a lie you had a duel citizenship. He slipped past K-Drama and did a front aerial like it was as easy as touching his toes. He landed a few feet away from you.  A smile took over your features as you gently clapped. Your embarrassment started to melt away. You took a good four steps forward and force your body to preform a back flip. You landed it out of pure muscle memory. You even did the proper posture for sticking it. You shook her head at your silliness. "I am Goddess's Nyx." You bowed again. A few loose strands of navy blue hair fell into your eyes and framed your face. You rose to see the members who were in the hall were now in the dance studio. K-drama didn't budge. He was still leaning against the width of the door observing.

Mark's smile could be heard in his voice as he introduced the members that were present. "The one still in the doorway is Jinyoung. Yugyeom is the tall one. That's Jackson."

You slightly bowed your head to Jinyoung and Yugyeom. 

When your eyes moved to Jackson, he did a front flip so strong he landed in the super hero pose. 

A genuine laugh left you as you slow clapped, "I wager your admirers appreciate it extremely." She teased in Hangul.

"You know it." He smiled as he rose from his stance. 

K-drama aka Jinyoung voice killed the mood, "Mark." 

"Hmm?" Mark glanced over to the door.

Jinyoung made the slightest motions that you barely see out from the corner of your eye.

"Are you following me?" You were suddenly distracted by the sting of annoyance in your older brother and New Manager of Goddess, voice as it seeped into the dance studio from the hall.  "Why would I follow you?" A deep male voice countered with venom sharpening his every syllable. "I belong here. You. You're just the spoiled brat to a withered idol who hasn't got it through his thick skull his time has long since past." Jinyoung slammed the door. Not only shutting himself out into the hall, but also silencing the argument.  "I don't know who that is, but they're in for a rude awakening." You dropped your beyond proper Hangul and picked up your American English. You started for the door. "That's our leader." Mark offered slightly annoyed himself.  You stopped in mid-step. "What?" You glanced over to him.  "Let me apology for him. JB and your Father aren't fans of each other." He offered hesitantly.  "It boiled over today." Jackson offered.  Your eyes went to Jackson then to the door while you wondered what had happened between JB and your dad. Everyone loved your dad or so you thought.  A sharp clap gathered all of their attention, "While they finish their yelling contest let's see who can land the most moves." Yugyeom suggested in Hangul, "I'll keep score."  "I'm in." Jackson and Mark said in unison. Their attention moved to you once you didn’t say anything. Jackson started to do a pleading puppy dog thing with his face. Mark smiled the sweetest smile and Yugyeom was laying the aegyo on thick. You playfully rolled your eyes while shaking your head. "The one with the least amounts of completions must purchase ice cream." You challenged in Hangul as you walked to the far side of the room. Sounds of agreement shot into the air.  "Are we to perform the exact combination or a particular combination we have the most success with?" You called over your shoulder. "Best at." They agreed.  "No simple combinations." You shot out in a playfully stern tone. You turned your back to the wall. You only had to wait a few seconds for Jackson and Mark to be next to you. "Ladies before gentlemen." You smiled. You took in a deep breath and made your Nikes do a few quick steps to get momentum. You forced your body to do a roundoff back tuck. You stuck it only to be abruptly face to face with a man who was beyond pissed. Your light eyes quickly took in his features. Two beauty marks above his left eye. His handsome features were set in a brooding expression. You would bet he always looked slightly intimidating. The little girl in you was instantly attracted. Like how you would fall for the rich bad boy in all those mangas you read in your pre-teens.  You saw your brother was shoulder to shoulder with him from your peripheral. Well, as close as a 6'3" could be to a 5'11".  You smiled a polite smile, but blatantly ignoring their combined attitude and turned on the heels of your Nikes. "Who proceeding?" "Inez-Mi." Your brothers voice was firm. "Il-Gun." You turned to face him but continued walking backwards towards Mark and Jackson.  "Its time to go." He spoke in Hangul through clenched teeth.  You didn't stop walking, "Sweet, smooth, satisfying ice cream is the reward." You voiced in Hangul as you felt the wall at your back. You leaned against it in a relaxed pose. You looked to Mark and Jackson then simply motioned for the next one to go.  They didnt budge. You looked to the man next to your brother. You tried to keep your face neutral. His dark gaze locked onto her gray ones. If looks could kill. His kicked out chin and grimacing lips would make anyone with sense scurry.  But did you have any? Nope. Your American arrogance kicked in. "Most honorable Lim Jae-Beom," You said in your sweetest Hangul tone, "you're going to receive lock jaw if you keep clenching your teeth and pushing out your chin like such." Your foreigner feature were set in a concerned expression. Mark, Jackson, and Yugyeom burst out laughing but quickly zipped their lips under JBs murderous stare. Jinyoung disguised his laugh as an awkward cough somewhere out of sight.  "Now!" Gun snapped.  