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nurturercelia · 6 months ago

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Celia Rowe Robinson (Lashana Lynch) is a thirty-two year-old Therapist in Albany, NY. They were brought under Richard’s care when they were only fourteen. They are known as The Nurturer because they are warm-hearted but also restrained. Let’s see what choice they make regarding the fate of Woodrow House.

BASIC INFORMATION

Full Name: Celia Rowe Robinson

Nickname(s): Cee, anyone can use. She is not picky.

Date of Birth: July 1st, 1973

Age: 32

Occupation: Licensed Clinical Therapist, LCSW

Current Residence: A townhouse in Albany that she shares with her husband

PHYSICAL APPEARANCE

Hair: black shoulder-length, usually pulled back behind her ears (think of her Miss Honey hair in Matilda)

Eyes: dark brown

Height: 5' 9"

Notable Features: soft eyes, easy to feel safe around (she hopes), big smile. Used to feel insecure about it but has since learned to love it

PERSONALITY & BEHAVIOR:

Strengths: good listener, sympathetic, selfless, genuine, loyal

Weaknesses: sensitive, deflects, anxious as all Hell

Quirks: Celia will clean when she is nervous. She does not mind it, in fact, she finds the act of taking a space that was messy and making it new very satisfying. Growing up I imagine she would get quite stressed if she had to spend time in a ward's bedroom if it was messy, maybe even start picking things up without realizing what she was doing. Always cold.

Vices: Drinks: sometimes. Smokes/Drugs: no. Loves a little sweet treat. A Shirley Temple, a coke, a cupcake.

INTEREST & HOBBIES:

Interests: Plants/gardening, musicals (watching, not performing), tea, talking to strangers (she is the type to make a friend in line somewhere), audiobooks in the car

Hobbies: Celia loves a little keepsake!! She is a scrap booker and probably has everyone's baby teeth in a little bag (this is cute not creepy) that she hot glued to a page with ribbons and stickers. She WILL be buying an NYC snow globe or a Myrtle Beach keychain for the memories!!! She writes to all the wards pretty regularly and you always know the letter is from her because it's written in a beautiful script where the i's are hearts <3 and it's on thick patterned paper

BECOMING A WARD

tw: child neglect, suicide/suicide attempt

Gloria Robinson was quite keen to keep up with appearances. Despite being a single mother with a full-time job, she ran in intellectual circles that valued fellow scholars exchanging the brilliance of their own minds. Richard was included in this exclusive list of mostly Arts and Humanities professors at Kingsbury College. And young Celia would relish in the attention she was provided by them. She was the after dinner entertainment in the form of a little violinist, a wide smile practiced and rehearsed as she geared up for her solo. She loved the accolades that fell on her: “Great job, my dear” and “what a little Chopin you have!” and “someone ought to tell the New York Philharmonic about her!” Always the best ones coming from Richard. She wanted to impress her mother, to show her she could be useful in her mother’s pursuits. If she saw her with her head in a book, maybe she would be proud of her.

But everything changed just days before Celia’s 10th birthday. Moments before the start of a large party being held at their house, Gloria received a call that her brother passed. He ended his life when the recession tanked and took all of his stocks with it, something Celia’s uncle who worked in the city, urged Gloria to contribute to as well. The house grew silent. Frozen. Dark. The frequency of parties dwindled to fewer and fewer until they were a distant memory. Celia’s mother lost her job and the instruments turned into nothing more than firewood during the frigid winters when the heat got turned off; the lavish banquets turned to frozen peas meticulously distributed for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. There was no time to build resentment when her stomach rang louder than the screaming in her head. Falling into this role wasn’t a choice, but a duty. Who else would feed them while her mother sat stoic in front of the television all day?

And with only the two of them to fill that big house, it was only a matter of time before Celia found her mother had attempted the same fate as her late uncle. But now, Celia could do nothing to help. She was thirteen now, thinking of herself as a fully-fledged adult, or close enough to it. But no amount of force-fed dinners could let her escape what she saw.

It would be a month later that Celia would see her mother again when she emerged from the woods of their home, pajamas muddy from the overnight rain. Celia placed a bowl of soup in front of her spot by the TV--watery noodles and some seasoning--and cried.

Maybe it was the way Celia answered the phone when Richard called, voice far too hoarse and drained for one so young that drew Richard back after what had to be years of silence from the Robinsons. It was there he found little Celia, hair matted, trash piled up to the ceiling, the young girl finishing her daily routine of spoon feeding her mother lunch. It was Richard who suggested checking Gloria into a psychiatric ward, ("a quick hour away”) but Celia who ultimately agreed to it. After a failed attempt to find any information about Celia’s father, it was Richard who ultimately took custody of her. The news spread fast among their circles--those same voices now whispering things like “poor dear” and “how tragic” and “thank goodness for Richard, bless him.” It is here Celia learned not all attention was welcomed.

LIFE AS A WARD

After what she had witnessed, she was grateful for a warm bed and some other folks to talk to. In many ways, she felt a bit like a burden, a case Richard took on to clear his guilty conscience from his lack of contact earlier; something he owed her mother rather than out of the goodness of his heart. She did not think of him as a parent necessarily, for she had one of those, even if Celia could only see her for an hour every second Tuesday of the month during planned visitations.

Even so, she was thankful and showed it by always being respectful to all the staff in the house. She grew close with the mental health professional who came to the house every week, valuing the time she spent with the woman who could help her cope with her past. She knew what others said, remarks made in open and closed doors about her mother and she refused to let the rumor mill run even more because of her behavior.

AESTHETIC

TJ Maxx/Marshalls/Ross girl. She is sooo going to be obsessed with the Live Laugh Love sign movement. The inspirational quotes are everywhere in her office. She loves a mule or sling back. Comfortable but professional. Florals and lil pops of color. Her house is full of quilts and blankets, vintage dishware. Too many pillows on the couch, tons of cards stuck on the fridge. Absolutely NO overhead lighting ever. Always smells like vanilla.

EDUCATION

Celia chose to continue her education at Woodrow House, not yet ready to leave the other wards who so clearly needed her help. She would continue her studies there and use it as an opportunity to look after them for as long as she could. Celia's respect for Richard for all he has provided her runs deep, and she majored in Psychology at Kingsbury College for undergrad, Richard’s alma mater, as an ode to both him and her mother’s former place of work. She went on the complete her Masters in Social Work at Skidmore College, not far from Woodrow House, where she met her now husband. No matter how hard she might want to get away, there seems to be some sort of rope puling her back.

EXTRACURRICULARS

Celia tried to pick up a violin again--there was plenty of music around to study, but something about doing so felt off. It was hard to separate the instrument from the dark memories she had with it as a child. Still, she missed the feeling of creating something beautiful with the strings and the bow. She was introduced to the cello and found it to be different enough that she could play in peace. Richard and her mother's love of literature has also made its way into her. She found joy in reading to the younger wards as well.

THEIR LIFE NOW

Celia's wedding took place about three years ago--it was by a lake not far from Woodrow House, a convenient excuse to get the gang back together, whether or not everyone chose to attend or not. Celia and Michael started dating soon after they met in grad school and have been together since. The love they both used to feel for each other is clearly dwindling, and Celia finds herself clinging to the need to fix it herself more than she should. She likes having a husband, regardless of who that husband is, feeling like the first time in her life she should have something totally put together. Recently, she hasa been spending more and more time alone in her house, Michael's overnight shifts at the hospital seemingly going longer and longer. She has noticed a distance from him, but can't bring herself to face the truth.

Up until Richard's death, Celia remained close to Woodrow Houses in the townhouse she owns with her husband Michael in Albany for frequent visits to both her mother and those at Woodrow House. While Celia does most of the initiating, she makes sure to always keep up with the other wards, whether it is a letter or a call or a visit. If she doesn't hear from them directly, she will ask those who do keep up with her about what they know about the others. Selfishly, she needs to know that they are doing okay and will often call or write more than necessary just to double check. She keeps a spare room open in her house at all times and goes out of her way to make sure they all know her location in case they need a place to stay.

Her career can be quite draining, and she often finds it difficult to separate herself from the work. That is definitely being put to the test during her week at Woodrow with all the wards again.

HOW ARE THEY HANDLING NEWS OF RICHARD’S PASSING?

Deep down, Celia is quite broken over it. She thought she could handle death--she has pre-grieved the loss of her mother for more than half her life, after all. But dealing with it head on is another thing entirely. Much like when she was a child, she finds herself welcoming distractions, choosing to lose herself in helping others come to terms with their grief instead of dealing with her own. After all, she makes a living listening to other people’s problems, not sharing her own. Being a licensed therapist, she feels she is uniquely suited to handle everyone else’s feelings--the difference is those clients choose to see her once a week and then say goodbye. They pay for her to help them in one-hour weekly sessions and then stop when time is up. With the other wards, it isn’t that simple. They did not ask her for help and many have made it clear they do not want it, despite how desperately she needs to feel wanted.

WHEN WAS THE LAST TIME THEY WERE AT WOODROW HOUSE?

Celia visited for one of her scheduled dinners a month before Richard’s passing. She noted how he showed no signs of feeling ill, although she admitted she did not see him for much of the dinner and spent most of it catching up with Mrs. Tristan and Edward.

#celia: bio #gonna add to this soon but wanted to get something going for now!!

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princesssarisa · 2 years ago

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7 question ask: the Disney beast

Three facts about them from my personal headcanons.

He's either the younger brother or the nephew of the king of France. Therefore, he's not a crown prince and will never be king himself, but he will govern the region where he lives as soon as the spell breaks (which fittingly happens just as he comes of age).

His backstory from the 2017 live-action remake, with his beloved mother's death and his cruel father, doesn't apply to the 1991 animated Beast. The animated Prince Adam's parents both died when he was a baby, in either an epidemic or an accident, leaving the servants to raise him. Unfortunately, they always treated him as their master instead of a child, catering to his every whim yet maintaining a formal distance, and neither giving him the discipline nor the love he needed. This blend of spoiling and neglect is why he became so selfish and bad-tempered, much like Mary and Colin in The Secret Garden.

One detail from the 2017 remake that I like to think does apply to the animated version, though, is that the Enchantress's spell makes the outside world forget that Prince Adam ever existed. It's the perfect way to explain why Belle and her neighbors not only don't know about the Beast, but don't even know about the castle or the prince who lived there, even though he was cursed only ten years earlier.

A reason they suck:

His initial bad behavior.

A reason they are great:

His ultimate selflessness when he lets Belle go, even though (he thinks) it means he'll never be human again, and his mercy when he spares Gaston's life despite having nearly been killed by him.

A reason I relate to them:

I sometimes feel like a wild, messy misfit who struggles with self-control.

(what I consider to be) the top tier otp/ot3 for that character:

He belongs with Belle, no question.

Five things that never happened to the character that I believe should have happened:

There should have been a line or two clarifying that the biggest reason why he finally learns to control his temper after the wolf attack isn't "Belle ran away from him," but "Belle was almost killed by wolves because of him." Learning to be a better person so as not to hurt others, even indirectly, is a better reason, IMHO, than doing it so they won't abandon you.

He should have been shown practicing a method to control his temper. Visualization, a calming mantra, leaving the room, etc. Just showing him grit his teeth instead of roaring the second time Belle touches the hot cloth to his wound doesn't satisfy me: that's suppression, which isn't a long-term solution.

In the brief dinner scene before the ballroom dance, I would have liked it if he and Belle had still sipped their soup from the bowls, the way they did their porridge earlier. I know the fact that he's learned to use a spoon is supposed to show his progress toward humanity, but the earlier breakfast scene is so beautiful, a part of me wishes their compromise hadn't been just temporary.

He should have apologized to the servants for sacrificing their last chance to be human again as well as his own by letting Belle go, as he does in the 2017 remake.

While it's not really necessary, it would have been nice to see him meet Maurice again, apologize for the way their first meeting went, and win him over as a potential son-in-law.

Five people that character never fell in love with and why.

Mrs. Potts. She's too old for him and the closest thing to a mother figure he has.

Fifi/Babette. She's too flirty; he prefers more intellectual woman.

Mme. Armoire/de la Grande Bouche. She's also too old for him, and too flamboyant.

Gaston. Even if he were attracted to men, he wouldn't fall for his would-be murderer.

Any of the Bimbettes. He never even meets them.

