#and all the years suppressing her instincts bubbled back up and she was terrible

[joyfulwinnerdonut]

George Pickens on his take with Greg Newsome, "I don't even know who that is."

Date: December 6, 2024 The Steelers take on the Cleveland Browns are playing this Sunday, and there is already trash talk going around as this rivalry is heating up. On Friday, Steelers wide receiver George Pickins responded to reporters about Greg Newsome, "I don't even know who that is," Pickins responded to the reporters, Pickens and Newsome fighting in the endzone after the Hail Mary attempt during their Week 12 matchup against the Cleveland Browns; Pittsburgh lost 24-19 "I don’t really think the Cleveland Browns are a good team at all.” the Steelers wide receiver told reporters after their loss to Clevland. Pittsburgh is 9-3 and stands in the first place of the AFC North, searching for a playoff spot, while the Browns are 3-9, looking to either win as many games as possible or play for draft picks. Both teams play this Sunday, and the Browns have an opportunity to sweep the Steelers for the first time since 1988...(Read More)

[mello-jello]

hi jello!! what about post timeskip levihan? commander hanji is working very hard and rarely, rarely sleeps (let alone eats and bathes properly. its worse than before now though.).

what if one time levi discovers hanji passed tf out due to sheer exhaustion in the most weird and random of places. he doesn’t want to wake them up bc hanji def needs the rest so he carries/tucks her into bed.🥺❤️

JAZZY thank you for the prompt! I kind of combined it with this one too:

Thank you, Anon!

Preview:

Hange gave a small laugh before saying, “Thank you Levi, I feel much better now.”

“Tch, you haven’t even done what we came here to do,” Levi scoffed.

Hange made a confused sound.

“Drop the dish.”

It had been 3 years since Shiganshina. Levi climbed into the carriage and sat across from Hange, who was still reading through her notes from the long and grueling meeting that lasted for the better part of the day. All the highest ranking military officials had been called to the capital to discuss Paradis’s best course of action. Queen historia was there, along with her staff, advisors, and of course Zackley. Levi had been to plenty of these meetings before, but this time was different in a bit of a distressing way.

Over the years, Levi had watched Erwin defend the scouts countless times. From questionable means of gathering information, to explaining away hundreds of lives lost, he always had an answer for everything and he always managed to leave with a favourable image. It was something Levi truly admired and even envied about Erwin.

But now he had been watching Hange flounder. She has indeed improved over the last 3 years, but she still doubts herself and while it might not be known to those around her, Levi can’t help but feel sympathetic to her situation. Today however, the other officials had been particularly ruthless.

“Take a break, Hange,” Levi ordered. Hange just sighed. Then her stomach growled. “Have you eaten today?”

“Uuuuuuuhhh,” Hange mused as she genuinely struggled to remember.

“Tch, there’s your answer,” Levi crossed his arms. The rest of the officials had a big dinner scheduled for tonight, but of course the Survey Corps got shafted and had to leave early in order to prepare. Hange met his eyes again with an exhausted look he was all too familiar with.

“How have you been sleeping?”

“Not great,” she admitted. Levi’s stomach sank. He had dealt with his own insomnia his whole life, but it seems worse on Hange. Perhaps it was the stark contrast from her former bubbly and loud personality. Hange pinched the bridge of her nose and let out another long sigh. Levi couldn’t help feeling inadequate and helpless. He rarely got himself to sleep, how could he help Hange?

Levi looked out the window at the setting sun when he got an idea. He realized what Hange had been neglecting while trying to be a good commander. Something that wasn’t just eating and sleeping. Something that was unique to Hange.

“Hange, there’s one more thing you need to do before we leave.”

Hange raised an eyebrow.

Levi told the driver to wait for them and escorted Hange to the dining hall.

“Levi, we were technically invited, but I don’t think showing up for food after we already said goodbye is a very good look for us,” Hange practically whispered.

Levi opened the doors and they were greeted with a sweet aroma of bread, appetizers, and whatever was going to be the main dish. Hange’s mouth watered. The long elegant table was decorated with ornate candles, beautiful china, crystal glasses, and there were 4 sets of cutlery for each place setting.

“Relax, they won’t be here just yet. They will all be busy getting dressed for dinner.”

Hange grabbed a bread roll and took a huge bite, not bothering to chew before she commented, “I never understood ‘dressing for dinner’ ugh. What’s the point?”

Levi was about to make a half hearted comment about how Hange could never fit in with “civilized” society, but he stopped himself when he saw she was eating and was a little bit more relaxed. He found a small plate of savoury looking appetizers and handed it to her. She immediately took one.

“MMM, Levi!” she exclaimed, pointing at the plate. She popped another in her mouth before saying, “you gotta try these!”

Levi put up a hand and said, “you enjoy.”

Hange enthusiastically cleared the whole platter in less than a minute, and Levi was watching her, endeared at the behaviour. He had missed this side of her. Despite how gross it was, there was a glimpse of the carefree Hange he once knew. A small hint of a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

Then Hange belched.

“Disgusting,” Levi waved the air in front of his nose.

Hange gave a small laugh before saying, “Thank you Levi, I feel much better now.”

“Tch, you haven’t even done what we came here to do,” Levi scoffed.

Hange made a confused sound.

“Drop the dish.”

Hange’s one eye widened as she processed what Levi was saying.

“C’mon, you need to blow off some steam. They were total assholes to you today, and for what? You didn’t know the exact amount of your food budget? And yet,” Levi gestured to the banquet. He then picked up a delicate looking wine glass. He held his arm outstretched, and loosened his grip, letting it crash to the ground. “Oops.”

A mischievous smile stretched across Hange’s lips. “Oops,” she mimicked Levi and let the empty platter fall to the floor, breaking into dozens of pieces. She slowly started to lap around the long luxurious set up, like a predator admiring her prey before pouncing.

“Right? And Nile, ugh, what a hypocrite! Giving me shit for not knowing about that small thing, belittling me in front of everyone,” Hange snapped a salad plate against the edge of the table. “It wasn’t too long ago when he would have been the first to admit he had no idea what the first interior squad were up to! We had to find out for ourselves. Erwin was almost hanged!” Hange kicked a chair over on its side.

“Yeah, fuck Nile,” Levi egged her on. He took a seat at the head of the table and started sipping from one of the water glasses.

“Is this his spot?”

Levi shrugged but Hange was already pouring out a glass of wine all over the white seat, staining it a deep crimson. Levi hid his delight behind another sip.

“And did you catch what he said at the end? ‘Some of us have wives to get home to’”, she imitated in a mocking tone as she casually pushed a platter of dumplings off the table. “Yeah, run home, Nile. Run home to Erwin’s SLOPPY SECONDS!”

Levi blew water out of his nose, and before he could react, Hange reached under the short side of the table and flipped it over, sending its contents hurtling across the room. Hange was elated at the result, laughing almost maniacally.

“Idiot,” Levi hissed, grabbing Hange’s wrist and leading her out the side door. He heard footsteps, and so he instinctively dove into nearby shrubbery, taking Hange down with him.

They hid in the bushes for minutes, Levi pressing his hand to suppress Hange’s uncontrollable laughter. It had been so long since she’d laughed like this. It was infectious and Levi might have actually laughed himself, were it not for the fear of getting caught. He had no problem telling the MPs where to shove it, but he didn’t want Hange to get in trouble. Her whole body was convulsing, and it was rattling the leaves around her. Levi used all his body weight to stop her jerky movements.

After about another minute of total silence, Hange tapped Levi’s arm, signalling to let go. He was hesitant, but he obliged. Hange drew a couple deep breaths, fanning herself, trying to calm down from laughing so hard. Levi was transfixed by the way the moonlight danced on her tear-stained face. They stared at each other for a moment before Hange snickered once more, causing Levi to cover her mouth yet again. “You’re impossible,” he said, pushing her head back down.

Once the coast was clear, they ran back to their carriage, hand in hand. Partly because Levi wanted Hange to keep up, and partly because it felt nice to hold her hand. They ducked their heads until they were off of the main roads. A few minutes later, Hange started giggling again.

“What?” Levi asked.

Hange bit her lip playfully as she reached into her coat and pulled out a bottle of expensive wine she must have swiped from the banquet.

Levi rolled his eyes, but couldn’t help his smile. She looked like a child that just got away with stealing more dessert. She looked joyful for the first time in a long time. She yanked out the cork and took a swig before offering the bottle to Levi. He graciously accepted and tasted the wine for himself. It was too sweet for his taste, but he couldn’t deny that it was spectacular.

“That’s nice,” he commented.

“Pfft! It tastes the same as the cheap stuff!” Hange scoffed as she took the bottle back. Any other time, Levi would have teased her and started an argument, but not today. He wanted to cherish this moment. He leaned over to look at the stars through his window. Not a bad ending to an otherwise terrible day.

After Shiganshina, he and Hange had lost so much. Their comrades, friends; life as they knew it had completely changed and they barely had a moment’s breather to come to grips with it all. Levi was unfortunately accustomed to it, but Hange wasn’t. Hange had been so strong through all of this and Levi wanted to find the right words to tell her. Maybe it was the exhaustion they both felt; maybe it was the close proximity, but for some reason, somehow, Levi felt a tiny bit of courage surge through his veins.

“Hey, Hange, I-”

When he turned to look at her, she was fast asleep, neck crooked as she cradled the bottle of wine. Levi smiled at her. She looked peaceful, like she was getting quality sleep. He took the bottle from her arms and gently maneuvered her to a more comfortable, lying down position. He removed his jacket and draped it over her, as a make-shift blanket.

“Goodnight, Four-Eyes,” he mumbled to himself and returned to his seat. Hange slept the whole way home. When they finally arrived in the southern barracks, Levi couldn’t bring himself to wake her up. He quickly ran their luggage up to their rooms, and came back for Hange.

Being as gentle as he could, he scooped up the commander and ignored the curious look he got from the carriage driver. She was taller than him, and her long limbs made the trek a little difficult, but he was determined. Her steady breaths tickled the skin of his neck.

He carried her up the winding staircase and into her quarters. He lowered her on the bed, careful not to go too fast. He cradled her head for a split second longer than he needed too. He took off her long boots one at a time, placing them silently on the floor at the end of the bed. He undid the top two buttons of her jacket and shirt, just for comfort. Then he pulled the blanket up to her chin, and tucked around the sides.

Finally, he removed her glasses and eyepatch, caressing the tender skin underneath. Placing them on her night stand, he got up to leave. The door hinge creaked as he opened it, and Hange stirred.

“Mmm Levi?” She called out.

Levi wasn’t sure if she was actually awake, or if she was sleep-talking. He was still deciding whether he should answer when she continued, “Thank you, Levi. For everything.”

“You too, Hange,” he spoke just above a whisper, as he closed her door.

[let-the-dream-begin]

A Place to Belong Chapter 39: The Man and the Myth

Chapter 38

Read on AO3

They sat silently for a few more moments, before Claire felt Jamie inhale. She lifted her head off of his chest to look up at him, the sight of him taking her breath away again.

“Her name...what did ye name her?”

Claire’s heart strained, and she smiled tearily. “Brianna.”

His eyes closed, and he exhaled with a shudder. “Brianna,” he repeated, savoring each syllable as it rolled off his tongue. Her name…his daughter’s name. “Brianna.”

“For your father, Brian. Remember?” Claire caressed his jaw, eight years of separation not enough to suppress an instinct etched so deeply in the marrow of her bone.

“Aye...aye, I do.” His voice was hoarse with emotion. Claire stretched up to reach him better, pressing their foreheads together.

“Can ye...can ye tell me about her?”

She chuckled through her nose, the breath tickling Jamie’s skin.

“She’s...a hellion, for starters.”

Jamie laughed now, his lips trembling against her chin.

“She’s very smart, and she loves horses, and she’s empathetic, and stubborn and bold and brave…” Claire lost her voice for a moment, blinking away tears. She pulled away enough to look into his eyes. “She’s yours, Jamie. In every way.”

Every line of his face was hard, his eyes red, stagnant tears on his cheeks. “Mine.”

Claire nodded wordlessly, brushing her lips on each of his cheeks, kissing away his tears.

“She’s...she’s beautiful, is she no’...?” he said. “I could hardly see fer lack of air...but she’s...she’s beautiful, Claire.”

Claire nodded, tears slipping out of her own eyes now, and Jamie brushed them away with gentle caresses of his thumbs.

“She is.”

She was unable to resist closing the small distance between them and kissing him soundly, and she almost whimpered in disbelief. How many times had she tried to picture this, and yet his lips had vanished beneath hers every time...?

They stayed there, moved beyond words again, until Claire’s stomach lurched, remembering.

“There’s…there’s one more thing you should know.” Claire broke the silence.

“Her twin?” Jamie said.

“God, no…” Claire chuckled. “No…there’s…been a lasting effect of the difficult birth. It isn’t serious,” she said quickly. “We’ve become fairly good at managing it, all of us. Jenny and Fergus and Ian. And Brianna knows what to do now when she feels it coming on. She’s old enough to understand.”

Jamie nodded silently, urging her to continue.

“Yes…now she…she has something called epilepsy. From a lack of oxygen during her birth. She has seizures occasionally. They’re usually not very bad.”

“Seizures?” Jamie repeated the foreign word. “What does that mean?”

“She…she becomes rigid, stiff. Her eyes roll to the side, like this.” Claire demonstrated briefly. “Her left arm and leg twitch, uh…like this.” She bent her arm at the elbow to show him. “She loses consciousness during it. It isn’t serious,” Claire reassured again, sensing his growing panic. “It was far more dangerous when she was a baby. Could have caused permanent damage back then.”

“So it willnae cause damage any longer?” Jamie said.

“It shouldn’t, unless it’s a very, very long one. So it’s not terribly serious. I just thought you should know. It’s…quite frightening if you’ve never seen one before, especially in a child.” Claire shuddered at the memory. “She was just a month old when she had her first one. It was horrible. But I’m quite used to them now. You just…have to be prepared.”

Jamie nodded, though his brow was still furrowed with concern. “Ye’ll…ye’ll show me how to be prepared?”

“Of course.” Claire cupped his cheeks, resting their foreheads together. “I still can’t believe you’re really alive…”

Jamie wrapped his arms around her. “Sometimes I canna believe it myself either.” He kissed her head. “Can ye…can ye take me inside so I can properly meet my daughter?”

Claire stood up and reached down to help him up. “You’ll have to be…patient. She doesn’t know you at all.”

Jamie nodded sadly. “I ken that.”

“I’m going to have to explain where you’ve been all this time. We told her you died for Scotland. She thinks you’ve been in Heaven all this while.” Jamie nodded. “I thought of telling her that soldiers made a mistake when they brought news of your death. But how do I explain where you’ve been? I…I don’t even know where you’ve been...I haven’t even asked you yet.”

“Ardsmuir prison,” he said flatly.

Claire cringed, squeezing his hands in comfort. “We can talk about it later.” He nodded solemnly. “Perhaps I can tell her that…you were hiding from the bad men, or — ”

“Ye can tell her I was in prison.”

“Jamie, I don’t think — ”

“I committed treason. It’s a fact. I dinna wish to raise her on lies, ye ken,” Jamie said, and Claire frowned. “She canna keep thinking I’m some sort of God. I’m a man, a man wi’ faults, a man who’s committed sin and crime. It’s time she came to know her father as a mortal man rather than this mythical being that ye’ve created for her imagination.”

“Jamie, I didn’t tell her anything that wasn’t true…”

“I ken. But she’s likely been embellishing it in her head wi’out realizing, whether ye intended fer her to do it or no’.” He wrapped his arms around her waist, resting his clasped hands on the small of her back. “After yer parents died, did ye no’ dream of them, even wi’out remembering what they looked like? Did yer wee head create the perfect memories of them since ye had nothing else to hold on to?” Claire’s eyes narrowed in thought. “I ken I did that wi’ my mother. I was a bairn when she passed. To hear everyone speak of her ye’d think she was an angel. And to me she was. No one was telling me anything that wasnae true. But hearing it, over and over, she became an intangible spirit rather than a concrete memory. I think even if she’d magically come back to us I’d never stop seeing her that way.”

Claire nodded in understanding. “I see what you mean,” she said. “I suppose for a while I had an idealized picture of my parents. Though in my case, no one ever talked about them. So it seems a little different.”

“So do ye understand why I want her to know the truth? I canna father a child who thinks I’m a Godly spirit-man.” He paused for a moment. “Now I…I willnae tell ye what to do. She’s yer daughter — ”

“Jamie…she’s your daughter, too.”

“I ken. But ye said yerself. She doesna know me.” Claire’s heart was breaking. “You were there for her…seizures, ye ken how to help her. Ye ken the name of her horse, her favorite color, how to make her laugh, what sorts of sweets she likes…”

“Jamie.” Claire cupped his face in her hands. “You will know those things, too. I know you can’t replace the years you lost with her…there’s no way to get that back. But you will know her just as completely as I do, and eventually in ways that I don’t. It will take time. But you will. I promise.”

Jamie sighed. “Do ye think…do ye think she can learn to love the man more than the myth?”

“Yes. I do.”

“What about you?”

“Me?”

“Ye’ve spent…eight years creating images of me in yer mind. I’m not the same man I was before. Can ye learn to love the man I’ve become?”

Claire kissed him. “Can you learn to love the woman I’ve become?”

He kissed her back. “‘Till our life shall be done,’ Sassenach.”

She sighed contentedly. “I do love you.”

“And I love you.”

“Come on now.” Claire began tugging him toward the house. “Someone is waiting to meet the giant from the faery hill.”

Jamie laughed out loud. “I ken if I hadnae been scared stiff I’d’ve had a good laugh at that.”

“Me too.”

They entered the house and wandered through the parlor, then to the kitchen. Jenny was there, helping Mrs. Crook with supper.

“Are you two quite finished howling at each other?” Jenny said, only briefly glancing up from the chopping.

“You heard that,” Claire said sheepishly.

“All of Lallybroch heard that,” Jenny scoffed. “I almost came out there and clopped yer heads together myself. Lucky ye finally quit just in time.”

“Aye, lucky fer us.” Jamie smirked.

“If yer looking fer Brianna,” Jenny said, rushing a handful of vegetables to the pot over the fireplace. “She’s in her bedroom. Crying to Fergus last I heard.” Claire and Jamie exchanged a guilty look. “She thinks her ‘mummy’ hates her fer riding her horse at a trot.”

Claire smiled despite the guilt bubbling in her chest. “We’ll be going to her, then. We’ll see you at supper, Jenny.”

“Aye.” She didn’t look up from the pot. Claire and Jamie started to leave, but then: 

“Brother.” They stopped and turned around expectantly. “Good luck wi’ the bairn. She’ll love ye. I ken it.”

Jamie smiled. “Thank you, Jenny.”

Claire laced her fingers with Jamie’s as she led him up the stairs in the parlor.

“Feels strange to be led around in my own home,” Jamie said wistfully. “I dinna ken where anything is. I dinna even ken who those bairns are.” He indicated Maggie, Kitty, and Janet running about the hall, squealing their wee heads off.

“You’ll catch up,” Claire assured him. Claire paused on the stairs. “See the golden haired one?” Kitty was currently trying to pry wee Janet off of her leg. Jamie nodded. “That’s Katherine.”

Jamie looked gobsmacked at Claire, then quickly back at Kitty, who soon disappeared into the hall with her sisters. “That bonny lass is little Caitríona…?” Claire nodded. “Last I saw her, her wee head fit in the palm of my hand…”

Claire rubbed his shoulder. “That’s how I feel every time I look at Brianna.” She tugged again on his arm. “Come on, she’s waiting.” They continued up the stairs, and Claire gestured to her room. “The guest room is my room now. Well…ours, I suppose.” She smiled sheepishly. “The children are up the next flight.” She led him up and to the door she knew Brianna was behind. “She shares the room with Kitty. Poor Maggie has to share with the youngest daughter, but Kitty and Brianna are inseparable. Maggie had her own room before Janet was out of her cot, and when the time came we tried to have Maggie and Kitty share, and then Brianna with Janet. But the two of them refused to sleep for even a moment, every night, until they were sharing a room.” Claire smiled at the memory, and Jamie softly chuckled in response.

“Ah…Janet?”

“Oh, that was the dark haired one hanging onto Kitty’s leg.” Claire smiled. Jamie nodded, and Claire could tell that he was already overwhelmed. She placed steadying hands on his shoulders. “Your nieces and nephews will love you just fine, Jenny and Ian will catch you up. But right now, you have a daughter that needs you.”

“I…have a daughter,” Jamie whispered reverently, still hardly believing it. Claire kissed him, smiled encouragingly, then turned to knock on the door.

“Hello?” Claire slowly cracked the door open “May I come in?”

She poked her head in to find Fergus and Brianna sitting on the rug in front of the fireplace. Claire almost laughed; they were each holding a doll.

“Come in, Maman,” Fergus said. Brianna did not look up from her doll. “Miss Nettie and Miss Winnie were getting acquainted, right ma petit?” Brianna did not respond; she kept her attention on smoothing Miss Nettie’s dress.

“That’s lovely,” Claire said, leaving the door open a crack and crossing to the fireplace. “Isn’t it kind of Fergus to play dolls with you, Brianna? Even though he’s a big boy now?” Claire sat on the rug beside Brianna. “Would you mind if I took over for him so he can go do whatever it is that big boys do?” Brianna shrugged wordlessly.

“Ah, big boy things are not as fun as Miss Winnie.” Fergus stood up, and Claire noticed how Brianna was fighting the urge to smile. Fergus kissed the top of her head. “See you at supper, ma petit.”

Fergus crossed to the door, and he jumped, not expecting Jamie to be right outside the door.

“Sorry, lad,” Jamie said.

Fergus gaped for a moment. “No, I am sorry, Milord. I did not see you.” Fergus bowed uncomfortably before disappearing down the hall. Though Jamie tried not to dwell on it, he couldn’t help but feel the sting, knowing that Claire was “Maman” and he was still “Milord.” Pushing down that disappointment, Jamie peeked into the room, seeing Claire and Brianna’s backs.

“Brianna,” Claire said, taking Miss Winnie into her arms. “I’m not angry at you.”

Brianna kept her gaze on the doll. “You’re not?”

“No, I’m not.” Brianna finally looked up at her. “Could you tell me where you got such an idea from?”

“You don’t like when I do things like Kitty and Maggie,” she said sheepishly.

“Brianna…” Claire outstretched her arms, and she crawled into her embrace. “You’ve got that entirely backwards. I love when you can do things like the other children. It makes me so happy when you get to feel like a normal little girl. But I can’t help that I worry about you. Because — ”

“Because I’m special. I know, Mummy,” Brianna said. “I don’t want to be special anymore.”

Claire sighed, rocking her back and forth. “Unfortunately, only God can decide things like that. He made you special for a reason. You know that.”

“I know.”

Claire kissed the top of her head. “I love you very much.”

“I love you, Mummy.”

“Is there anything else bothering you?”

“The giant was cross wi’ me, too.” Brianna fiddled with Miss Nettie’s skirts. “He was so mad that he broke Auntie Jenny’s pitcher. Then he was yelling at you. I heard. Before Fergus took me away.”

Claire repositioned Brianna so they were sitting on the rug facing each other. “That wasn’t a giant, Miss Brianna.” She playfully poked her nose with her pointer finger. “He’s just a very tall, mortal man.” Claire held Miss Winnie up straight in front of her, as if she were standing on the floor and talking to Brianna.

“You know, there’s someone that I would really love for Mistresses Nettie and Winnie to meet,” Claire said. “They’re looking quite bonny tonight, don't you think?”

Brianna gave a tiny giggle. “Yes.”

“Then would it be alright if someone joined us?” Brianna nodded. “Such a good girl.” Claire briefly cupped her cheek. “Alright. You have permission to join us now,” Claire said in her faux-regal voice, causing Brianna to giggle again. They both turned their heads as the door creaked open and the six foot, three inch tall “giant” entered the room.

“Good evening, lasses.” Jamie gave a deep bow, and Brianna smiled despite her nervousness at seeing him again.

“Good evening, sir.” Claire gave a small bow with her head. “Care to join us beside the fire?”

“Aye, that would be fine.” Jamie crossed the room to the fireplace and sat down. Despite the warm smile on his face, Claire could tell he was nervous.

“Allow me to introduce Miss Nettie.” Claire extended the doll’s cotton stub of a hand to Jamie, who took the hint, taking it between his thumb and pointer figure and giving it a kiss. Brianna giggled again, even louder than before. “And this is…” Claire turned to Brianna.