You leaned off the wall unfazed by his anger and started towards them. You turned on your heels but continued to walk backwards "Forfeit means you owe me bubble tea." You smiled speaking English to Mark, Jackson and Yugyeom. Jackson confirmed with a kind expression. Mark flashed his famous smile and nodded. Yugyeom was red from trying to hold in his laughter. You turned and stopped in your steps. You were a few feet from the brooding twins. You bowed to JB and Gun, "It was a honor to meet you and please excuse my disobedience I did not mean to be disrespectful," You slowly rose with a soft demeanor. You turned at the waist slightly and waved goodbye at the guys. You even made a point to wave to Jinyoung who was casually sitting on the couch behind JB and Gun. His view point was perfect, you thought. He could watch everything unfold without being in the line of fire. You went out into the hall but before Gun shut the door behind him. You heard JB’s deep voice ask, "Why is she speaking like she's a descendant of royalty?" He was definitely angry. You laughed walking ahead of your brother. "Inez," Guns voice filled the hall, "this isn't funny." He growled, "Pissing off JB isn't worth the headache nor the ear full you're going to get from Dad. You need to learn your place." You rolled your eyes hard. "I can't comprehend the reason why?" Your voice caught some of his sassy tone. "Your my Guardian when father is not hovering. So would it not be you who receives father's wrath for not keeping me in my quote unquote place." The squeaking of his teeth grinding meant you had gone too far. "It's on Goddess' schedule for you to get ready for a radio interview." He talked through his teeth.  You stopped in your steps until Gun was beside you, "I’m sorry." Your dared a glance up to Guns’ profile. "I did not intend to shove back so hard." An angry smile took hold of his intimidation features. "Dad didn't risk his neck and name for you to fuck this up. You are now the newest member and Leader of Goddess." He started walking so fast that you could barely keep up. "Start acting like it." You wanted to lash out. To scream at him that you had avoided the Idol path with college and spending time in the state's with our mom. But it wouldn't help you. You would come across as whiney, pathetic, and unmanageable. Gun was right, anyways. Their dad found a way to make lemonade out of a scandalous situation. A situation that was being covered up even within JYP Entertainment. Only the higher ups knew what happened and they weren't talking.  All you were privy to was you were Goddess' Hail Mary pass. JYP Entertainment was going to drop the girl group, when your dad made the move to drag his 'multi-talented' daughter into the mix.  You rolled your eyes hard as you remembered the press release.  You were so lost in thought, you bashed into a slim, tall figure as you rounded the corner, "Excuse me," you bowed your head. "My apologies." Your embarrassment was written on your face as your eyes gazed up to a pair of grey, blue irises.  "No," The well dressed man paused once he saw Gun. He sized him up with a cold expression, "Excuse me. I'm late and wasn't paying attention." His voice was lighter than You would have guessed. He bowed while side stepping. "Its all for show." An amused smile tugged on your lips as you spoke English. Your eyes settled on his handsome face as he rose.  "Nyx?" He asked with a spark of recognition in his eye and finger gun pointing at you. You nodded with a kind smile. You thought of Got7 and remembered Mark and Jackson weren’t the only regular English speaker. "Bam Bam?" You countered. You definitely liked how his expression reflect his mood. There was no way he was Korean.  A cocky smirk took over his full lips.  "You might want to count to ten and mentally prepare yourself." You commented with some regret lingering in your voice.  He arched a well manicured brow in confusion while losing his smile. "I might've," you paused thinking of a nice way to say you straight out disrespected his leader, "danced on JB’s last nerve." His full lips broke into a grin, "No worries." He laughed, "we do it all the time-" "BamBam." Gun voiced annoyed clearly ready to get out of here. He bowed his head in the slightest way. You sighed under your breath, "Gun-Hulk Smash." You felt Guns grip on your wrist. You had to resist ripping it out of his hand. You glanced down at your combined flesh. You were unimpressed. You softened your expression when your eyes found BamBam. "I am behind in my schedule as well it was a pleasure to make your acquaintance," you spoke in Hangul as you bowed again. "Good luck."  Gun started walking while pulling you with him. "You too," BamBam smiled a kind smile that reached his eyes. His expression soured at Gun as you was tugged away. Once you two made it to the elevator, you tore your wrist from his grasp. Your light eyes narrowed as you stabbed your index finger into the up arrow. You wanted to say something, anything clever to make it clear he wasn't your guys Father, but nothing came to mind.  The elevator dinged open.  You got in after Gun. You went to the buttons and poked the floor you needed. While the doors were shutting you saw BamBam watching you two. You smiled a polite smile and waved. 

[internaljiujitsu]

Negrito: Race In The Latino Community

I had lots of nicknames growing up. Bolita (little ball) when I was a toddler because I was round. Jun (short for Junior), because I share a name with my dad. But the monikers I heard most from my mom and extended family were Negro (black), Negrito (little black) or Negrolo (black something or other). Notice a pattern?

As the darkest person in my Puerto Rican family, that’s how my loved ones would address me. It’s a common practice in Latino cultures. Identifying someone by their color, frowned upon in politically correct, modern society, has morphed into a term of endearment among racially diverse Latinos. Or so it seems.

Despite the wide range of hues within Latino culture that would suggest an evolved view of skin color, these societies are just as racist as any dusty mid western town full of red cap wearing “Americans.”

When a black South African, Zonzibini Tunzi, beat out Ms. Puerto Rico for the ridiculous Ms. Universe crown, the supervisor for the Island’s Education Department called the winner, “La prima de Shaka Zulu.” It means Shaka Zulu’s cousin. You know, the legendary African military leader.