#beauty and the beast #disney #the beast #7 questions

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amissingconstellation · 3 months ago

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sometimes i feel like the earth, being torn apart little by little by the tiny little beautiful meteorites and asteroids breaking through my atmosphere, because as they burst into flame all i can see is their elegance and magnificence, forgetting their regrettable end penetrating my skin.

other times, i wonder if i am a star in the heavens that isn’t worth falling. maybe i blinked out so long ago that on earth you do not even any longer see my light. and yet they still see the spot i held and bubble with some hatred for the insignificant.

we could’ve been botched souls who filled in the gaps within each other, but every time i find someone as such they only tear more from me to fill in the gaps within themself. i have begun to behave the same towards those i care about, in some desperation to do it before they do it to me, to hurt us both before they can, to fill in the gaps before there’s nothing left.

and maybe there is nothing left of substance. maybe, even, i am the one who has hurt and hurt all along. maybe i burnt out and imploded, and i was significant enough to create a black hole, and maybe it started sucking them in with me.

i am no longer responsible for things i said at seven years old, why should they be?

why shouldn’t we be?

what purpose do we have in a universe where in the end, everything will implode and explode and become one and nothing? what purpose are we meant to have when we are destined to die? what purpose must we have if we are doomed to dream in every simulation of death? do they dream of me, at least? is it happy?

the world was meant to be an orb of hope in the dark, flushed green and bright and full of wonder. we should love, be loved, have love. we should be one with all things and all people. but instead we take and take and take. i no longer dream of concrete jungles and towering glass skyscrapers. when i dream, i see a warm quilt, a messy bed, and my own wrinkled hands. i see a kitchen, a library, a garden. i do not see any youth of mine apart from those i have passed it down upon, those i have come to nurture.

in my dreams, i am not an adventuring, botox-filled, mid-twenties woman, venturing through countries full of concrete, poverty and war. i do not yearn for desperation or hopelessness. in my dreams, i am not a thirty year old mother, desperately grappling onto money that has already become worthless and an unhealthy amount of jobs for me and my child. i do not yearn for emotional neglect or apathy. exhaustion.

i want to grow old. i want to live somewhere still green, thriving, bright, beautiful. i want to know my neighbours. i want to love my friends. i want to forge my own family. and i want everyone to love each other.

despite the wounds we have suffered in our past, i believe that continual hatred for everyone is unfounded. yes, perhaps i do find solace in imagining a specific person suffering. do i want that for everyone? no. but in my new-old world, where we are all loving and kind, would they have a place? if i had to take everyone, or no one? of course.

and i know this doesn’t fit all crimes. some people need to get what they deserve. but when everybody loves each other, there will be a very special place for those people. they just have to wait and see.

#vent #rambles

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omegawolverine · 4 years ago

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Braid Me a Home

summary:

"Braid my fucking hair, Theseus. Braid it.”

It had sounded like a plea falling from Techno’s chapped lips, blood caked under his nails as he sat in front of Tommy on a tree stump, slowly itching at his wrists.

“Wilbur told me to stop you if you ever started doing that-”

“Wilbur isn’t fucking here. Just...braid, Toms. Braid.”

A story about the Sleepy Bois being family, told through braids.

word count: 2.5k

warnings: child neglect, hurt/no comfort, canonical character death, implied/referenced mental health issues (like it’s obvious but there isn’t much detail to it), brief blood mentions (ik this fic sounds kinda angsty as hell but its not? imo its light angst)

a/n: first dream smp fic and im ALREADY projecting? christ. anyways. go easy on me pls this is far from my best work i just havent written a fic in like 5 months (more if you dont count the fucking chat fics) mm also i may have posted this like a week ago on ao3 just to test the waters and its already gotten way more comments and kudos than any fic of mine usually gets this early on so hopefully tumblr enjoys it too :]

—

When Wilbur Soot was born, he came out crying, as most babies do. Covered in vernix and blood, he weighed just barely above the seven-pound mark, gasping out sharp cries that only a parent could truly stand, or worse—love. Though he was the second baby born into the family that day, he was fussed over far more than he would ever be again.

Technoblade, on the other hand, had barely made a sound when he came out, a trail of blood smeared across his forehead, almost as if it was meant to be there. He made small noises that were more akin to confused mumbles, weakly grasping at his father’s hair when he was eventually passed on for the second child to be welcomed into the world.

Only when both boys were held in their father’s grasp did Wilbur quiet down, his soft head leaning into his father’s beard as he stared wide eyed at the boy across from him. Though they looked similar enough, Technoblade’s nose was squished further back into his face, appearing almost snout-like to Philza. Of course Wilbur noted this, wiggling until their father somehow managed to get them pressed right up against each other with minimal damage done. Though Techno never stopped squinting like an annoyed old man at Wilbur, he allowed the other to press a fist against his nose, his eyebrows unfurrowing just the slightest bit at the touch.

From that day on, Philza was the father of two twin boys—a loud boy who cried easily, but always calmed down for his older brother, and a rather monotone one, who’s face seemed to be permanently stuck in a scowl, unless said face was being smushed around by the younger. And things worked like that for a while. Not forever, but...a while.

—

Philza taught Wilbur to braid on a hot Monday afternoon.

It had been a rough day for the boy, though Phil hadn’t a clue why. Maybe he had just woken up on the wrong side of the bed? Or maybe he hadn’t slept enough between bedtime and the time Tommy had started crying again, the youngest boy’s crib being right beside his head and all. Though it might’ve seemed cruel from an outsider’s perspective, Wilbur had been the one to ask for it. Something about Tommy being his little brother and how he needed to teach the boy the ways of the world in the same way Techno had taught him—because apparently that was all Techno’s doing now, not Phil’s.

Regardless, Wilbur had been a bit too snippy for Phil’s liking that day, complaining about every little thing they did until finally, the day was over.

Well, as over as it could be with Techno leaving mid foam sword fight, an annoyed shout of ‘I quit!’ leaving his mouth before he snatched up Tommy’s carrier and brought him inside for god knows what reason.

It had only been around four P.M. by that time—too early for dinner, yet too late for Phil to really demand the boy stay outside and continue to entertain himself with a brother who was clearly not entertained himself.

Details aside, Phil isn’t really sure how they got to braiding. He just knows at some point they did and by the end of their outside time, just before the clock struck six, Wilbur had made two thick, messy braids in his hair. They stuck out awkwardly, looking all too similar to Pippi Longstocking’s iconic hairdo for his comfort, but he’d be damned if he took out the braids his son had so happily rushed inside to show his older brother before demanding to do his hair as well. After all, Wilbur didn’t have long enough hair for braids, but Technoblade sure as hell did. It was only at his shoulder blades back then, brunette curls wrapping around his narrow shoulders and thin arms like thick vines.

Wilbur had always enjoyed brushing it out with his fingers and putting cute, handmade clips or flowers in it at random, decorating the waves for his brother who was more than happy to let the boy do as he pleased. Though he would never admit it, Technoblade liked how it felt when Will played with his hair. He was always careful not to tug too hard, prioritizing the comfort of his other half more than the beauty of his work, as he so often referred to it.

So when Will had presented him with the mess that was his first two braids, he wasn’t hesitant at all to let the boy practice on him. Instead, he walked to the couch with a small smile, removing his glasses gently and getting comfortable before his brother plopped down into the space behind him. Long legs draped over long legs with no warning, thighs pressed together as if they were meant to be like that all along—and they might as well have been, for how often they did this.

Phil had watched them from the doorway in content silence, Tommy sitting behind him in a wooden high chair looking bored, but not making a fuss for once. And as he left that doorway to begin dinner, he listened to their muffled conversation and soft bursts of laughter with a small smile on his lips, for he knew things wouldn’t always be this way. They would have to grow up eventually, and when they did, things would change. Phil could only hope it was for the better.

—

When Tommy turns nine, Wilbur teaches him to braid under circumstances not too different from the ones he had learned under himself.

Well. Not too too different.

Philza and Technoblade had been...busy as of late. In the house for three days, out for a week, in for a week, out for three more, over and over and over again. Wilbur had become more like a father to Tommy in recent months than he should’ve been, his fourteenth birthday fast approaching as their father took Techno out for yet another job, one that Wilbur couldn’t come on because he was too fucking weak to do anything Techno could do, too fucking stupid to learn all the techniques Techno did, lacking all the strength and agility his older sibling possessed, like the useless prick he was-

Right. This is about Tommy.

When Tommy was nine, his hair rested gently against his collarbones in the exact same cut and color as their father wore. If Wilbur was a lesser man, he would’ve hated the kid for it, but it wasn’t his fault that he couldn’t see what a selfish git their father truly was yet. All he knew was that their dad was busy a lot and that, for some reason, Techno needed to go with him. Apparently, that was enough for him to keep holding onto the idea that one day, the man would stay longer and maybe, just maybe, show him some of the same care that his older brother did.

If Wilbur was a better man, he would tell Tommy the truth. He would tell him all about the way Philza had called him useless in a fight, forcing him to instead stay home and care for a child while still being one himself. He would mention how Philza had given him no instructions on how to care for a developing child, how he left out key details to parenting on his own as a goddamn thirteen-year-old, yet remembered to tell him things would be better this way because god forbid he does his fucking job as a father for anyone but Technoblade—

Who he missed. He missed Technoblade, his other half, so fucking bad it hurt sometimes—so bad it left him gasping for breath at two A.M., his head pounding in tandem with his uneven heartbeat, lungs burning as his snot and tears soaked into his brother’s cold, cold sheets. And it made him feel fucking pathetic because the truth of the matter was that...Techno had left him behind too. Still, he couldn’t bring himself to hate the older boy, no matter how hard he tried. Couldn’t hate Philza either, if he were to be honest with himself, but it was a lot easier to pretend he did when his father was the one putting them all in this position to begin with.

So, Tommy was nine when he learned how to braid.

Phil had promised him and Techno would be back Tuesday morning.

It was Wednesday afternoon.

Tommy didn’t fucking understand, and as frustrating as it was that the prick decided to take it out on Wilbur, he couldn’t blame him. Who else was he supposed to take this shit out on? Certainly not the man who had yet to return.

Wilbur had started the braid as a way to distract him. It was simple, really—tell him you know something he doesn’t and that he won’t get to know if he doesn’t sit the fuck down and listen.

When he had started tugging the boy’s hair back from his face, his immediate reaction was to jerk away, swatting at the hands that hovered over his shoulders. This only happened once or twice more before he let it happen naturally, his posture stiff as Wilbur ran his fingers through the boy’s hair with practiced ease.

Though it may not have seemed like it, Tommy was significantly more averse to touch than Techno had ever been. The only reason Techno even seemed averse to it was because of his hesitance to initiate, something he and Wilbur had discussed in depth. Rejection was one of the few fears Technoblade truly had and Wilbur held that fact close to his heart, ready to die with it if need be. Tommy, on the other hand? He was very particular about where and when and why someone was touching him, and it had taken Wilbur a long time to get used to that fact. But, he wasn’t about to make his little brother uncomfortable just so he could be happy and, eventually, he learned the ins and outs of how to touch TommyInnit without causing issue.

Pulling a few of the shorter strands towards the front of Tommy’s face loose, Will separated the blonde’s hair into three sections. They were rather small, what with how thin and short his hair was, it just barely being long enough to even have a proper braid in it, but Wilbur knew he could make it work.

“Now, Toms, you gotta listen to me here, because I can’t show you this bit, yeah? Phil and Tech aren’t here, and my hair is too short, so you’ll just have to feel it out for now, but...this is how you braid hair-” Wilbur had said in a soft voice, brushing the pad of his thumb over the boys neck slowly to ease the tension out of his shoulders. The effect was immediate, the boy slouching forward as if he had just noticed he was holding himself so sternly. Smiling softly, Wilbur instructed him on how to weave the strands together, answering questions and pulling lightly at Tommy’s hair so he could feel exactly where everything went. After he was done, Tommy had reached back to feel the bumps in his hair, all his earlier anger seemingly gone as he gave a small smile. And then he tried it himself.

Of course he got a bit of help at first, Wilbur’s larger hands guiding his own with gentle corrections, but after that Tommy worked on it alone, his older brother watching in silence from a patch of grass beside the porch step.

That night, Tommy and Wilbur slept in Techno’s bed, a soft, blue blanket wrapped tightly around them. And if another body woke them up at some point that night, shoving its way into the mess of limbs, their chest pressed right up against the youngest boy’s back, then that was only for them to know.

—

At eleven years old, Tommy takes a pair of scissors to his hair. With flushed cheeks and salty lips, his hands shaking and his eyes foggy, he cuts, cuts, cuts, until he can no longer braid his hair—until he can no longer look like fucking Phil.

Even though Wilbur had once said he hated Tommy’s long hair—hated how similar he and their dad looked—he felt like crying as he ran his fingers through the uneven strands. He didn’t tell his brother this though, instead grabbing his face and planting a wet kiss on his freckled forehead. In a fierce whisper, Wilbur had said, “I’m so fucking proud of you, Tommy. So fucking proud.”

Tommy never forgets the way he felt that day. He doesn’t forget Wilbur’s words either.

—

When Wilbur loses his last life, Technoblade tells Tommy to braid his hair.

It wasn’t a question either, but a demand forced out between gritted teeth, his face red, his nose stuffy and his lashes wet with unshed tears. Still, his words were clear as day.

“Braid my fucking hair, Theseus. Braid it.”

It had sounded like a plea falling from Techno’s chapped lips, blood caked under his nails as he sat in front of Tommy on a tree stump, slowly itching at his wrists.

“Wilbur told me to stop you if you ever started doing that-”

“Wilbur isn’t fucking here. Just...braid, Toms. Braid.”

Tommy sniffled, but did as he was told.