“Miss Winnie,” Brianna said, extending the doll’s hand, giggling again when Jamie kissed it.

“Madame Claire Fraser.” Claire held her hand out to Jamie, who took her hand with all the care and reverence in the world, and pressed a tender kiss to it.

“And you are?” Jamie said.

“Mistress Brianna Fraser.” She extended her hand, copying her mother’s elegant manner the best she could.

Jamie blanched, not having expected her to give him her hand. His eyes flashed to Claire for help, and she made a gesture with her eyebrows that told him to go on. Desperately trying to hide their trembling, he took Brianna’s wee hand in both of his enormous ones, closing his eyes as he kissed it. He rubbed the spot over with his thumb before returning her hand to her.

“He hasn’t introduced himself yet,” Brianna said pointedly.

“Brianna…”

“No, no, the lass is right, Where are my manners?” Jamie said, looking into Claire’s eyes for approval. She nodded. “My name is James Alexander Malcom Mackenzie Fraser.”

“James…Fraser,” Brianna said thoughtfully. “Mummy, that’s Da’s name.”

Jamie’s heart leapt into his throat. Da. She calls me Da.

“That’s right darling. Actually, I…we have to tell you something.” Brianna looked back and forth between the two of them silently. “Do you remember what I told you about your Da?”

“He died fighting for Scotland and Clan Fraser because he was a hero,” Brianna said proudly. “You said I have his hair and his eyes and his thick skull.” Jamie swiped at his nose to conceal the grin he broke into. “You said that he lives in Heaven with my sister Faith, and they watch over us together.”

“That’s right, I did say that. And most of it is true, darling,” Claire said, and Brianna began to look confused. “Your father did fight for Scotland and Clan Fraser, and he was a hero. You do have his hair, and his eyes, and his thick skull.” She ruffled her hair. “And you do have a big sister watching over you. But Brianna, your father isn’t in Heaven with Faith.”

“Why not?” There was a twinge of panic to her voice.

“Because he didn’t die when he fought for Scotland and Clan Fraser. There was a mistake.”

“A mistake?”

“The British Army thought your father was dead, so that’s what they told us, me, your Auntie and Uncle. So I told you that as well. But it wasn’t true, because the British Army made a mistake.”

“So Da isn’t in Heaven.”

“That’s right.”

“And he’s a great big Scottish warrior. With my hair and my eyes.” Brianna very deliberately looked at Jamie. “Just like you.” Jamie smiled. “You’re my Da, aren't you? You’re Jamie Fraser?”

“Aye, lass, it’s me,” Jamie whispered. “I’m yer Da.”

Brianna looked at Claire, then back at Jamie, then back at Claire. “It’s him, Mummy…the love of your life.”

Claire couldn’t stop the tears from spilling over. “Yes, darling. The man I’ve told you all about all these years, the man I love, and your father. He’s come back home to us.” Claire instinctually reached for Jamie’s hand, and he expertly laced their fingers together without having to look at her.

“Why did God let you out of Heaven, Da?”

“Da was never in Heaven, Brianna,” Claire said gently. “Remember? He never died. It was a mistake.”

“Then he wasn’t protecting us.”

“Aye, I was,” Jamie spoke up before Claire could answer her. “I prayed fer ye both every single day and night. I prayed to God and to the Saints to keep ye safe. And it worked, did it no’?” Brianna nodded. “So ye had protection from Heaven even wi’out me there myself.”

“What about Faith?” Brianna was becoming visibly upset. “She doesna have a Da in Heaven. Who is taking care of her?”

“Brianna, it’s alright…” Claire said, blinking back her tears. “She’s…she’s with Mother Mary. Where all the orphan angels wait for their parents to join them in Heaven. Mother Mary was a wonderful mother to Jesus, right?” Brianna nodded. “So she is a wonderful mother to Faith, too.”

Brianna’s face had visibly darkened, and she no longer seemed receptive to what they’d been saying. “Brianna, I’m sorry I told you things that weren’t true. I honestly believed them to be true when I told them to you. Do you understand?” Brianna didn’t respond. “If I knew your father was alive all along I never would have told you those things. But I didn’t know, Auntie Jenny didn’t know, Uncle Ian didn’t know. We all thought Da was in Heaven, darling. Nobody knew the truth. Do you understand?”

Brianna kept her eyes downcast, thinking silently for a moment.

“Kitty, and Maggie, and Janet, and Ian, and Jamie, and Michael’s Da is Uncle Ian. Right?”

“That’s right,” Claire answered.

“Uncle Ian lives wi’ his bairns,” Brianna said. “He was never in Heaven or anywhere else.”

Jamie and Claire exchanged a look, silently agreeing Jamie would take this one. “Brianna, I wanted to come home and live wi’ yer mam, and you, my bairn. I wanted to so, verra badly. My heart…” He put his hand over his chest. “My heart was broken every day I was no’ wi’ ye. I wanted to be at Lallybroch. Do…do ye believe me?” She shrugged. “I couldna be, because the British Army captured me. They put me in prison, so I couldnae escape and run home to my lasses.”

“Are you a thief?” Brianna asked. “The boys play jailer and thief.”

“No, I’m no’ a thief. Ye ken how yer mam said I fought fer Scotland and Clan Fraser?” She nodded. “The King of England didnae like that. So he had everyone who fought for Scotland and their clans put in prison.”

“Mummy said you’re a good man.”

“Sometimes good men go to prison.”

“Why?”

“I…I dinna ken.”

Jamie was out of answers. Claire gave his hand a squeeze.

“Brianna, do you trust me?” Claire asked. Brianna nodded. “Do you understand what it means to trust someone?” She nodded, a bit more hesitantly. “Trusting someone is…is when you believe that they are good, and you know that no matter what they would do anything to help you.”

“Of course I trust you, Mummy. When I have seizures you do anything to help me.”

“Yes, that’s right. Very good, darling.” Claire cupped her cheek, resting her hand there. “Now I…I trust this man. I believe that he is good, and I know that he would do anything for me. And he would do anything for you, too. You don’t have to trust him if you don’t want to, Brianna.” Claire squeezed Jamie’s hand as she said it, assuring him that she didn’t mean she wanted it to be that way. “I just want you to know that I trust him.”

“Okay, Mummy.” Brianna said. Claire removed her hand from her cheek.

“Right now,” Jamie began hesitantly. “I’ll settle fer being yer friend. If that’s alright wi’ ye.”

“You’re not my friend.” Claire felt her heart sink into her stomach, and she could feel Jamie’s grip on her hand tighten, almost painful. “You’re my Da.”

Both Jamie and Claire sighed in relief. “Aye, I am.”

“Kitty’s Da taught her about horses. Does that mean Fergus can’t ride with me anymore?”

“No, lass,” Jamie assured her. “Fergus is still yer brother, and ye can do whatever ye please wi’ him. I dinna wish to interfere. I can…I can watch ye ride. Does…does Kitty’s Da watch her ride?”

“Yes.”

“Then I should watch you, too. Right?”

Brianna gave a tiny smile. “Yes.”

“Good.” Jamie beamed, and Claire’s heart was fit to burst. She had never imagined a situation where she could ever be so full of love.

“Kitty gets to ride out all over Lallybroch, and she goes very fast,” Brianna said, her smile disappearing. “Mummy says I have to stay in the corral, and I can only go slow, and Fergus can’t let go.”

“You’ve ridden all over Lallybroch before,” Claire said. “With me.”

“But no’ by myself,” Brianna insisted. “Kitty gets her own horse when she rides wi’ her Da.”

“Yer mam told me you were…special,” Jamie said carefully, using the word that they had used when he was listening from the hall. “I ken it’s hard. Do ye…do ye have fun wi’ Fergus in the corral?”

She hesitated. “Yes. But I’d have more fun out of it.”

“Ah, I’m not so sure about that. The horses feel quite safe in the corral. It’s like they’re sharing their home wi’ ye. They only let verra special people in the corral, ye ken. Have ye ever seen a man thrown from his horse in the corral?” Brianna nodded. “Ah, that’s because they didna trust him. They must trust ye quite a bit, lass.” He playfully poked her nose, and she giggled. “I’d love to watch ye ride.”

She smiled. “Do the horses trust you?”

“Aye, I’d wager they do enough.”

“Then you could come in, too. With Fergus and me.”

Jamie let out a breathy laugh, and Claire could see his eyes glistening. “Only if ye want me to, lass.”

“Well I do.” She nodded curtly, as if agreeing on a business transaction. Claire chuckled. “Da?”

“What is it, lass?”

“Kitty’s Da hugs her and picks her up and kisses her,” Brianna said nervously. “Like Mummy does to me.”

“Brianna, you don’t have to do those things until you’re ready,” Claire said. “He understands that you’ve only just met.” Jamie nodded assuringly, trying to hide his disappointment.

“I am ready, Mummy.” Jamie and Claire looked at each other, realizing they had misunderstood her nervousness. She wasn’t afraid he would do those things; she was afraid that he wouldn’t.

“Do ye…” He cleared his throat, and blinked rapidly. “Do ye want me to hug you, Brianna?”

“Only if you want to.”

Claire thought briefly that she’d never heard Brianna use that particular phrase, and then quickly realized she’d picked it up just now, from Jamie.

He looked at Claire, with an indescribable expression that she’d only seen once before: the first time he’d felt Faith kicking. Claire nodded. “Go on.”

Jamie released her hand and outstretched his arms. Brianna scooted over to him on her knees and hugged him around the chest. Jamie felt like all the air from his lungs had been emptied. His hands hovered over her for a moment before he regained his senses enough to return the embrace. Lord, she was so tiny. He was reminded of how overwhelmed he’d been by Claire’s smallness the first time he’d truly held her close. But Claire was a grown woman. Brianna, his daughter, was nay but a tiny lass.

My daughter.

One of his hands moved to cup the back of her head. Through the thick layer of wild curls, her head, too, was impossibly small. He remembered holding Katherine’s head in his palm all those years ago, then seeing how big she’d become. Then he remembered what Claire had said:

“That’s how I feel every time I look at Brianna.”

He was suddenly struck with the thought of this girl ever being as tiny as baby Katherine had been, and he was overcome at the idea of never having held her when she was that small, never watching Claire nurse her, never seeing her learn to form words in her wee mouth, never watching her swing around her wee fists, learning to take her first steps…

He could not stop himself from weeping.

Claire watched him silently crying, overcome with emotion herself. She covered her mouth to stifle a sob. She reached out to stroke Jamie’s cheek, wiping away the tears that lingered there.

After taking a moment to compose himself, Jamie released Brianna. He knew he could have held her there for hours, rocked her back and forth, kissed her wee head, whispered Gaelic lullabies, but an energy-filled eight year old would not likely welcome that.

“Thank you,” he said, cupping her cheek. “Brianna.”

“You’re welcome,” she replied, chipper as ever, blissfully unaware of the emotional affect she’d had on both her parents. “Can I play now, Mummy?”

“Yes, of course. Why don’t you go find Kitty? And bring Miss Nettie and Miss Winnie.” Claire handed her the dolls.

“Alright.” She scampered for the door.

“I love you,” Claire called after her.

“Love you!” She yelled back from the hallway.

Claire turned back to Jamie, and there were fresh tears on his cheeks. “Jamie…”

“She is…” He breathed shakily. “A gift.”

“She is,” Claire agreed, taking his face in her hands.

“Thank you, fer…” He was overcome, unable to continue. Claire wrapped his arms around him, and he returned the embrace. They both wept on each other for a while, unable to express in any other way how much that had meant to both of them.

After a while, they simply held each other, silently.

“I spent eight years,” Claire began, breaking the silence. “Thanking God for her, for you to father her. I prayed…so fervently, to you. Thanking you for…for leaving a piece of you behind for me. In her.” Jamie kissed the top of her head. “She smiles in her sleep. Like you do.”

Jamie chuckled. “She speaks words of a Scot with the tongue of an Englishwoman,” he said.

“Yes. She learned to speak by listening to me, but also everyone else in your family.” Claire laughed. “It was inevitable that her speech would become somewhat of a hybrid.”

“She speaks French?” He said, remembering how she’d addressed Fergus in the parlor.

“Yes, Fergus helped me teach her.”

“Gaelic?”

“Of course. Jenny wouldn’t raise a child under this roof that didn’t know Gaelic. And certainly not a child of yours that didn’t know Gaelic.”

“She’s bright, then,” Jamie said proudly.

“Oh, yes. Brighter than I was at that age.”

“Oh, I doubt that. Ye ken she gets it from you, after all.”

“I wasn’t reading Spenser at her age,” Claire said. “I told her that there was a character in The Faerie Queene that shared her name, and she insisted on reading it. She snuck into the Laird’s library herself to get it.”

Jamie laughed. “She’s resourceful.”

“Well, that’s one way of putting it,” Claire said dryly. “That she gets from you.”

The door opened, and they sat up straight to see who it was.

“Pardon me,” Jenny said, and Claire didn’t miss the sarcasm. “Supper is ready.”

“We’ll be down shortly,” Jamie said.

Jenny smiled. “Ye ought to hear the lass. She’s going on and on to Kitty about her Da, how he’s gonnae ride horses wi’ her like Ian does wi’ Kitty.” Claire and Jamie exchanged a look. “I dinna ken how or why, what ye did to her wee noggin to make it so,” Jenny said, but they could both see the glint in her eye. “But she’s already crazy about ye.”

Jenny left, and Jamie and Claire beamed at each other. He stood up and stretched his hand down to her.

“Might I request the pleasure of your company for dinner, Madam?”

She beamed, taking his hand and allowing him to help her up. “You may.”

Once she was standing, he pulled her into a passionate kiss. Their lips parted, and arm in arm, they made their way to the dining room to eat with their family.

[angstyaches]

hey flick! I'd love to read something fluffy - maybe a valentines drabble? I'd die for some ryan x nancy content but I'd also love seeing what charlies and shaynes first valentines day together is like

well - you decide. just write whatever you want honestly

ps: I hope you're doing well

Date Night with Nancy and Ryan! (A Little Late for Valentine’s Day, Oops)

Em. Em, I just – I could not decide whether I wanted Ryan or Nancy to be in discomfort, and my brain melted somewhere along the way. (It seems that some days, I can be very bi, and maybe a little too goofy.)

CW: indigestion, hiccups, burping, slight nausea, lady sickee(s), food mention, brief blood (drinking) mention, just silliness

__

Nancy put a hand on the blanket and reclined a little, her long, dark ponytail sliding over her bare should before swinging against her back. She was dressed optimistically for early spring, especially since the sun had been down for a couple of hours already, but spontaneous European getaways with your 200-year-old vampire wife called for the most romantic of clothes.

She shook her head slowly as lights – as many on the tower as they were stars in the sky, it seemed – sparkled in her eyes. A smile crossed her face as she remembered how Ryan had said “Picnic by the Seine”, and Nancy had thought it must have been the name of a new restaurant that had opened nearby. However, one flight and one limousine ride later, and here they were, basking in the Eiffel Tower’s glittering beauty while an actual accordion was being played somewhere downstream. (Although Nancy had carefully pinned the idea for a French restaurant with a picnic theme in her mind for later consideration.)

“Nancy Aldridge,” Ryan droned from a mere couple of inches away, where she was propped up by her elbow as she lay on her side. “Are you ponderin’?”

Nancy tilted her head back a little further. “I might be.”

“What are you pondering, love?”

Nancy smiled and reclined even more, until the back of her head was resting against Ryan’s thighs. She was still holding a glass of the crispest, most refreshing wine she’d ever tasted, and she held it with the stem pressed against her stomach as she looked up at her wife’s face.

“I was thinking that I must have married a mad woman.”

“Huh.” Ryan gently swirled her own wine glass, which was sporting a thin, black lipstick stain. She was drinking the same wine as Nancy, even though she usually opted for clear spirits when she wasn’t drinking purely blood. The low lighting of the city and the shadow of the embankment cast her sharp, pale features quite softly. “Mais je pense souvent la même chose.”

Nancy groaned. “You don’t always have to exhibit the fact that you’re multi-lingual, mon cheri.”

“Mon?” Ryan repeated in her usual Northern-Irish accent. She glanced pointedly down at her white blazer, and white shirt that was tucked neatly into cropped grey trousers. “Am I looking particularly masculine tonight?”

“Oh.” Nancy covered her mouth with one hand and giggled, causing herself to hiccup slightly. Her wine glass jumped along with her belly, but the liquid stopped sloshing just short of the rim. “It’s ma cherie, right? You know I’ve only learned whatever French I’ve heard in movies.”

“Mmm, the same way you learned to flirt from movies.”

“Says the one who took me to Paris for Valentine’s Day,” Nancy teased. 

“Yes, because I know you’re partial to the odd cliché now and then.” With the hand that wasn’t holding her wine glass, Ryan ran the pads of two fingers along the curve of Nancy’s neck.

Nancy closed her eyes briefly and made a sound that was somewhere between a sigh and a purr, which quickly escalated into another hiccup. She opened her eyes again and carefully set her wine glass aside on the ground, one hand resting on her stomach.

The wine, along with the selection of cheese and the fresh bakery bread that she’d been munching on while they watched the lights and the boats from the riverbank, suddenly sat awfully heavily inside her. She hadn’t meant to eat quite so much, but the bread had been so crispy on the outside and bouncy on the inside, and each kind of cheese jolted her taste buds like they’d previously been in hibernation. And it didn’t help that the scenery so all-encompassing that she hadn’t paid much attention to quantity as she nibbled and drank.

The next hiccup was high-pitched, and brought the acidic sting of indigestion into her throat. Nancy clapped a hand over her mouth as the sound echoed through the little section of embankment that they had claimed for the evening.

Ryan removed her fingers from Nancy’s neck, instead resting a hand on her shoulder and peering down at her face. “Are you alright, Nan?”

“Yes, I believe so,” Nancy giggled from behind her hand, even as her stomach pinched slightly. “The wine, or – or something, isn’t sitting very well.”

She ran a hand tentatively down across her stomach, finding that it filled out the front of her cherry-red dress a lot more than it had when she’d first gotten dressed. It wasn’t tight or stiff with all of the food inside, but it was distinctly rounder. She felt a rumble beneath her hand, frowning and pursing her lips as she rubbed it away.

“Do you feel nauseous?”

“Oh - well, maybe a little.” Nancy smiled up at Ryan with some strain when her wife’s face betrayed a touch of concern. “Oh, I’ll be quite fine. Don’t look so stressed, cookie; you might end up with wrinkles for the rest of eternity.”

She reached up to tap Ryan on the end of her nose. Ryan looked back down at her with a lazy, contented look in her deep-yellow eyes. The Eiffel Tower was just out of Nancy’s sight, but its lights still flickered and softened the lines of Ryan’s jaw.

Unfortunately, that was the moment when another hiccup decided to wrack Nancy’s entire body, making her stomach slosh audibly before it bubbled down into quiet grumbling again.

“You’re really contributing to the ambience, love,” Ryan mumbled with the slightest ghost of a smile. She reached across with one hand to rub the top of Nancy’s belly.

“It’s not quite my fault,” Nancy half-chuckled, squirming and blushing slightly at the attention. “You probably don’t remember it, but indigestion can be quite unpleasant...”

A deep gurgle erupted under Ryan’s palm. Nancy pressed her lips together briefly before blocking a belch with the back of her hand. It, too, seemed to reverberate against the embankment the same way it had against her ribs, and Nancy’s heart sank as the distant accordion player ceased their playing for a moment. 

“Oh, excuse me,” Nancy gasped, keeping her hand against her mouth as she listened for the music, waiting for it to begin again. “I think I scared away the accordion player.”

“I’m not complaining.” Ryan smoothed Nancy’s ponytail out over her knee. “We can enjoy some peace and quiet for a little while.”

“Mmm, that sounds nice, actually.” 

Nancy sighed and rested her hands on her full belly again as Ryan went back to propping herself up with both arms. There was indeed a stretch of quiet along their stretch of the river, aside from the soft movements of the water and white-noise city traffic. 

The indigestion passed by the minute, the pressure in Nancy’s gut easing as everything settled and the acidic taste was gone from her throat. Her diaphragm was no longer tense with the threat of hiccups, and she felt even more relaxed than she had all evening.

So when there was suddenly a loud gurgle, Nancy was as surprised as Ryan, who looked down at her again with a mock glare.

“That’s not exactly quiet.”

“That...” Nancy tightened her grip on her stomach out of instinct, though she was very sure that the sound hadn’t come from her. “That wasn’t me.”

She sat forward slightly, looking over her shoulder at her wife. Ryan’s gaze was already averted towards her own midsection, where the clasp on her trousers seemed strained in front of her tucked shirt.

“Apologies, love.” Ryan’s hand hovered near her stomach, like she was reluctant to touch it, but was perhaps considering it anyway. “It seems the wine isn’t agreeing with me either.”

Nancy pursed her lips as she frowned sympathetically. She glanced down the embankment, confirming that they were still alone, and that no boats full of tourists were about to come gliding past. “Undo your pants!”

Ryan scoffed. “You must be incredibly drunk, if you of all people are suggesting public indecency.”

“It’s not public indecency, is it?” Nancy laughed. “There’s nobody around, cookie. You’ll feel better, trust me. I’m wearing a nice, loose-fitting dress, but those pants look painful.”

While her features barely shifted, Nancy could read the doubt and hesitation that lingered on Ryan’s face. 

“Fine, I’ll do it,” Nancy said, shifting onto her knees and reaching for the clasp below Ryan’s waist.

“What - don’t you dare!” Ryan tried to roll away from Nancy’s hands, when suddenly she froze, eyes widening as she sat forward. 

Nancy froze too, carefully placing a hand on Ryan’s back and tilting her head so she could see her face. “Ryan, are you quite -?”

The vampire’s eyes widened even further as she opened her mouth, air rumbling audibly in her chest before it burst out of her. The belch ended abruptly, with Ryan covering her mouth with her palm. It was, unfortunately, a little too late to stifle what had already happened.

“Oh, wow.” Nancy covered her own mouth to disguise the terrible job she was doing of suppressing a grin. She patted Ryan’s back with her other hand. “What do you say, cookie?”

“What?” Ryan blinked and shook her head. “I - excuse me, love. Really. I don’t know what came over me.”

“Nothing wrong with a little ambience,” Nancy shrugged.

Ryan sighed and finally rubbed her stomach, prompting a growl from inside the distressed organ as she turned to look at Nancy. “I believe I’ve had enough ambience for tonight. Shall we head for the hotel, love?”

“Yes,” Nancy agreed, leaning in to peck Ryan on the cheek. “Allons-y.”

Ryan audibly gulped back another burp, frowning and peering curiously at Nancy as they slowly moved to tidy everything up. “Why do you know allons-y?”

Nancy shrugged again, gently resting the wine bottle and glasses inside the picnic basket. “Doctor Who reference.”

___

And to just quickly mention Charlie and Shayne’s first Valentine’s; I believe it’d be low-key, if they got to see each other at all. Their graduation exams are coming up soon and they’re still living far away from each other. Plus I haven’t even worked out at what point they’re “officially” going to be dating lol my timeline is currently one whole mess.

[lov3nerdstuff]

Voluptas Noctis Aeternae {Part 4.4}

*Severus Snape x OC*

Summary: It is the year 1983 when the ordinary life of Robin Mitchell takes a drastic turn: she is accepted into Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Despite the struggles of being a muggle-born in Slytherin, she soon discovers her passion for Potions, and even manages the impossible: gaining the favor of Severus Snape. Throughout the years, Robin finds that the not quite so ordinary Potions Professor goes from being a brooding stranger to being more than she had ever deemed possible. An ally, a mentor, a friend... and eventually, the person she loves the most. Through adventure, prophecies and the little struggles of daily life in a castle full of mysteries, Robin chooses a path for herself, an unlikely friendship blossoms into something more, and two people abandoned by the world can finally find a home.

General warnings: professor x student (however no underage romance), blood, violence, trauma, neglectful families, bullying, cursing

Words: 5.9k

Read Part 1.1 here! All Parts can be found on the Masterlist!

______________________________

"Could you come over here please?" Snape's voice drew her attention away from the fireplace, and Robin found herself surprised that he actually even knew that the word 'please' could be used without sarcasm. If he used it in all seriousness now, the images in Robin's head must've left a deeper impression on him than she had expected.

With a touch of guilt on her mind, she got up and walked over to the table where he was working on whatever potion it was that was quietly bubbling in the small cauldron in front of him. If being here in his laboratory in her pajamas wasn't odd enough, standing next to him now in the same state while he was working definitely was.