In case you were wondering, there is no relation.

In 1937, Dominican dictator Rafael Trujillo had forty thousand Hatitian migrants massacred to “whiten” the population of the Caribbean nation. Sixty years later, every Dominican in the world hailed the dark skinned Sammy Sosa as one of their own when he chased Babe Ruth’s legendary home run record.

And now — twenty years after that — Sammy Sosa is white.

In the eighties, my friends and family referred to African American people as “Morenos” (Dark Skinned) or “Cocolos” (a term originating with a dark skin group of people in The Dominican Republic.) We were all living in the same impoverished, dilapidated neighborhood together, but never felt the same. There was always an us against them attitude. We often felt as if we needed to fight for respect within our own neighborhood while buying into media perceptions of what it meant to be black and brown. And what we saw around us everyday did little to give us faith in ourselves or our darker brethren.

But I could blend in anywhere — while feeling comfortable nowhere. I belonged to a light skinned (except for me and my dad) Puerto Rican family growing up in a black neighborhood but I found myself relating more to white culture. While the Cosby Show was number one, I watched Family Ties. While kids were listening to Chuck D or KRS 1, I was head banging to Guns and Roses. I hated baggy clothes, preferring tight jeans and t-shirts. But I didn’t feel like I was rebelling - I just liked what I liked, and got plenty of shit for it.

To me, the Cosby show was bullshit. That’s not how it was for the black and brown people I knew. It was fantasy. Family Ties I had seen play out before my own eyes at white friends’ homes with cookie cutter lives that seemed perfect (spoiler alert: they weren’t). I wanted what they had so badly — peace of mind and enthusiasm for the future — and I wasn’t finding it where I lived.

I also hated my brother at the time (who I love to death) and wanted to be the opposite of him. He was a thug who always gave my parents headaches. He set a terrible example for his little brother while constantly asserting the fact that he was six years older and wiser. Once I stopped idolizing him, I detested everything he stood for. He has long since proven me and the old neighborhood wrong.

It took me years to become as secure as I am, but even now I get shit from people in my life. I’ve embraced my heritage and have ensured that my five year old daughter does the same. But when my parents hear my daughter speak proper Spanish without a Puerto Rican accent, they make fun of us. She’s been attending a Spanish speaking school since she was two. Her mother and I have attempted to be consistent with the dialect we use with her. That means she actually rolls her r’s and doesn’t sound like she’s gonna hock a loogie when she says “carro” or “perro.” My family thinks it’s fucking hilarious.

But it’s not just family. In a recent conversion with an old friend who had just retired from the police department, he called me an “Oreo.” Black on the outside and white on the inside. This guy is in his fifties. I chuckled when he said it, but haven’t returned his calls since.

The thing is, I know he was just fucking around. He himself is of mixed race and sounds like an Irish American with a Brooklyn accent, but looks Japanese. But there is something about police perception of dark skin people, how we are supposed to sound, that bugged me about what he said.

There’s too much chuckling that goes on. Too much nodding. A former close friend of mine, who is half Puerto Rican and married to a dark skinned Dominican woman, once complained that a guy he knew had “niggered up” his car ( because he added shiny rims, window tint and other bells and whistles). It wasn’t the first time I heard him use the word. Each time it turned my stomach. I didn’t get it — I was his friend. Both me and his wife would have been denied access to white bathrooms and water fountains. Just because we did not identify with black culture didn’t mean we wouldn’t be exposed to the same bigotry and hatred. What the fuck? It was too much for me to overlook. We haven’t spoken in years.

There was an ugly song I remember from the old neighborhood back in the day. There were two versions:

“A fight, a fight, a nigger and a white, the black don’t win, we all jump in.”

Or,

“A fight, a fight, a nigger and a white, the white don’t win, we all jump in.”

Which one you sang depended on who you were with. Which “us” against which “them?”

I remember, as a teenager, going to the Sunset Park pool in Brooklyn with a bunch of Latino boys. On the way home, there was a group of black kids walking ahead of us. The group I was with, only one of whom was my close friend, started taunting them. They hurled racial epitaphs and threats at the black kids for being in their neighborhood. I was silent and utterly confused.

As a kid, it was actually my one close white friend, Jesse, who was the least racist kid I knew. He might have been the most genuine friend I ever had. I stopped returning his calls because I didn’t trust his friendship. Not because of anything he did — My negative view of myself kept me from believing that he really wanted to be my friend. Why would he? He was from a great family that lived in a beautiful house and valued the things that mattered to me but weren’t for me.

When I hung out with Jesse’s friends, the chip on my shoulder was always ready to bash someone over the head. At a party in some kid’s basement, someone spilled a drink. The host, an Italian kid that I didn’t know, asked me to help clean it up. I told him to go fuck himself. Then he asked me, “What are you?”

The party ended when I dragged him down a staircase and started beating him down before being pulled off and barely escaping the awaiting mob. I am my brother’s brother, after all.

So even though I felt like a Martian in my own neighborhood and knew I wanted better, I didn’t think I belonged on the other side either. I was stuck in this bizarre place where the only role models I had were Roberto Clemente, Eric Estrada and Slater. I never knew anyone else successful that looked like me. At the same time it seemed everyone around me was determined to make sure I never forgot where I belonged.