Maybe it was because he was too tired to argue with the only person he even had left. Maybe it was because he could tell Technoblade was mad at their father for the first time in his life, and he knew how bad his first time had felt. Or, maybe, it was just because he knew Techno fucking cared. Nobody else seemed to, but he knew Techno did and...that was enough for him.

As long as someone else cared—as long as it was fucking Technoblade—that was enough for him.

Just as Tommy had finished the braid, curling his finger around the light pink tail that tied the whole thing off, Techno yanked it forward. Before he could even register that the hair had left his hand, the older boy had taken an axe to the top of it, letting the rest of his hair fall around his face in uneven curls. Though it was a good ten minutes of work wasted, Tommy couldn’t say a damn thing as he watched Techno pocket the braid, muttering a thank you and heading in the direction of Wilbur’s unofficial grave.

In that moment, he felt relief for the first time in a long while.

—

Wilbur Soot was born covered in vernix and blood, weighing just barely above the seven-pound mark, and he came into the world much like he left it. Everyone had heard his cries—even if they weren’t there, even if they didn’t know him well—they had saw the way he spiraled, desperate and afraid and paranoid, searching for help, but never receiving enough.

And though he was the second child born, he left the world first, returning in a yellow sweater with a small braid tucked behind his ear. He didn’t really know why he had one, but he remembered braiding Techno’s hair and he remembered teaching Tommy how to do his own and he remembered, he remembered, he remembered the braids.

#dream smp #/dsmp #dsmp #sleepy bois inc #sbi #tommyinnit #wilbur soot #technoblade #philza #ph1lza #fic #fics #fanfic #fanfiction #the dream smp #shit self #dami writez #/rp #dsmp fic

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anonniemousefics · 4 years ago

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The Nine Terrifying Moons | Masterlist

Based on the response to this post. :) Oh, yes, we’re doing the thing.

Cross-posted to AO3.

Fandom: The Folk of the Air | Jude + Cardan

Chapter One: The First

I am trying to keep my hands from shaking while I’m holding the test strip. There’s one pink line, and I’m waiting to see if there will be two. I think I already know the answer, but I’m holding my breath like it’ll make time go faster anyway.

If I ever imagined this moment, which I don’t remember ever doing, but if I did, I would have imagined it like the commercials that would run in the background when my mom would watch tv while she cooked dinner. If those were to be believed, I was supposed to be in an all-white, pristine, upper-middle-class bathroom, gasping with tears of joy while I hid my pearly white smile behind trembling fingers. My partner would be hugging me from behind, elated and definitely not about to make any crude jokes about the virulence of his sperm.

None of this is happening.

I am in a Target bathroom stall, surrounded by Target-red walls. Cardan, my husband and the High King of Elfhame, is on the other side of the red walls, trying to distract himself with the automatic paper towel dispensers. He’s waving his hand in front of it every couple of seconds; I can hear it each time the motor dispenses paper. I wonder how long of a trail he’s created at this point, but it’s the least of my worries.

“Cardan, you’re wasting paper,” I tell him anyway. He does it again once more; I can practically feel his petulant glare through the wall.

“How long is this meant to take?” he asks.

“It’s only been thirty seconds,” I tell him. “It takes two minutes.”

“I will die of old age by then,” Cardan mutters to himself, which I know he finds funny, because he’s immortal, and he waves his hand by the paper towel dispenser again.

I think I’m going to have a nervous breakdown.

Cardan had not been keen on this particular trip to Target, which is saying a lot, because he’s usually so fond of it. He had wanted to cut our trip to the mortal world short, head back to Elfhame and its royal healers and midwives and have me submit to their inquiries and tests, as all queens and lovers of the High Kings of Elfhame have before me.

But I just needed a minute to think. I needed to process this, with Cardan alone, and face the impossibly difficult questions we’ve been avoiding since this became a question. And if this is true, if I really am with child, with Cardan’s child, I don’t want the first people to know to be a bunch of faerie midwives. I want to tell Vivi and Heather. I want Taryn to know first. And I am filled with loathing when I think about how protected and insulated I’m about to become when the healers and midwives know. How the people will cease to see me as their High Queen and rather as the incubator for their Prince.

I want to eat an entire pint of Ben and Jerry’s. This is all happening so fast.

I glance back at the test strip. Stand and flush the toilet. Step out of the red walls.

Cardan’s raised his dark eyebrows, his hand arrested halfway to the paper towel dispenser again.

“Well?” He looks guarded, unsure of how he’s supposed to be reacting. I hand him the test and step up to the sink, turning on the water to wash my hands. I can see him in the mirror behind me, in his tight pants and boots, The Ramones T-shirt he’s borrowed from Vivi. He’s turning the test over and over in his hands, like he can’t tell which way is up. Same, honestly. My head feels like it’s detached from my body.

“It’s yes,” is the only dumb thing I manage to mutter as I soap up my fingers. Just like the commercials.

“How can you tell?” Cardan’s only looking more confused.

“The two lines.” I turn off the water and tear off part of Cardan’s paper towel train. “The two pink lines mean yes.”

Cardan looks up at me. His chest is hitching in shallow breaths.

“We should be celebrating,” he says, but it comes out like he’s trying to convince himself. So he tries again, squaring up his shoulders with a bit more enthusiasm. “We should be celebrating.”

“Mhmm,” I try to agree with a tight nod. I think I’m going to be sick. Again. Cardan searches my face, his gold-rimmed eyes flitting over the lip I’m worrying away at.

“You do not appear to be particularly celebratory,” he points out, but, then, neither does he. His cheekbones are tingeing red.

“It happened so fast, don’t you think?” My voice sounds almost breathless. It feels like a relief to point out, and that relief is contagious. Cardan’s shoulders sag a little bit as he lets out a breath.

“Lightning fast,” he agrees. He’s white-knuckling the pregnancy test.

“Careful -- I peed on that,” I point out, and, as if I’ve instead told him it’s on fire, Cardan hurls it into the trash with a disgusted huff.

I think for a moment about fishing it back out again, the only bit of evidence that I have that what’s going on inside of me is real. That the legacy we wished first wished for together in the dark, in each other’s arms, not even a month ago, is happening now and fast and there’s no going back. The time for second-guessing was over.

But a disconcerting combination of nausea and hunger hit me in the gut all at once, and I’m reminded that I have plenty of evidence and I’m only going to get more. If I really want to, I’ll just pee on another stick later.

“I need Starbucks,” I spout at the same moment Cardan sighs, “I need a drink.” And we share a quick smile.

At there’s still this. This has not changed.

And I should be enjoying that as we leave the bathroom and Cardan lifts the glamour he’d left at the door to give us some privacy. The “Out of Order” sign vanishes. But instead, I’m thinking of everything that is going to change. Of everything that ought to change, immediately, if at all possible.

I find myself unconsciously reaching for Cardan’s hand, and when I grab his palm and entwine our fingers, he’s squeezing mine back, hard. He knows. The worries and arguments past are resurfacing in his mind, too, and, for a moment, he wordlessly anchors himself to me.

We’re walking past customer service, following the alluring scent trail of coffee and baked goods, as I began to look at the other moms shopping. Their cute messy buns and their athleisure, pushing expensive strollers while their kids gnaw on the season’s latest teethers. And I’m struck, once again, by how much I don’t know.

Really, what are we doing here? Of all the people in all the realms, I think we are the last two people who ought to be becoming parents.

For one, I am an unrepentant murderer. Raised by an unrepentant murderer. Who murdered my own mother in front of me. This is not a person who ought to be cradling newborns.

And Cardan? The twice-cursed High King of Elfhame? Raised by house cats, beaten nightly by his own brother. Simultaneously spoiled and neglected. Is such a person even capable of cradling newborns?

And we’re about to be parents. I need to be reading more, I think. I need to have a plan. We never made a plan. We hadn’t had time to make a plan.

I pause a moment near the checkout lines, pulling Cardan to a stop beside me.

“I’m going to buy a few things first,” I decide in that moment. “Vitamins. Maybe some parenting books.”

“I don’t see the point,” Cardan retorts, straight-faced. “We have plenty of house cats.”

I narrow my eyes up at him as he smirks.

“That joke will be hilarious in a few weeks,” he tells me. “Just you wait.”

“I really doubt it,” I frown, and he’s still smirking when he drops my hand, stepping in front of me.

“My darling Jude,” he cups my face in his hands, and for a moment, his face is all I’m seeing. His expression is soft and tender across his beautiful features, and if our child is even half as good as looking, I am going to struggle to not let it have its way in all things. Or I’m going to want to strangle it. Some days, it’s a coin toss.

“You are the most fearsome and glorious creature I have ever had the privilege to behold,” Cardan is telling me. I’m struck once again by the marvel that he can’t lie and what he is saying must be true. In our five years of marriage, it is still sometimes hard to believe.

“And you will be the most fearsome and glorious mother,” he goes on. “I could not conjure up a more perfect mother for my offspring if I tried.”

“I think that says more about your lack of imagination than anything else,” I quip, but my cheeks are smiling in his hands regardless. He smirks back and quickly kisses me on the lips, once, twice.

“I am happy at this news,” he reassures me, as if he has sensed this whole time how overcome I am.

“I am, too,” I say, and I mean it. Truly. I’m a mixing bowl of emotions. My gaze drifts toward the store. “But we do need parenting books…”

Cardan kisses me quick one last time before releasing my face.

“I will procure your coffee,” he says, taking a step back, and it’s impossible not to look him over, his long, lean body in tight, black pants and worn t-shirt, his messy, black curls around the points of his ears. I have modern science to thank for keeping my womb empty these last five years. Chastity certainly had nothing to do with it.

“And Cardan?” I call after him. He turns. “A cake pop, too?” I ask, already in the clutches of a craving.

He looks intrigued.

“Is that what it sounds like?” he asks.

“Ball of cake on a stick,” I explain, kind of gesturing with my hands as if it will help. Cardan nods, determined.

“Then we will be needing several,” he declares before heading off toward the smell of coffee.

I shoulder the bag I borrowed from Heather and then stuff my hands into the pockets of the yellow sundress I’m wearing, one of a few mortal things of my own I keep at Vivi and Heather’s for visits. I’m on my way to the books section when I start to slow down near a display of newborn onesies.

It isn’t as though I never wanted to be a mother. I supposed there would come a day when I would have acquired all the knowledge one needed to be a mother, and then I would, I don’t know, award myself a medal or a pin and be declared Ready.

Taryn hadn’t been Ready. She would be the first to admit that. Not that I don’t love my niece with my entire heart. But Taryn’s daughter was a handful. Little Eva had been colicky and prone to getting her days and nights confused. For that entire first year, every time we saw Taryn, it seemed she faded a little more: the bags under her eyes greying, her auburn hair growing longer and frayed, everything but her breasts shrinking in size. Of course, it wasn’t permanent. Eva learned to sleep eventually, and to walk and eat and use a toilet, and, now that she was a robust and energetic five-year-old, Taryn was more like herself than she’d been in years.

Still. That first year, though.

Time and time again, Cardan and I would exchange glances while Eva squealed and squalled. It was always a silent No, thank you, please passing between us. We’re just fine without, thank you. Between the battle for the crown and undoing a curse, we’d had quite enough excitement, and so I eagerly welcomed Vivi regularly smuggling me little moon-shaped packets of pink pills from the mortal world. I took them each morning, like clockwork, with relish – it meant I could enjoy my freedom, our freedom as long as I wanted.

I’m not sure what happened in me. One day, I was calling it freedom. The next, it felt like an empty vessel.

We’d gone to visit Taryn and Eva at their estate for a summer solstice brunch. Vivi and Heather had come, and The Ghost was there, too, swapping stories and laughing with Vivi. I’d stepped out onto the terrace to call in Eva for food when I’d spotted Cardan. He was helping Eva climb up a tree, holding her hand while she balanced on a branch. Her wild fox hair was blowing in the late morning breeze that carried her giggle up to the house. Then she leapt at him with a delighted squeal, and he caught her and spun her around so that she squealed some more. And that look of sheer joy on his face when she did. His unguarded laugh echoed up through the grassy hills. I felt my heart crack open.

No, thank you, please suddenly felt very unadvised.

“What have I done to deserve such a face?” Cardan asked me, leaving a lingering kiss close to my ear. I guess I was looking a little amorous when he and Eva came inside. Little Eva was trotting off to the kitchens as I wound my fingers against the buttons of Cardan’s doublet, keeping him close for a moment longer.

“You looked happy,” I said as his hands slid around my waist. I looked up into his dark eyes, warm only for me, and saw he was smiling. “You looked like you liked doing fatherly things.”

He pulled me a little closer, a little tighter.

“I think I did,” he admitted, perhaps hardly believing it himself.

And then it happened. The unspoken shift, the change in the air. It seemed to crackle in the space between our gaze, and it took a fair bit of restraint to not pull him into the nearest coat closet and tear off his clothes. Taryn was calling us anyway. The servants had set the table, and no one would be seated until we had taken our chairs, even in this little family arrangement. Taryn was set on Eva learning courtly manners by example.