"What do you need me to do?" She asked as neutrally as she could, as her eyes followed every single movement of his hands on their own accord in admiring fascination. Whatever he was brewing here, it surely wasn't something she knew, nor something that was easy enough to be taught in class.

He stopped in his work mere seconds later and turned to Robin with an odd expression on his face, one she couldn't remember ever seeing before. "What you see here is a potion I invented after the incident with the boggart last term, to trace the spells that have affected a living being in the past seventy two hours."

His words made Robin's stomach drop immediately as she caught on to what he was implying. But she didn't want to believe it just yet. "Why are you making this?" Her voice was far too quiet to even feign neutrality, but it would've been useless anyway in the light of the honest discomfort in her eyes.

"To hopefully confirm my suspicion. I believe you have been hexed for some time now."

Robin only nodded for a moment, wrapping her head around the possibility of that. It was likely, yes, but who would've hexed her? And whatever for? Well, they would hopefully find out soon enough, if she finally stopped being a dunderhead and got into a serious mode of working with Snape again. "What can I do to help?"

"That is the downside." He mused and turned to look at the cauldron instead of Robin. "The potion requires your blood in order to determine the foreign magic used on you."

"Alright, how much do you need?"

His eyes snapped back to Robin at the easy factuality of her voice, and the neutrality in his own was replaced by surprised incredulity. "A… few drops should suffice."

"May I?" Robin asked without further ado as she pointed to the knife on the cutting board in front of her, and upon his barely noticeable nod, she didn't hesitate to use it to make a small and precise cut on her left forearm, to which she then pressed her right hand to stop it from bleeding already. It didn't hurt, and she didn't mind. "Should I add it directly or do you need to do something else first?"

"Go ahead…" His voice was still everything but normal, everything but neutral, and his unusual quietness about her ways of assisting him made Robin wonder if she had made a mistake. But he had given her the go after all, and so she moved to take his place in front of the cauldron, then held her forearm over the steaming brew and lifted her right hand just enough to let a few drops fall into the bubbling liquid. It turned red first, then entirely black.

"Anything else?" Robin asked as she made room for him again, holding her arm far away enough from her t-shirt to not risk smudging any blood on it. The cut really wasn't deep and hardly painful compared to everything she'd been through in the past few hours, but she didn't want new blood onto her clothes again any time soon. The thought of that alone made the hairs in her neck stand up, but she figured that it would probably stop bleeding in a minute anyway.

"It was the last step." Snape replied quietly, but kept his eyes and frown on her instead of the product of his efforts. Robin raised an eyebrow in question in return, and that finally made him go on, even if not in the way she expected. "You really are a curious creature."

Now Robin's other eyebrow lifted as well, and she didn't know if she should feel flattered or offended. The crimson heat rising to her face didn't differentiate between that though. "Uhm, I… sorry?"

With a sigh he lifted her arm up by her wrist, in a surprising gentleness that contrasted his irritated demeanor, then pried her hand away from the cut to take a look at it. But Robin didn't even feel the cut anymore, for any and every discomfort was washed away by the pleasantly blazing sensation of his hand wrapped around her arm. Oh come on, Robin! Really?! She suppressed the urge to roll her eyes at herself, at the same time as she suppressed the unappreciated tingles. There was no time for this right now, and there never would be time for it! Hopefully that would finally get through that thick skull of hers.

Before she knew, her arm was dropped to her side again, the cut gone and the very much different prickle of magic fading from her skin. "Thank you." She said, even though she didn't know for sure what had happened or what he had done. Once again she had been too caught up in her own head to be bothered with reality.

"I was under the impression that after what happened…" He paused, thought, and turned towards the potion on the table once more before he spoke on. "I did not expect you to be so… factual about the issue. In the light of recent events."

Oh… he was referring to the fact that she had woken up entirely covered in blood a mere few hours ago. Oh well, that surely would be terribly troublesome to anyone who actually acknowledged that it had happened as a part of their reality. In Robin's mind, the events were mere scenes of a movie she had seen a long time ago. Obviously her subconsciousness hadn't found any other way to cope with these memories, for that's what the pictures were becoming now, and Robin was fine with it as long as she could finally function again. Functioning, working, facts… that's what always served to make her mind shut up. But she understood that it must be confusing for Snape, who only saw the results of her weird coping mechanisms now, not the way of coping itself.

"I think I'm better already." She summed up her previous thought process. "Not nearly alright, but mostly fit for function. And right now I need to function to finally get through this mess. So, your theory… would you tell me more? How did you get the idea that I was hexed?"

Snape raised an eyebrow at Robin for a moment, but seeing as she looked back at him with calm seriousness, he sat down on the stool behind him with a sigh and motioned for Robin to sit down as well. "I have had the suspicion that something might be wrong with you ever since last Monday, when Pomona informed me of the incident in your herbology class. Then on Wednesday it was confirmed when you did not feel like working in the evening."

"How did that of all things confirm that something was wrong with me?"

"I have seen you working with a broken ankle after getting beaten up by the Whomping Willow. If anything stops you from following your passion for learning, it must be more serious than that." He stated, then continued with the previous explanation. "Of course I did not know the true extent or gravity of the issue before you let me see for myself, but if I had been aware of your nightmares at least, I might have been able to draw the necessity conclusion a lot sooner. Say, why did you choose not to tell me?"

"I wanted to!" Robin replied instinctively, but then decided to give a more rational than emotional answer. "I… wanted to tell you, on Wednesday night. But you were so busy with more important things and I didn't think it was important enough to bother you with. I mean, nightmares are just such a childish thing to get so entirely upset about… it's just not something you talk about with your professor if you ever want to be taken seriously again."

"Am I not taking you seriously?"

"Actually, you are the only one who does. And I didn't want to endanger that by complaining about something like this. I just didn't want to reduce myself to a pathetic little girl who is scared of something as childish as bad dreams."

"First point, if you call those nightmares childish then I truly do not wish to know what your childhood looked like. Second point, I would never think less of you for confiding in me about any issue at all. But I do realize that I tend to call people 'pathetic' rather casually, so I see your point in thinking I might do the same to you. I would never. Not… seriously, at least. You know that. Third and most important point, your nightmares weren't, in fact, nightmares at all."

"Wait, what?!" Could he repeat that just a little less casually?? And… not confuse her poor heart by actually being nice to her now?

"What you saw was beyond terrifying, but those images weren't nightmares. They weren't even dreams. Or have you at any point in your previous life experienced the very same vivid dream for a week in a row and found yourself able to remember every detail once you woke up?"

"No, of course not… it really is a bit weird, admittedly. I have actually briefly considered the possibility that they weren't my own dreams, but never that they weren't dreams at all. What were they though? And who would be cruel and creative enough to torture me like that?"

"That is precisely what we are going to find out now." With that he snatched a piece of parchment out from where it was stuck between two books on the other table, then placed it next to the cauldron in front of them. "The way this potion works is simple: you let droplets of it fall onto a clear surface, and it will spell out the magic last used on the subject whose blood was added."

While he did just that, Robin got to witness what he had explained and how it actually made sense when put into action. The black droplets seemed to soak into the parchment for a moment, then they formed the words that had been spoken, and thus the spell that had been used. A remarkable piece of magic, and Robin couldn't help the curiosity that overcame her like it would under normal circumstances.

"How did you come up with this?!" She wondered in astonishment as she let her fingers trace over the slowly forming words. They didn't smudge like ink would… curious. "It's brilliant, I mean… I wish I had the energy left to really think it through, but it's already quite ingenious in its existence alone."

"Perhaps…" He mused, careful in his voice of words. "I will explain it to you at a different point in time. If you would like."

"I would like that a lot, actually." Robin replied with a small smile, the first one in a long time. Maybe sorting through this mess together did help her in dealing with it after all.

"As for the current issue…" He went on then, directed at the piece of parchment, and Robin followed his eyes down to the now clearly legible writing on it. "It appears that my suspicions were correct."

"Okay, but what exactly does that mean? Did… did someone really hex me?" The insecure frown was back on Robin's face as she looked at the paper in an attempt to make sense of the spells. Some of them looked familiar… others completely foreign. But there were a lot more of them than Robin had expected.

"Someone tried to hex you, yes." He started, and his voice took a grave turn as he did. "This spell here…" Only once Robin had read the words he was pointing at, he continued. "It is a terribly ragged alternation of a simple charm. Instead of giving the victim harmless visions born of their own mind, the spell was reworded to give the victim realistic visions that were predetermined by the person casting it. This very likely is what was used on you every night during the past week to instil the very same pictures into your mind. Those dreams were knowingly forced upon you, that much is clear now."

"Who would go through that trouble to do something like that?! And… why not simply use legilimency to place pictures into my mind, it would be an easier choice for that, wouldn't it?" Robin frowned. "Why make things difficult and use a self-made spell?"

"I can only assume that the person behind this spell either wasn't aware of the advantages of legilimency, or was indeed aware of the fact that they would not be good enough at it to get through your defense. It is no secret among the staff that you are a decent occlumens, and I believe it should be equally known among your peers."

"So someone altered an entirely different spell just to hex me? To give me nightmares?"

"That seems to have been their intention, yes. But going by your experiences and my own, I am led to believe that while it was intended to be a hex, it turned out a curse instead. That would explain why it affected you so strongly."

"So I was cursed?!"

"Yes."

"Oh bloody hell…" Robin sighed to herself, and honestly she didn't know if she wanted to be relieved or even more terrified. On one hand it was good news that she was someone else's victim, not her own. But on the other hand it also made her someone else's victim! She frowned at another thought. "Uh, professor...? How exactly did the person who cursed me know what kind of visions they needed to show me to mess with my head that much?"

"It could be a mere coincidence."

"No, it couldn't. You saw what my worst fear was last year, and you saw the visions given to me now. Do you seriously believe that something that similar in both its manifestation and result could be a coincidence?"

"No." Snape replied with a defensive scowl. "And before you try to accuse me of telling someone the truth behind the incident with the boggart, let me assure you that I have better things to do than gossip about your fears and memories."

"I… didn't even consider accusing you of anything, actually." Robin said in a calm but quiet voice, as she realized that he really was the only person who knew about her fear in the first place. Still, absolutely nothing within her believed that he would've done that, not to her and not to anyone else. "I know you wouldn't tell anyone about what you see in my mind."

"And what makes you so ridiculously certain about that?" This, clearly, was a test. Robin could tell by his tone, by the frown on his face, even by the fact that he was asking in the first place and not straight out scolding her for making assumptions about him. But it was a test she felt ready to take, even if it was totally the wrong time for something like this.

"Actually, there's two very good answers to that and one you wouldn't want to hear: First, you yourself seem uncomfortable enough knowing about it in the first place, thus I doubt that you would have any gain out of letting other people know that you know. Second and more importantly, you are the smartest person I know, and therefore I honestly doubt that you would consider betraying the trust of someone who is keeping secrets of yours in return. It simply would be unwise, even if that person would never betray you in return."

"What's the third answer?" He asked without any reaction to what Robin had just so very frankly stated.

"That I trust you. Obviously. But seeing as that is my own sentiment rather than a tangible reason, I was under the impression that it would hardly matter to you."

"It shouldn't." He mused, more to himself than to Robin, and turned his focus back to the parchment so exclusively that Robin felt like she had passed the test against his own expectation. For that, she felt a little pleased with herself at last, considering that it was a huge success for a night that had already messed her up so very much. One small win that weighed up quite a few losses in return.

"Before we go any deeper into the question of how your fears became known to the person responsible for the visions, we might as well try to find that person and ask them." Snape commented a moment later, all back to the seriousness of before.

"I agree." Robin replied in an equal 'back-to-business' mode of behavior. "What do the spells say about what happened tonight? There must be one spell at least that's responsible for making me someone else's puppet. I don't really know about the blood or the other me, that might not be anything directly affecting me, but-..."

"Say that again." He ordered with one quick look at Robin, then a frown back at the parchment.

"Uh…" Robin was thrown off her track of thought by the interruption, but stared at the parchment nonetheless as if it would give her the right words to reply now. "I… said that I don't know if the blood or the bodies were really there or if it was magic, but I definitely know that one spell must've been used on me, at least, to make me a puppet of the other me."

"It seems like you just answered your own question." He pointed at another three words written close to the bottom of the list. "Do you know that spell?"

"It looks vaguely familiar, but I'm not entirely certain which bell it rings with me."

"It does exactly what you said: it turns inanimate objects into puppets at the will and command of who spoke the spell. Again, it was reworked to affect a living being just the same, but I believe that this goal was achieved with more luck than reason."

"So someone created a makeshift imperius curse. For me." Robin stated in a mixture of distancing incredulity and simple refusal to acknowledge the insanity of this. "And then they used it to scare me? I can't believe how stupid that sounds while yet being absolutely terrifying."

"This has to be the most pathetically successful orchestration of cruelty I have ever seen."

"That… is a very good description." Robin sighed, but she still didn't really see the point in all of this. Who would do something like that? And why? At least knowing the 'how' behind what had happened made her feel much less afraid of it. "Do you have any idea how the second 'me' could be explained? Or the bodies?"

"I do have theories, but no proof to either of them." He replied and folded the piece of parchment into smaller and smaller squares under Robin's careful observation.

"Still, enlighten me. Please…" She requested as she wondered what he was up to yet again when he placed the piece of parchment in one of his pockets.

"Polyjuice potion, any and every possible delusion spell, constructed illusions, projected illusions, mere physical acts of trickery, more altered charms, acts of-…"

"Alright alright, I… I get it." She sighed, and he stopped in his counting down of possibilities. "A different approach, maybe: do you have an idea who could have constructed these spells, or why?"

"Well, who would take such joy in your suffering that they wouldn't refrain from cursing you?" Snape asked in return as he rose from his stool.

"Maybe you better ask me who wouldn't like to see me suffering…" Robin scoffed and leaned the weight of her upper body onto her forearms on the table, for sitting upright and straight became too exhausting at last. "That would definitely be easier to answer."

"Maybe you could narrow it down to the individuals who possess the ability to rework more or less innocent spells into serious, even if adulterated, pieces of dark magic."

Somehow his words rang a bell in Robin's mind, and her eyes widened in shock and dread at her own thought. No… that was ridiculous. Seriously, that was just insane. But wasn't this entire situation insane enough already to make basically anything possible? Maybe. "I… have a name in mind, but it would be very inappropriate to say what I think in this case."

"I believe we moved past appropriate when you attacked me with a saucepan, so you may just as well tell me who you are thinking of."

"Professor Morgan." Robin blurted out before her lips could stay sealed, before her mind could find a better way to approach this delicate topic.

"That happens to have been my first thought as well." He replied as if this serious accusation was absolutely nothing to him. "However no matter how incompetent and imbecile I find that man, in the light of longer consideration I doubt that he is the core of the occurrences."

"But you think he's got something to do with it at least?" Robin inquired. Gosh, she wouldn't even be surprised if Morgan had any part in this. Somehow her problems usually came down to him anyway, or to the other Slytherins.

"I do believe he does, knowingly or not." Snape mused as he rounded the table and made for the door. "No matter what I believe, I shall pay him a visit right in this instant."

"Wait!" Robin blurted out yet again before her rational mind had a say. Maybe the tiredness was catching up with her at last, no matter if she could force her body to stay awake or not. But a tired mind meant a slow filter between thought and speech, and Robin struggled for a decent way to cover up the fact that she didn't want him to leave her alone. Not even in the safety of the lab. Seems like not all fear had left her mind after all. "Uh, it's… it's roughly four o'clock in the morning! I couldn't imagine Morgan to be awake."

"He most likely isn't, but that doesn't mean I cannot wake him up." It sounded way too simple put like that, unfortunately. "I want this issue to be solved as soon as possible and Morgan is a good point to start."

"Isn't it a bit… weird to come to him with some spells in the middle of the night to find out if they originated from him?"

"Is it? I am merely consulting the school's defense against the dark arts professor in the urgent matter of protecting the students from the dark magic that is inherent in these spells we discovered. This is important school business, and that makes it perfectly reasonable to find him at this time." He explained, and Robin found herself surprised that he bothered to explain his reasons to her at all when he had so often before made a point in not having to explain himself to her, or anyone else for that matter.

"Perfectly reasonable indeed." Robin sighed more defeatedly than intended, but quickly got a gasp of herself again. She didn't want to be alone right now, while they still hadn't answered all of the important questions. While she didn't know who had cursed her just to see her suffering. But she also knew that her only chance at finding out was for Snape to go question Morgan now. "Uh, what would you like me to do in the meanwhile? I… can leave, if you want, or-..."

"You should stay here for now, until the issue is solved. I will lock the door with an additional charm that should prevent anyone but you and me from entering the laboratory. Try to rest." Now, that was more a suggestion than an order for once, and Robin nodded compliantly. Before Snape finally closed the door behind himself however, he turned to Robin once more. "There are ingredients in this room that in sum cost more than the entire castle. You can believe me when I say you are perfectly safe in here with them. But I should not be gone for long either way." With that the door was closed, the room silent and Robin on her own.

… … …

After a moment of listening to the silence, Robin moved from the table back towards the fireplace. It wasn't all too cold in the small room, usually, but the warmth of the fire still made her feel more comfortable, especially now that she was far from appropriately clad and far from having sufficient energy to keep herself warm.

At least she already felt a whole lot better on the inside than she had a good while ago. Still scared, yes, and anxious as well, but not terrified out of her mind. Not like crying, not like running. That was a step into the right direction, and one she believed she had only been able to make after the threat had become tangible to her. It was far easier to deal with a person who possesses evil but mediocre magic skills than with a mysterious, allconsuming dark force that was ineffable in its extent and threat.

"Oh, Miss Mitchell!" A small, squeaky voice made Robin yelp nonetheless as it suddenly came out of nowhere, right next to her.

"Buttercup! Bloody hell, you scared me…" Robin said as she took deep breaths to calm her heart back down. "What on earth are you doing here?"

"I apologise, Miss, I am terribly sorry!" The house elf looked to her feet in shame and Robin immediately felt bad for being so harsh to her in her surprise.

"It's alright, don't feel bad about it please. I'm just… jumpy tonight." Robin sighed and tried to somewhat smile at the elf. None of this was her fault after all. "Why are you here?"

"To bring you whatever you would like, Miss." Buttercup answered brightly. "From the kitchens or any other place."

Robin closed her eyes for a brief second and took one more deep breath, then had to smile for real. "Did Professor Snape send you here?"

"Yes, but he told me not to tell you that, only to bring you whatever you request. So what would you like, Miss?" Buttercup smiled happily, and Robin had to smirk at the clueless innocence of the young servant as well as Snape's attempt to conceal his any and every act of kindness. He might have gotten better at accepting Robin's kind gestures, but he definitely wasn't anywhere near accepting his own. Oh well, an issue for another point in time.

"I would like you to bring me three things from my room, if that's possible?" Robin inquired, and Buttercup nodded immediately.

"Yes, yes! Anything from anywhere, Miss!"

"Good… could you please get me my wand from my nightstand, the old leather backpack from next to my bed, and the black lace-up boots with the yellow stitching from under my bed?" Robin said a little slower than normal, not in a condescending way, but to make sure the elf could memorize it without a haste. No need to rush the poor girl.

"Certainly, Miss. I will be back in a moment." And with that she was gone, leaving Robin alone in the room again. This certainly was a spontaneous development of things, Buttercup showing up here, but not at all unappreciated… Robin couldn't wait to get her hands on her most precious belongings. Everything material that she needed and valued was in that backpack, except for her wand and her favorite pair of shoes. And if Buttercup found those as well, Robin could very well live without ever setting foot into her room again. She would have to live in her pajamas, but she would live indeed.

"Please don't startle again, Miss…" Came the small voice, a mere whisper, from Robin's left after a few minutes, and Robin felt touched that the elf actually made an effort not to scare her again.

"All good, I'm fine." She replied and immediately went to help the completely over-packed Buttercup put her belongings down.

"I brought everything you requested, Miss!" The elf said, still sounding overjoyed to be helping Robin out. "Your instructions were very helpful, thank you for your efforts."

"That wasn't an effort at all! It is the least I can do to make it easier for you." Robin tried to explain to her, but already knew that the elf wouldn't listen to that. "I'm very thankful for your effort to bring me my belongings."

"It was my privilege to help you. Would you like anything else?"

"Say, how did my room look?" Robin asked, coming to think back to the puddles of blood she had seen. "Anything… unusual?"

"Your room looked perfectly ordinary, Miss. Very clean for one of the students' rooms."

"And what about my roommates?"

"All four of them are sleeping, and one was snoring. And there was a cat on your bed." Buttercup stated positively, seemingly delighted about being able to give such a detailed report.

"How curious…" Robin mused to herself, but before she could dwell on it, Buttercup interrupted her thoughts.

"Is there anything else I can do for you, Miss?"

"I would like for you to accept another piece of the muggle candy I have given to you before. You liked it, didn't you?"

"Yes, Miss, I did like it. But you are too kind to me, I cannot accept any more-..."

"You would make me very happy if you could accept it." Robin argued innocently, even though she knew she was tricking the poor girl. But it was for her own good. "It would make me happy if I could make you happy with that candy."

"If it makes you happy, Miss… It makes me happy." She gave in with a sheepish smile, and Robin grabbed her wand and her backpack and summoned a Twirl with a simple accio out of the bag's depths to give it to the house elf.

"Here you go… I hope you enjoy it as much as I do."

"Thank you, Miss. You really are beyond kind. Us house elves don't receive gifts often, it really is special to be given something."

"Well, you could always take this candy back to the kitchens and multiply it. Then everyone of you can have a piece, as a gift." Robin suggested in a careful friendliness, and in the hopes that Buttercup would actually enjoy doing that. It really was difficult sometimes to get an honest opinion out of a house elf. Almost as hard as getting an honest opinion out of Snape, only in the exact opposite way.

"Would you like for me to do that?"

"Yes." Robin replied after a moment of thinking. "Tell them Robin and Professor Snape say thank you for the occasional chocolate cake, and the occasional help."

The elf giggled at Robin's comment and clutched the candy to her chest like it was the most precious item she had ever held. "Certainly, Miss. Would you like me to bring you anything else?"

"No. Thank you, Buttercup."

"You are most welcome, Miss."

"Actually, I would like for you to stop calling me 'Miss'... Just Robin is fine."

"Certainly, Miss Robin." Buttercup smiled brightly at Robin, who couldn't help smiling in return at the incorrigible ways of the house elves. Well, if it made her happy…

"Goodnight. Enjoy the candy." Robin said after a moment of silence, and the young elf gave her a small wave before disappearing again, leaving Robin alone with her newly regained belongings.

Sighing in relief, Robin took quick inventory of her backpack, then inspected her wand for any blemishes that weren't supposed to be there and finally put on the socks she'd stuffed into her boots the previous evening and then the shoes themselves. Funny how she had never before truly appreciated the luxury of having shoes… or clothing in general.

Then she tried to find the black jumper she was sure to have put into her backpack, but as neither the accio nor a physical search brought any results, Robin gave up on it and simply scooted herself a bit closer to the fire again. Hadn't she even put a darn rain coat in there too, at some point? Then she remembered… she'd taken both the jacket and the jumper out last Saturday when she'd gotten caught in the rain during a walk, and then left both pieces hanging over her chair to dry. In the frenzy of the whole nightmare thing, she had never had the mind to put them back into her bag though. Great… She would seriously need to upgrade her inventory once all of this was over. With all the space she had, she'd definitely pack at least two entire changes of clothes, some shoes and a blanket. But planning to do that in the future didn't help her now.

Yawning, Robin spun and twisted her wand between her fingers and simply gazed into the flames without any lasting string of thought. It must be nearing five o'clock… and she was dead tired. Maybe she should just close her eyes for a moment, only until Snape would return. If she couldn't think straight when he got back, she would be of absolutely no use to solving the issue at hand and that was the last thing she wanted. A few minutes of rest surely couldn't hurt anyone, right? She had her wand with her now, along with everything of value when it came to protecting herself. She was prepared now. And this probably was one of the safest places in the entire castle indeed, so nobody could get to her here… not even the nightmares that weren't nightmares. Nobody knew where she was, nobody could curse her. She was going to be alright. He had promised it.

With a silent sigh, Robin moved over to the nearest wall to lean against the side of the shelf, but it was too far away from the fire, too cold for her to be comfortable, and thus she admitted her defeated to circumstance and simply curled into a ball directly in front of the flames while using her backpack as a pillow. After everything that had happened tonight, this didn't even seem inappropriate anymore, and honestly, she also couldn't care less. She would pass out soon anyway, so she might as well lay down first. Indeed, before she could think of any reason not to, she had already succumbed to exhaustion.