When I was twelve years old, I refused to attend my zone school because it had a reputation for being the worst in the city. It wasn’t my parents that refused, it was me. I told my mom and dad I would not go to junior high unless they transferred me. What if I hadn’t done that?

As it turns out, the school I ended up going to (because my dad used a friend’s address) was in a good part of town and was the best public education I ever experienced. The work was so advanced that I went from being one of the smartest kids in class to struggling. I actually had to study — something I never had to do much of and found excruciatingly boring. At that new school, I felt like the bad boy. The outcast. The kid that didn’t quite belong and couldn’t keep up.

My grades suffered that year, and when I transferred to a another school, I wasn’t placed in the gifted program for the first time in my scholastic career. I petitioned the principal and pleaded my case, explaining the difficult circumstances of the previous year and promising that I would shine in his “7SP“ class, which got to skip the eight grade and go straight to “9SP” in the fall. Like when I refused to go to that war zone of a school, I once again stood up for my own education. I was thirteen years old.

The work that year was far easier than what I had learned at the other school. I breezed through. The kind of disparity that existed between the two public middle schools I attended is indicative of the subpar education that children of color receive within what is supposed to be one school system. Kids in bad schools aren’t exposed to the same world that their crosstown rivals are and are ill prepared for the reality that awaits — be it a college admissions exam or the job market. Those who do not take it upon themselves to find opportunities for advancement can’t rely on working parents with little time or education to advocate for them. They are left with shitty choices and no one to champion their cause.

The scourge of poverty and racism is further sullied by the structural hierarchy of “shade” in communities of color. In the Autobiography of Frederick Douglass, the trailblazing abolitionist and former slave writes of the preferential treatment lighter slaves received, even among the others in bondage. Proximity to whiteness, then and now, is proximity to power and privilege.

In the late 1700’s, Spain instituted the process of gracias al sacar. Mixed race people could purchase a decree that converted them to white. One such royal decree granted to Cuban Manuel Baez in 1760 says that it erased “the defect that you suffer from birth and leave you able and capable as if you did not have it.” Ain’t that some shit.

Alice Walker coined the term “colorism” in her book, “In Search of Our Mother’s Garden”. She describes “prejudicial or preferential treatment of same-race people based solely on color.” Research has shown that skin tone affects the outcome of job interviews, court cases and elections. This is not a secret among people of color. They grow up believing that the whiter they look, the easier they’ll have it.

How does that make a kid feel who wants so badly to get ahead in life but has the mirror, the media and the world outside his window saying he doesn’t stand a chance? As if even after you do all the work and get to the finish line, the tape will be pulled back another few feet each time you stretch to get across. The life you want will be just out of reach, no matter how long or how fast you run.

There has been a delusion among some that because we’ve had a black president, hip hope rules the world and the Rock is the world’s biggest movie star, racism doesn’t exist anymore. There are people of color in positions of power and prestige, but they are few and far between. There just hasn’t been enough time for all the seeds of opportunity that were only planted a generation or two or three ago to compete with those who have seemingly inherited an eternity of racial privilege. Just because so many people fought for and finally earned some basic human rights doesn’t mean the playing field has been leveled.

The destruction of the long standing racial hierarchy is a challenging ongoing project that the world must decide to address together. The perpetuation of negative stereotypes of black and brown people is not only meant to strike fear in every suburban household, but to reinforce in the mind of the oppressed their role in society. Centuries of subjugation have purposefully convinced young men and women of color that they are born with an inherent disadvantage. Then, once their will to fight was clear, the oppressors barked that those they once lorded over should be grateful to simply be out of their chains.

It is up to people of color, whether African American, Latino, West Indian, or any other subdivision of “black” that may exist, to burn down the old models. The carefully calculated lie that “whiteness” is more attractive, desirable or indicative of ability must be deleted from our main frame. We must believe we are just as capable, because we obviously are. We must know that we have the opportunities, even if we have to work harder for them. And we cannot fight among ourselves, to the delight of those that would sooner see us dead, in jail or all together erased from the annals of history.

With dog whistles long having been discarded in favor of bull horns, the paper thin veil has been lifted from our union. In a country already in pieces, further division because of infighting is not something people of color, no matter their shade, can afford.

[negandarylsatisfaction]

[SUMMARY: Negan comes across a bartender that he hooked up with pre-apocalypse to find her pregnant. Only issue is his very jealous daughter who is ready to do whatever she has to do to get her to leave.]

Drama/Semi Fluff

Five months pregnant you sat in a packed mini van with about ten other people. It was uncomfortable, it was hot, but none of you had anywhere to go. A man named Simon found you and offered a place where all of you could stay. A place with food, shelter, a whole sanctuary set up for people just like you.

People in need.

“We are going to be ok now.” You heard the man beside you whisper to his teenage son. It made you smile, maybe your baby was going to be ok too. The apocalypse had just started when you realized you were pregnant. None of your family lived near you, hell, you moved out here in order to start a new life. Dropped out of college and decided to move away to figure yourself out on your own. You found yourself a small job as a bartender to help you survive. It wasn’t your ideal job but it wasn’t bad, you made money and met cute guys. One of them leaving you pregnant.