Courtly manners. By example. Taryn had the best intentions for Eva, but the phrases make me snort even now while I peruse baby clothes in Target. What example did we set in Faerie? One of murder and deceit and betrayal and lewd behavior.

The same day that I’d watched Cardan play with Eva, he abruptly ended dinner in the palace’s great hall to hoist me into his arms and carry me out, away from every one’s gaze, away from even the guards.

“What has gotten into you?” I kicked my feet and pounded at his shoulders – not particularly hard. Look, I’m not going to pretend this isn’t a game now. I could cause damage if I wanted to. I don’t.

Cardan set me on my feet, only to seize my waist in one arm. We stumbled into an alcove in the wall as his head dipped to my neck, his other hand catching us against the wall. Delighted shivers danced down my arms as his lips brushed the spot below my ear, and I couldn’t hold back a gasp.

“You couldn’t lie to me now even if you wanted to, wife,” Cardan murmured, kissing my ear. He wasn’t wrong. I ran my hands up his deep blue velvet doublet to his shoulders, and bent into his embrace. His hands began to roam my waist, my hips, pulling at my skirts.

“I’ll tell you whatever you like if you’ll keep doing this,” I whispered back, flushing. When he pulled back from my throat, there was a wicked, sneaking smile on his reddening lips.

“You don’t despise the thought of bearing my children,” he said, like it’s a revelation. I blinked. Had he been thinking about our previous exchange all day?

“I despise the thought of bearing any children,” I clarified. “It’s not some honor unique to you.”

Cardan gasped as if he was wounded.

“You could not have cut me deeper,” he teased, as I wound my fingers into the soft hair at the nape of his neck. “I thought I was special.”

“You are,” I said, tugging at his hair. “Because if I’m to bear any children at all, I would like them to be yours.”

The smile that spread over his face then was far from wicked. Cardan was flushed and delighted in a way few got to see, and his arms squeezed around me, lifting me to him as he crushed his lips to mine.

“Cardan,” I laughed against his fevered kisses, my cheeks hurting. “I didn’t mean right this second.”

His lips were swollen when he pulled back, the pupils of his gold-rimmed eyes blown wide.

“Then practice with me,” he said, his breathing ragged. “Like swordplay. You’re always saying I’m rubbish at practicing.”

“You really are,” I gasped against his mouth.

In the last five years, I’ve grown no better at resisting the pull of his desire. If anything, I’m only worse. I couldn’t think straight there in his arms. I wanted to drown in his contagious idealism. I wanted to be set aflame by his soft lips and his body against mine.

With my arms thrown over his shoulders, his lips slid against mine, over and over, our hearts pounding in time together. And then he lifted me off my toes so that he could push us both through our bedchamber door.

A shoe slipped from my foot, and he stumbled over it, kicked it to the side, without releasing my waist. Only when the back of my legs pressed against the bedframe did he pull back from my mouth, breathless. And then he pushed me back onto the bed.

I stretched out on the lush duvet, my whole body thrumming as my heart battered my ribcage. But when I looked up at his face there at the foot of the bed, his expression had darkened in the candlelight.

“What is it?” I pushed myself up to my elbows. “Why are you stopping?”

Cardan suddenly looked as if he was at war with himself. Even though his chest still heaved, he inched to the bed and stepped back again, his dark brows furrowing together.

“Cardan…?” I sat up, alarmed at his hesitation.

“Do you think I would be any good at it?” he blurted out. “At being a father,” he clarified, and winced as if he already knew and hated the answer.

I slid to the edge of the bed and reached for his belt. Pulled him closer.

“You are as equipped for the task as I am,” I said, looking up at him with what I hoped was a provocative smile. He slid his long fingers into my hair, and I needed him closer. “If you’re terrible at it, then I will probably be worse.”

I meant it in jest. He’d always liked this side of me before, my dark, warped cruelty. But this time, his fingers tightened suddenly in my hair.

“Shit.” The word slid out of him like it was being dragged. His hands dropped from my hair, and he stepped back to look at me. He drew in a sharp breath.

“You think I would be a terrible father,” he said, which was hardly fair. That wasn’t what I said at all. I sighed hard, ruing the direction this was going – further from the bed.

“I think neither one of us knows what a good father looks like,” I said. Cardan only gave a painful chuckle.

“We are both quite familiar with terrible fathers,” he said. “I think you, of anyone, would be able to recognize a terrible father when you saw one.”

“And that is the last time you will compare yourself to Madoc,” I said, in horror. “If that is the standard for terrible fathers, then you’re angelic.”

But Cardan gave me a look of slit-eyed skepticism, so I stood from the bed and stepped to him.

“And, really, what does it matter right now?” I asked, lowly, holding a hand to his face. He leaned against it. I was almost ready to start begging. “I am not falling pregnant tonight. We have time to learn these things, if we want to learn them at all.” I lifted onto my tip toes, brushing my lips to the hollow of his cheek.

“Just come to bed,” I whispered there, and I saw his eyes fall shut, his dark lashes against his sharp cheekbones, as he turned to meet the slant of my lips.

“I want to be good at it,” he murmured against my mouth, as I dragged him toward the bed.

“Then you will be,” I insisted just before he cradled the back of my neck, sinking into our kiss as we tipped toward the mattress.

We have time. It’s an easy lie to tell when you’re in Faerie. Time stretches on, limitless and unending. There shouldbe time, endless amounts of time, to learn all you need to know – about anything. There should be time to become the person you’d always wanted to be.

I had had two months since that first conversation. Even less time since the others. In Faerie, that’s hardly a lunch hour.

I am reeling. I’m in Target with a red basket full of prenatal vitamins and snacks and pregnancy books, and I am absolutely reeling.

After I check out, I find Cardan sitting on the curb with a Starbucks bag that’s the size of a large gift bag and two venti Frappuccinos. The one he’s nursing is strawberry-pink and looks full of cream.

“They didn’t have wine,” he tells me, handing me mine. It’s drizzled in caramel, and I’m not sure it’s what I would have ordinarily chosen, but right now, it smells perfect.

“Probably for the best,” I say, and hazard a glance at his expression. It’s dark and troubled again as he squints against the sunlight. His legs are drawn up, and he’s resting his elbows on his knees, like he’s hunched under a weight. Reality’s given him a hard jolt since he kissed me in front of the newborn onesies.

I take a long sip of the Frappuccino through the green straw.

“Cardan, if you don’t want to do this--” I start, and his head jerks up.

“I have always wanted this,” he snaps, looking defensive, and then he’s looking at his boots again.

“Okay.” I sit back, extending my legs.

How do I do this? I have no blueprint for this. Floundering, there’s only one rope I know to pull, the one that’s always saved us: honesty.

So, I go on.

“I’m terrified, too,” I say. I spread the yellow fabric of my sundress over my knees. “If that’s any consolation. I think I’ll be happy eventually, but right now, I’m completely freaking out. I can hardly form a coherent thought. How many cake pops did you get?” I cock my head at the large Starbucks bag.

Cardan shifts it in my direction.

“All of them,” he says, glumly.

I raise my eyebrows as I peer in the bag. Oak will be excited, at least.

“I hate myself for being so terrified of a thing I desperately want.” I look up at Cardan’s confession to see his face twisted in loathing, and my heart twists right along with it. I know this pain, the agony of fearing what you love.

I could lie to him; I probably should. I should tell him right now that I know without a shadow of a doubt he will be a perfect father, that he’s beyond everything that had been done to him, that none of it had ever touched me either. But I don’t lie to him anymore.

Instead, I hand him a cake pop.

“That strikes me as a waste of energy,” I say, and nudge him with a coy smile. “There are so many other things you could hate yourself for.”

He gives me a wicked smirk and, instead of taking the cake pop I’ve offered, he seizes my other wrist and takes a large bite out of the one I’d claimed for myself. Feigning exasperation, I stab at him with the leftover stick.

“Does this not strike you as problematic?” he asks a moment later, his cheek still full of cake.

“Yes.” I reply with a stoic nod. “The fact that you just ate a pregnant lady’s cake pop is both striking andproblematic.”

“I mean this repartee you and I enjoy.” He wipes at a bit of icing at the corner of his mouth with his thumb. “A child ought to know his father loves his mother and vice versa, should he not? I would think that sort of thing helps.”

I feel the heartbreak behind his words as if it were my own. In his mind, he’s now on an endless search for every moment in his childhood that went wrong, every little action he ought to do the opposite of. I know. My mind’s been doing it, too.

I scoot a little closer, nearing his warmth, so that I can lean against him. He rests his head on top of mine.

“But you’re my nemesis,” I say, softly.

“Jude,” he says it like he’s scolding. “Not in front of the children.”

“Do not say ‘children’.” I jab him again as he presses his lips to the top of my head. “Your wishes are too powerful, and there is room in here for only one.”

Cardan’s slipped an arm around me, and I tilt my head back to look at him. The corner of his mouth is tugging upwards, slyly.

“Tell me I’m too powerful again,” he murmurs as he kisses my cheek.

“Later,” I promise, and I reach for another cake pop.

There will be time for all that later.

It’s a lie I get used to telling.

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Tags. Let me know if you’d like to be added to the tag list.: @yellowavocadopit

#jurdan #jude x cardan #the folk of the air #the cruel prince #the wicked king #queen of nothing #post-qon #fanfic #fanfiction #jurdan fanfic #tfota #jude duarte #cardan greenbriar #jude x cardan fanfic

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lov3nerdstuff · 4 years ago

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Voluptas Noctis Aeternae {Part 6.5}

*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, blood, violence, trauma, neglectful families, bullying, cursing

Words: 6.3k

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

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Five minutes to one thirty, the beginning of defense class. Robin sauntered towards her second row seat with a sigh, dropping down with a smile. Not even half an hour until something would be happening at last, and she already couldn't wait anymore. The entire day had been filled with little but guessing what would be happening, with anticipation and giddiness. Good thing that Morgan wasn't here yet; at least she could keep smiling for another five minutes before it would bring her into a vulnerable position. Or so she thought.

"Hey." A hoarse voice sounded from right next to her, and Robin jumped on the inside, however not even remotely on the outside. At least for Morgan's classes, she always plastered on her thickest facades, and that was her luck now. In an instant Robin turned her head to who was now sitting next to her, surprised to be spoken to at all, and her eyes fell onto the last person she would have expected. Alexander Downing.

For a moment, she just frowned at him in silence, unsure what to say or even if to say anything at all. She hadn't really spoken to him ever since he had stopped bothering her somewhere in her earlier years at Hogwarts, and he had never made an attempt to converse with her either. Until now.

"Uh, I heard it's your birthday today, is that true?" He asked after a moment of awkward silence, with a nervous half smile. Robin's frown only deepened in confusion. What advantage would he gain out of that knowledge? Little… so it was safe to answer.

"It is." She replied neutrally, in her best facade, politely and calmly but without any hint of emotion. Those she had enough on the inside. This surely wasn't what was supposed to happen in half an hour, was it? No… she couldn't imagine that.

"Happy birthday, in that case." He smiled at her, a crooked smile that conveyed enough nervousness to make Robin question his intentions even more. Just out of instinct, or should she call it habit, she held onto her backpack a little tighter, kept tension in all important muscle groups and always had an eye on her surroundings. Whatever he was trying to distract her from, she wouldn't be fooled.

"Thank you." She said though, with a polite but cold smile in return.

"I, uh… do you mind if I sit here with you for today's class?" He asked after another pause, balling the fabric of his trousers in his fists only to release it again a second later. "I forgot my textbook and I thought perhaps… we could share for today?"

Robin wanted to say no. Everything within her said no. "Certainly." Damnit, brain! If only she had the heart to be mean now, for her own sake. But somehow she could only ever be mean in return, never the one to start.

"Thank you…" He let out a relieved breath and another nervous laugh. "I really wasn't sure if you would be willing to."

Instead of giving a verbal reply, Robin summoned her book out of her bag, then placed it on the empty desk in between them. Another minute of silence passed.

"You know, I… uh…" He started again, and Robin dutifully turned to give him a suitable amount of her attention, eyebrows risen. "You have a pretty flower in your hair."

"I am aware. Thank you."

"I'm not good with flowers, or plants in general… but you're really into herbology, aren't you?"

"I deem it highly useful as a study of ingredients for potion making."

"Ah." He said awkwardly, looking down at his desk for a moment before he got out parchment and quill at last. Scribbling the date on top. "So, uh… potions, huh?"

"What about potions?" Robin frowned at him in question and still hugged her backpack to her chest. What exactly did he want from her? Uphold a conversation? Ask for tutoring? He most definitely wasn't sitting here because of a forgotten book.

"You liked the subject before? Or did you… I mean, do you take the N.E.W.T potions class?" He inquired, tapping his quill on the parchment in a way that almost smudged the entire page. Robin shuddered inwardly.

"I continued potions class, yes. It is my favorite subject."