______________________________

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[whereflowersbloom]

I liked you first

Part 4

Fuck. She was getting closer, he could hear the echo of her footsteps walking across the hall. He was positive she was on her way to his table. This had to be a fucking joke. Damian looked around and tried to convince himself it was his mind playing tricks on him. Perhaps it was the wine. Definitely he’d blame the wine. However he knew it wasn’t possible. He had only had one glass. Furthermore he developed a high tolerance for alcohol. There was no way he was drunk. At all. Damian has met beautiful women the past years. Attending Galas, charity events, and suchlike, as a Wayne. He did what was expected of him. Some were dates, others one night stands to satisfy his carnal needs as any other man. Every single one meaningless. Yet, they were nothing compared to this dazzling beauty before his sharp eyes. Pure and innocent as beautiful. Delicate as porcelain. This couldn’t be Rachel Kent. Jonathan’s sister. His date tonight. The simple idea seemed inconceivable.

He felt a warmth rising from within, a low gentle burn starting at his core, and stretching out into his limbs. He doesn’t recognize it, or possibly his logical mind refused to acknowledge it. He tenses, the sound around him mutes.

Rachel was too nervous to interpret the expression on his handsome face. She took a few deep breaths to slow down her racing heart. The unsettling feeling that's been building up in her since she entered the restaurant takes on new edges. An uncomfortable awareness of something she can’t quite put words to gnawing at the back of her mind. His penetrating gaze probably. There she was, standing in front of him. The man that stole her heart when she was a timid, troubled child, covering her affection with indifference. She longed to run her fingers through his dark hair. It looked so silky. His lips seemed to beckon to her to be kissed. Oh the dream of her teenage years.

“Damian.” She breathed torn between joy and agitation at seeing him for the first time in over ten years.

Fucking Richard Grayson. Damian swears in his head. She’s there. She’s right in front of him and he’s paralyzed, stunned. She was moving her rosy lips. God, he’d beg for a taste, those full lips were made for his. To be kissed properly. He found himself unable to hear a sound. His surroundings, her voice, nothing. His attention and thoughts too focused on those electric blue eyes. How intense and beautiful they are. All of her. She embodied the essence of everything that was supremely, exquisitely, unbelievably stunning. Becoming a beauty incarnate. Say something he commanded his body. It didn’t respond. Her expression showed concern, confusion, she must think he was ignoring her. Fuck.

“Oh.” Was all he managed to mutter. Seven hells. Is that all he can come up with? What in the world was happening to him? Facing a gorgeous woman and suddenly he was speechless, behaving like an inexperienced teenager. It was unacceptable.

He tried to focus again. Damn it. She folded her arms, her forehead shifting. It became immediately obvious to Damian that his staring wasn’t as subtle as he’d been hoping and he gave her the impression he was giving her the cold shoulder. How wrong she was. “Damian?” His hearing was finally back. He snapped out of it.

He cleared his throat, he was a complete mess. “Rachel?” He asked in disbelief. He wasn’t himself. All kind of thoughts swirling around his head. She nodded, smiling at him. He took a deep breath. It had to be a joke. He had to be sure it wasn’t an hallucination. “Rachel Kent?” He asked again, blinking incredulous. What was that in his voice? Was he stumbling over his words?

“Well, unless you were expecting another Rachel Kent.” She raised her eyebrows, blue eyes twinkling with humor, mildly puzzled by his actions.

She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear innocently and stretched her hand, offering it to him. It took him a whole minute to process what was happening and react. He shook his head and hesitantly took her tiny, pale hand. Damian was acutely aware of the exact moment their hands touched. He tried not to get caught up in the way her palm, her skin was so soft. He was touching her, even if it went in the places he wished to. Then he felt annoyed at himself for noticing it. The little jolt warming his skin beneath their joined hands. It was just a handshake. Nothing, Something he did on daily basis with dozens a of people.

“So, mind if I sit down now?” She gestured the chair, asking shyly. A smile tugs at her lips.

He wanted to punch himself. Where were his manners. Alfred would be utterly disappointed and tell him he should be ashamed of his behavior. He attempted to stand up but his feet failed him and lost balance at the last minute. He avoided the fall, grabbing the edge of the table. Thanks to his quick reflexes. He was terribly embarrassed and furious. He cursed in his mind again. A waiter approached him and asked him if he was alright or needed anything. He dismissed him cordially, saying he was fine and it wasn’t necessary. He regained composure and helped his date sit in her chair. Tsk. He was infinitely grateful his siblings weren’t there to witness it.

He sat down again, shifting in his chair, trying to find a comfortable position. He was angry at himself, his ridiculous actions, lack of self-control. It infuriates him.

Rachel covered her mouth with her hand, suppressing a giggle. It was the first time in a long time she’s seen Damian Wayne being clumsy. Even when they were kids, he was a natural leader, a prodigy, genius. Always doing everything flawlessly, mastering every activity or task. Growing up she couldn’t help but feel inadequate. She was eager to see new sides of him. He appeared to be so perfect, it pained her at times. This was so human. Was he okay though?

Rachel was looking at him worried. “Are you alright?” She reaches out to touch his hand, it was her first instinct, but he instantly moved his arm away, avoiding her touch. It was a reflex. He didn’t mean to. Their eyes lock, hers full of emotion, was that disappointment, sadness in those shinning eyes? He loses himself in those clear, deep blue wells.a part of him wants to look away, hide his embarrassed at his reaction to her touch. But there it was this foreign feeling. It was killing him, annihilating his sanity, slowly. Without mercy.

“I’m sorry.” He exhaled. Guilt. He felt guilt. He was trying to regain control of his actions and emotions.

“No apology necessary.” She sighed, did her best to smile sincerely. But anyone could see the truth through her eyes. Those weren’t the words she'd been hoping he'd say, but she it was her mistake for assuming she could touch him. This was better than fighting. And she had promised herself she wouldn't hold him to her selfish expectations? It was nobody’s fault Damian didn’t want her. Wasn't even his, if she was being honest with herself. Just because she harbors romantic feelings for him...it didn't mean he was obligated to reciprocate those feelings.

Damian’s senses were reeling. He tried to speak but found words has scattered from his mind. Never in his life had the sight of a woman affected him to this point. Not even remotely. He was so taken taken aback by her unadorned beauty, that he was undeniably drunk in her loveliness. This strange, sick feeling was making him lose his cool, his control.

Words bubbles up in his throat, he swallowed them down, gulping air like fish out of the water. For the very first time in his life he felt like a fish out of water. He didn’t know what words to pronounce, dominate his emotions or actions. He was Damian Wayne, he wasn’t supposed to feel this way. He was raised to achieve success and excellence. One look at her and he loses it. Shit. His head was throbbing.

“I know it’s been a long time.” She says quietly, looking down, avoiding eye contact with him.

This encounter had fractured his composure, and with the floodgates broken, Damian was struggling not to drown in his emotions. There she was again, avoiding him, like when they were children. It was irritating, not knowing the reason she despise him, or what in the seven hells did he do? He let out a pained snarl, struggling to overpower a foreign sensation clawing up his chest that was making it difficult to breathe.

“Why? Why did you agree to this date with me?” He asked coldly, frustrated, agitated. He needed answers now.

This caught her attention, getting back to reality. Rachel’s eyes open wide. “I thought it was an opportunity to get to know each other.” She said in a quiet tone, almost in a whisper. She was biting her lower lip.

“Oh really? Because 10 years ago if I recall correctly you didn’t seem interested. You hated me.” He bit out, eyes narrowed falling on her figure. Hurt battling with anger, but anger was easier to cling to. He was releasing all his frustration but he didn’t care at the moment. He started clenching and unclenching his left fist. He needed to hit something. Or better yet, someone.

“I never hated you, Damian. It’s complicated, if you let me explain.” She panicked, tried to come up with an explanation, make him understand. She was a immature and naive child back then. If only he knew how she truly felt about him. He interrupted her

“What game are you playing, Rachel? I’m not a fucking toy or chess piece?” He snarled loudly. They weren’t kids anymore. She couldn’t treat him this way. He wouldn’t allow it. He was breathing heavily. He lost his temper in a public place. Oh no.

“You don’t have to be an asshole. If you didn’t want to come, you should’ve said it.” She countered. She felt broken, shaken, hurt, she held her gaze with his own hard, furious eyes. The pain nearly ripped her heart out. This was obviously a mistake. She gaved a whine of anger and frustration, eyes growing glassy.she couldn’t hold back the tears anymore. She stamped her foot, more tears falling.

“Damn you, Damian Wayne!” With those last words she rose from her sit, and walked away from him. She couldn’t look at him. Wiping her eyes as she retreated, leaving behind Damian and that disaster.

Fuck. He did it this time. He wants to slam his fist down on to the table. Realization of what he had caused. She was right. He didn’t comprehend why he had been an asshole. There had to be other ways to keep her at arms length. It wasn’t fair to her to behave like this. He could be nice to her, considerate and it didn’t have to mean anything. Except it did.

It hurts so bad to want a woman so much. To have her right in front of you, her alluring eyes, full cheeks, delicate features, this glorious creature, and they were so far away. In mind, personality, perspective. In every possible way he could think of. And he was disrespectful, rude, nasty. Because he didn’t understand his own feelings.

It was desire. He wanted Rachel, had wanted her the moment he laid his eyes on her as he’d listened to his newly-revived heart pounding hot blood into his ears, he didn’t know how to deal with the need to have her, mind, body, and soul. It was all new to him. But he wanted her. Dick could kick his ass after all. He deserved it. Except he had to fix this. He had to apologize, plead for another opportunity.

“Rachel! Rachel wait!” Abruptly, his feet started obeying, rushing off to chase after his date. His heart pounding, as he ran across the hall. He could catch up to her still. He had to. He regretted his words before. This date meant everything. Fucking Richard Grayson. If he managed to get Rachel to forgive him. He’d have to genuinely thank him.

Notes: don’t worry it’s the first part of the date 😂😂😂🥺🥺🙈🙈🙈😭😭❤️❤️

[firewoodfigs]

no matter the hearts you burn, in mine you shall always remain 

read on ao3  

[I highly recommend reading on ao3 instead because of the long notes. also because I have no idea how to centralise things on Tumblr 🤣]

for @moms-made-fullmetal-2020, day 7: farewells and new beginnings. thank you once again @waddiwasiwitch​ for organising such a lovely event! 

Summary: The label ‘bastard’ bears multiple meanings for Roy Mustang, who is the result of a dangerous, illicit affair between two childhood lovers. The story begins in an Imperial Court, deep in the heart of Xing.

Translations: 

要选 (yào xuǎn) means "want to choose", but Yao Xuan’s name would probably be written as 姚璇 (yáo xuán) in Xingese. The first character is a common Chinese surname and what I’m guessing is the Xingese equivalent for the Yao clan, and the second character means “jade”. Hence why Yao Xuan mentions that her name is a wordplay on “choice” later on.

亲爱的 (qīn ài de) - dear; a term of affection.

再见 (zài jiàn) - farewell, goodbye.

心肝 (xīn gān) - darling; a term of endearment. However, translated literally, it means “heart and liver”.  

A/N: I know Ling’s name in FMA is structured as Ling Yao, but for the purposes of this fic I rearranged the name such that the clan name comes first - hence Yao Xuan instead of Xuan Yao (in part because the latter has a different meaning). It’s also common for surnames to come first for Chinese names. 

Songs: Chrysanthemum Terrace, Endless Love

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

The Imperial Court is a terribly lonely place.

Underneath every smile plastered on perfect porcelain is a heart that mourns and yearns for a life outside the palace. Engraved on walls of gold and jade are recurring motifs of phoenixes and dragons, a reminder to all the concubines sequestered within to remember who they serve. Who their heart rightfully belongs to for the rest of their lives.

The Supreme Eminence, the Sovereign Emperor.

Her fate is inescapable from the day she was born. You are the oldest daughter of the Yao clan, Yao Xuan. It is your duty to produce an heir for the Emperor, for us. She doesn’t have a say in the matter, doesn’t have a choice, because her destiny has been plotted out like a graph from birth.

It’s only been months since she entered the Imperial Court as a concubine, but Yao Xuan finds herself already suffocated by the politics and overwhelming expectations of perfection that line every crevice, every footstep. Mornings are a particularly tiresome affair - she awakes even before the sun rises, to begin dressing up for a man that she’s frankly not even interested in.

But he owns your life now.

The entire thing is ritualistic, but doesn’t offer a sliver of comfort like a religious ritual might have. She sinks gracefully into the warm bathtub filled with red petals for her at six in the morning, before letting the ladies under her dry and tug at her raven tresses methodically. It hurts - the teeth of the jade comb stabs at her scalp mercilessly, and is an added weight to the already heavy burden on her shoulders. Her face is powdered alabaster with lead, eyebrows darkened with charcoal and lips painted a bright crimson, before she’s swathed tightly in gold satin and scarlet silk.

Though red represents prosperity in Xing, she finds there is nothing prosperous about dressing up everyday for a man who only spares her a momentary glance as he scans the throng of women lined up orderly at the paulownia pavilion for him.

Who shall it be today, Your Majesty?

Secretly, Yao Xuan begs for the Emperor to not pick her for the night, in spite of the pleasant, seductive smile that tugs at her lips mechanically whenever he saunters past her. His eyes scan her like she’s nothing more than a slab of meat at the market, and she finds her heart shattering every time she remembers a man who looked at her like she was the world to him.

Christopher Mustang. He’s nothing more than a forbidden fruit now, but it’s the fact that he’s dangled in front of her that exacerbates the cruelty. Once he was her childhood lover, but now he’s a soldier - General Mustang - in the Imperial Court who’s sworn fealty to the same sovereign entity.

She wishes this was not their destiny, but fate is cruel and ineluctable and they can only share forlorn, fleeting glances whenever she strolls past him after another day of rejection to return to the royal chambers with the other ladies to dabble in senseless politicking disguised by equally mindless embroidery.

Sewing has never been one of Yao Xuan’s talents, but there’s really nothing else to do in the stifling confines of the palace. Her fingers ache as she pricks herself with the needle, but it pales in comparison to the pain that shreds through her as she laments for a love and desire buried deep within by the immeasurable weights of duty and destiny.

~x~

Years pass, and spring comes in full bloom.

Yao Xuan is a wonderful sight to behold in the warmth of spring. Her cheeks are suffused in pink, mirroring the petals falling delicately above her, a lilac robe embracing her magnificent figure. But in spite of her beauty the Emperor waltzes past her in his full regalia without even passing a glance, and with every step she finds her self-worth getting trampled on.

The other members of the Yao clan have expressed their displeasure many, many times at the very apparent lack of an heir, but there’s nothing she can do. It’s all a matter of chance, and there’s nothing she can do to improve her luck: concubines are not allowed into the Emperor’s room unless they’re chosen.

(It’s strangely paradoxical, because her name’s a wordplay on choice, but she’s neither chosen nor given a choice.)

The routine repeats itself: she returns to her chambers after receiving a severe scolding from the other members of the Yao clan for being utterly, utterly useless. The only thing that stings is the needle - she refuses to let tears sting her eyes in front of them. Instead, she bows her head subserviently and promises to do better the next time, but her feet wander when night falls.

Yao Xuan finds herself at the paulownia pavilion again, admiring the lotuses that float gracefully atop shallow waters and decorate them in flecks of white and pink.

Purity and enlightenment.

There’s nothing enlightening about her entire predicament - she doesn’t know what else can be done to make herself more attractive to the Emperor, but every dismissal comes with disapproval and disappointment, and it’s a painful pill to swallow. It sits uncomfortably in her gut as she drums her fingers against the chrysanthemum-coloured balustrades to distract herself from the nauseating feeling bubbling in her throat.

“Lady Yao? What are you doing out here so late at night?” The familiar voice of her childhood lover abates the nausea a little.

“Just thinking, General Mustang.” She turns to look at him, but her resolve crumples along with her face when she witnesses his kind, strong stature under the moonlight. There’s nothing more I want than to be with you, qīn ài de.

“Are you alright?” General Mustang stands with a respectable distance between them, but she sees love and sincerity pooling in his eyes, and her own desire that she’s tried to suppress since her entrance to the Imperial Court makes a fiery resurgence.

“... I’m not,” and she begins to cry. Instinctively, he wants to embrace her, whisper sweet nothings into her crown of black tresses, but he can’t.

General Mustang grips the hilt of his blade in an attempt to resist temptation, but she inches forward daintily to reach for his hand, and his resolve likewise falters. He automatically responds in kind when she rests her palm on his, and he’s quick to intertwine his fingers around hers, tracing circles on the back of her palm while murmuring soothing platitudes.

In the end, years of suppressed desire inundates them, and despite the alarm bells ringing in their heads their feet move involuntarily, as if possessed by some kind of uncontrollable automatism, towards Yao Xuan’s chambers. She disrobes, he disarms, and their bare bodies finally become one in the darkness.

There’s nothing pure about their union, only immoral, but it’s the first time they’ve felt happiness after an eternity of loneliness and despair.

~x~

sentenced to death 

even before you were born curse the stars, cruel fate — they have damned you! but i knew, even then you were born to be loved in my womb, in my heart i carry you with all my love.

~x~ 

She’s not sure if the nausea is due to the tempestuous storm of emotions writhing in her gut after enduring incessant reprimands and lashings from the other members of the Yao clan, or the symptoms of something a lot more petrifying.

But it persists for weeks, and she’s late.

Late.

A terrifying consequence after an illicit affair. It goes without saying that they’ll both be executed upon discovery, for it is impossible that this is the Emperor’s scion. After all, he’s never even laid a hand on her, and the only logical conclusion is that the child growing inside her belongs to her lover.

The inevitable fate that awaits them is only death and dishonor. They would face opprobrium in its most unadulterated form, no doubt, and she would be exiled from the Yao clan for the shame she’s brought to her family’s name.

Yao Xuan could bear dying alone, being humiliated and scorned by her clan, but the thought of her lover and her unborn child being murdered alongside her kills her.

An unborn, innocent child who has done nothing wrong except exist.

Despite the wrongness of the whole situation, there’s a part of her that’s secretly elated - excited, even. For this was the fruit of their love, and her heart was already beginning to bloom with adoration for her son. Or daughter, but her maternal instincts convince her that it will be a son.

Fortunately, she’s not selected by the Emperor that day. Yao Xuan endures the rest of the day with as much normalcy as she can before making her way to a secluded veranda at night that’s a safe spot away from prying eyes.

She spots General Mustang, who has received her note earlier in the day to meet her here at midnight, and walks to his side.

“What’s the matter, Lady Yao?”

Yao Xuan doesn’t speak. Instead, she bends over gracefully to pick up three abandoned petals on the ground and lifts it up to his eyes, her other hand resting on the barely discernible swell of her stomach.

General Mustang’s eyes widen. They’ve known each other for years, and it’s easy for him to understand her message immediately.

Pregnant. With our child.

He closes the remaining distance between them and splays an open palm on her stomach.

“I plan to run away with this child, General.” Alone. The implication is clear - she doesn’t want him to be involved, doesn’t want him to be stripped of his title and suffer a dishonorable discharge and be executed.

But there’s nothing more dishonorable than leaving the woman I love to go through this alone. “Not by yourself, Yao Xuan.”

She pushes his palm away gently from her stomach, and meets his gaze with a stern one, trying not to let his use of her full name unwind her. “Yes, General. I will not do this to you - not after you’ve worked so hard to get to where you are now.”

“You’re more important than all of that,” he murmurs, but there’s an edge to his voice that makes it crystal clear that he’s made up his mind, and there’s nothing she can do that will deter him from acting upon it. He clasps a firm hand around her wrist. “Let’s go.”

Yao Xuan casts a final glance at the overbearing silhouette of the palace grounds before whispering a quiet apology to her sister - they’re ten years apart in terms of age, but it will be her turn to bear the unbearable burden of being a concubine this time - as she elopes with her lover and a stomach that’s beginning to swell with life.

Together, they traverse through the desert with nothing to their name, but full of love for their unborn child.  

~x~

the stars stare down at you as we traverse through the desert. the night is cold but here you will stay warm, within me. you are a blessing, God’s gift to me. a journey thus sublime — you must live, new life.

~x~

Her son’s birth had been a difficult one, and life afterwards with her husband as fugitives in the harsh desert wasn’t easy. But she’s surprisingly content. Happy, even, with the simple domesticity that they’ve been blessed with, and whenever Yao Xuan looks at the innocent bundle of joy in her arms she smiles with the knowing conviction that they’d made the right choice.

She can’t help but think that their beloved son - Roy Mustang - is perfection in a swath of linen the first time she sees him, and she loves him with such a fierce tenderness that it engulfs her completely - even more than her love for her husband. Chris shares the same sentiments, and they both share an unspoken consensus that they would die for him instantaneously should the need arise, without second thought.

And like a fulfilled prophecy, the need does arise.

Roy Mustang is a little toddler of four, brimming with innocuous delight whenever his mother reads to him about the basics of science, before reciting tales of knights in shining armour slaying evil dragons that breathe fire afterwards.

(His father has a nice voice, too, and Roy is equally delighted whenever he reads to him, but he finds himself preferring his mother’s voice to his bright tenor.)

Yao Xuan rests a hand endearingly on his arm, and Roy thinks there’s nothing like the warmth of her bosom as he snuggles in adorably. The gentle lull of her voice has an almost soporific effect, and he finds himself slowly dozing off.

Until his father barges in. He speaks with a pitch higher than Roy is accustomed to, and the panic radiating off his body, his every movement, causes him to stir slightly. “We need to go now, Yao Xuan. They’ve found us.”

The book she’d been reading earlier falls to the ground unceremoniously with a loud thud, jolting Roy awake. “What’s wrong, mama? Papa?” He blinks, rubbing the sleep away from his eyes blearily. At the sight of the fallen book, he picks up the book immediately and brushes off any imaginary specks of dust, grabbing it firmly with his tiny hands.

“We need to run, son,” she picks him up deftly, allowing Roy to rest on her shoulder while stroking his tuft of raven hair with trembling hands.

Together they begin to run through the desert, Roy’s eyes wide as he takes in the stars gleaming brightly overhead and the cold wind slapping his face, but the wind and stars are not their only companion. His parents hear footsteps inching towards them, metal clanging against armor and know that they’re close to getting ambushed.

Is this it? The punishment for our sins?

“Stop right there, the both of you.”

General Mustang stiffens. That voice…

“General Lan Yan?” he calls. It’s difficult to make out the man’s identity, especially when he’s decked in black from head to toe and has a mask on, but he would recognise that voice anywhere.

The masked man removes his visor to confirm General Mustang’s thoughts, as the other soldiers draw their swords, inching closer to form an inescapable circle around the two traitors.

“We’re trapped, aren’t we?” Yao Xuan whispers to her husband. She holds her son closer to her as he starts sobbing into her shoulder, his young mind confused and scared by the dangerous-looking strangers swarming around them.

(The only people Roy knew who wielded swords were the knights from fairytales, and the men around him looked nothing like heroes.)

“We’re under orders from the Emperor to execute the both of you,” General Lan Yan announces, eyes steeled in resolve but with a tremulous edge in his voice. He winces at the thought of being ordered to kill a former comrade, a friend.

A friend who he had once admired, trained with and fought against. Years ago, they’d started out with relatively bad impressions of each other. Lan Yan had thought he was an arrogant bastard, even though everyone called him the golden boy because of his impressive swordsmanship and mastery of alkahestry. On the other hand, Christopher Mustang was inclined to think of him as a rival, an annoying panderer, given that he was constantly trying to one-up him.

But they’d eventually grown to become close friends, for they were more alike than they thought. Not only did they have similar tastes in food and literature, but they’d shared the same ideals and hopes for the future of Xing as well.

How terrible that we have to be reunited like this, my friend. The words, though unspoken, lingered on the tip of their tongues.

“I only ask that you spare my son, General Lan Yan,” And my wife, but I know that’s asking for too much.

“... Very well, General Mustang. I’ll give you and Lady Yao five minutes,” he states. Beside him, a masked man begins to prepare lethal poison in two silver cups.

“Thank you, General Lan Yan.” An indescribable gratitude fills General Mustang’s voice, as his wife’s cries begin to mirror his son’s sobs.

Sorrow, sympathy and guilt tugs at General Lan Yan’s heartstrings as he looks at the terrified child in Lady Yao’s arms. His mind races, cogs working in overdrive, scrambling for a final favour he could do for General Mustang. He couldn’t save him or his wife, but perhaps he could save his son - after all, the Emperor had made no mention about executing the product of their affair.