You rolled your eyes at yourself thinking about that one night stand again, how could you be so stupid? Usually you were careful but there was something about this man that didn’t let you think straight, something about this man, Negan that just made you move freely.

He was an older man and you guessed that was one of the things that got you going. An older man with a bad boy vibe that wanted you.

After that night the two of you never spoke again although he did tell you to call him. Things came up, the world turned to shit and you realized you were pregnant. For these five months you had been on your own staying with random different people who could help with food or shelter. Being five months and struggling to find food you were surprised at how much you were showing already. Looking down at your stomach, you could feel yourself in need of some kind of food at that very moment.

“We are here.” Simon yelled out with excitement.

“Boss man is gonna love the new crew. I see a lot of hard working looking people in here.” He grinned looking back as he clapped his hands together.

“Well, on out now!”

Everyone made their way out of the car and followed Simon into the heavily secured sanctuary. There were men on every corner carrying military looking weapons, alert for anything that was coming their way. Big machine guns made you a little nervous, it just reminded you how big of a threat you were fighting against.

Simon led all of you into a small dining room and left you all sitting at the table before he went off to get the leader of the place. You sighed looking around rubbing your belly as everyone spoke amongst each other. Most of the people there were related to one another so everyone had someone to talk to, everyone but you.

“Hello, hello, hell-o.”

It couldn’t be.

You looked up surprised to see the same man you had met five months ago at the bar.

It was Negan.

Your lips parted in shock but you stayed silent. He looked quite the same besides some salt and pepper facial hair growing around the side of his face to his lips. His eyes hadn’t fallen on you yet, you almost didn’t want to be seen. You sat on the other side of the table bowing your head low with the man before you covering you completely as he looked up at Negan. Negan began to explain what kind of place he was running, how he wanted everyone to work together and follow his rules. He had the same charming personality you remembered, yet he spoke with a bit of cockiness in his tone, you could easily tell how he became the leader.

“Now that I gave you a little introduction on what this place is about, I want names.” He spoke loudly, you cursed at yourself in a whisper. You honestly weren’t even sure if he’d remember you.

Everyone in the group began giving their names in the order they were all sitting in the table. Your heart began to race when you knew it was your turn.

“You.” Negan spoke in a rough low voice.

“Lift up your head, sweetheart and give me your name.”

“Sabrina.” You uttered low still not looking up. Negan sighed with a little chuckle.

“Sabrina, darling..” he leaned back before taking a couple steps forward.

“I need you to look up at me now. I asked you nicely, I’m not the kinda man that likes to repeat themself.”

You licked your lips nervously and slowly lifted you head up as the strands of your dark hair fell away from your face. Negans eyes widened with a smile.

“Well look who we have here.” He spoke cheerfully, everyone looked your way including Simon wondering how Negan knew you.

“Oh man, Sabrina and I go way back!” He laughed.

“Isn’t that right, sweet thing?” He looked over at you and winked. You remained silent not exactly sure how to respond.

“Get over here, give Negan some love.” His words were filled with a playful tone but you were sure it would change when he’d notice the growing belly you had.

“Come on don’t be shy now, I don’t remember you as a shy girl.” He laughed looking over at Simon as you stood up. You saw him whispering something to him with a smirk before he looked back your way. His eyes immediately dropped down to your stomach.

“Ho-ly shit.” He whispered raising his eyebrows.

“Did I do that..” he whispered to himself before he chuckled and brushed his hand over his face.

Simon stood in shock beside him before looking at everyone still sitting at the table, he knew it was the time to leave.

“Everyone up. Let me show you around and show you where you will be staying.”

Negan couldn’t get his eyes off your belly as everyone left the room until the sound of the door closing behind him loudly made him look up.

“Surprised huh?” You finally spoke with a clear nervous tone.

“Well shit, woman. We have one fuck and you disappear on me and suddenly pop up at my sanctuary with a god damn baby bump. I did do that right?” He looked down at your belly again with a frown still trying to take in what was going on.

You sighed with annoyance.

“Yes.”

“How far-“

“Five months.” You responded quickly making him look up at you.

“Been five months huh? Well...shit.” He scratched his beard as he wondered how exactly you made it this far long into the pregnancy not having any proper things an expecting mother would need.

“Tell me what you need.” His sudden words caught you a bit off guard. Negan didn’t seem like the type who’d care about this situation or would want any part in it.

“What do I need?” You responded suddenly going blank.

“Yeah like, that prenatal shit, a fucking baby pillow I don’t know..stuff you pregnant women like to use.”

“Prenatal shit? A baby pillow?” You couldn’t help but giggle as Negan sat down with a sigh.

“Listen I’m fucking trying, this shit...” he looked down at your belly once again.

“I didn’t expect this...I know what we did but, I usually get lucky.” He shamefully admitted.

“Well Negan, you’re not forced to be apart of this. We had nothing but one simple hook up, I’ve been doing just fine for five months so-“

“So what?” He interrupted you as he stood up walking your way.