"Cool…" He nodded to himself, turning back to his desk. It was absolutely obvious that he wanted to say something, Robin could tell even without looking at him. He made an attempt to start speaking a few times, subtly, in the belief Robin hadn't noticed. Only when the clock told them it was time for class to start, he finally found his voice again. "Uh, look Robin, I… you…"

"I am listening." She said, once he stopped with a frown to scratch his neck, but she kept looking at him in cool consideration.

"You are-..." He was cut off then by Morgan, who came sauntering down the few stairs from his office.

"Good morning, class! Beautiful day, is it not?" The professor smiled brightly and feignedly as ever, and the usual bunch of girls in the back rows started giggling. Robin groaned under her breath, rolling her eyes when nobody was looking, and then went back to perfect neutrality. Less than thirty minutes. She could do that.

… … …

Honestly, she couldn't focus. Fifteen minutes had passed, crippled away in a slow death, and every new minute had felt longer than the previous one. If Morgan made any more useless comments just to hear the girls in the back fawning over him, Robin would hit her head against her desk until either broke into pieces.

Twenty minutes into class… oh bloody hell, waiting was painful.

Twenty one… She had already read the chapter they were being introduced to now, and it was dreadfully boring to hear it all again, at a pace even the last idiot could follow.

Twenty two… Alexander next to her was actually taking notes of what Morgan said. Robin hadn't even bothered getting out parchment and quill in the first place.

Twenty three… His handwriting was messy. Not the nice kind of messy that held a certain aesthetic of knowledge and experience, like Snape's, but the kind of messy you would expect from a child in kindergarten.

Twenty four… The stupid paint on her face was starting to itch, and she had been dying to rub her eyes all day, only to be reminded by her subconscious mind that she would smudge the entire makeup thing.

Twenty five… Morgan was demonstrating a spell, but Snape had shown Robin a far better one that did the same thing, when they'd talked about the current dada subject in the lab three nights ago.

Twenty six… A tap on Robin's shoulder. She turned around to look at Melody Sparks in the row behind her. Gods, she couldn't believe that she had actually lived with that girl for over three years. Luckily that was long over now. Alexander turned around to the girl behind them as well.

"Hey jay…" Melody sneered with a crude grin. "Cute flower you've got there. Did you steal it from a graveyard?"

Robin gave her a cold glare for a moment, one of the kind that conveyed a bone deep chill, and Melody actually did look mildly frightened. Content with the reaction, Robin turned back around, even if the sight of Morgan wasn't any better.

"Alex!" Melody said quickly, before the boy could turn back to the front as well. It didn't need more than that one word for Robin to know that the girl was head over heels for him. Geez… she had no intention to get involved in any of that. "Alex, do you wanna hang out later?"

"Uh, I…" He croaked out, looking from Melody to Robin and back. Robin didn't look at either of them. "Sorry, Melody, but I really have to study for… charms."

Melody scoffed and leaned back in her chair, and Robin's neutral indifference took on a slightly more humored tone.

Twenty seven… Robin's heart picked up speed in anticipation once again. Three more minutes until precisely two o'clock. What would happen? Would anything happen at all?

Twenty eight… Alexander turned to Robin once again, with a nervous frown on his face.

"Uh, Robin?"

She returned the gaze expectantly and with seemingly more attention than she actually was willing to give him. But pretending to listen was a skill she had acquired long ago.

"I know I wasn't always nice to you and… all that… but look, I don't care what people say about you! You're not as terrifying as everyone claims, leave alone as obnoxious!" He said, and almost stumbled over his own words while he made small tears into the page on the desk in front of him. Robin didn't know what brought her more discomfort, his words or that maltreatment of parchment. "Actually… I think that your mysterious and… kinda scary demeanor is rather... attractive? I mean… crazy is kinda hot, right? Eh… I know that the others make fun of your hair, or… or call you a corpse because of your skin tone, or joke about where you got that scar from… but I don't mind at all! So… I was just wondering if you'd like to… you know… study with me, sometime?"

Twenty nine… Couldn't he have waited another freaking minute with… whatever he was doing here?! Robin felt overwhelmed, more insulted than flattered, and thus she simply stared at Alexander with a frown. Was he trying to mock her? Because nobody could seriously believe what he'd just said to be a compliment. Honestly, she hadn't known half of what he was saying, hadn't heard a word of it, for people usually didn't dare to insult her straight up. That was only left for Morgan to do.

"Am I boring you, Miss Mitchell?" The man in question asked sharply as he stepped up to Robin's desk with a piercing glare.

"Yes." She replied without pulling a face in the slightest, as she merely turned to look up at him with her perfect neutrality as always. Around her, the classroom burst out into whispers and snorts, quiet laughter even. Morgan looked entirely appalled.

Thirty… It was two o'clock at last, and Robin's heart skipped a beat. She ignored Alexander's questioning looks as well Morgan's angry glares, they both didn't matter right now, for she had no intention to make friends nor enemies today. The seconds ticked by, slower than her heartbeats… she was prepared for anything, anything that wasn't nothing. And just when Morgan moved to unleash his wrath upon her, the door finally flew open with a start.

A spate of billowing black took over the room, followed by a wave of immediate silence and attention, and Robin had to clench her teeth to keep her face neutral instead of grinning like an idiot. What Morgan couldn't do with a hundred words, Snape did with his mere presence. It was a feast for Robin's pride in her allegiance.

"Severus!" Morgan actually seemed to be just as startled as most of his students, and no less intimidated by the dangerously grave expression on Snape's face. "I… I'm in the middle of a sixth year class. Is whatever brings you here important enough to warrant such a… sudden disturbance?"

"Obviously."

"What is it I can help you with, then?" Morgan raised his eyebrows in a ridiculous gesture of defiance, which was the last thing Robin saw before he moved to stand with his back to her. That put him right in between her and Snape, as if blocking either from the other, and Robin couldn't tell if he was doing it intentionally or not, and even less to whose benefits his actions might be in that case.

"The headmaster wishes to speak to Miss Mitchell. I ought to see to it that she finds her way to his office… immediately." Snape replied tersely, and every single thing about his demeanor conveyed the gravity of the issue. "And for her not to let fear dictate her actions."

Robin's heart stopped for a second; had she actually done anything wrong? He knew that she wasn't scared of anyone but herself… and he very well knew that Morgan was the last person she wanted to know of her weaknesses. So why that last sentence? Let fear dictate her actions? Then it dawned on her: play along, Snape had said this morning. And playing along she did now, blindly trusting him in this act as she put on her best frightened face. A dash of guilt, a layer of despise… the perfect 'bloody hell I got caught' facade.

Admittedly, she had previously worked very hard on her indifference around Morgan, on the irradiation of any visible weakness, but if Snape deemed it important to change that strategy now, she would trust him with it and play along indeed. He was the true master of deceit, after all, and he knew of the recent increase in her troubles with Morgan. Perhaps that's what this all was about, a change of strategy to deal with him. She would have to ask Snape later.

Morgan moved a step to the side then and looked at Robin just in time to get a good glimpse of her best act. His lips immediately curled into a dark grin that was dripping with bitter spite. "Look at that, the little songbird has finally been caught. One can only hope you don't lose your voice when they put you in a cage."

His words sent a cold shiver all the way along Robin's spine, and while she didn't let that get to her for real, it served her to step up her act even more. With huge, frightened eyes she looked up at the two men in front of her, making herself as small and fragile as possible. It contradicted everything she had tried to display before, everything she was and had done until minutes ago, but still it was terribly easy to play the part now. And while Morgan basked in her feigned vulnerability, Snape's grave expression actually gained a subtle touch of hesitation. Not enough to be known, by far not, but enough for Robin to catch.

She averted her eyes then as she grabbed her book off the table painfully slowly, sighing inwardly in relief when she rose to her feet and held her backpack in her hands in front of her. The act was pathetic, but obviously necessary for some reason she was yet to understand. But at least the situation allowed her to withdraw herself from both Alexander and Morgan, as well as from the room overall. The entire class was still dead silent, and when she subtly looked around at some of the faces, all she saw was pity. They might not like her much, but obviously nobody despised her enough at this point to wish her a fate like the one she seemed to be facing. Little did they know that Snape had come as her salvation, not as her doom. But he did play his part magnificently indeed, and when he pushed Robin out of the room by her shoulder without another word to Morgan, she had to remind herself for a moment that she wasn't actually in trouble. Hopefully.

… … …

The heavy door fell shut behind them and they were alone at last, out of sight with a mere few steps along the hallway. Only then Snape stopped pushing her ahead of himself, dropping his hand from the top of her shoulder to the small of her back as he came to walk next to her instead. The touch left a burning trace along her back even in its subtlety, eradicating every bit of cold Morgan's words had left behind. Robin let out a long but controlled breath as they sauntered down the hallway next to each other; she didn't know what to ask first, so perhaps she should start with the obvious.

"That really was a save in the last second…" She said with a half smile directed at the man next to her. He still looked upset, but his lingering touch on her back was a good indicator that he wasn't upset about her, at least. "I'm not really in trouble, am I? Because you surely are very convincing in your resentment even now."

"You are free of any admonition… It is Morgan who concerns me."

"Why? What's with him?"

"Does he always speak to you in that manner?"

"Not all the time, but it isn't unusual either." Robin shrugged with one shoulder. "He seems to take great delight in my suffering though. Not just academically, but in seeing bad things happening to me in general. Remember the one time I got knocked into a wall during his class? About two weeks ago?"

"You mentioned it, yes."

"He actually smiled the entire time while I was crippled on the floor and hardly able to breathe."

"And you expect me not to be concerned about that?" He frowned at Robin, steering her into a hallway to the right.

"Well… I told you it's been getting worse since the beginning of the year. So in a way, you could say I'm concerned as well. But more for my nerves than my health; that man is mental torture!"

"Either way, today's… theatre should keep him at a distance for a while." He mused with a small sigh that was both annoyed and hopeful at once. An odd combination. "Say, was any of that real?"

"What do you mean?"

"Were you actually quite so… terrified?"

"No. Uncomfortable and a little annoyed perhaps, but not scared." Robin replied with a growing smirk. "You couldn't tell if it was feigned or not? That has to be a new personal best in my acting skills! If I can make you believe it, I can fool anyone."

"I rather hope you will not test that theory. Especially not on me."

"Don't worry… All you see is sincerely me." She smiled at the accidental rhyme for a second, then her brows furrowed ever so slightly. "Why did I have to play that pathetic, terrified girl though? Why destroy the perfect indifference I have actually managed to make him believe? Why today?"

"Damion Morgan is the kind of person who will torment you until he believes you to be broken and subdued. At this point, your only chance to be left alone is to make him believe that he has won at last."

"But I don't want to surrender to him! I'm not scared of him or whatever he'll do to try to drag me down. I can handle him." Robin protested mildly, even if she understood his reasoning very well. "You were the one who told me to be better than him, so why do you want me to just give up now?"

"I'm not asking you to surrender and give up, but to pretend that you do. I know that you could very well drive him to insanity without an actual effort, but I ask you to make him believe that he has the upper hand."

"But why? I can handle him!" Robin asked in almost a whine. She had fought so hard to be better… to let Morgan run into walls no matter from which side he tried to come at her. She had always succeeded as of yet, sometimes with more losses than gain, but she had always stayed on top. And now Snape wanted her to give all that up? "I'm just annoyed by him, that's all. I don't care if he laughs at my pain or makes scary comments about my impediment demise."

"But I do." Snape said so sincerely that a little bit of Robin's resistance melted away immediately. "Please, Robin… Pretend to surrender."

"Everybody will believe me to be vulnerable if I pretend to be! What if, in addition to Morgan, everyone else starts picking on me again as well?"

"Why do you have to be so ridiculously stubborn?!" He grumbled and rolled his eyes at her, but at the same time his fingers dug into her back just a little bit more. It sent a new heatwave through her body immediately. "You do not have to be vulnerable or submissive in order to let him believe he has the upper hand! Use that brilliant mind of yours, you can find another way to fool him into thinking what we want him to think."

"I don't know…" Robin sighed, and before she knew, he had stopped her in her track and turned her around to face him. Another heatwave.

"Do you want me to beg you?!" He asked while his eyes dug soul deep into hers. "Because I will if that is what it takes. You need to convince him that he has the upper hand."

For a moment, Robin's heart stopped beating and time froze to a stillstand. She had never seen him quite so desperate about anything, even if it was still hidden under a layer of composure that was surely exhausting to uphold. Why did he want her to make Morgan believe he had won quite so badly? It didn't matter… not really.

"Alright." She said in a quiet voice, sad eyes holding his gaze. "I'll lay low. Pretend to surrender. Neutrality has barely worked up to this point; perhaps your approach will prove more successful."

"Thank you!" He rolled his eyes exaggeratedly, then his hand found Robin's back again as they continued on down the hallway, as if nothing had disrupted their walk in the first place.

"Sorry…" Robin breathed with a small spark of guilt nagging at her conscience. She'd really been rather difficult about this, especially when he just wanted to help her. She had even asked him to help her with Morgan! And obviously he took that task seriously.