The least I can do for my best friend would be to bring his child to safety.

“... To my sister. Across the desert, in Amestris, there’s a tavern in Central called The Blue Porcelain. Please bring him there for me.”

“I will do that, General Mustang. On my honor - you have my word.”

Four minutes left. “Listen, Roy, we’re going to have to say goodbye here,” Yao Xuan whispers softly, but she can’t restrain her voice from cracking at the thought of having to bid her precious son farewell.

“Why, mama?” Roy sobs, tightening his hold around her neck while still clutching onto the book with a vice-like grip.

“... Your father and I did some wrong things in the past. But listen carefully, xin gan.” A term of endearment, but Yao Xuan feels like her heart and liver are being ripped apart from her at the moment as she loosens his arms to look him in the eye. “We’re going to send you to live with your aunt, but I want you to be good for her, okay? I know she will love you as much as I do, if not more.”

She runs a thumb across his soft, wet cheeks, savouring the feeling and ingraining it in her memory. “Make sure you eat well everyday, shower twice a day. Study hard, and do your best in school. Don’t skive off. Be kind to those around you, and… and I hope you grow up to be a wonderful man like your father.” Yao Xuan weeps, tears mixing with her son’s. “There will be bright days, rainy days, but I know that you will come to find people who care about you as deeply as I do. And no matter what you do… know that we will always love you, Roy.”

“I love you too, mama, but don’t go, please,” Roy begs. He’s not quite sure what’s going on around him - they were the heroes and heroines in the books they read to him, and they were supposed to protect him, not abandon him.

What does that mean? Will I see them again?

General Mustang rubs at his eyes impatiently. “We have to, Roy. I love you, and I know that you will grow up to be a fine man. I know you’ll surpass me.” He flashes Roy a watery smile as he places a warm hand on his forehead, but it’s full of faith and certitude.

This is our son, after all.

“I love you too, papa. I need you,” Roy pleads with all the desperation of a child who wanted nothing more than to be with his parents every day.

Their hearts shatter when General Lan Yan signals that their time is almost up. Ten seconds.

“Be strong, son. We’re so sorry,” Yao Xuan mourns as Roy is pried from her arms and lifted onto a horse by General Lan Yan. “Zai jian, xin gan,” she bids farewell solemnly as she watches his small, struggling frame disappear in the dark, unforgiving night, deserting them to face their death. The wind carries his desperate wails, and for the first time since her pregnancy the nausea is back with a wrathful vengeance.

But it won’t be here to stay this time.

She crosses an arm with her husband as they receive the cups of poison with unwilling hands, pulses beating violently as they repeat their vows of undying love to each other for the last time.  

Farewell, my son.

~x~

your first breath, first taste of this wretched world: a cry of triumph, a fist of victory, a defiance of death. my soul sings into satin and linen: affection for perfection.

~x~

It doesn’t take long for Roy to cry himself to sleep. His petite body shuts down quickly from the sheer exhaustion of doing so, and he’s out like a light soon enough as he traverses across the desert with General Lan Yan. When he’s awoken by the onslaught of a particularly harsh wind and what sounds like an oncoming sandstorm, he’s pulled back into sleep by a gentle force on his pressure point.

Suddenly, he’s roused from his slumber by someone shaking him, and as he cracks an eyelid open to peer out the window he realises that - wait, this is not the desert. The scene around him is a stark contrast to the vast expanse of sand and ochre that he’s used to. The alleys that they pass by are narrow, and they reek of something unfamiliar. It’s unpleasant. Roy doesn’t like it.

Then the memory of what happened hits him like a truck, and he begins to bawl again even as he’s brought out into the sunlight, towards a strange-looking establishment. It’s nothing like Roy has ever seen in his life, and though it’s significantly cooler he finds himself already longing for the desert heat beating on his back.

The Blue Por… He tries to read the sign on the door, but it’s a word too big for his age.

General Lan Yan raps on the door while keeping a steady hand on the boy’s sobbing frame. “Miss Mustang?”

The door opens to reveal a gruff-looking woman. “What?” Roy finds himself intimidated by the woman’s brusque and domineering persona. She’s decked in a plum-coloured dress with lips to match, with mother-of-pearls and gold branched around her neck like a collar. Her hair and eyes are jet black, like Roy’s and his parent’s, but he finds that she looks nothing like his mother, who’s kind and sweet and -

- he bursts into tears again.

“What’s going on?” The Madame asks, bewildered by the sight of a crying child and a man who, from his ostentatious armor and features is obviously from Xing. There’s a sense of guilt lingering within her when she looks upon the distressed child, so she stretches out to rest an awkward hand on his unruly black hair (which reminds her a little of her brother’s, who’s never been known to make acquaintance with a comb).

“Your brother…” General Lan Yan straightens, chiding himself mentally for letting his tongue slip. “General Mustang said to bring your nephew here, miss.”

My nephew. Nephew.

God, she wasn’t even aware that her brother had a son. How did he even find the time to raise a child while serving in the Xingese military?

“That’s Madame Christmas to you, and where’s my brother?”

“I hate to inform you of this, Madame Christmas. He is dead.” There’s a certain fluidity in his response that disguises his remorse, his reluctance, but his eyes prickle marginally at the thought of his deceased friend and his wife.

Christmas feels like he’s just thrown her under a moving train. “Don’t joke around.”

“I… I am afraid not. I’m here to carry out his last wish,” General Lan Yan replies somberly. Beside him, the child fidgets, gripping onto the book he’d brought along with him so hard that the edges begin to leave marks on his palms.

“How?”

“... It is not my place to say, Madame. We’ve been silenced by a royal decree,” and it’s true. She wants to go after the man with a quick fist, but there’s nothing that belies the brutal veracity of his statement on his expression.

Christmas swallows the painful lump in her throat before choking out her next words. “And what… what was his last wish?” I definitely need a drink after this.

“He only said to bring the child to you. I assume he intended for you to raise him as well.”

“... Where’s his mother?” It’s more rhetorical than anything, but Christmas wanted to believe that there could be a different answer by some stroke of luck.

“Dead, as well,” he whispers, and Roy’s cries amplify tenfold as he flinches away from the General’s hand - his hand reminded him of the villains in the stories his mother would read aloud to him - and huddles into itself.

“... I see.” She pauses for a moment to take in his frail frame. “Well, I’ll be taking him, then,” she motions for Roy to come over before gesturing for the General to leave.

(As much as she wanted to flip a finger, she realised that she would have to rethink some habits now that she had a child under her wing.)

“Thank you, Madame Christmas. I entrust the boy into your care,” he bows before turning to leave, glancing at the boy’s shuddering figure for one last time before returning back to the carriage.

Here’s to a new beginning for your son, General Mustang, Lady Yao. I’m sorry I couldn’t do more for the both of you.

~x~

It takes time for the child to adjust to the novelty of his new home, his new beginning. But eventually, he does.

Aunt Chris and his mother are two worlds apart. For starters, they looked nothing alike. And where his mother was delicate and soft, Aunt Chris was loud and rough.

Nevertheless, they are alike in some ways, he learns. Roy’s the only boy in the bar, as he later learns it’s called, and despite her initial crabbiness Aunt Chris is surprisingly tactile and nice. It doesn’t take long for her to grow fond of the boy, the same way the girls in the bar fawn over him from the moment he steps in. He’s rather petulant and sullen initially, but this doesn’t come as a shock for someone who lost his parents at such a tender age.

When Roy first arrived at The Blue Porcelain he’d holed himself up in the room assigned to him, reading the only book he’d brought from home over and over again (Roy also discovered that his mother had left a poem, a letter of sorts within, and he never went anywhere without it - he treated it like a talisman).

But Aunt Chris doesn’t let him sulk for long.

No matter how grouchy he was, she would always drag him out forcibly for dinner, and made a conscious effort to talk to him daily even though he clearly wasn’t the biggest conversationalist around. She’d tried reading bedtime stories to him, even, and indulged him when he whined about wanting to hear about princesses and knights.

Where his mother’s voice was like silk, hers was a lot more like gravel. Nevertheless, Roy eventually comes to appreciate it, and would even look forward to their nightly sessions where he could tell her all about what he’d learnt at school that day.  

Aunt Chris also nags at him the same way his own mother did - she’s always yammering at him to finish his food, hold his chopsticks properly or do his homework, and while it gets on his nerves occasionally he comes to understand that it’s their way of showing affection.

It’s therefore a no-brainer for him to draw both his aunt and his mother when he’s assigned with the task of producing an artwork of his mother for school, but when he shows it to Aunt Chris she begins to tear up.

He’s puzzled. Am I really that bad at art?

“What’s wrong, Aunt Chris?”

“Nothing, boy. It’s lovely,” she says sincerely.

Roy grins. “My teacher said so, too. I’ve been doing well in all my other subjects in school too, you know. Top of the class,” he chirps happily, puffing out his chest a little in pride.

“That’s wonderful, Roy-boy. I’m sure you’ll grow up to be a great man one day, like your father.”

“... Really?” There’s a certain melancholy that laces his voice, as if he was unsure of himself.

His aunt, on the other hand, is unequivocal that he would. She was no fortune teller, but there was a fire that illuminated his eyes. The mark of a warrior, a leader. “Absolutely. You’re destined for greatness, my boy.”

(Roy didn’t know this yet, but he would one day negotiate treaties on behalf of his country with a future distant relative and ascend to a rank higher than his father’s so that he could marry the woman he loved without any ramifications.)

~x~

(look, a bastard child!) no, you will embark towards glorious greatness. life doomed you once, but in your hands it shall soon rest. hear me now. heart and hearth: keep them ablaze, alight. no matter the ones you burn, in mine you shall always remain.

~x~

The war-torn desert reminds Major Mustang of a childhood memory that he’s tried to suppress for a long, long time. With every howl of the wind, the ache in his heart only grew stronger. Hotter. Like an inferno threatening to consume his innards.

He’d always been acutely aware of the pain of having your parents ripped apart from you in front of your very eyes. It was the kind of anguish that abated only slightly with time, but then and now grief would come back with a vengeance. Always, in the most unexpected of moments.

And yet here he was, doing the exact same thing years later.

Spare no one, the decree says. In response, The Flame Alchemist obeys.

Destined for greatness, my ass.

He would have liked to seek out a certain childhood friend for comfort, but he couldn’t bear to touch her. Not like this. Not when he’d stained his hands scarlet, not when he’d been a contributing factor to her involvement in the war. In any case, he highly doubted that she wanted to be even associated with him at this point, which suited him fine. He didn’t deserve her.

Not in the least, you monster.

The whiskey does nothing to assuage the emotional storm brewing within him. A distasteful mix of sorrow, compunction, longing. Alcohol, he realised, could not bring him absolution or erase his sins. It only offered a brief respite, a numbing agent.

Major Mustang sinks onto the floor of the weather-beaten tent as he digs inside his pockets for an old poem that had offered him comfort since he was five, even before his vocabulary was wide enough to comprehend its intended message.

He hadn’t cried, not since the war happened, but his mother’s predictions had been eerily accurate. Prophetic, even. For indeed life rested in his hands - with a snap, he could destroy an entire population; he’d burnt so many hearts, so many hearths, that his were now darkened with despair and remorse.

I really am a bastard of the most reprehensible kind, aren’t I? 

Lost in a pool of words and grief, he misses the presence of a blonde girl who was only slightly shorter, younger than he was. Riza Hawkeye comes in through the tent flap and stares at him wordlessly. She sees him grasping tightly onto a familiar piece of crumpled parchment, as if it was the last shred of hope in their wretched lives.

Overcome with sympathy, Riza decides to push aside the conflicting feelings raging within her - for now, at least - and sits beside him.

He’d shown her the letter once, when they were children - the only memento his late mother had left behind. Riza had never seen him go anywhere without it. It was obviously of great import to him, and his mother had clearly loved him dearly.

“No matter the ones you burn, in mine you shall always remain,” Riza whispers. And it’s true: despite the atrocities they’d committed outside, the crimes against humanity they’d perpetrated, there was a part of her that still loved him, as his own mother would have.

For the first time since The Ishvalan Extermination, Roy allows himself to mourn in her arms as he clutches desperately onto a yellowing letter.  

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

special thanks to @hirayaart​ and @x-rainflame-x​ - thank you so much for helping me read through this, and for your invaluable feedback 💖 

you can read the full poem here  if you’re interested ^_^ 

[abouldersbxtch]

Early Bird Catches The Worm

All three girls looked at each other and then back at Karina in shock and as soon as Karina looked at them, she quickly looked back down at her lap after seeing the looks on their faces. “Your sister is the girl in the League of Villains?” Momo asked, as if hoping her friend would tell her she was wrong and her sister was someone else. However, Karina slowly nodded her head while still avoiding eye contact with any of them. “Himiko Toga is my older sister.” Mina stared at Karina for a moment before squeezing her hand again. “Well you are not your sister. That’s what you said right? You’re your own person and I for one can see that you’re nothing like your sister. Besides, if Principal Nezu allowed you to come to U.A., then there’s no way you’re like her.” Karina lifted her gaze from her lap and over to Mina and Momo sitting beside her who were both giving her reassuring smiles. She looked at Jiro to see the same smile and she couldn’t help but smile back. It felt as if a huge weight had been lifted from her chest and shoulders. For years she had been hiding her last name from people in fear of being bullied all over again. The overwhelming happiness that she felt in that moment was unlike anything she had ever felt before. These three girls were the first people since her sister had become a villain that truly accepted her for who she was and not who her sister is. “What even happened to your sister for her to turn out like that? You and your bother seem a lot more, well, sane.” Karina looked at Jiro as she spoke, laughing lightly at her choice of words. “If you ask my parents, they’ll just say that she was born bad, but she wasn’t. Himiko wasn’t always like she is now. Honestly, it’s because of her quirk. Before she got her quirk, she was ‘normal’. Then when her quirk developed, it made her bloodthirsty. Kind of. It’s hard to explain, but drinking blood from others became somewhat of an instinct for her. It was considered ‘normal’ for her, but obviously not by everyone else. When my parents found out, they forced her to hide her quirk and stop being the person that her quirk made her into. She tried, she really did. No one knew outside of the family. To everyone else, she was this sweet and bubbly girl. Sometimes when it got to be too much for her to suppress, I let her drink my blood. That’s what that other scar is from. It wasn’t an accident. It had to be hidden somewhere where my parents wouldn’t be able to see it.” “Holy shit Karina.” Mina said, staring at her friend in disbelief and Karina looked at her with a slight frown. “She was my sister, Mina. My best friend. We did everything together and I thought that maybe if I helped her, I’d be protecting other people or animals that she could possibly hurt if she couldn’t suppress herself anymore. I was happy to be that guinea pig, and for a long time, it worked. Then one day, she just lost it...”

The memory replayed in her head as if it was just yesterday. They were both in middle school, but Himiko was in the year ahead of her because of the small gap in their ages. The day had been going along just as normal as every other day aside from the fact that the kids in Himiko’s grade were going through their graduation. Karina was with some friends playing on the playground at their school when suddenly she started hearing screams. The young girl started looking around, unaware of what was going on until another child from her class saw her and started pointing at her. “Your sister is crazy! She killed someone!” Denial, confusion, and disbelief overwhelmed Karina and she shook her head. “She would never! You don’t know what you’re talking about!” She started running towards where everyone was running from and as she got closer, she spotted a crowd and she could hear ambulances approaching the school. Surely that kid was wrong. Himiko wouldn’t go so far as to kill someone right? Not her Himiko. Before she could get any closer to the scene though, she was scooped up by her father who was pushing the stroller with a sleeping Muroma inside and he quickly started to get them away from what was going on. “We have to leave Karina. Your sister did something terrible.” Karina squirmed in her fathers arms, trying to get free. “You’re lying! Himiko wouldn’t!” “Karina, stop it! We’re going home!” Her father yelled at her, clearly stressed out about the situation and the fact of having to leave his wife behind to help deal with everything. Karina kept squirming until she finally shifted into a hummingbird. Her father couldn’t get a grip on her and she took off, leaving her father yelling for her to come back. As she flew overhead, Karina scanned the area for her sister. After about ten minutes, she finally found her in an alleyway a few blocks from the school. She flew down to her, turning back into her normal human form. As soon as she was standing in front of her sister, her golden eyes went wide in horror. She stared at her blood covered sister who was staring back at her. “Himiko, please tell me you didn’t...” Her sister started to giggle and tears filled Karina’s eyes. “I can’t be who they want me to be Karina. Not anymore. I’ve never felt so alive before. I feel so free and happy.” Karina shook her head and hugged her older sister, ignoring the blood she was covered in. “Please Himiko. Come home. Y-You can just go back to drinking my blood. I’ll give you more if that’s what you need. Just te-” Karina was cut off by Himiko. “Stop. I can’t take your blood anymore. Not as much I want; as much as I need. I’d kill you. You need to go home.” Himiko hugged her sister back for a moment before she pulled away from her. Karina shook her head and reached for her sisters hand as she went to leave, but Himiko was quick to shove her sister against the brick wall behind her hard enough to knock her unconscious. By the time she woke up, Karina was wrapped in her blankets in her bed at home, her sister nowhere to be found.

“Ever since that day, everyone demonized her. Even my parents. They disowned her and called her a ‘creepy demon child’, but she wasn’t. She was just cursed with a fucked up quirk that made her crave something terrible. It wasn’t her fault. From then on, people at school were scared of me. They thought that since Himiko went crazy and killed someone, I was going to do the same thing. They thought I was going to turn into a villain and start hurting people. I got bullied and beat up all the time. My parents didn’t want me to keep suffering like I was, and they didn’t want Muroma to eventually have to go through it either, so they started homeschooling us. Then my sister joined the League and once the reporters found out who she was, they started interviewing my parents. That’s when they publicly cut all ties with her and ‘officially’ disowned her.” All three girls were silent as Karina explained and all three of them were staring at her intently. Once she finished her explanation, it remained quiet for a few more moments until Momo finally broke the silence. “That's terrible Karina. I-I'm so sorry you and your family were put through all of that." Karina sighed softly and gave a small shrug of her shoulders. "It wasn't easy, but I'm just glad that Muroma was very young when it happened so he didn't really understand what was going on." The redhead let out a heavy sigh and leaned over, laying her head on Mina’s shoulder. Mina removed her hand from Karina’s and wrapped her arm around her. “Well regardless of who your sister is, we know you’re not a villain and we’re not about to shun you or anything like that. Right girls?” Mina spoke, looking to Momo and Jiro for their answers. “Definitely not. You’re our friend.” Momo said with another reassuring smile. “You’re pretty much stuck with us.” Jiro winked playfully and squeezed Karina’s hand that she was still holding. Karina smiled as she listened to them, looking at each one of them as they spoke before she sat up straight. “Thanks guys. You really have no idea how much it means to me.” She was quiet for a moment. “I have to ask you guys for a favor though. Please keep all this a secret. I’m not ready for everyone to know. I know you guys are accepting and everything, but I have a feeling that not everyone will be as accepting as you are. I’m honestly just not ready to face all of that again.” All three girls nodded in unison and Mina nudged Karina’s shoulder with her own. “Your secret is safe with us.” Karina looked at them all with a bright smile. For the first time in about four years, she had friends again. Not just any friends either, but best friends that she could trust. After finishing their pizza and the movie, all four girls had gone to bed in Karina’s room. It was a cramped fit, but all four of them fit on her queen sized bed. Early in the morning Muroma heard knocking on the front door from his bedroom. Knowing better than to answer the door on his own, the young boy made his way to his sisters room and gently shook her shoulder as she hung off the side of her own bed. “Karina? Karina, someone’s knocking on the front door.” He whispered quietly as to not wake the other girls. Karina’s eyelids fluttered open and she yawned as she looked at her younger brother. “What time is it?” Muroma looked at Karina’s phone laying on the floor next to the bed. “A little past eight.” Karina groaned as she reluctantly rolled off of her bed and onto the floor, trying to be careful to not wake Mina who had been half laying on top of her. She rose to her feet and walked with her brother out of her room and down the stairs. She wondered who was there that early in the morning considering the others weren’t supposed to show up for another couple of hours.

Upon opening the front door, she gave a confused look once she saw who was standing there. “Eijiro? You’re here early.” Kirishima smiled at her and chuckled while rubbing the back of his neck. “I am! I guess I’m so used to Bakugo waking me up early to train that I woke up around that time this morning. Body alarm clock, ya know?” He seemed to realize the tired and half asleep look on her face, along with the pajamas she was wearing and a small blush rose to his cheeks. “I can go and come back later with everyone else if you want.” Karina shook her head and opened the door further, ushering him inside. “No, no. Come in. I’m not gonna make you walk all the way back to school just to come back later.” As Kirishima walked inside, Muroma called out from the top of the stairs as quietly as possible, but still loud enough for his sister to hear him. “Karina who is it?” She looked up to her brother as she closed the front door. “One of my friends from school. You can come say hello if you want.” Muroma scurried down the stairs and looked up at Kirishima with a shy smile and Karina patted his shoulder gently. “This is my little brother Muroma.” Kirishima bent down slightly to be level with the young boy, giving him a toothy grin and offering his hand to him. “I’m Eijiro Kirishima. Nice to meet you Muroma.” A loud gasp came from Muroma and his eyes went wide. “Y-You’re Red Riot!” Muroma grabbed his sisters arm and started shaking it. “You didn’t tell me you were friends with Red Riot!” Karina and Kirishima both started laughing as she pulled her arm from her brother and looked down at him with an arched brow. “I didn’t know I was supposed to tell you.” Muroma looked up at Kirishima expectantly. “I saw your debut on the news! Your quirk is so cool! Can you go Unbreakable? Are you invincible?” Kirishima chuckled and nodded. “I can go Unbreakable, but maybe not right now. I wouldn’t want to break something because then your sister might beat me up.” Muroma scoffed and rolled his eyes. “She couldn’t beat you up.” Karina narrowed her eyes at her brother and flicked the side of his head. “Watch it. He can show you his quirk later Muroma. He’s going to be here all day to help move my stuff. You’ve got plenty of time. Now, are you hungry? Do you want me to make you some breakfast?” Muroma looked up at his older sister, glaring after she had flicked him, but as soon as she mentioned food, he eagerly nodded his head. “I’m starving! Can we have pancakes?” Karina nodded and then looked at Kirishima. “Well early bird, you’re being roped into helping me make breakfast for everyone. Is that okay?” Kirishima stood up straight, smiling widely as he looked at Karina. “Of course. No problem at all!”

Karina turned and headed towards the kitchen, but Kirishima stayed behind and looked down at Muroma. “I promise I’ll show you my quirk before the day is over, okay little man?” Muroma grinned and nodded his head eagerly. “Okay!” Kirishima grinned back and made a fist, holding it out to Muroma who bumped his own fist with Kirishima’s. After removing his shoes, Kirishima joined Karina in the kitchen. She had almost all of the ingredients laid out on the counter in order for her to make pancakes. “Looks like you’ve got a super fan on your hands.” She giggled as she looked over at him, taking the milk and eggs out of the fridge at the same time. Kiri chuckled and walked over to her. “Looks like it. Honestly, he's just one of the few that I know of. It's always cool to meet someone who recognizes me as Red Riot. ” Karina set the milk and eggs down on the counter-top before turning to look at Kiri. “I bet it feels great, and if it helps, I’m a fan of yours too.” The words came out before she thought them through and both of them blushed brightly. “That’s really sweet. Thanks Karina.” Karina smiled slightly and quickly turned around and tried to busy herself with making the pancakes. Are you fucking kidding me Karina? ‘I’m a fan of yours too’? Out of all the things you could say and you come up with that? Kiri interrupted her thoughts as he spoke up. “So I take it the girls are all still sleeping?” She turned her attention back to him and nodded slightly. “Yeah. They’re upstairs in my room.” He nodded slowly with a slight shrug. “I figured. I know Mina tends to sleep in. Well, is there anything you’d like me to do?” Karina looked at him and then towards the fridge, thinking for a moment before returning her attention to him. “I’m pretty sure we have bacon in the fridge and more eggs. Could you handle those while I make the pancakes? I’d like to make enough for everyone coming, just in case they’re hungry when they get here.” Kiri nodded at her request and headed towards the fridge to get out what he needed. While he was grabbing everything, he remembered something. “We probably don’t have to make that much. When I left, Sato and Ojiro were making breakfast in the dorms and when Sato cooks, he usually makes a lot. Knowing that and knowing Sero and Denki, they’ll probably eat before they come over.” Karina started to stir all the ingredients together in the large mixing bowl in front of her as she listened to Kiri. “Oh. Well then I guess that just means less work for us.” While the two started to make breakfast together, they started talking about random things, unaware that one of the girls had woken up. Mina was the first to wake up just from the smell of the food cooking downstairs. She got up and as she walked by Muroma’s room, he called out to her somewhat quietly. “Karina’s downstairs making breakfast with Red Riot.” Mina jumped slightly and looked over at Muroma. “Kirishima’s here?” Muroma nodded and then went back to reading his comic book. Mina stood there for a moment before it registered what Muroma had just told her. She almost squealed as she ran back into Karina’s room and woke the other two girls who were cuddled up together. “Wake up! Kiri’s here!” Jiro groaned and threw a pillow at Mina while Momo opened one of her eyes, looking up at their obviously excited friend. “Well yeah Mina. He’s supposed to help move everything. Did you forget why we’re here?” Mina rolled her eyes and threw the pillow back at Jiro. “He’s downstairs cooking with Karina. Alone!” Jiro finally sat up and looked over at Mina, eyebrow arched slightly. “What exactly are you getting at Mina?” Mina stared at them blankly for a moment before letting out a heavy sigh. “You guys are hopeless. Remember what she told us last night? About who she liked? Kiri was one of them!” Momo sighed softly and also, yet reluctantly, sat up. “So what do you want us to do about it?” Mina ran a hand down her face. “Seriously?! We can listen in on them and see how it’s going!” “See how what is going?” Momo asked. “I’m going to scream.” Mina sighed exasperatedly. Jiro finally started to laugh, as did Momo. “I guess we can stop torturing her. Come on, let’s go.” Jiro said while still laughing and climbing out of Karina’s bed. Momo followed suit and then all three girls started to sneak out of the room and head towards the stairs.