“I know we don’t have anything but..but it’s still mine.” He whispered as he stared down at your hands on your baby bump. It seemed as if he wanted to touch it himself but was afraid to or didn’t know how to ask.

“Do you want to feel?” You whispered making him chuckle. Negan surprised himself with all the emotions he was feeling.

“Yeah.”

Gently you took his hand and placed it where you usually felt the baby kick. His eyes were focused as he waited to feel something when suddenly he felt one hard kick.

“Holy fuck.” He laughed looking up at you.

“The baby does that all day.” You laughed yourself as you felt him more comfortably settle his hands on your stomach before a sudden interruption startled both you and him.

“Dad I-“ Negan abruptly pulled his hands away as a young girl appeared by the door. She looked no more than a few years younger than you, Negan stepped back as if he was caught doing something he wasn’t suppose to as the girl stared at you strangely.

“Who are you?” The girl bluntly asked as she walked into the room.

“This is my daughter, Crystal.” Negan cleared his throat before looking over at her.

“Crystal, this is Sabrina. An old friend of mine.”

You took your hand out to politely shake hers but she simply gave your baby bump a dirty look. Quietly you took your hand back and she looked back up at her father with disgust.

“Seriously? An old friend? She looks like she could be my sister.” She uttered low to her father as you swallowed nervously. Crystal could easily see the way her father was looking at you, the way he was looking at your belly, she could feel the tension in the room.

“Did you forget that I know how you are? A random woman shows up pregnant and your hands are all over it-“ She motioned towards your stomach.

“-and she’s a ‘friend’? Do you think I was born yesterday?”

“Crystal-“

“I don’t wanna hear it dad, I’m going to my room.” She walked off and shut the door loudly as Negan sat back down and buried his face in his hands with a deep sigh.

“I didn’t know you had a daughter.” You whispered looking down, wondering if he was also married and didn’t tell you. Hell, there was a lot you didn’t know about this man.

“My only kid.” Negan responded before looking up at your belly.

“I think it’s best for me to leave.”

“No!” Negan shot up from the chair quicker than you expected him too.

“It’s ok. I’ve done this a million times, finding new people to stay with. I’ll be fine.” And you meant it, you didn’t need him to help you with anything, you did just fine finding help on your own.

“I don’t give a shit. I’ll have a talk with my daughter, just...just don’t fucking go anywhere. Why don’t you get yourself something to eat.” Negan pointed to the fridge in the kitchen.

“Take what you need. I’ll be back in a bit.”

Negan walked out and into his daughters room right across the hall. You sat down quietly wondering what would happen now. Right away you could hear his daughter begin to yell.

“I don’t care dad! You always did this to mom!” Crystal yelled making you frown.

“Crystal you know it wasn’t like that with your mother and I.”

“What would mom think of this if she was still alive?! If she knew you were letting some bimbo have a kid of yours!”

You raised your brows as you shook your head. You’d had enough hearing them go back and fourth and you didn’t want to feel so uncomfortable in place where you just wanted to feel safe. Normally you probably would’ve put that girl in her place right now, but being that you were pregnant and you had bigger things to worry about, you let it be.

Slowly you stood up and walked out of the kitchen, passing Crystals bedroom door as you heard Negans deep voice echo through the walls. His patience seemed to be running thin. You just wanted to leave.

As you walked out of the house and headed down the stairs you kept your face down just trying to get to the front entrance.

“Where do you think you’re going, Miss?!” You turned to see Simon walking your way. You sighed ignoring him and kept walking. Negan heard Simon yell from just outside the window and took a peek through the blinds.

“What the fuck is she doing?” Negan muttered as Crystal continued to yell. Negan ran out only making his daughters anger rise.

“Where the fuck are you running off to?” Negans voice roared loudly as he quickly caught up to you. You sighed turning to him as everyone stared.

“I don’t want any of this drama ok? There’s enough stuff going on..I don’t need this.”

“So you just wanna take off with MY baby?” He stared down at you with intensity in his eyes.

Just as you were about to respond Crystal came storming out of the house.

“Let her leave dad. She doesn’t need you, who cares about that demonic seed she has growing inside her.”

Negan turned back to his daughter as you watched the vein in his neck become more visible with how loudly he yelled.

“Get back in the god damn house Crystal! I will deal with you later!”

“Negan you have a family. You had a wife, your daughter-“

“She wasn’t my god damn wife.. she was but it wasn’t like that.” Negan shot back at you before realizing everyone around you was staring.

“What’s everyone fucking looking at? Everybody forgot there place here or do they need a reminder?!” He yelled making everyone run off.

Negan sighed before grabbing your wrist and pulling you back into his home. Clearly not being able to do a thing about anything you followed him back inside, this time him leading you into his bedroom.

Negan took off his leather jacket throwing it over his bed as he cracked his neck with a loud groan. He sat back on a black leather couch he had and patted down on the space beside him.

“Sit.”

Hesitantly you sat beside him but didn’t look his way giving him the chance to speak first.

“I never cheated on my wife with you. Our relationship was already done, I wasn’t the best father and when I met you I was living on my own. In a room. Lucille died when all this shit went down, by the time I went to go get my daughter..there wasn’t shit I could do. Crystal blames me for not being there. She blames me for leaving the marriage..but there wasn’t any love.” Silently you shook your head, you didn’t blame Crystal for being upset but it wasn’t fair to you either.