"I would rather you scrutinise me than blindly follow any order." He replied with a sigh. "And as for your question about why today, I thought it would be obvious enough, on the surface at least."

"Enlighten me."

"It is your birthday. I was under the impression that you would rather spend it anywhere but in Morgan's classroom."

"Oh, definitely the right impression!" Robin chuckled, and finally the smile returned to her face with the sound. "I was stuck between Morgan's wrath and Alexander's… I don't even know."

"Alexander Downing?" Snape quirked an eyebrow at her in clear distaste for the subject. She couldn't blame him.

"Unfortunately. He was sitting next to me, as you probably saw, because he wanted to share my textbook. But then he kept on talking to me." Robin rolled her eyes now, still feeling irritated by the boy's odd behavior. "It was awful."

"What did he want? I haven't seen you two… conversing before."

"Because we haven't! And I honestly don't know what his true intentions were; he was nervous the entire time and his words left me no wiser."

"What did he say?"

"Well, first he…" Robin stopped in her sentence for a moment, considering if she really wanted to tell Snape what Alexander had said, in all its irritability. Oh to hell with it, why not? "First he said that - and I’m quoting here - I'm 'hot' despite being terrifying and crazy, in his opinion. Then he said people make fun of my hair and my complexion, and finally he asked me if I would fancy to study with him some time. I have absolutely no idea how his mind could even try to put that into a coherent, logical statement."

"Have you considered that he simply might be… interested in you?"

"Interested in mocking me, yes. But I rather think he was trying to get me to help him with his homework, you know, by flattering me. Or what he imagines to be flattery anyway."

"Either way, it makes me believe that my entrance was indeed a… save in the last second, as you put it."

"Yes! Absolutely!" Robin laughed, and when she looked up at Snape, she saw a not-smirk playing on his lips as well. Always a reason for her own smile to brighten inevitably. "So… now that you saved me from a horrible class, a madman and a teenage boy, where exactly are we going?"

"Precisely where I said we were going. To see the headmaster."

Robin's eyes widened in an instant, and her heart skipped a beat in a subtle touch of anxiety. "But… you said I wasn't in trouble!"

"You aren't. I do not lie, just as you don't."

"Then you're confusing me on purpose, already for the second time today!"

"And did the first time end so badly for you?"

"Well-... No." Robin sighed with an exaggerated eye rolling. He was insufferable when he was right.

"In that case, you might want to consider simply trusting me." He replied with a smug expression and a small smirk, and just from the sight of it alone Robin had to smirk as well. Whatever he was up to, it certainly wouldn't end to her disadvantage.

… … …

Robin was the first to enter Dumbledore's office after knocking and not getting a reply. Snape had told her to go in anyway, and he followed shortly behind her himself. While he closed the door, Robin walked ahead, scanning the crowded space for a moment and letting her eyes travel over the obscure objects she had never really had the time to inspect. This place was like a miniature version of the room of hidden things… so much to wonder about, yet so much to frown upon. Eventually her eyes fell onto the sorting hat high up on a shelf, and she stared at it for a moment before turning back to Snape.

"Is the sorting hat just collecting dust up there all year until the beginning of a new term? Or does it have any other purpose than that?" She asked in a quiet tone that just seemed appropriate for the thick silence of the office. Before Snape had any chance to answer her however, a different voice did just that in his turn.

"I am not a useless piece of decoration, Miss Mitchell." The hat grumbled, and Robin jumped around to stare at it again. No matter for how many years she watched the sorting ceremony, she couldn't get used to a talking accessory. "And neither am I an accessory!"

Behind her, Snape let out a humored huff that threatened to make Robin smile as well, hadn't it been for the hat who still gave her the chills.

"You have nothing to be amused about, Severus Snape!" The hat addressed Snape and Robin's eyebrows rose in surprise. Now she did smirk indeed, and it immediately drew the hat's attention back to her. "Neither have you!"

"Well… uh, sorry." Robin said with a small frown directed high up at the hat. "I… we… didn't mean to insult you. But you can't really expect us to know any better if all one sees of you is the sorting ceremony."

"I see you haven't let your house taint your candour in the least." The hat replied in a tone that made Robin frown even more. "The little girl I placed in Slytherin has risen to her grandeur indeed."

"What do you mean by that?" Robin inquired and crossed her arms over her chest while she felt Snape's presence coming closer behind her. She liked that they were on the same side of the conversation for once. And she liked that he was having her back.

"I mean that the girl I placed in Slytherin was by far not a perfect fit for the house of the serpent."

"Then why did you do it?" She asked, trying to keep her voice neutral instead of letting on how the air seemed to vanish out of the room. "Why place me in a house you don't think I belong into?"

"You need to listen more carefully; I said the girl I placed in Slytherin did not belong there. I never said you do not belong there now." The hat replied in an almost scolding manner. "I placed you in your house not because of who you were, but because of who you were going to be. Who you are now."

"That doesn't make any sense. You said that the house hasn't changed me, and yet I didn't belong here before I was who I am now. You have to see how that's contradictory, don't you?"

"The fact that you do not understand it as of yet does not make it any less sensical. Placing you in Slytherin was the necessary thing to do, and it is more obvious now than ever." The hat stated in such a certainty that Robin didn't know what to reply, so she left the talking to the odd piece of clothing. "A mistake made in the past has been corrected at last."

"But-..." Robin started, however she didn't get further when Snape's hand returned to the small of her back and he leaned in close enough for her to hear his words.

"Arguing with the hat is pointless. It will never reveal to you what it does not want to be known." He spoke quietly, and his breath fanned against the delicate skin of her neck in a way that sent a pleasant shudder through her in an instant. Hopefully the hat didn't read her mind now, out of all times… that would not only cause her trouble, but be terribly embarrassing as well.

"Please excuse my delay, I was kept busy by an urgent owl from the ministry." Dumbledore's voice from further down into the room startled both Robin and Snape for once, and in an instant there was an ineffable amount of space between them again. She surely hadn't imagined the whole thing now, had she? There was no time to dwell on it, for Dumbledore was a man who demanded the full attention of everyone present, and now was no exception to that.

"Headmaster." Snape greeted politely, with a hinted nod in acknowledgement. "Thank you for agreeing to hear me about my inquiry."

"Now, Severus, that certainly is nothing to thank me for." Dumbledore smiled that stupid small smile again, and Robin couldn't help deeming him just as deliberately inconcise as the hat had been. The thought lingered only until he turned his head to look at her however. "Miss Mitchell, what a delightful surprise to see you. Given the chance, I would like to wish you a truly happy birthday."

"Thank you." Robin replied with a half smile. "I appreciate that."

"What a lovely flower you have there… A gift, I presume?" The old man raised his eyebrows at her almost knowingly.

"Not a gift." Robin replied quickly as she dropped her arms to her sides to at least somehow demonstrate a subtle touch of confidence. "Merely a point proven."

"I see." Dumbledore's smile widened for a moment, then he went back to his constantly mild facade. "It suits you rather well, if I may say so."

"Certainly you may. Thank you."

"Headmaster, I would like to ask for your permission on an issue of importance to me." Snape finally said, changing the topic as he most definitely picked up on Robin's discomfort even if he stood a good four steps away now. Gods, she was glad for that talent of his.

"What issue?" Dumbledore turned to look at him, releasing Robin from his focus and she honestly felt grateful for that as well.

"I would like to take Miss Mitchell on an… excursion this Saturday." Snape said ever neutrally, and Robin's heart skipped a beat. He wanted what?! "She has made remarkable progress in her studies of uncommon substances, and I would like to give her the opportunity to test one of her theories at least. Under my supervision, of course."

Robin merely blinked at Snape at first, stunned to silence, then she looked over to Dumbledore with no less surprise and back to Snape at last. He actually wanted to do this? Together with her?! Sure, she was aware that he had liked her handbook, he'd told her that much without words even, but she hadn't known that he deemed her studies worth this effort and trouble.

"Is that so?" Dumbledore smiled at Snape first, then at Robin. "How many theories do you have?"

"How much time do you have?" Robin returned in a huff without thinking, and out of the corner of her eyes she saw the not-smirk on Snape's face. When she looked at him in a silent question, asking 'should I?' with her gaze alone, he replied an unmistakable 'yes.' the same way, and Robin's lips tugged into the slightest smile upon their ability to understand each other even without words. Especially without words. Then she summoned her handbook out of her backpack, and walked the few steps to Dumbledore's desk to place it in front of him.

The headmaster looked partially amused, partially surprised when he pushed his reading glasses up his nose and started scanning over the many pages filled with Robin's writing, drawings and cutouts. For a few minutes he flipped through the book carefully, much to her appreciation, until finally he returned the journal with a sincere smile and a small nod.

"Impressive. A thorough and professional study indeed." Dumbledore mused while Robin moved back to stand next to Snape, a good step closer than before, but she could always blame it on coincidence. "I could not say that I know even half of these matters half as well as you obviously do."

"Thank you." She finally replied, giving the headmaster a nod in acknowledgement before she moved to store her journal back in her backpack. "I have been working on this for a while now, but I haven't been able to verify any of it yet."

"Which, precisely, is why I want to encourage the effort to do so." Snape added not even a second later, and they both looked at Dumbledore expectantly, who however only smiled at them for a moment in return.

"Did you two plan this inquiry ahead of time?" He asked with a sincerely humored expression, observing both Snape and Robin with a carefully considering gaze.

"No." Both of them replied at the same time, upon which their heads turned to look at each other in an instant and synchrony. Robin bit her lip to keep from smiling, which only worked partially however when she saw Snape’s surprised face.

"Either way," Dumbledore said with another sincere smile, "I believe your wish to encourage Miss Mitchell in her studies to be justified, Severus. I very much approve of your inquiry, and I would like to encourage it even. Take all of Saturday, both of you. Perhaps you could bring back one or another specimen for the greenhouse, if your excursion should prove any of your theories correct."

"Thank you, headmaster." Snape was first to reply, back to stoicism as ever.

"Yes, thank you!" Robin also added, even if it hadn't been her inquiry in the first place. But it was about her, after all. "I'm sure we can find something new for the greenhouse."

"I have no doubt you will." Dumbledore returned with a nod, and leaned back in his chair at last. "Good luck to you, but do be careful. Straying off the common path proves a risk at times, even for the most… accomplished witches and wizards."

Both nodded, and after saying their polite goodbyes, first Robin and then Snape left the headmaster's stuffy office to skip down the narrow spiral staircase until at last they were back in the hallways.

"So…" Robin started with a small smirk as they were once again sauntering through the empty space. "You couldn't have told me of that plan beforehand?"

"Would it have changed anything?" He quirked an eyebrow at her. "Besides taking away from your suspense and my amusement?"

"No… not really." She chuckled in return. "May I consider this as a gift then, at least?"

"Yes."

"In that case, thank you very much. I already can't wait for Saturday."

"As… reluctant as I am to admit it, I am rather looking forward to it as well." He sighed, but it couldn't lessen the fact that his subtle smile was obvious as day to Robin. Her heart soared at the sight. It didn't even matter that he was probably looking forward to some practical research rather than to spending time with her, but either was perfectly fine in this case.

"And now?" She finally asked, leaning her head to the side as she looked up at him. "There's still twenty minutes of class time left, officially."

"In that case, we perhaps should see to it that we get out of the castle before the students flood the halls." He mused as he returned her gaze with a humored expression. "Care for a walk?"

"Obviously." She grinned as she finally swung her backpack over her shoulders where it belonged. "I take it then that you're not returning me to Morgan's purgatory? I'm surprised. Professor..."

"As if I would even consider that in the first place… I am the only one who may torment you." He rolled his eyes at her exaggeratedly, but with a not-smirk nonetheless. "Happy birthday, Robin."

______________________________

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terradisirene · 4 years ago

Text

Recently I saw an essay about how Hima’s portrayal of the Italy brothers was racist and xenophobic, in addition to being poor and one dimensional, and I couldn’t agree less.

Link to google docs version

Also although I prefer Romano I honestly think North Italy is a interesting and well developed character although that is easy to miss for some. Both of them are developed and shown wonderfully in canon and I continue to be eager to see more. In this essay I will show why I believe their portrayals are well done and how they are accurate to the situation in Italy as well as to it’s history and culture (That being said if you prefer a different interpretation that’s fine, there can be many different narratives)

North Italy does seem at first glance to be more talented, kind, and politically inclined. However this is not the entire story. Likewise Romano seems more rude and undesirable, but this is not everything in canon regarding him. In one strip Romano is noted to have a good deal of potential by Prussia and Germany, showing that he can be hard working and talented if he makes the effort. In the strip where Romano goes to America he also is quite confident in his cooking talents which America is actually impressed by. In another strip America even calls his cooking the best, and Romano himself is in later decades proud of his cooking, showing that yes he is good at things, and yes he is talented.