The girls all sat on the stairs together with Jiro sitting against the railing closest to the kitchen. She extended her ear-jack into the kitchen, making sure to keep it as hidden as possible before plugging it into the wall. “Okay. We’re in.” Mina squealed quietly out of excitement once Jiro gave the ‘okay’. “Well what are they talking about?” Momo asked, staring at Jiro in anticipation. Jiro listened quietly and then looked over at the girls sitting next to her. “They’re talking about one of his missions with Fatgum.” Momo smiled and nodded slightly. “That’s good right? They’re probably just getting to know each other more.” Mina huffed slightly and frowned. “That’s so boring!” Jiro laughed and shook her head. “It’s not like they’re just going to confess their love over some breakfast Mina. They haven’t even known each other a week.” “Yeah I know bu-” Jiro cut Mina off by holding up a finger at her, focusing on what was going on in the kitchen. Mina and Momo stared at Jiro, but it was Momo who spoke up. “What is it? What’s going on?” Jiro shrugged her shoulders. “I don’t know. They stopped talking, but it sounded like something might have fallen? I’m not sure. I can’t see.” Mina shot up and hurried quietly down a couple more stairs before leaning forward and peering into the kitchen. Her eyes widened at the sight and she quickly motioned with her hands for the girls to join her. The other two hurried over and peeked around the corner to see Karina and Kirishima inches away from each other, staring at each other and both of them blushing. “T-That was a nice save.” Kiri stuttered slightly as he looked down at Karina smiling. She smiled back up at him, trying not to blush as hard as she was. “Yeah, of course. No problem. Anytime.” Kirishima turned back to what he had been doing and Karina turned the opposite way, but something caught her eye and she looked towards the archway that showed the bottom of the stairs. That’s when she saw the three girls try and hide before she had seen them. Karina smiled and rolled her eyes. “I’m gonna go wake up the girls.” “Good idea.” Kiri called out to her from over his shoulder. Karina walked out of the kitchen and looked up the stairs to see the three of them scurrying back into her room. With a small laugh, she ascended the stairs and made her way to her room, standing in the doorway with her arms crossed over her chest. “So how long were you guys watching us?” Momo shook her hands in front of her slightly. “Not long at all! We were ju-” Mina cut off Momo, walking up to Karina and grinning widely. “So why were you two so close? Did you kiss? Tell me everything.” Karina laughed and shook her head. “No, we didn’t kiss. I had spilled some pancake batter on the floor without either of us noticing. He had walked by and slipped on it, but I caught him and pulled him up. That’s why we were so close.” Mina frowned slightly in disappointment. “I guess that’s kind of romantic.” Jiro laughed and shook her head as she looked at Mina. “I told you it was too soon.” Karina smiled and patted Mina’s shoulder gently. “If it helps, I told him I was a fan of him earlier, like an idiot.” Mina giggled. “That’s cute.” Karina reached up and tucked a strand of her red hair behind her ear, shaking her head slightly. “I definitely didn’t feel cute, but he said it was sweet. I think he was just being nice though.” As if on cue, they all heard Kirishima call out to them from downstairs. “Breakfast is done! Come get it while it’s hot!”

[beesloosewithcanon]

Fictober2019

Thank you, @natsora for the prompt submission! 

If you’re interested in seeing a writing drabble from me for a specific f/f pairing, look at this post and let me know which you’d like to see! (I currently write in Dragon Age, Mass Effect, and Avatar Legend of Korra; I’d be open to also delve into the following fandoms – Avatar the Last Airbender, Overwatch, Stardew Valley, to name a few).

Prompt #18 – “Secrets? I love secrets.” 

Fanfiction – Dragon Age: Inquisition

Pairing – Leliana and F!Inquisitor

So - I took a little bit of liberty with this prompt and changed it to Leliana and a gender-neutral Inquisitor. Enjoy!

***

“Oh! Secrets?” Ravune sat excitedly in the chair across from Leliana’s desk and scooted it forward animatedly before placing eager elbows on the wood and placing their hands on either side of their face. “I love secrets!”

Leliana suppressed her own smile. The dalish Inquisitor that sat before her was like no other elf she’d ever worked with, but Lyna Mahariel, the gray warden she’d fallen in love with almost ten years ago now, had told her about dalish elves like Ravune. They were often seen as spiritual guides among their people, as they themselves existed in a state of being devoid of a specific gender, or encompassing of all genders at once. The warden had tried to explain that the dalish believed that there were more than two genders, but Lyna would always get distracted before she could finish explaining things, either by Leliana’s wandering hands and lips or encroaching danger. But she was always careful to include that all dalish clans were different. Where most dalish held these Tan Elgar’dar, or those of three or more spirits, in high regard, other clans shunned them and exiled them. 

Ravune had many qualities of this, Leilana had noticed. Their lithe body yielded no indication of their gender, nor did the clothing they chose to dawn each morning or the way they pulled their long hair back in a traditional braid each morning. And the inquisitor was the only person that Solas seemed to respect, but the respect seemed to go far beyond the simple fact that Ravune was also a mage. Solas was more patient with them and often would listen instead of lecture. Solas acted like this only with Ravune; all other members of the inquisition he was uninterested in and normally spoke over or actively dismissed. 

She would be lying to herself to try and say that being around Ravune didn’t make her miss Lyna terribly. Not because the young elf reminded her of her love, no. But because they reminded her of what she was missing out on as the two remained parted. Though they still kept in contact, watching the young Inquisitor who was barely an adult by both elven and human standards made Leliana wonder what her life would have been like had Lyna not had to worry about the calling. Would they have adopted a child? And would that child have acted like Ravune, always bubbly and mischievous, and only sad or quiet when they thought they were utterly alone? 

Leliana knew her job was to coordinate her agents and keep the information continuously flowing to the inquisition and the Inquisitor, but she had started making a habit of checking up on Ravune when they were unaware. Watching from a distance or from the shadows. Something about Ravune’s demeanor made her matronly instincts kick in. In her last letter to Lyna, she’d relayed how working with the young elf made her feel and she was eager to hear how Lyna would take it. They had talked of children before. Maker knew there were plenty of orphaned children in need of a home. But Thedas always seemed to have more pressing plans for them to attend to first. 

Leliana brought her leg up and sat on the desk, playfully looking down as Ravune’s eyes stayed on her like an excited nug pup. 

“I have it on good authority that it is Cole who is doing all of those odd things you mentioned to me last week.”

“Oh,” Ravune said, laughter in their tone. “I already knew that! That’s not much of a secret!”

“What? How did you find out before me?”

“Well, I asked Cole, didn’t I?” Ravune grinned. “It clicked when I heard the cook talk about seeing it and then not remembering it. It sounded like how Cole interacts with those he helps so I asked him.”

Leliana frowned. “And he told you?”

“He did!” Ravune sat back in the chair and placed either of their hands behind their head. “Cole’s good people. He and I get along great. And he’s just trying to help.”

“I take it you didn’t tell him to stop?”

“Why would I? He’s not hurting anyone. He’s making people laugh.” Ravune looked out the small window of Leliana’s study. “It’s something we all need now and again.”

Leliana’s frown deepened before she followed Ravune’s gaze. On the ledge of the small window perched some of her personal ravens who were using the stone of the window frame to crack nuts open. Ravune watched them with an intensity that didn’t match their previous demeanor and she turned back to look at them. 

“I suppose you’re right, Inquisitor.” Surveying the young elf’s face, Leliana saw it - the flash of something that wasn’t the boisterous facade that Ravune often exuded. Their eyes were distant and their smile had fallen. 

They have the weight of an entire world on their shoulders with the threat of Corypheus, Leliana reminded herself. Fun is something they need more of. 

“Well,” she cleared her throat. “If that isn’t a good enough secret, I have plenty of others.”

Ravune’s attention snapped back to Leliana’s, the mischevious grin back on their face. “Oh? Do tell!” 

Leliana let herself smile. Despite being the chosen of Andraste, this young elf - no… this young child needed to have fun every now an again. And she had just the story about Josephine and her own nugs that would have them in a fit of giggles. She’d be sure to apologize to Josie later. But for now, Ravune’s rapt attention needed to be satiated.

[joyfulwinnerdonut]

Football!Bo’s family life was so good, healthy, and wholesome because I wanted her to have a nice period in her life where she was stable and as normal as a gay millionaire celebrity monster with 7 kids can be. No crime except maybe minor shoplifting! Her kids were mostly pretty agreeable and REALLY clicked with her style of parenting, they all never doubted her love for them and she was very supportive and understanding. They could go to her for advice and she actually gave sound reasonings, when usually she would advocate for like murder. For once in her life she got to old age as mostly human, her hair turned grey and she got (minor) aches and pains and absolutely loved every second of it. She hoped she’d die as human and that would be permanent, unfortunately all good things come to an end and she had to watch her husband and kids die and break away from her grandchildren permanently (they thought she long since passed but she had a distant cousin persona).

...(Read More)

[byuneebuns]

Fenced In (Part 10)

Chanyeol/Baekhyun x Reader College AU

Rated: M for Smut

Tags: Angst, Slow Burn, College AU

Author’s Note: SO I actually messed up a lot and this should have been the end of chapter nine and the beginning of chapter ten but here we are I am disorganized so it’s a little awkward and mobile formatting will be terrible and it’s filler but it’s less filler than it could have been and it’s okay consider it a breath of fresh air before the next chapter which I am sorry for in advance !!!

Fenced In Mini Masterlist

Chanyeol’s footsteps were slow, heavy thuds echoing loudly in his ears as he approached his apartment. He always felt uncomfortable coming home now and found himself scanning the parking lot for your car every time he pulled up. 

A heavy sigh left his shapely lips as his large palm wrapped around the cold doorknob, the cool sting of the metal a preview for what the door likely held behind it. 

He turned the knob slowly, practically tiptoeing across the threshold, hoping he wouldn’t startle you. He had told you he would be gone all night dog-sitting but he’d forgotten his laptop charger and was in the middle of a project that he desperately needed to finish. 

The first time that he came home early it broke his heart to see fear in your eyes as you quickly excused yourself from the living room and ran to your bedroom to escape him. He mentally berated himself for what had to have been the millionth time that week.

How could he be so stupid?

He hadn’t thought anything much of living with a woman, he always made a point to be respectful, but it seemed like he was too immature to handle it after all. Disgusted with himself as he was though, he couldn’t bring himself to want to leave, which only made him feel worse.

You obviously weren’t interested in him like that and he’d childishly come on to you anyways and now you were uncomfortable and afraid of him. He just wanted things to go back to the way they were, but he just didn’t know how that could ever happen.

The living room was abandoned. He was sure he’d seen your car outside, had you taken to hiding in your room even when he wasn’t home too? His lips were drawn into a thin line at the thought. 

He crept quietly towards his room, hoping he could get in and out without alerting you to his presence and causing any discomfort. He jumped as your bedroom door creaked open and his eyebrows flew toward his hairline as he was suddenly faced with the short, cheeky male from last week. 

His stomach sank like a heavy stone in water and he flushed as he spotted your figure wrapped in blankets over the man’s shoulder in the room he was retreating from, sleeping peacefully, your bare legs and shoulders making it clear what had transpired moments before.

Self pity was replaced with anger when he realized what was happening now though as he took in Baekhyun’s appearance. He had a bag slung over his shoulder and was obviously in the process of leaving.

Baekhyun carefully shut the door behind him and almost walked right into Chanyeol, covering his mouth to keep from shouting with surprise. Chanyeol’s eyes were shooting daggers at the smaller male as he towered over him, hands clenched into fists and shaking at his sides.

“What are you doing?” Chanyeol hissed, his voice low and furious. Baekhyun said nothing, bumping his shoulder on the larger man’s chest as he forced his way past him and towards the exit. Chanyeol’s temper took over and before he could stop himself he was following Baekhyun through the living room and grabbing him by the shoulder, forcibly turning the man around to face him.

“I asked you a question.”

Baekhyun’s eyes were filled with cold fury as he craned his neck to stare at Chanyeol’s face, not shying away from the challenge.

“None of your business. Get off of me.” He shoved the tall man’s chest, trying to loosen the large hand from where it was clutching his shirt, but it held fast. Chanyeol shoved him back, knocking Baekhyun into the wall next to the front door with a loud thump. He should have been concerned about waking you but he was acting on impulse now, fueled by adrenaline.

The two men stared at each other wordlessly, rage and mutual dislike radiating from their bodies.

“You’re a coward, you know that right? Pathetic.” Chanyeol whispered, finally letting go of Baekhyun and stalking away towards his room angrily. 

Baekhyun stood there silently, blood pounding in his ears.

“I know.” He mumbled to himself as he turned the door knob and made his exit.

***

You stretched your arms and legs out as far as they could reach, blinking the heavy sleep from your eyes and trying to adjust to the bright sunlight pouring into your room. Your eyes tried to focus on the clock on your nightstand, groaning when you saw it was almost noon. 

You sat bolt upright and flushed when your memories of last night came flooding back to you.

You and Baekhyun. But-

Your bed was empty and you suddenly felt small and very, very aware of how alone you were. Before you could stop them, tears were streaming down your face. You wrapped yourself in your sheets and ventured into the living room, confirming his absence when you saw that his shoes and other belongings were missing. 

You trudged back to your room, biting your lip hard to keep more tears from falling.

No new messages.

You threw the phone angrily onto your bed, not caring that it bounced away and hit the floor with a dull thud not unlike the dull thump of your heart. You didn’t regret sleeping with him. What you regretted was expecting anything more from him. Men were nothing but a disappointment after all. 

Anxiety clawed at your skull when you remembered that you had an entire semester of class with him left. How would he act when he saw you? Were you jumping to conclusions too quickly? Your instincts shouted at you that no, something was not right. This behavior was inconsistent with the warmth he’d shown you until now.

You brought your hands to your cheeks as hard as you could, the sting they left matching the sting in your chest. You refused to mope. You refused to let yourself be brought down by a boy like this. Not again. You forced yourself back out of bed and pulled on the first articles of clothing that you laid eyes on, not caring about your appearance. You fished your phone out from under the bed where it had landed and tapped a quick text to your best friend and meandered off to the kitchen to force yourself to greet the new day.

You sunk into the couch, thankful again that your roommate wasn’t home to see you in this sorry state. The hot Jasmine tea you’d made yourself didn’t taste like anything. The apartment was eerily quiet and calm, so when your phone vibrated you spilled some of your tea on your lap out of surprise. You smiled bitterly at the angry welt on your thigh from where the liquid had burned you, thinking it a fitting metaphor for how something you liked was always liable to cause pain given the opportunity. 

You tossed your phone on the couch, trying to suppress the disappointment that had bubbled up when you realized it was just your best friend texting you back, not the person that you really wanted to hear from.

***

                                               -One Week Later-

“Hello? Is anyone home?” 

Hani’s irritation was plain on her face as she waved her well-manicured hand in front of your face.

“Huh? Oh, I’m so sorry, I just-”

She waved her hand again, dismissively this time, and cut you off before you could go on.

“You’re tired, yeah, I got that part the first few times. What the hell is up with you lately? You just keep saying that a lot is going on and not actually telling me what that means.” She sulked, taking a long sip from her milkshake.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I’ll explain.” 

You sighed and started to rattle off what felt like years of anguish that had been unceremoniously crammed in to the last several weeks. You were gasping for air by the end of it and you felt like a weight had been lifted from your shoulders, both literally and figuratively. 

It had been a few weeks since you’d last spoken to Chanyeol beyond necessary communications. You were still embarrassed at how strongly you’d come on, and of your lack of self-control, and afraid for what could happen as a result of it. You didn’t want to make things awkward with the person you were forced to share a home with, or more awkward than they already were, and you certainly didn’t want to start the search for a new roommate again so soon. There was just too much at risk. You worried that avoiding him would have made it worse but things had been at least bearable, except for the fact that you felt a heavy weight in your stomach whenever you were in the same room. A longing, and a sadness. Maybe this hadn’t been the best course of action but you didn’t know how to stop it now, so you continued closing yourself off from him.

Baekhyun had been quiet lately as well. Not spending as much time with you, not bombarding you with obnoxious text messages or paper notes during class, and just generally putting up a little distance between the two of you. In fact he barely spoke to you at all unless you spoke to him first. He was still polite, which was nice, but your stomach twisted with sadness nonetheless when your mind wandered to him. You didn’t want to think of him as someone that was only nice to women until he could get in their pants but it was undeniable that his attitude towards you had changed after you slept with him. 

You’d spent a little time together in the days following that Friday night, but to your great disappointment it had seemed like he was careful not to touch you or be as open with you as you’d come to expect. It was just different, strained, and it hurt. You wanted to ask him if you did something wrong, but you weren’t brave enough to hear the answer so you swallowed your feelings and hoped he was just busy, even though every shred of instinct that you possessed was screaming at you to realize that he was avoiding you.

Getting to tell someone all of this was therapeutic in more ways than you could have anticipated, you hadn’t realized just how much you needed it. You weren’t always the best at reaching out to your friends when you were going through a hard time, being a naturally introverted and more reserved person, so you were eternally grateful to have a best friend that would check on you and ease your emotional burdens when you couldn’t reach out for yourself.

Heeyeon, or Hani as you’d always called her for short, had been your neighbor growing up and your best friend since childhood, so you were closer to her than anyone else. She had always been fierce, pretty, and popular, contrary to your low profile and average appearance, but you complimented each other well somehow regardless. It broke your heart to leave her and your home behind for college, even if it was a mere hour drive, but she always made an effort to see you as often as she could between her own class and work schedule. More often than not you just hung out and got food but it was always nice just to see her no matter what you had planned.

You didn’t go home nearly as often as you should, but she always brushed it off and said visiting you at school was a good opportunity to survey the cute college boys. The diner you had chosen to have lunch in was sadly devoid of them though and seemed to rather be a haunt for the older residents of your neighborhood.

“Okay, so you weren’t kidding, you do have a lot going on huh? I told you a boy for a roommate was bad news. I thought you swore off boys forever though, after that one guy, what was his name? Sehun?”

“Please don’t remind me about that.” You groaned, rolling your eyes at the mention of your summer fling before you started college.

Hani snorted with laughter.

“I told you he gave me bad vibes, but no, you were in lo-”

“Please shut up forever.” You dug your index fingers into your ears, trying to drown out Hani as she shook with laughter at your expense.

“Okay, okay! Wow, really though, you want to fuck your roommate? He’s that cute, huh? But you fucked your classmate instead? Some problem solving skills you’ve got.” She said non-nonchalantly, finally recovering from her giggle fit. 

“Shh, what are you thinking!? Be quieter. And to be fair I wanted to fuck my classmate either way, so, there’s that.” You whispered, glancing around to make sure you weren’t overheard, eliciting a scandalous gasp from Hani.

“Wow, you big slut. I love it. Make them fight for you to the death in mortal combat. Like, jousting or something.”

“That would definitely solve my problem, sure, except neither of them are talking to me right now anyways.”

“Well one of them will never talk to you again when the other one wins. See? I’m a genius. You’re welcome.” Hani said seriously, crossing her arms across her chest with finality.

You burst out laughing, earning a look of disgust from a nearby elderly couple that was trying to enjoy their Saturday lunch in peace.

“Finally, you smiled. I was starting to think I’d lost my touch.” She sighed.

“On a serious note though, what you need to figure out is what your feelings about both of them really are. Do you really like hot roommate boy, or are you just lusting after him because you know that you shouldn’t be? Do you like the classmate guy or is he just a placeholder for the boy you wish you could be with? Figure out how YOU really feel before you stress over how they feel about you.” Hani said, the smile that had been gracing her lips fading as she fixed you with a probing stare.

You sighed, burying your face in your hands.

“I don’t know if its that simple. I can’t see things in black and white like you can.”

Hani shrugged, clearly finished with her diagnosis of the situation, and changed the subject before you could retort.

“So, listen, I already know you’re going to be a giant baby about this but I met this guy that goes to your school a few weeks ago and he invited me to a party tonight. You’re going to say you won’t go but you will because I’m going to literally beg you and you love me so you’ll cave, so let’s just skip where you say no.”

“No.”

“Oh, here we go. Please? Like, pretty please? My one and only best friend in the whole world wouldn’t make me go to a party alone? With a boy I barely know? That’s so dangerous.”

You were every bit the petulant child as you crossed your arms and scowled at Hani.

“We could do something else instead. Something that maybe doesn’t involve torturing me with the promise of social interaction.”

Hani groaned, rolling her eyes and tapping her sharp nails rhythmically on the table.

“I already told him that I would go and you really need to get out for once.” She said, crossing her arms and glaring right back.

You stared at each other like that for a few minutes, waiting for the other person to crack. 

“Fine. I’ll go. You owe me for this though, and you better me not ditch me all night for this boy.” You said through gritted teeth. You knew when to pick your battles with Hani and you could tell this wasn’t one you would win. Hani clapped her hands together excitedly, beaming.

“Don’t worry, don’t worry! We’re just friends, it isn’t like that anyways. I knew I could count of you!”

You sighed dejectedly, resigned to your fate. 

This was going to be a long night.

[calcidekudine]

out of my head of my heart of my mind

out of my head of my heart of my mind katsudeku. explicit. part one. also available on ao3. warnings: A/B/o dynamics

.

Katsuki's heat arrives as it always does, a slow and insidious burn. It begins low in his belly and creeps outwards, warring with the quick explosions he is used to, a fire he can control with a thought and a twitch of his hand. He has always hated his heat. He is disturbed by his helplessness, his intractable responses; it is why he has taken suppressants since the onset. The drugs made him sluggish for a few days, but sluggish was better than the uncontrollable alternative.

This time, however, when the base of his spine begins to itch, Katsuki does not take his suppressant. He stares at the pill pack—a ten day long ritual that he has taken every three months for the last seven years of his life—then gently sets it back in the medicine cabinet behind his mirror.

It is impulse, yes. But it is also a plan that he has let form in the back of his brain and, with this gesture, allows to finally take shape.

.

"I’m going into heat," Katsuki tells his agency supervisor, later that day between first and second shift. If his supervisor is surprised to hear such a thing, she does not show it. Instead, her face remains blank, and she asks,

"When?"

"In a few days," Katsuki informs. "A week at most."

His supervisor nods. "Do you need accommodations or services?"

"No." Katsuki does not elaborate. Giving his idea voice leaves a sour taste in his mouth. His instincts tell him that he isn't wrong—that nothing could possibly go wrong—yet the small possibility that he may fail stills his tongue.

"Thank you for informing us," his supervisor says. "Send me a text or an email when it comes, and we’ll have your shifts covered."

Katsuki nods once, rises from the comfortable chair, and leaves to begin his shift. There is nothing left to be said.

.