“How old is she?”

“Twenty.”

“Mm.” You nodded, you were just five years older than her, you could understand why she reacted the way she did.

“Well I’m not trying to be in a relationship with you-“ you words made Negan look over at you.

“I’m having your baby but this doesn’t mean anything between us. I won’t get in the way of you and your daughter.”

“You’re not.” He responded sternly.

“Just give me a room. I need to sleep, I’m exhausted, and I have a horrible headache.”

“I have a doctor here. I’ll make sure he’s always available for you if you ever need him.”

Staying here didn’t sound so bad at all.

You responded with a quiet nod before pushing yourself up.

“I have a free room next to mine, down the hall.”

“You mean also next to Crystal’s? No. Just give me a room somewhere that’s not here. I agreed to stay in your sanctuary but, I don’t want to be so close either.”

“Well I won’t have you stay in some other house.” Negan stood up with his hands on his hips.

“What if something happens in the middle of the night and you need help, I don’t trust any of these god damn people with what’s growing inside that belly of yours. You’re staying here.”

Negan was one stubborn man, especially when it came to something he immediately became protective over. Down the hall you followed him to your room as Crystal opened her door and sucked her teeth at you walking past her bedroom. With shame you looked down, you honestly felt embarrassed, you didn’t say a word.

Negan led you to a small room with a twin size bed and a tall white dresser. He pulled out some clothes he would find on runs and bring back to the sanctuary for people to choose from.

“Take whatever you want. There’s a shower upstairs if you want to freshen up, there’s food in the fridge if your hungry. Whatever you need, Sabrina. I mean it.” You smiled with gratitude, you honestly never expected Negan to have this attitude towards your pregnancy. But still, you couldn’t help but sigh as you stared down the hall.

“Hey.” He stood before you blocking your view.

“Don’t let her make you feel bad. I’ll have more talks with her and she’ll...she’ll warm up to the idea.” Negan looked around the room and took a deep breath before walking towards the door.

“Goodnight.”

“Goodnight...and thank you.” Negan gave you a nod and shut the door behind him after leaving the room.

Weeks went by and Crystal would never say a word to you. Negan continued to help you with whatever you needed all while continuing to be himself, making remarks here and there about how good you looked pregnant. He wasn’t so bad, cocky with a dirty mouth, but he had heart.

One early morning Negan left a blue and yellow floral dress on your dresser for you to wear. You had expressed to him you’d feel more comfortable in summer dresses as your baby bump grew than always have to readjust your pants.

Showered and freshened up in your new dress you headed down the kitchen for a snack. Negan was cracking open a bottle of beer when you noticed Crystal was also in the kitchen making herself something to eat.

“Hi.” You uttered low in a hesitant voice making Negan look up. Crystal ignored you as usual.

“Well fuck me, that dress looks fucking great on you.” Negan grinned making his daughter make a dirty look and look over at you before her eyes widened.

“Are you kidding me?!” She stood up walking towards you angrily before suddenly yanking the dress.

“This is MY dress, give it back!” She yelled before aggressively pulling it again making you stumble.

“Hey!” Negan yelled making you both look up at him.

“Quit your shit, Crystal. You have tons of dresses I have found for you. Just let her have this one. You know she’s pregnant and doesn’t have much to wear.”

“That’s not my damn problem, don’t knock up random women and make it my issue!”

“Negan it’s ok-“

“Give me my dress back!” She yelled again pulling the fabric of the dress harder.

“Enough!” Negan yelled slamming his beer on the counter.

“You’re acting like a god damn child! Stop this shit.”

Crystal finally let go of the dress and crossed her arms. This situation left you feeling in such a awkward position, you hated it. Slowly you walked away from her and sat at the table rubbing your belly. Negan grabbed something out of the fridge and set it on the table in front of you.

“Eat.” He muttered low as Crystal rolled her eyes. She hated watching her father take care of you. Angrily she went to grab something off the table and purposely knocked a cup of juice all over your dress. You gasped quickly pushing yourself up as you felt the cool liquid sink into your dress.

“For god fucking safe crystal!” Negan yelled as he grabbed some paper towels.

“Crystal what the hell is wrong with you!” You finally spoke up.

“I’m not trying to take your father away from you, I haven’t treated you with anything but respect, I get this maybe a little hard for you but-“

“Oh shut up.” Crystal snapped back.

“Don’t act like you’re not enjoying this. Your a slut my father used and accidentally got pregnant. Don’t think he actually cares for you-“

“I don’t. We made this situation clear it’s only for the baby.” You responded trying to dry yourself off. You didn’t notice but as you said this Negan couldn’t help but be a little bothered by it.

“Yeah a baby that should’ve been terminated.”

“Crystal enough.” Negan did not yell, but you could still here the rage in his tone.

“Why? Its true, it has a bimbo mom who doesn’t know what she’s doing and an idiot father who just likes to screw anything and kill for fun!”

You frowned not understanding what she meant about Negan and she caught your reaction right away.

“Oh! Don’t tell me my dad hasn’t told you everything he’s done.”