The problem is is that Romano does not have to motivation often to use his talents and work ethic. There are many reasons for this that Himaruya both states and alludes to. Firstly Himaruya states that being owned by various powers had a negative effect on Romano and that mismanagement by his rulers lead him to seem lazy since their mismanaged ruling rubbed off on him. Basically political control, corruption , and mismanagement stymied south Italy’s growth, which is true depending on the era and time period and true regarding modern day. Also in one strip after Romano makes an effort to work hard, but all his efforts come to nothing and he eventually grows resigned. I believe this is a reflection of the fact that there is an attitude among some south Italians of resignation towards politicians and things improving for themselves, such as shown in the song La Citta di Pulcinella (translation). Himaruya also touches on this when he notes the harmful affect the Mafia has on south Italy in his notes and even laments that fact.

Basically Romano has the potential to be just as good as north Italy but is unable to be because of historical circumstances and due to the harmful effect of corruption. Romano’s rudeness and lack of evident kindness and cynical worldview is also a result of this as he has been at the mercy of the mafia both in real life and in canon. Hima notes his cynicism is due to the harmful effects of the mafia and how they have hurt him . Romano in my opinion has reason to be rude, he has reason to be unkind, he has reason to be cynical, the mafia continues to be a serious issue and was even worse in the past, and thus his world view has been affected by how he has suffered at their hands. He also has to deal with the fact that he feels he is compared to north Italy, and openly feels and says he is not good enough or talented enough compared to him. This is based in reality. The north is often seen as better than the south and indeed it is more wealthy, does have better infrastructure, x does have more industry and renown and Romano is clearly sour because of this. Himaruya showing someone reacting negatively towards adverse circumstances i think is not a negative stereotype but just showing the harmful effects of the situation of the south. Romano is not totally unkind either. Despite their conflicts he does care about his brother, he often shows a lot concern for Spain and worries about him, he is kind to women generally , and has some nations he is friendly with like Japan Netherlands and Belgium . So in sum hima does not show Romano as unkind, but as a complex being who can be both kind and unkind like many people.

The south is seen as a land of little opportunity, dirty, unclean and full of crime by the north that is true, however sadly that perception has some perception in reality. For example many southerners leave the south to find work up north and stay there. This even happens to one of the protagonists of Elena Ferrante’s Neapolitan novels and it is seen as escaping Naples to make a better life for herself while the other protagonist stays stuck in Naples, stunted by the lack of opportunity and male oppression that she struggles against all her life. Naples also sadly has a serious trash problem as does Rome, there is even a facebook page titled “Rome is disgusting” in Italian showing the trash problems of Rome. The mafia also dumps toxic waste around Naples, leading to high rates of sickness and cancer in the population compared to other parts of Italy due to the fact that the toxic waste seeps into the ground water and the plants grown around the area.

Romano feels interior to North Italy and seems so at first glance because that is a reflection of the sad situation of the divide between north and south. However again note I said ‘at first glance’, because while many write off the south at first glance there is a richness and beautify behind that with its rich culture and the beauty of it’s people, as there is with Romano, which I note with his hidden and subtle kindness in canon .

Romano’s Arabic blood and darker appearance is due the fact that Arabs from north Africa invaded Sicily, ruled there for about two hundred years, and left a lasting cultural legacy behind there. It makes sense he has Arabic blood, as well as the fact that some, though not all, southern Italians do have a darker complexation (some also have red hair, blonde hair, hazel eyes, or blue eyes, due to Norman influence too). However that doesn’t mean they are poc (in Italy persone di colore is used instead) and even though Romano does have some Arabic blood frankly he would not be seen as non white in Italy. I don’t really think it’s right to bring up a poc argument in regards to him given that. In addition to that Italy also has a problem regarding xenophobia and racism in regards to African immigrants and Romani and many suffer and are marginalized there, something Romano would not experience in that regard. Romano is also noted to have a “Darker” nature, but this is again because of the mafia. He is affected and blighted by them, it’s not a reference to his coloring but to his cynicism and how they have drained him and his people of the prosperity they could have had otherwise. He is also noted to be “dirtier” not in the sense of being messy or unclean but in how his image looks, and the expressions he makes, this is a reference to the south’s rougher and more intense nature. It’s often said that the more south you go, the more intense and more of the nature of Italy you get and indeed the south of Italy is often said to be a love it or hate it place.

There is also additional canon reasons for Romano’s bitterness and darker personality like how he feels Rome favored north Italy (There may be historical reasons for this but I am limiting this essay to what is stated openly or alluded to more obviously in canon) and how he seems to feel haunted by his legacy. And as for other nations favoring North Italy over him, some do not like Spain and Belgium, and the the fact that some seem to is also sadly reflective of reality as many people only pay attention to or visit the north of Italy, neglecting or avoiding the south and only looking at the cities of Venice, Florence and Milan and not Palermo, Naples, or Caligari.

While the two brothers did not meet in Rome’s lifetime there is no indication this lasted until the Italian wars during the 1500′s portrayed in the canon strips . In fact during Spain’s rule of south Italy shortly after Romano is shown mentioning he is going to travel to visit his brother so they clearly had met by this point. Due to the nature of canon himaruya jumps across time periods often and so we do not always see everything that occurs within or before a certain time period. Sometimes he returns later, and sometimes he does not, though he could in the future. As for North Italy’s reactions to his struggles people have different reactions to hard situations, and that is not wrong, not everyone will struggle in the same way. It’s not something that indicates a lack of character but just a personality facet. Not everything has to contribute to development and that doesn’t mean a uninteresting or uncomplex character. Some people are simply affected differently by traumatic events. That being said I find it interesting he seems to hold a deep fear of angering others as well as some fear of abandonment .

We will turn to North Italy again. Yes he is cute, but that is not all his character is. He is far more than that. He is kind , he is intelligent , he is noted to be good at business, he is also fashionable and knows how to get what he wants out of people, he also can be a bit vulgar sometimes. He also was good at warfare when he was a child, and if one looks into the time period of the strips it seems he lessens in his ability the longer he is under Austria’s domain. He is also good at art, he is good at cooking, and he is even also not exactly the nicest person .

I have noticed that many people miss this but sometimes he is actually a little sneaky and mean . This is most evident with Romano actually. In one of their first appearances together when Romano asks Italy to complement him Italy outright refuses, backs away, and as a result makes Romano cry more than he had before and he flies off. In another comic Italy goes up to Romano, seems surprised he is working, and Romano is visibly hurt by this, he also seems to even doubt Romano’s ability to even do so, offering to do work for him which Romano is bothered by . Finally Italy has been shown to get outright angry at Romano at times, in one drawing he is yelling at Romano over the Venice independence referendum, saying Romano doesn’t want him around anyways . While North Italy does love his brother he clearly is not the nicest person to him at times which does little to motivate Romano to do much of anything, and sadly North Italy does not treat him as a equal really given how condescending he can sometimes be. He also is a little rude to Japan at times, like when they are in the bath, sort of hinting he thinks Japan has a small dick. In addition to this he is pretty sneaky and sometimes even flirty in regards to Germany and is able to really get Germany to do whatever he wants, though this is more evident in World Stars .

As for everyone liking him in the past he and Turkey were antagonistic, with Turkey stating he hated kids as a result of him (And Greece), and Austria was often angry and frustrated with him. In modern times Belarus has shown aggression to him when he tried to feel her chest and was visibly angry with good reason to be. The other girls didn’t allow him to do so either, but all had various reactions. From Monaco and Belgium not taking him seriously and gloating over their superior gambling and waffles respectively to Wy giving him rather done look and telling him to buzz off, to Taiwan being upset and telling him off, Vietnam having none of it and glaring at him, to the most surprising of them all, Ukraine openly flirting with him and giving him a seductive gaze he is a little intimidated by . His relationships are clearly not predictable but are interesting and fun to see and clearly not everyone thinks he is cute or is willing to put up with him especially the girls ironically. Switzerland too shows little tolerance for Italy’s antics, but is willing to spend time him civilly as long as he behaves himself , Russia too has gotten impatient with him at times, and so has Japan. And as for France he’s a interesting case, since at times he can be brotherly towards Italy but at the same time is also willing to tell him off, like when he actually hit him for asking for the Mona Lisa back. People like Italy, but not everyone does and even those who like him don’t like him all the time.

Frankly I think their characters make perfect sense. Romano’s anger and resentment is rooted in many things. In how people compare him and his brother, on his brother’s lackluster treatment of him, in the oppressions of the mafia, the years of being ruled over by other nations, and by poverty, neglect, and corrupt politics. North Italy for his part is frustrated by Romano and often doesn’t understand him and thinks his brother his weighing him down, though he fails to see how he is also contributing to his brother’s resignation and lack of self worth. He instead tries to work hard and do his best, while sucking up to others and making himself seem charming and pleasing to get what he wants and not make others angry at him. In fact he seems to have a deep and pressing fear of others being angry at him.

In sum I think canon does a good job with both of their characters. It shows them in a humorous nature in accordance with the genre of the strips while still leaving room for character complexity along with historical and cultural references and allusions, as well as reflecting both aspects of the historical and modern situation of north and south Italy depending on what time period the strip is set. Romano is shown to be rude, difficult, sometimes violent, and darker, however these are only traits that come as a result of the abandonment of Rome, the poverty and corruption of his land, and the malign influence and harm of the mafia affecting him. In addition to this he is also sometimes kind, fun loving, emotional, sensitive, a hard worker when he tries to be, is shown to be a talented cook, someone with a good deal of potential, and someone who has people who like him like Netherlands, Belgium, Spain, and Japan. On the other hand Italy is shown to yes, be kind and cute, but canon also shows him to be flirty, sneaky, angry, resentful, intelligent, and even a little rude at times. Many people like him, but not all do, for example Belarus, or many do not like him all the time and show impatience with him like Wy, France, Romano, and Switzerland. The difficulties he has experienced have not affected him in the same way they have Romano but that’s to be expected, for the two did not go though the same things and it’s only normal for people to have different reactions to trauma, some handling it better than others. This does not denote a lack of character complexity or development but just a different kind of person and temperament. I think that this shows that both Italy and Romano are interesting and complex characters and that himaruya in my opinion has done his work and research in trying to develop them and do strips for them. He does not indulge in colorism or xenophobia but merely seeks to show the good and bad of both sides of Italy and the complex reality of the south today and in history which has it’s bad and good points.

As a side note in Valentino strip is unfinished and Germany and Italy never discuss their respective feelings or misunderstandings and Italy is less uncomfortable and more confused and worried that Germany is angry at him.

#hetalia #aph romano #aph south italy #hws romano #hws south italy #(i'll be back soon btw just revamping some blogs)

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prkdiana · 4 years ago

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oh heavens, is that DIANA PARK from CHESTNUT DRIVE i see roaming around mapleview? minnie may’s always calling them -STUBBORN & -COMPETITIVE. i happen to think they’re not that bad! they’re a pretty cool SEAMSTRESS VLOGGER and every time i’ve seen them, they’ve always been +PASSIONATE & +RESOURCEFUL. i hope i see them around again! 『 tally. 24. GMT+4. she/her. 』 @mapleviewstarters

tw teenage pregnancy, very brief mention of abortion, child neglect

diana park, born bomi park –– park chaewon / gowon fc

birthday: november 19, 1999 - 21 yrs old ; scorpio

cis female, she/her, bisexual (all of my muses are bi, no questions asked 🥰)

truth be told, diana knew very little about her time as an infant. her entire life, she was passed around as a baby to whoever wanted to take care of her.

her parents were two teenagers in high school when they had her. somewhere in arizona, it was a typical story of two rowdy teens falling in love and partying together all the time until one of them got pregnant.

everyone clearly knew that diana’s mother didn’t want her, but she couldn’t get herself to get an abortion. once she had the baby, she immediately left her behind and disappeared off the face of earth the next day.

diana was first named bomi by her grandmother who is her father’s mother. bomi meaning beautiful treasure, also meaning spring since it’s derived from the word ‘bom’.

there was no one to take her other than her father, who also didn’t want her. he kept her with him and his mother for a few weeks before giving up and leaving her behind with his mother. he genuinely couldn’t care less, because he too disappeared. probably to follow the steps of his runaway girlfriend.

her grandmother sadly couldn’t keep taking care of her as well, seeing as she had an abundance of children of her own. it was only before the girl’s fifth month that she handed her over to her grandmother from her mother’s side.

that’s how bomi had ended up in texas, living with her mother’s side of the family until she was about 5 years old. it was a tough time for her, always feeling so useless and unwanted. she was always the kid who was picked on in the family and in school, and it was so bad for her mentally at such a young age.

in comes her favorite aunt in the entire world. anyone else would call her the “weird aunt” who never got married and is probably a lesbian (diana would later find out that she indeed is a lesbian), but to bomi, she was the best person in the entire world. she radiated such a happy and free-spirited energy, and she was always the aunt who got her gifts and sweets, and made her so happy.

her aunt, named patricia, loved the girl so much. and seeing how the family never really paid attention to bomi, she decided to officially take her in like her own child. the family was honestly happy to just hand her over to her.