Patrol passes slowly. He wanders the streets with his hands on his hips and a scowl on his face, and stubbornly ignores the ever-present tingle at the base of his spine. He gets a few odd looks from passing alphas; they tilt their heads up and inhale deeply, their diaphragms pushing out with the effort. He makes eye-contact with each one that dares to smell him, flashing his best glare and smirking when they skitter.

It is no secret that Katsuki—that Ground Zero, one of the highest ranking heroes of his generation—is an omega. He knows some people are curious about his predilections, especially since his demeanor is not the purported ideal of omegas.

Katsuki doesn't care. He's never cared. His secondary gender and his ability to have children doesn't dictate how he behaves. The only person who gets to decide what Katsuki can and cannot do is Katsuki himself, and everyone else can hang.

.

Night falls. Katsuki stops at several food carts, buying skewers of charcoal-cooked meat. He is ravenous, chomping down twice as much as he normally would. He stops himself before he feels the bloat of fullness, having learned the hard way that being full on patrol is worse than being a little hungry.

As the moon rises in the sky, Katsuki wanders out of his assigned district and closer to the warehouses. His destination is a familiar, medium-sized office building. When he gets there, he launches himself into the air. Flying is as effortless to him now as breathing, and he lands gracefully, boots heavy on the rooftop. It is dusted with gravel, as many business buildings are, and the tiny pebbles grind together beneath the balls of his feet.

Crouched on the building edge, another hero stands. His costume—black with green accents—blends in with the darkening sky. A long white cape flutters from his broad shoulders. He hops down from his perch and chirps, "Kacchan."

"Deku."

"What are you doing here?" Izuku tilts his head. "I thought you had sector D-4 today?"

"I do," Katsuki responds with nonchalance.

"Bored already?"

Katsuki shrugs. Takes a step closer to Izuku. And another, and another, until Izuku’s nose twitches—

Until he inhales sharply—

Until his eyes widen—

Until he gasps, "Kacchan."

Katsuki tilts his head to the side, purposefully exposing the length of his neck. He used to think it was a submissive gesture. That it was weakness. He hated the thought of it. Baring himself to another person that way—it was unfathomable.

Now, when he does it, he realizes how wrong he was. It is not weakness he feels, but power. How easy it was to capture Izuku’s attention, to hold it.

"Are you...?" Izuku chokes.

"I didn’t take my pills," Katsuki announces as he steps boldly into Izuku's space. "It will be here soon."

Izuku’s uniform is stretched skintight over his throat and Katsuki watches the way his larynx contracts around a dry, strangled whimper. It thrills Katsuki to his core. People like to believe that alphas are the strong ones, but Katsuki—an omega—has reduced Izuku to incoherence in less than a minute with no more than a gesture and his scent.

"Kacchan," Izuku pleads. Each syllable scratches relief down Katsuki’s spine. "Are you asking me to..?"

Katsuki stands still. Waits. He can feel the strain of his silence as much as he can sense the tension in Izuku's body. He wants to laugh, victorious, triumphant. He refrains. Instead, he leans forward, curls a gloved hand around Izuku's thick side, and all but purrs,

"If you think you can."

Katsuki is off the roof before realization can dawn in Izuku’s muddled brain. It amuses him more than it should and, this time, when his laughter bubbles in his throat, he lets it escape.

.

On his second day of pre-heat, Katsuki spends most of his morning eating and readying his small apartment for the week to come. He cleans all his spare sheets, pushes all the furniture against the wall, and makes sure the few material items he has are tucked safely away. He goes to the store to buy packs of supplement bars and bottles of water. He even picks up a couple bags of Izuku's favorite snack, a sentimentality he tries not to think about as the cashier rings him up.

Thus prepared and with some time to kill before his shift, Katsuki picks up his phone and texts Kirishima. Though they work at different agencies, they've retained their friendship by meeting up at least once a week, going to cheap dive bars to drink excess amounts of alcohol and consume unhealthy amounts of fried food. Sometimes it's just the two of them. Sometimes it's with their coworkers or old classmates. Either way, Katsuki knows he won't be able to meet up with Kirishima later in the week because of his heat.

Briefly, Katsuki considers lying about why he can't make it. He isn't ashamed of his heat, but that doesn't mean he wants to talk about it. Still, he knows that Kirishima will eventually figure out the truth, and lying will only delay the inevitable.

"Such bullshit," Katsuki mutters as he jabs a message out.

BK  won't be able to go out this week  have my heat

Unsurprisingly, Kirishima texts back in less than a minute.

KE  ur going off suprressants???  IS EVERYTHIGN OKAY

BK  fucking calm down  i'm fine just didn't take them

KE  ok ok i just hear a lot of horror sotries  and its not like u to just not take them  WAIT did u meet someone????  UR SHARING UR HEAT WITH SOEMNEO ARENT U

BK  fuck, shut up, i'm not fucking some fcuking stranger  just deku

Katsuki's phone rings almost immediately and Katsuki contemplates not answering. He doesn't want to listen Kirishima yammer. But, as with the texts, he knows that it will be better to just get it over with.

"What?" Katsuki answers with a snarl.

"Midoriya?" Kirishima barks over the phone. Katsuki cannot see his best friend's face, but he can imagine it perfectly: eyebrows high, mouth slack, rapid blinking. "Really? And you want to just—just like that?"

"Whaddya mean, just like that?" Katsuki shoots back. "Isn't that how it fucking works?"

"I mean, not really," Kirishima blurts. "I mean—in a more traditional sense—in some circles—before people learned that it was, you know, wrong to force omegas that were heated into relationships that they didn't actually want—"

"I'm not fucking heated." Katsuki may be warm, yes, but even he knows his symptoms are a small portion of what awaits. His hormones aren't clouding his judgment and he won't pretend he's oblivious to why he wants to spend this heat with Izuku. In his softer moments—in those quiet spaces when Katsuki can be alone and honest—he thinks that he and Izuku have been building towards this since they were children. "I'm not fucking stupid."

"I know you're not. It's just—have you guys even gone a date? Hell, does he even know you like him like—you know, more than a friend?"

Katsuki smirks. "If he didn't, he's about to."

"This is a terrible idea," Kirishima mutters.

"So is your shitty haircut," Katsuki retorts, but there's no heat in the insult. He doesn't expect Kirishima to understand. There is so much history between him and Izuku, both good and bad, that it's difficult for other people to understand their dynamic.

"I know you won't, but you should still probably talk to him." Kirishima heaves a long-suffering sigh, the exhale distorted into mechanical pieces by the phone. "Who knows? Your relationship with Midoriya is complicated on the best of days. Maybe I'm just overthinking it."

"That'd be a fucking first."

And because Katsuki is an asshole with nothing left to say, he disconnects.

.

KE  YOU STILL NEED TO TALK TO MIDORIYA

BK  fuck off  (middle finger emoji)

.

Katsuki had his first heat midway through thirteen.

Like many first heats, it was short—barely scraping past two full days—but it felt so much longer. He remembers shaking through it, his muscles cramping as his body ached. Thirst and hunger were suspended as his dick stayed hard and slick leaked down his thighs. He jerked himself raw with one hand and stuffed his fingers inside himself with the other. He wriggled on his bed, rucking up the sweat-and-slick damp sheets, and whined. He cried and begged and felt incomplete.

When the worst of his heat passed, Katsuki ignored his still wobbly legs, got out of bed, and marched into the shower. He turned the water up as high as it would go and scrubbed the disturbing lack of control from his flesh. Then, once he pulled on a pair of fleece pajama bottoms and the softest shirt he owned, skin still hypersensitive, he stormed into the kitchen and demanded to be taken to the doctor.

Neither of Katsuki's parents protested. He was taken to the family doctor that afternoon, given a routine physical and asked several invasive questions, which Katsuki answered as a snap or a snarl. Eventually, the doctor gave him one of the stronger prescriptions. The suppressants didn't negate all the effects of heat; instead, they muffled them. Katsuki got hungry and hot for a few days, then incredibly horny for another, but it never compared to that first experience, where he laid on his mattress, writhing and gasping for an inexplicable more.

Because of this, Katsuki has never shared a heat. He's had sex, several times with several different partners, yet he never felt compelled to share such an intimacy with any of them.

Izuku is different. Izuku will take care of him. Izuku will take care of his heat, of his body, of his heart. Not just because Izuku is a good alpha and Katsuki is a needful omega, but because it's him.

And this—this is why Katsuki left his suppressants on the shelf.

He trusts Izuku.

.

Katsuki's shift is long and uneventful. He spends a majority of it stalking up and down his assigned sector, his dark scowl and clenched jaw guaranteeing a wide berth. His pre-heat has gone from ignorable to frustrating in less than a day, and still he knows that his symptoms are not the worst of it.

After his shift ends, Katsuki all but runs back to his agency. He bursts into the empty locker room; throws off his gloves, gauntlets, and mask; peels his skintight shirt off his torso; opens his locker and—

Sitting innocently atop his civilian clothing is an enormous, store-bought bento with a note taped to the thin plastic lid.

The bento isn't special. It contains a pile of plain white rice, several thick rolls of tamagoyaki, and a handful of tempura-fried jumbo shrimp. But there's a lot and Katsuki is starving. He scarfs it down, untasting, leaving the note unread until he has devoured all but a few stubborn grains of rice. He picks it off and unfolds it.

I can do it, it reads.

Though there is no signature, Katsuki knows who it's from. The scratchy handwriting is long-familiar and traces of musk linger on the paper. Katsuki brings it up to his nose and inhales deeply. His whole body throbs in anticipation.

Deku.

With a smirk, Katsuki refolds the slip of paper.

.

next >>

.

[hanzier]

In Beverly Marsh's eyes the summer kicked off with a minor inconvenience. Much like the boys, Bev didn't have any idea what she was getting herself into when she became a part of the losers club. You see, Beverly Marsh had just had one hell of a year. It started off pretty terribly, but she had worked her way up. After painful hours of sewing and measuring and packaging and selling she had managed to save up enough money to move out of one toxic home into another home (though the later was only toxic smelling as her pluming was awful). By the beginning of the summer she had never been in a better place. However, her "minor inconvenience" would soon spiral into something much much more. It would carry on for the rest of the summer, and influence several of her important decisions after the summer ended.

Bev was hoping that her life would carry on rebuilding itself, as it had been for the past year. That was not the case. In fact, by the end of the summer, her life would nearly be in the same disaster mode it had been a year ago. She didn't know what this summer had in store for her. So, she carried on blissfully unaware of the repercussions that her actions would soon have. Beverly Marsh was no fool, it wasn't her fault that she was ignorant to the future. No one could have seen it coming.

Watching the sunset at Paradise Beach was somewhat of a magical thing. At least, thats what Beverly Marsh claimed.

She was sprawled out at the end of Eddie's towel, her heart shaped sunglasses lowered to the very tip of her nose, "God, don't you just love the sky?" she asked breathily.

The three boys around her nodded, not that she would have known, for she didn't so much as glance away from the fading sun.

"I just wish we were on the rooftop." She said finally, as she turned to face Eddie, Stan and Bill.

Stan laughed, taking off his own sunglasses, "You're still on that whole rooftop thing, huh?"

Bill and Eddie both looked mildly confused, but she responded, "Everything is just prettier higher up."

"Are you high, Bev?" Bill asked, sincerely and she laughed in her own bubbly way.

"Not yet. Do you smoke, Eddie? I know Stan hates it, but Bill used to cyph with me... Are you into it?" She was genuinely curious, but Eddie felt mildly embarrassed.

He had only smoked twice and while he had enjoyed the light feeling, he was nowhere near experienced with weed, "I have before. I like it better than drinking to be honest."

This was news to the other boys, "Really?" Stan asked while Bill knitted his brows together, "If I knew that I would score you some weed so that you don't have to sit there sober while the rest of us drink."

Eddie shrugged, it wasn't as if his friends were drunk every day, maybe once or twice a month they would hang out at Bill's house and have a few beers, "I mean... we don't exactly party often, Bill." He didn't know how quickly that would change.

"Well, I plan to full on corrupt you. With your consent, of course." Bev grinned while hooking her sunglasses onto the string of her yellow bikini.

It had taken Eddie about two hours on the beach to realize that Bev wasn't a lifeguard like Mike and Richie. The two boys had walked back and forth from the stand to the towels every hour, alternating breaks, while Bev stayed there, lounging and completely destroying her pale freckled skin through exposure to the harsh sun.

"You boys should swing by the apartment before the bonfire. Plenty of weed for you there, Eddie."

Stan laughed again, and Eddie realized all at once, how much more at ease he seemed to be there, "I'm sure there is."

"You have your own apartment?" Eddie asked and Bev shook her head.

"Not entirely mine. Richie and I moved in earlier this year, Stan helped us set it up, back in October actually." Eddie briefly remembered Stan driving down to his summer house that fall.

Bev gave a solemn sort of smile, "It's pretty crappy, but better than where I used to live. Plus, I can't expect much more from a lifeguards salary and Etsy sales." Bev had explained earlier that she sewed her own clothes and sold them on Etsy and other websites to a pretty decent following of fashion lovers. But for some reason, Bill and Stan shared a look at the last part of her statement.

"I think it's cool that you guys have your own place," Eddie started, but he was cruelly interrupted by Richie Tozier, for what felt like the hundredth time that day, on instinct, he tired to suppress a groan.

It wasn't that Eddie didn't like him. He was just...a lot. Eddie understood fully what Stan and Bill had been talking about when they said most of their friends were easy to get along with. It seemed as if Richie had made it his life mission to make Eddie as uncomfortable as possible in their brief moments together thus far.

"Howdy, y'all." His Hawaiian shirt had been shed off and Eddie was left looking at the light definition of muscle on his torso, "How're you pretty ladies doin'?"

He gave Bev an unceremoniously dramatic kiss on the forehead and made his move to do the same to Stan, who immediately covered his face. Richie shrugged and moved on to Bill instead, who accepted the kiss graciously. He then locked eyes with Eddie, and luged forward, making him his final victim.

The wetness on his forehead made Eddie cringe as he shoved Richie off, hoping his red face could be mistaken for too much sun.

Bev smacked Richie's leg, as Mike joined them once again, "You're going to scare him off, Rich. Some of us want to actually make more friends."

Mike nodded as well, beaming down at all of them, "Yea, Rich, pretty sure Eddie doesn't want your germs."

Richie responded by smacking another wet kiss to Mike's cheek, "You want my germs, right Mikey?"

Mike fake shuddered but ruffled Richie's hair nonetheless, "Of course."

The beach had cleared out, lifeguards were off duty once the sun set. So the group made their move to leave.

Bill unfolded the umbrella while Stan and Eddie folded up towels.

"So boys, you're coming over before the bonfire right?" Bev asked as the six of them walked up the sand towards the boardwalk.

Bill and Eddie nodded, "Great, Stan can show you guys how to get there."

"Inviting people into my home without my permission, Beverly?" Richie earned himself another smack.

Mike, Bev and Richie began teetering off the the left of the boardwalk, while Eddie, Stan and Bill went right.

"Be there at seven, okay? It'll be fun I swear!"

Eddie believed her.

Beverly Marsh hoped this summer would be better than her last.

She was not very good at dealing with serious issues and the previous year had been filled with serious issues.

Things seemed better. She wasn't stuck living with her father. She wasn't stuck lifeguarding. And she wasn't stuck wondering if Bill was okay.

She didn't mind that Bill seemed uninterested in her romantically, she hardly had time for that anyway. She was just glad that he was back at the beach with them, where he belonged.

Bev liked having the extra bodies around, it made everything feel a hell of a lot less lonely. She felt as if there was no such thing as too many friends, another reason why she was glad Eddie had joined them this year.

He was snarky and quick witted. In the hours that they had spent talking, he had challenged her conversations, but not nearly as vehemently as he had challenged Richie's. He was not at all what she had expected when she first laid eyes on his small frame. But, she should have known better than to judge a book by its cover.

Richie seemed to be eager for another friend as well, "I like him. He's feisty, we could definitely use a little more fire around here. Denbrough seemed down to you, right?"

The two of them were lounging on the worn out peach couch that Mike had found on the side of the road. Bev's head was in his lap while they passed a cigarette back and forth.

"I think thats to be expected. When's the last time you saw him?" She spoke solemnly while he ran hand through her hair.

Richie blinked for a long time, "I guess I've only seen him twice after the funeral... I visited him in the fall and he was still pretty off. Then over the winter when he drove down here- that weekend you were looking at schools with Mike. He was a little more himself then."

Bev blew smoke straight into the air, "It fucking sucks."

"He's better than he was then, but still. He's not the old Bill." Richie took the cig with greedy fingers, he always had a hard time controlling himself after not smoking during his shift.

She stood a little too quickly, "He's not gonna be the old Bill. His brother died, Rich."

"I'm well fucking aware of that, Bev." He snapped back, almost shoving the cigarette back intoner hands before he stood.

"I'm gonna hop in the shower before they get here.", in true Richie fashion, he stormed off to the bathroom with a dramatic door slam.

Bev sank back into the couch finishing off the cig before snuffing it on the already ruined couch arm. A fight with Richie wasn't uncommon. It was pretty typical actually, spending so much time with someone lead to lots of bickering, especially with unresolved tension in the air. Bev followed him to the bathroom, hoping they could blow off some steam together.

Mike showed up while Richie and Bev were still in the bathroom, so he let himself in with the spare key they had given him. The apartment was a studio, so he was glad they finally learned to fool around somewhere other than the couch or the mattress that was half hidden behind a black bamboo wall divider. Over the past two years he had grown used to it, but that didn't mean the thought of Richie and Bev together didn't gross him out.

They were both like his siblings and he just couldn't shake the feeling that they only hooked up out of convenience. It happened very infrequently ever since they moved in together, but it still happened. From what Mike had gathered, it was only after they argued over something important.

He sighed and started to clean up a little, he had a feeling Stan would not be happy with the state of their apartment. Halfway through making the bed, Bev exited the bathroom still dressed in her yellow bikini and looking only slightly disheveled, with a new hickey on her collar bone. She jumped when she saw him, "Oh my god!"

"No, it's just me." Mike deadpanned as he finished folding the comforter.

Bev grinned sheepishly, "Not much of a difference there, then." she looked around, "What are you cleaning for?"

Mike shrugged, moving on the the kitchen section, or what he liked to call the real disaster zone. "Stan isn't gonna like this mess."

She made to help him throw out some takeout boxes, "Still crushing on him?" she asked slyly.

Mike scrunched his nose, "Still crushing on Bill?" Bev turned around.

"Hardly." She said bitterly.

"Is that why you're hooking up with Rich again?"

She blushed, "No Mike. I'm not hooking up with Richie because I still like Bill. Thats twisted logic."

Mike ran the sink and started to scrub down the dishes, there weren't too many, Bev and Richie opted for paper plates most days, "You and Richie exclusively use twisted logic."

"You're mad." She stated the obvious, and bumped his hip so that she could do the dishes instead.

He sighed, "Im not mad, just... fed up. I thought it was over with. It's really not helping either of you."

Bev shrugged, feeling much more embarrassed than she had been moments before, "Its just comfortable, ya know? I thought it was over with too, but Richie and I are too needy. Us living together is dangerous. Because neither of us wants to be alone." Mike knew she meant alone on a larger scale. Richie and Bev had both been thrown into the world by themselves in a way, it was only natural that they wanted someone to be with.

It was just easier for them to pretended they should be together.

"So no feelings for Bill?", Mike asked as he tried to wipe ashes off of the couch.

Bev shook her head, honestly.

"And no feelings for Rich?"

She shook her head answering honestly, once again.

Mike sighed, "So then, what are you doing, Bev?" she shrugged, moving over to her closet, which acted a bit more like her hamper.

"Right now I'm getting changed. In five minutes I'll probably be lighting a blunt." she dug through her clothes, pulling out an oversized grey band shirt and some tights.

Mike laughed, the tension in the air was gone. He was just concerned for his friends, Bev knew that. As she pulled on her fishnets she asked, "You never answered about Stan. Still having unresolved feelings?"

Mike shook his head, "Nah, we ended things better than you and Bill did. Tied up all our lose ends. Sure, I care about him, but not like that anymore. Especially seeing him and Bill today...I don't think I'd ever want to get in the way of that."

Bev laughed, "You noticed that too? I thought I was losing my mind."

The bathroom door opened once again. Richie stepped out wearing an all black outfit, save for his short sleeved purple button up covered in a loud 80's pattern.

He rubbed a towel against his wet hair, "Hey Mike."

Mike and Bev shared a look as he threw the towel back into the bathroom and opened up the fridge, pulling out a slice cold pizza and scarfing it down.

"Who's rolling tonight?"

Bev opened the door grinning widely, and Eddie was hit with the overwhelming smell of weed.

He noticed Stan wince to his right, but he entered anyway.

The apartment was almost exactly what Eddie had pictured, small, dark and too loud. A song by The Cure was blasting in the background.

The second the door closed, he felt a slim arm around his shoulder, Richie was beaming down at him. Eddie noticed that there was a purple mark on his neck, which hadn't been there a few hours ago.

Bill noticed it too, "Who's the lucky lady?"

Richie laughed, "Don't assume now, Billy. Mike could have given this to me."

Mike snorted from the other side of the room, "I would have done a better job then that!"

Eddie felt the weight lift from his shoulder and was suddenly colder than he should have been.

"Lets see your masterpiece then, sir. Have at it." Richie had all but flown across the room into Mikes space.

The two play wrested while Bev rolled her eyes, "Okay, who wants what? We have a pretty good selection of drinks and an even better selection of weed."

She lead them to the kitchen, which was only three steps to the left, and Eddie eyed the fridge as she opened it. It was covered in polaroids and drawings that looked vaguely familiar. There was a picture that was sketched to look like a side profile of Bev's face, Eddie saw the messy signature in the bottom corner, it was Bill's. He grinned and she shut the fridge, holding some beers and a bottle of tequila.

"Still your favorite, Stan?" Stan let out a laugh, "As long as you have lime and salt."

Bev winked, "You just so happened to name two out of the three foods Richie and I own."

She reached up to get some shot glasses from the top shelf and the collar of her oversized tee fell off of her shoulder. Eddie noticed she had a mark that matched Richie's.

"Eddie, you want a shot, or should I just roll for you?" Eddie looked at her collar bone and back to Richie, who Mike had thrown over his shoulder. He then looked back at Stan and Bill, who were absolutely standing purposely close enough to touch.

He had a feeling he was going to need a little help to get through this week without Ben, "You can pour me one too. I think I'll see what it feels like to get cross faded."

He heard a cheer from across the room, as Bill clapped him on the bak and Stan looked confused.

Richie and Mike gathered around the counter as well and the six of them licked the salt off of their hands before downing the shot and biting into their own wedges of lime.

Collectively they all let out some sort of a cheer, although Richies sounded more like a laugh. Eddie took it all in, feeling slightly uncomfortable and contented, all the same.

And so, the longest night of Eddie's life kicked off with a bang.

@fuckuris @dewdropseddie @richietoaster @sad-synth

[takadasaiko]

Fallen Series: One Night

FFN II AO3

One Night

Summary: When Bobo surprises Willa with a trip to the Big City and a hotel room, it doesn't turn out exactly as she expected.  Set during the treehouse years. Valentine's Day fic.

They didn't exactly have a conventional relationship, not that Willa would have known first hand what all that entailed. She had read enough, though, and when she was younger she had watched movies and television shows with her sisters. Dates were normal. Dinner, the movies, drinks, and sometimes something a bit more adventurous. Not that dating Robert was anything like the movies, if it could even be called dating. It was still new, an exploration of taking what had turned into a trusted friendship to the next level. He was hesitant, like he spent half the time trying to talk himself out of whatever his first instinct was, and they rarely left the treehouse, much less the surrounding area. After nearly a decade since he had told the Seven that he'd killed the young Earp Heir he was still afraid that someone would catch sight of her or notice her. It took every trick she knew just to get him to wander in the woods with her or lie out under the stars by the lake. Romantic gestures weren't a natural inclination for him, so it would seem, especially not when they conflicted with whatever he thought he needed to do to keep her safe.

Every now and again he surprised her though.

Willa watched the world pass by in silence from the passenger's seat of a car that she hadn't known Robert knew how to drive. She had seen him as more of a blur on one of the many motorcycles that he had owned over the years when she was a child, but the idea of him driving a car like any normal person had never crossed her mind. Just like the idea that he would have cared about a silly holiday like Valentine's Day enough to take her on the rare trip away from the treehouse hadn't even been a dream she had let herself consider. Now that they were on their way it was all she could do to contain her excitement.