“Crystal.” Negan spoke again with a warning tone. Negan wasn’t exactly honest with you about what he was into, how he’d get all the supplies he needed, the clothes you liked. He didn’t want you really knowing this side of him. The threats he made, people he killed..

Crystal new this was making you think and she used it to her advantage.

“How do you think we have everything we have, people have lost their lives for you to wear those nice little things you put on, for you to take all that medicine you need, eat all the food you eat. What do you think my dad has all those people you came with doing?! Only reason you got away with not getting chores is cause he knocked you up!”

“Negan..” you looked over at him in confusion as a smile appeared on his daughters face.

“I’ll explain everything, Sabrina. Just...wait in your room for me.”

With everything that had just happened you lost your appetite and quietly went to your bedroom. As soon as you closed the door you can hear Negans voice attempting to speak in silence but with walls so thin, it didn’t do any good.

“Why the fuck would you say something like that to her?”

“What dad? Isn’t it true? Why are you trying to make yourself not look so bad for some slut!”

With your ear to the door you tried to make out everything that was being said between the two of them.

“If you know this woman is carrying my fucking child and already tried to leave before, why would you tell her something that will just make her want to run?”

So it was true. You gasped in confusion as you took a step looking around your room wondering what you should do.

“Crystal, go to your room. You’ve made enough of a mess today.” Negan walked past his daughter and knocked on your door.

You didn’t respond and so he went to turn the knob until he realized it was locked.

“Sabrina open the door.” His voice was loud as he continued attempting to turn the knob, still you didn’t respond.

“Sabrina you better open the door, you won’t like what my father does when he gets upset. Have you seen his bat yet?” Crystal laughed loudly before slamming her bedroom door shut. Negan cursed at himself in frustration before knocking on the door again.

“Sabrina, god dammit I’m not gonna hurt you or anyone just open the door and let me explain.”

Finally after a minute of silence you pulled the door open and crossed your arms.

“What the hell have you done and what have done to the people I came here with.”

“The people you came here with are doing jobs around the sanctuary. It’s just a strategy I use to work this place. They help me I help them. I’m not hurting them-“

“Have you hurt anyone? What is Crystal talking about?”

Negan sighed knowing he had to be honest with you and knowing his honesty might make you want to leave.

“I control a few groups around town. I..I make them give me their things..I’ve..-“ he turned in frustration.

“I’ve killed a few people, Sabrina. I’m not too proud to admit it.”

You stood in shock, disgusted that these were the people you were trusting to shelter you, disgusted that this was the man you made a child with. You knew this man was far from perfect, but the worst you thought of him was just a womanizer.

Not a murderer.

All this disturbing information was making you sick to your stomach, you sat down on the bed leaning back on your hands feeling a little woozy.

“Crap-“ you whispered feeling the baby kick a little harder than usual. Negan turned at the sound of your voice with instant concern in his eyes.

“You alright?”

You waved your hand not really wanting to speak.

“You need me to get something, you want me to get the doctor?”

“Just don’t.” You whispered rubbing your belly with a sigh.

“I’m living with a murderer. You’re harassing people for their only things...this is who I made the father to my child..” You turned your face away before pushing yourself off the bed.

“I’m six months now, Negan. Six. I did most of this without you knowing a thing and the more time I spend here, the more reason I find it’s best for me to leave. I don’t wanna be apart of this...” you turned trying to hold in your tears. You were never much of an emotional person but all your hormones made you feel everything more intense.

“I’m a very independent person, I just want to leave and be on my own.”

“You’re not leaving, Sabrina.”

“I want to leave! I don’t want to be apart of your sick ways. What if there’s another pregnant woman out there in one of those groups and you’re taking things she needs!”

Negan looked down in guilt. The memory of him killing that young Asian man as his sick pregnant wife watched flashed in his mind. Negan knew he wasn’t a good man, not for you or a baby. He wanted to hope he was though, he wanted to change.

“I’m not staying here with you.” You went to walk out but Negan blocked your way.

“And where you gonna go huh? How are you gonna find your way around with that baby of mine huh? You don’t want to admit this but right now, you need me. You been five months on your feet and got lucky, you’re not gonna keep doing this late into that pregnancy. No fucking way, not on my watch.”

Crystal could hear everything being said and frowned on why her father just wouldn’t let you leave.

“Listen, I’ve done a lot of fucked up things and I’m not proud of it. But they were things that had to be done to get by, things that had to be done to make sure people knew not to fuck with me or what I have so people like you can lay in that bed safely at night. You can stay mad at me and never speak to me but I will make sure you stay here and safely deliver that baby. Ill have someone on your god damn ass all day if I have to. I’m sorry for lying to you, I’m sorry for what I’ve done. Trust me, I’m trying to do a little fucking better. And I’m starting by taking care of you. You can be mad at me while I do it, but I’m still gonna fucking doing it.” Negan stepped out and slammed the door shut as you sat back in your bed with different emotions running all through you. As terrifying as the information that you learned was, you couldn’t help but be a little attracted to the fact that this man still wanted to focus on making sure you were ok.

Who were you kidding, he had a jealous daughter and he was a murderer. Nothing good could come from any of this, nothing at all, except your baby.

Let me know if you are interested in a part 2!