Robert, on the other hand, was more stoic than usual. His clear blue gaze was fixed on the road in front of them, only shifting to look in the mirrors every couple of minutes. He hadn't told her where they were going, but had shown up later than he'd said he would be there and had handed her a bag, instructing her to pack a few things. It had been vague, not that that was particularly unusual for him. He wasn't the type to share any more than he had to, even with her most days, and if he was doing his best to find somewhere special to take her then she was okay with a few secrets.

As the snow-covered countryside sped by, their car flying across the open road, Willa found herself wondering why so many Revenants stayed in Purgatory. It was the curse, she supposed as she leaned her forehead against the cold glass. Always the curse, and the curse always landed the Heir in Purgatory. It pushed the Revenants, coercing them. Even the ones that might not have been quite as bloodthirsty in life became demons, driven to hound and kill each and every Earp Heir. She'd heard Robert describe it like that, the words dancing off his tongue as he rolled his eyes a little, but he'd never told her who he was quoting. It would be easier if they left, but she knew he wouldn't, not until he could cross the line and leave for good. Even a cage as large as the Ghost River Triangle was still a cage, though most days she wished her own was even half that size.

She was staying for him, though, she reminded herself. So that in a few years when she turned twenty-seven they could walk across the line hand in hand and Robert would be free to leave with her. It was worth that, and she knew that he had his reasons for staying in Purgatory.

Hazel eyes flickered to the city lights that she saw as the topped a hill and she sat up. "We're going to the city?"

"Yeah," Robert huffed from the driver's seat, the first word that he'd said since they had left their little town.

It wasn't like there were too many other places that he physically could go other than the wilderness between Purgatory and the Big City, and while Robert might have managed it without too much trouble, he would know she'd prefer to stay in the treehouse to freezing her ass off in the middle of nowhere. Still, this had never been an option that he had brought up before.

They drove up to a hotel. It was nice. It seemed nice, anyway. She really wasn't sure she was the best judge, but the fact that someone offered to take her bag was more than anything that would have happened in Purgatory, nearly ten years since she'd out and about in town or not. She watched Robert move, a cap pulled low so that it hid his hair and a scarf wrapped up around his chin so that the white patch in his beard would draw fewer eyes. Fewer Revenants resided in the Big City, but that didn't mean that one or two wouldn't go, and if they saw him with the supposed-dead Earp Heir, it would put him in a complicated place. He'd told them that he had killed her years ago. Once inside, though, they should be safe. Revenants wouldn't really fit in with this crowd.

"C'mon," he said gruffly and grabbed her bag from the floor in front of her before she could bend for it herself.

"Slow down. It's not a race," she grumbled lightly, having to jog a little to catch up with his long stride and doing her best to ignore the paranoid way that his gaze shifted to all corners of the lobby. "Hey." She reached out as he stepped into the elevator, her fingers catching his free hand. "What's the rush? You excited to get upstairs?" she teased, hoping to ease what she thought must have been nerves.

A soft growl escaped him and she grinned, her fingers lacing through his as the elevator doors closed, leaving them alone for their trip to the sixth floor that he had punched. She leaned into him, her head resting against his arm. "I'm glad we're doing this."

Robert stiffened a little next to her. "Exactly what is it do you think we're doing?"

She snorted. "Okay, you can drop it. I know I don't get out much, but I do know what today is. I just didn't think you'd… I don't know, go to all this effort? I mean, most days you'd flip out if I even suggested this, telling me it was too risky and-"

"What do you mean what today is?" he cut in as the doors opened and Willa pulled back a little to see that he looked genuinely confused.

"Are you serious?"

"What do you think this is? A vacation?" He snapped out the last word and jerked forward, pulling her with him as he moved. Willa followed, confusion immediately filling the void that the retreating excitement had left behind.

He slid the key card in and the light blinked green, allowing them into the room closest to the stairwell, and he all but dragged her inside. Without explanation he turned and bolted the door shut behind them, her bag still in his hand. It was only then that Willa realized that he didn't have one of his own. "Robert, I think you need to tell me right now what's going on."

The man she loved turned, finally dropping her bag and a breath left him as he pulled the cap from his head. "Ran into some of the boys before I could slip away this evening," he said.

He started to unravel his scarf, slipping past her and Willa watched him carefully as she shrugged her own overcoat from her shoulders. "That's not unusual."

Robert hummed softly. "Jack."

The name struck and Willa suppressed a shudder. He was one of the Seven that had taken her that night, and in the terrible few hours that they had her before Robert had shown up and hauled her away Jack had been one of the ones to terrify her the most. There was something in his eyes that left her chilled to her core even more than the rest of them. "What bout him?" His teeth clicked together audibly and Willa caught his eyes. "Robert, you're not going to get away with sidestepping this one. Not when you drag me all the way here, make me think….."

Dark brows drew together. "What'd you think this was?"

All at once she felt the blood rush to her cheeks. This was stupid. What had she been thinking? That Robert had taken her on a romantic getaway weekend like a normal man might have? That he'd pulled his head out of his own plans, his own scheming for five minutes to make her feel like a normal woman for a night, maybe even two? Dinner, drinks, maybe a movie, and a chance to wake up with him the next morning. It all sounded so far fetched now, and the more she turned it over in her mind the more heated her face felt.

"Willa?"

"I thought this was a Valentine's weekend getaway," she mumbled, hating the mousy sound of her own voice as it escaped.

He stared at her for a long moment, blinking owlishly at her, and finally he took a heavy seat on the bed, a soft sound escaping him as he did. "You thought…."

"It was stupid, okay? Of course it'd be something having to do with your idiot pack of Revenants. I just don't know why you thought you needed to drag me all the way out here."

"He brought you up."

"Good for him. He thinks I'm dead, what does it matter?"

"Willa, if they found out-"

"Oh don't start," she snapped and a small part of her knew she was fueling the misplaced anger so that she could push aside her own embarrassment. "You fall back on that every damn time you want something from me. Stay in the treehouse. Don't go out to the lake. And if I had suggested this, boy…. You and I both know how that would have ended. I would have gotten a lecture about how dangerous they are and how much is at stake. You know what, Robert? They don't know I'm alive. No one but you and me know I'm alive, so you can take a breath and order us some food while I go take a bath in an actual bathtub with bubbles and the works, because I know you're not gonna agree to go down to the restaurant downstairs because maybe - just maybe - we might be seen!" Her hands were flying as she spoke, the words coming out on a single, long, angry breath.

"Willa, I need to get back to Purgatory. I need to make sure-"

"You do that and I won't be here when you get back." His jaw snapped shut and she watched him stiffen, her own anger boiling over. "That's right. You go and you lose your ticket out of here. Your call." With that, she turned into the bathroom and slammed the door shut behind her hard enough to rattle the wall.

She stood on the other side of the door for half a beat, anger warring with guilt and shifting violently back to anger. She stomped over to the faucet to run the bath water as hot as she thought she could stand it and began to strip down, her clothes falling to the floor and her hands shaking as she unfastened her hair from its braid.

Then she heard it. She couldn't be sure with the sound of the water pouring from the faucet and into the tub, but it sounded like a door closing softly. It could have been one of the other doors in the long hallway. It had to be. Robert wouldn't have left. No matter how angry he was, he wouldn't risk it, would he?

No, of course not.

That decided Willa stepped into the tub, pins and needles running up and down her legs as she sank deeper into the hot water, finally taking a seat in the deep bath. She leaned back, letting the heat loosen muscles and work at the stress from the evening. They were fine, she promised herself. Robert was just out there sulking, possibly even feeling like as big of an idiot for worrying over stupid Jack as she had been for thinking he was actually taking her somewhere nice for just a little slice of normal in their strange lives.

Willa slipped down, her shoulders sinking under the surface and her hair floated around her as she glared at the falling water. Immortal or not, the man was going to worry himself to death. He put too much pressure on himself. The Revenants, the Heirs. She knew that each death still weighed on him to at least some degree, and as much as he snarled any time Wyatt Earp's name might be mentioned, Willa knew him. He might hate him, but not nearly as much as he loved the man. Once he decided someone was worthy of his loyalty he was there to the end. And that was why he would be there when she decided that he had suffered long enough by himself.

She leaned forward and turned the water flow down and then finally off, the only sound following that of her shifting back to lean against the tub's end. Everything else was quiet. There was no shuffling, no sound of the news or even squeak of the bed as he took a seat to pull out a book. A book that he wouldn't have because he hadn't brought a bag. He had just planned to drop her off in a new cage and leave her.

Frustration bubbled again and Willa listened hard, hearing nothing. After a long moment she let herself slip beneath the surface of the water, coming back up a handful of seconds later for breath and to scrub shampoo and conditioner through her hair hard enough that it hurt. From there she reached for the soap and her long bath turned into a quick dip, the silence from beyond the door driving her mad. It was stupid. She knew it was stupid. He was right on the other side.

Willa jerked the stopper out from the drain and stood, wrapping a towel around herself and squeezing the excess water from her long, dark blonde hair before reaching for a robe. It was soft and she tied it around herself as relaxing evening drained away.

There was no point in putting it off. She moved the door and took a breath, steadying herself with a story to explain why she was not making sure that the one person she trusted in the entire world hadn't betrayed that trust by leaving her all alone. Once she'd settled on something reasonable enough she pulled the door open and stepped out into an empty room.

He was gone.

It felt like a kick to the gut. He was gone. He'd left.

Her breathing hitched as she half-stumbled into the room like he might be hidden away in a corner somewhere. There was no sign of anything left behind. He'd taken his scarf and the cap he had worn and he had left her to her decision. He'd gone back to Purgatory, so focused on whatever enemy he saw looming in the shadows that he couldn't see how much she needed him there with her that night. How much the woman that loved him wanted him there.

The room blurred around her and Willa blinked hard, hot tears sliding down her face and she let her knees buckle beneath her, sinking to the floor in a heap as she tried to drag air into her lungs. It hurt. It hurt to breathe and to think and to feel. Everything hurt and he was gone.

A click drew her attention and Willa turned back towards the door, finding it opening up and she pulled her robe a little closer around her, ready for whatever fight was about to come her way. A familiar face appeared, though, and paused in the opening, blue eyes meeting hazel. "Willa, what happened?"

"You left, you jackass," she managed to choke out.

She watched his expression shift to confusion to pain to regret. "I went downstairs. Hotels don't keep bubbles. Guess some might, I wouldn't know, but this one doesn't." He held up a bag. "But they've got a corner store with it."

"I thought you went back to Purgatory."

"You made it pretty damn clear you didn't want me to," he murmured, and she didn't miss the sharpness in his words.

Willa pushed back hard against the tears. She wasn't a weeper. She had never been a weeper. Damn the man. "Wouldn't want to lose your ticket out."

His eyes narrowed dangerously. "You know damn well that ain't why I stay."

"I know," she admitted softly and saw his stance ease a little.

Robert set the bag down and suddenly he was squatted down on his heels in front of her, reaching forward to thumb at the tears. "I wouldn't leave you," he said, his voice a little gentler, even if it was still rough and strained, and his palm came to rest on her cheek. "Not 'cause you're my ticket out. You know it's more than that, don't you? For me, it's so much more than that."

Willa swallowed hard, finding that intense blue gaze locked on her and his face just inches away from hers. When she found her voice again it was barely above a whisper. "How so?"

He leaned in, shifting to his knee in front of her, and then he was kissing her. It was warm and gentle, and she knew he was trying to tell her, but she needed him to say it. As they broke, as her eyes fluttered open again and she found him so close to her, her lips parted to tell him just that, but a sharp knock at the door drew both of their attentions.

Robert eased a little. "Dinner," he acknowledged, standing.

Willa loosed a shaky breath as he moved to let them bring it in and she picked herself up off the floor with as much dignity as possible. He'd ordered a nice dinner, the trays covered and a bottle of what she could only assume was nice wine on the cart that was being left behind as Robert handed the young man a few bills and shuffled him back out. He turned, lifting his hand up to run it along his mohawk and removing the hat again with it. He tossed it on the bed. "You hungry?"

"Starved," she said, not realizing it until that moment.

He worked at opening the bottle as she uncovered the trays, more than a little frustrated with it by the time she took it away and had it open in just a few seconds. He shot her a funny look and she shrugged. "You think Daddy just drank whisky?"

"Ward didn't deserve you girls."

Willa hummed noncommittally and reached for a plate. The steak was cooked just the way she liked it - funny, because she was sure that she hadn't actually had steak since before the Revenants invaded her home and her life had been turned more upside down than a future-Heir's childhood was anyway - and she took a seat at the little desk to start cutting into it, accepting the glass of wine that Robert handed her.

They ate in silence for several long, excruciating moments, Robert having taken a seat on the floor next to the bed and eating his own steak like he hadn't had anything in a week. It was possible, she supposed. He did forget to eat sometimes. And sleep. It drove her mad. The day the curse broke that was going to have to change or he was going to run himself into the ground more than he already did.

"Are you ready to tell me what had you so spooked tonight?" Willa ventured carefully, doing her best to keep her tone neutral.

Robert was staring at his food - or what was left of it - and he frowned deeply. She watched him turn over his phrasing and his approach, leaving her to talk herself out of sighing loudly until he pulled in a breath to speak. "There's always someone lookin' for a way to knock the man on top off," he said after a long moment. "The first sign for blood, of weakness. There's a few I keep my eye on. Some of 'em might have a chance, but most of 'em are just stupid. Red had been pitchin' a fit all afternoon. Drunk off his ass, nearly arrested in broad daylight."

"Damn," Willa breathed.

"I handled it. It happens. Red wasn't the issue."

"You said it was Jack."

"Yeah," he breathed out and she didn't miss the way he winced a little. "Jack's one of the ones I watch carefully. He… pushes. Like Lou used to. Doesn't get that you've got to give to get. All he wants is to get. Take, take, take." His teeth snapped loudly and Willa set what was left of her food down on the little desk and moved to sit next to him on the floor. Robert didn't look at her, didn't move, but she thought she saw the muscles in his shoulders ease just a little. It was easier to see without that giant coat of his on.

Blue eyes slid open and he pushed a breath out in the form of a growl. "We exchanged words, he didn't like 'em, we got into it. Long the way your name got dropped. Could be nothing, could mean he was gloating. That he had Revenants loyal to him going to the treehouse right then to grab you. To…" They closed again and she definitely saw him wince that time.

Willa shifted so that she was facing him, reaching her hand to touch his face and he leaned into it, almost nuzzling her palm. "I won't ever let 'em touch you again," he swore softly. "If it costs me everything, I'll keep them away from you."

Guilt worked its way through her and she could hear the rawness in his voice. She leaned in, her lips pressing against the center of his for a moment before they moved to the corner, then down, a kiss against the white patch in his beard and down his jawline to his neck. She heard him moan, feeling a hand come up to land on her arm, but she didn't stop, her own hand drifting up to start tugging at the layers of clothes he was wearing. He moved to help her and together they started stripping them away as she returned briefly to kissing his his lips, her hands traveling up under his shirt, ready to take that from him as well.

Robert pulled back suddenly, a pained sound leaving him and she froze.

Neither of them moved for a long moment, her hands resting against his skin and him leaned back against the bed, his head tilted back so that she could barely see the way his eyes were squeezed shut, lines deep in his face from the pain that she had caused. Willa swallowed hard, readying herself, and lifted the edge of his henley up to find long, half-healed marks across his torso. They'd been bad when the wounds had been dealt, from what she could tell, but his quick healing worked in his favour as muscle and skin knitted back together at a rate that a human couldn't dream of.

He'd said that that he and Jack had gotten into it.

"Robert," she breathed and that seemed to snap him out of it.

He sat up, his eyes catching hers. "I'm alright."

"Bullshit."

Somehow that pulled a smile out of him and he leaned forward and kissed her again. It was soft and gentle, those nimble fingers of his playing along the edge of her jaw as he drew her closer. "I will be."

"How often does this happen?" she asked, not sure she wanted the answer.

From the look in his eyes, she could tell he didn't want to answer. Even so, he pushed a long breath out through his nose. "Just depends. Things settle down after an Heir dies. Into a sort of rhythm, but like I said. There are a few. Jack won't be a problem for another few years now."

"What'd you do to him?"

"You really wanna know?"

"Yes."

"Broke his neck."

"Good."

He chuckled and settled back against the end of the bed. Willa shifted up to grab her glass of wine before joining him again on the floor. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders and she settled in, leaned half against his chest. She sipped on it and could feel his fingers teasing at her wet hair. She felt him slowly relaxing against her and she loosed a long breath. "Robert?"

"Mmm?"

"How am I more than your ticket out of here?"

Part of her regretted asking the moment the words left her. She knew that she was. If she thought he didn't care for her she never would have pushed him for a relationship. Things would have just continued as they were and she would have decided if she wanted to stay or go. Perhaps she could have come back for him when she turned twenty-seven, but it hadn't been that simple. It hadn't just been a friendship, and she had known she wasn't the only one that felt that way. It was in the way his features softened and the looks he didn't think she saw. It was in the touches that he immediately pulled back on and the way that Bobo Del Rey, the Revenant that could somehow convince a horde of demons to do what he wanted them to even against their own nature, had stumbled over his own words, unable to string together a simple sentence.

Like now. Just like now.

"My father died in the Civil War," he said very slowly after a long pause, and Willa nestled a little closer, listening intently to the rare story from his life before demondom. "My mother… never really recovered. She survived it, but in her own way I'm not sure she outlived him." He paused, his voice so soft that it almost didn't sound like him. "I asked her about it once, right before I left out from home. Asked her why she never married again if she was so lonely and she told me…. That swans mate for life. The moment she chose my father and he chose her, they were in it for life."

Willa let the words sink in for a moment, her free hand seeking out Robert's. He took it and her fingers wrapped around his.

"I don't think I'm any different, even now," he continued. "Wyatt used to give me hell 'bout women, but I…. I just never saw the point in somethin' that wouldn't last." He pulled her hand up to his lips, pressing a kiss against her knuckles. "The thought burning at my brain since I woke up in Purgatory after Wyatt died was to get free of this curse I didn't deserve. By any means necessary, I wanted free. Didn't put a lot of thought into what came after. Now… Long as I walk across with you, anything's worth it. I wanna cross it to spend the rest of my life with you."

She pulled back enough to look him in the eye. "I'm your swan?"

"Yeah."

"For life?"

"For life. I don't know how to do this halfway, Willa. If you aren't in all the way, tell me now, because I am."

A smile tugged at her lips and she nodded. "I'm in. For life."

She could feel him smile - that real smile that was so rare - as he pressed a kiss to the side of her head. "I love you."

"I love you too," she confessed, the words lightening the stress of the evening as she focused on his arm around her and the way he was still pressing his nose into her wet hair. "Are you going to stay tonight?"

"They can wait 'till the mornin'."

"Good. I don't want to wake up without you."

He mumbled something she couldn't quite understand and it may have been more of an affectionate sound than anything. He pulled back after a moment. "Is it really Valentine's Day?"

Willa laughed, shaking her head. "You're an idiot."

He chuckled and leaned down to kiss her again, the rest of the world and the struggles they faced melting away if only for one night.

[taylorwritesaboutthings]

sunburn

4-17

Monday was the first day since last year that the temperature reached 70 Fahrenheit, so I buttoned up my short jean dress, with a felt pin I’d just made as my star accessory, and left my unbrushed hair to match my mood. Before drawing class, I laid out on the beach with some friends, my pale legs reflective, trying to absorb the vitamin D and warmth. I think I ate a salad, but I couldn’t feel my hunger, only how crunchy the leaves were and how the slight breeze was making me cold. As I skid the front of my shoes on the slope of pavement, I kept hearing Mia’s advice, while ineffectively suppressing my expectations. She knew about the time when I belayed Adam at rock climbing and joked with him at painting class, so she suggested I give him a teasing poke on the arm. She specifically said on his arm muscle, but I cringed. Flirting seemed strange and irrelevant even though I hadn’t seen Ezra around him for a few weeks now. I didn’t know whether I could, or wanted to, be her anyway. But I rejected it as shyness, and so I was here, with my short dress and hopes. I found a piece of my hair tickling my elbow, so I bunched it up in my palm, then blew it away as a makeshift dandelion seed.

I really wanted some kind of comment from Adam, but as we stood behind our boards, sat along the crit wall, and in a circle for break, he was detached and ignorant of my costume. He seemed tired and more distant than I am most of the time, and I was friendly but slowly clouded over, sheltering my shoulders and mood with an off-white sweater. I exhausted myself from sweeping my hand across the drawing and from my habitual dancing that was probably annoying my neighbors. At least my pin was close enough to listen and empathize to me whispering the lyrics of a french song. I repeated “oubli moi” until I wrote it in a doodle’s speech bubble, then in black pen upon my forearm.

By Wednesday, I ironically rewrote the fading letters then kept my sleeves up in case I forgot about it. Mia happened to come by the nature lab during my shift, and noticed the phrase with a pouty expression. I self-consciously pulled my sleeve back down, hoping my pathetic mood wasn’t as clearly written. I was waiting to tell her, since she withstood all my overthinking and drama, but instead focused on pressing my xacto along a sheet without cutting myself. I didn’t lift my forehead and we had simple conversation about the first warm day and goosebumps from wind.

After circling the pantry the 30th time, I looked up from the black mark on my skin and found Adam at the waffle maker. He asked what I was up to lately, and I said cafeteria work (humorously) and that I like his shirt (genuinely; it was an earthy grey.) He grinned and placed his waffle at a table. A bit later he came over to the fruit station, and I appeared to be daydreaming with one elbow leaning near the baskets of oranges. I noticed his shirt coming towards me, but pretended to be carefully arranging the apples. He tapped my head quickly as if to surprise me, but he could tell he was caught and grinned at his failure. Out of instinct I gave a relaxed laugh, but still felt the tapping uncomfortably clearly hours after he finished breakfast.

I remained dizzy all the way through painting class. We attempted a few jokes, switched places for a better angle, he waited up for me during break, and we got blinded by the sun while eating our snacks. While we grouped with some classmates near the canal, I remembered Mia’s mission again; I was inches away from his grey shirt but miles away simultaneously. Ignoring it as best I could, I looked down at my elbow and wished I had never made a wish at all.

We had written crit that day as well, so we each took home our classmates’ notes on our piece. I deciphered which was Adam’s as soon as I sat on my couch; it was written in pencil (the one I lent him), with beautiful ‘y’s and a smudge of purple paint that I recognized from his pallette. Finally washing off the “oubli moi” in my bathtub, I tried to focus on the drips from the faucet that made perfect rings in the water, but the tapping was making louder vibrations.

I told Mia my whole day while she opened her eyes wide as if her imagination was unable to be seen normally. I was too tired to calm her down, and she convinced me to ask him out. He was only here a semester so I wouldn’t run into him again and the tapping would fade. My fingertips were far enough from my head, so they typed his name and sent a sticker, then followed it with a short message.

When he finally replied the next afternoon, I tensed even before opening my phone. He agreed, suggesting we invite Kevin, upon having ice cream with me as a break from weekend studio work. I rechecked my words and realized how vague I had been. I crossed my legs tighter and tried to convey that sweets aren’t really Kevin’s thing (they aren’t actually, he complains when he eats sugar) and we picked out a time in the afternoon. Supposing it was set, I queasily returned to my homework, distractedly petting an eraser with my pinky and gathering the shavings next to my laptop. I had four piles and ¼ of a power point when my phone lit up again. He wanted clarification, which broke me but I admired him for it anyways:

I’m sorry I’m tone deaf, you’re not asking me out are you? Because I’m not dating anyone or anything this semester. Sorry to be weird.

The predictable and obvious reaction was to cry all afternoon, until I was so weary I didn’t remember what I was sobbing about. I found the words on my arm again and called Mia so I wouldn’t have to see her in person. I could imagine her instinctive head tilt and shock-absorbent mass of hair as she reproached me over the phone. She accurately called me a baby, pointing out that he still has a beautiful face and still would hangout with me. Warning me from some experience I never knew of, she claimed that the un-date would be terribly awkward.

My first un-date was nothing as I feared. I accidentally directed us all the way to Wickenden to a place that didn’t exist, but he seemed unaffected and Providence felt smaller with agreeable weather and our constant exchange of information. Our backup option was frozen yogurt on Thayer, and the machine dispensed dairy tasted fresh like water after the sun and so many words had dried me out. We parted with a smile, and I contently returned to my room to do some chores. When I changed into my pajamas, I realized I got a blister on my toe and a sunburn in an X from my sleeveless dress. As I rested my shoulder against my mattress, I realized the tapping was gone, instead the stinging hugged me and lulled me to sleep.