bomi eventually went by diana as her american name after moving to mapleview with her aunt and switching schools. she was named after princess diana, and diana barry from the anne of green gables books which were one of their favorite book series. ironically, the girl related a lot more to anne in the books with the whole ‘orphan girl eventually finds a loving family story’, but she liked diana’s name a lot, and her aunt said that she reminded her of her because of her starkly dark hair and insane beauty.

the two live in chestnut drive, their living place being two little cabins on the edge of the woods a little off the road, which they bought and renovated together.

when diana was of legal age, one of the cabins was officially hers. it was like her moving out and living independently, but still being right next to her original home. she personally didn’t want to live anywhere else.

she also went blonde after that, and has been for a long while now that if you see her, you’d think she’s a natural blonde lmao

diana has been so interested in fashion design and sewing for as long as she could remember. she thankfully had her aunt to provide for her and help her learn the things she wanted to get better at from a young age.

ever since she moved into her own cabin, she decided to start a youtube channel where she sews dresses, talks about fashion history, and documents her life and random projects that she decides to take on. sometimes even posting animal crossing speed builds. think a mix of: mina le, micarah tewers, hannahleeduggan, and gowon’s own messy ass vlogs

while not being related by blood in any shape or form, diana would consider primrose ( @dagohoy ) an unrelated cousin. the reason being is that diana’s uncle, who is aunt patricia’s brother, is married to primrose’s aunt, which makes the two girls sort of a family but... not really. diana personally finds the way they’re related interesting, but ever since she met primrose when she moved to mapleview, she thought that the girl hated her.

personality;

cottage core princess to the fullessssssttt

hashtag nature girl ; will get mad at u for littering

she’s that person who’s unintentionally funny ? like she would say or do random things and she somehow makes it funny ?

she’s the sweetest person, and really so outgoing

but she’s also that person who prefers quiet places a lot

also she’s got such a high and cute voice, you’d think she’s younger than she actually is. and tbh she hates it a lot of the times when people assume she’s a lot younger.

she is the embodiment of this twitter edit

and this fucking clip 😭😭

she loves making friends, but also lets first impressions get the best of her sometimes. if someone looked intimidating to her, she would either be a lot more quiet and reserved until she was sure of how to interact with them, or she would completely go with the flow and probably annoy them with crackhead confidence. depends on the day.

no challenge could get in diana’s way! if she was interested in trying something new and it looked difficult, she would try and try until she was good at it.

come love my babie pleaaaaase

#mapleviewintro #intro

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musicfeedsmysoul12 · 5 years ago

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Wolf in Sheep’s Clothing

Summary: Max, Luka and Nino break down.

Warnings: Murder, mentions of torture, references to sex, implied suicide, child abuse, child neglect, captivity.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0

Max has always been a genius. He’s always thought a million miles ahead of everyone. His mother loved it.

His father didn’t.

Max idly typed on a computer, ignoring the man behind him.

“Look, I told Lady Fortune, I ain’t done nothing to piss her off. I keep to her rules, keep to her cred-”

“Then why do you have reports of guns being smuggled to the Snarling Snakes?” Max asked, stopping on the file on the computer. The man choked as a portal opened up and Kim stepped out, decked in his uniform. He grabbed the man who started screaming.

Pathetic.

His father hated his son was smarter than him. He was the doctor, after all, he was the one who worked so hard to be smart.

His mother divorced him when he put Max into the hospital. She branched out, began working towards her own goals and wants.

Max was happy. Even happier as he got older and met Kim who was… everything.

Max was working when the door opened and Chloe wandered in, looking annoyed.

“Your boy toy ruined my silk shirt.”

“...Not the bee one.” Max sighed. Chloe scowled harder. “Shit, I’ll fund a replacement, promise.”

“You better- that was an amazing shirt,” Chloe told him. “Either the money or I get to play tomorrow would be good payment.”

“Kim’s been super excited about breaking this guy,” Max said, pulling up the information on the drug dealer they were dealing with. Some idiot who decided former heroes meant soft despite the bloody carnage they’d left in the wake. “He’s homophobic and Kim has dibs.”

“He ruined my silk bee shirt because he got annoyed that someone said Horse wasn’t hot.” Chloe snapped.

“...Alright, I’ll see what I can do.”

Kim and he were best friends. Alix to sometimes. He still felt lonely though and built a new friend one day. Markov was a great friend, funny and smart…

And sort of like his son. He loved it.

Things went sour though when Markov pointed out a few things he hadn’t noticed about Lila’s tales. When he stopped following the lies.

“You’re nothing but the tech wiz- that’s all they use you for.” said the woman, leaning forward to show more of her chest. Max simply stared at her behind the glasses of his Miraculous. He felt Kaalki’s mutterings in his head and wanted to laugh. “We could appreciate you so more.” she reached up, smiling, to unbutton her shirt some more.

“My boyfriend appreciates me,” Max replied. “And I’m more than the tech expert.” A portal opened under her and she was gone in a second. He rolled his eyes behind his glasses.

Dumbasses never got that right.

Lila spread rumours about him, that he was a cheat and a bully. Some believed it, some didn’t. He had Kim though, and Markov. He had everything he needed. He didn’t care what anyone believed.

And then Alix smashed Markov when she believed Lila.

She smashed his son.

“Hey babe,” Kim kissed his boyfriend’s forehead. “What you doin’?”

“...Looking at Markov’s data again.” Max replied. Kim didn’t move but then wrapped his arms around his boyfriend and held him for a long moment.

“Babe…”

“I just… I want him back.”

“I know babe, I know.”

Max lashed out and of course, he was overreacting, he was being STUPID. Bustier believed the liar. His mom didn’t, and it was awesome and okay but…

Somehow he was put into his father’s care. And nothing could stop the beatings. He ran as soon as he could, running and running. Chloe took him in, hiding him in the hotel. He couldn’t go to school. Not if his father was searching for him.

But then Kim was with him and he had his friends. Maybe… maybe it could be okay.

“Hey mom,” Max said, tucking the phone under his ear as he frowned at the computer. Was… was someone stealing from them?

“Hey honey, how’s the computer business?”

“Good, hows astronaut training?” someone was. Damn it. Max began hunting that trail while listening to his mom chat.

“When are you and Kim getting married?” she asked after a bit. Max laughed.

“Oh, soon enough.” His mom laughed.

“Alright honey. Don’t forget to invite me.”

“I’d never.”

When they beat Hawkmoth when Adrien was brought back… it should have been the end. He should have been able to go back home.

But it didn’t because people were sheep. They were sheep who listened to what they wanted and not the truth. They almost let their Ladybug, the Miraculous Team’s leader die because of their stupidity.

Well, they wouldn’t get another chance to be so stupid.

Max looked at his father, face impassive as the man begged for his life.

“Have mercy,” the man begged.

“Where was my mercy when you were beating me?” Max asked before he pulled the trigger of the gun he was carrying.

Messy. Boring. He’d much rather work behind the scenes. Leave this to the others.

But it was a start.

-0-

Chaos had been Luka’s life since he was a kid. His mom encouraged it. She hated anything orderly.

He and Jules were taken away five times because of her actions. Luka sometimes wished they stayed away.

Luka winked at a pretty girl who was waiting eagerly for his signature. He signed the album, looking her up and down. Perhaps…

A glimpse of red and black made him change his mind and he left without taking her back to his room. “Bug?” Luka asked as he entered into his limo. Across from him, Marinette smiled.

“Sorry, just wanted to check-in.” Luka grinned.

“Glad you did.”

Luka never knew his dad. He kinda remembered Jules’ dad. He was an asshole. Anarka would yell if asked about either of their dad’s. Luka would wonder as a kid if her drinking was what drove him away.

She drank a lot. She tried to recapture her glory days- Luka wasn’t stupid. She would rant at him while drunk. The reason she had to stop being a star. Why she couldn’t go back. Failure.

Juleka tried. She tried so hard to keep herself together. Luka did for her. They only had each other.

Luka loomed above the man on the ground, silent as ever. The dark- almost black- green of his suit nearly made him invisible in the warehouse. The man was shaking.

“Please- we don’t-”

“You take us for fools?” Kagami asked, her voice dangerous. “We know exactly what you have and don’t have. Shall we bring Horse in? Monkey will be so mad- he may want to play.” The man shook even more.

Whimp.

Meeting Marinette was… was everything. She was sunshine and brightness and he knew something connected them. He wanted it romantic at first but then saw her with Adrien.

That connection was fireworks and beauty. He couldn’t get in between that. He was just happy to be their friend.

Because that’s why they were. Friends. And it opened so much. He even started a band with his sister and some of her friends.

It was amazing.

“So, what’s the inspiration behind your stage name?” asked the interviewer. “Model Snake.” she leaned in, her eyes slightly shiny with lust. Side effect of his new skill with the Miraculous- low-level hypnotism.

“My sister wanted to be a model for years,” Luka gave a small smile. “My way of honouring her.”

His other way was being the muscle and ears for his Lady.

Lila he knew was a rat from the start. He’d warned Juleka but she didn’t want to have to fight that. Not with the class against her. He let it go. He wanted her safe more than anything.

He was there to offer an ear when Marinette needed it, needed someone to scream with.

He was there when she handed him a snake bracelet and he started noticing the connections more. The snake may give second chances, but like other Miraculous, there were secrets hidden in its depths.

He was happy.

“Jagged, my man!” Luka opened his arms and laughed when the older rock star gave him a hug. “It’s been ages!”

“I know!” Jagged laughed. “But hey, rock n’ roll waits for no one.” The man sat down. “...Saw your mom.”

“Yeah, she’s doing better,” Luka said. Both sat in silence.

“If I’d known-”

“Yeah, don’t worry I get it. Hey, wanna talk to Marinette?” Luka deflected. Jagged let him.

“Yeah, nice to talk with her again!” Jagged grinned.

It was always nice to talk to him.

Things went to shit when the others stopped listening to Lila. Her words, her lies affected them and he tried to keep them together. But he wouldn’t let her lie to him. She twisted the others of the band, made them turn against him.

Except Juleka. She refused.

And it cost her.

Luka slammed his fist into the nose of the man in front of him.

“Please, look I know-” the man began but Luka grabbed him and threw him against the wall.

“Lady Fortune wants a clean sweep. This whole gang dead or in jail.” Kim remarked.

“She was a hero.” said a voice and they turned to see Ivan sitting there. He looks different from when they were kids, gaunter, less larger than life. The two men traded looks.

“All your’s man,” Kim said. Luka grinned.

Rose wanted a prince. She wanted a fairy tale. So she broke up with Juleka. The rumours started flying. Slut, cheat, bitch. Juleka was panicking.

Luka tried to help. They all did. They all tried but soon she was falling. She was spiralling.

It didn’t take her long to find the pills their mother thought she hid so well.

“Your agent is skimming off the top,” said Max, studying the computer in front of him.

“Really?” Luka groaned. “We just killed the last one for being a plant for the League. Kagami had a ball with that one.”

“It’s what happens when you’re famous.” Max shrugged. “Want me to send Chloe?”

“Sure. Alya and Nino will love it- she gets going after a night of fun. Maybe they’ll let me watch.” Luka made a face. “Haven’t gotten any in a while.”

“Me and Kim are up for a third tonight if you want,” Max said as he pulled out his phone to text.”

“Nice.” Luka grinned.

He would have fun that night.

He lost Juleka. He lost her.

He was happy Hawkmoth was there to punch. To nearly kill after he nearly killed Chat, their second in command.

He was the one who was barely held together as Lila kept talking, as Lila kept speaking. As their leader nearly died.

Luka snapped in ways he’d threatened to do since he was a child.

Luka opened the door, humming as he stepped into the tiny room. On the small mattress on the floor, a small blonde was huddled up.

“Did you see the news?” Luka asked, grabbing the chair in the corner and sitting down. “King Ali marries a woman from England. A fairy tale come to life, no?”

“Luka,” Rose breathed, looking up. “Please-”

“Hmmm, perhaps another prince will come,” Luka said, interrupting her. “Perhaps you’ll get I don’t know… some prince? That’s why you broke my sister’s heart, isn’t it? That’s why you helped push her over the edge?”

“I didn’t-” Luka laughed, loud and hard.

“Oh, Rose. I don’t give a damn.”

-0-

Nino had an older brother and a little brother. He loved them very much and was very happy with his family.

Then his older brother got involved in something. He got scared and left Nino with just a red cap and a house wondering where he went.

Nino stopped being so happy.

“You’d think they’d learn,” Alya said, leaning on Nino as Chloe laid across their laps. “Seriously. Isn’t it obvious when every time a club gets a new DJ their dirty business gets taken over?”

“That’s my superpower babe. No one notices me.”

“Mmm, tragic,” Chloé said, leaning up to kiss him nice and slow. He grins. “No one could have thought you’d be so good at sneaking though. It’s interesting.”

“It is what it is.”

He had to be a good kid. He had to be polite and kind and not rock the boat. His parents were trying to find his brother. His little brother needed someone to look after him.

It wasn’t fair. He was just a kid and taking care of another kid. But it was okay. Maybe they’d find their brother soon?

Yeah, that didn’t happen. And soon his parents stopped looking but never came home. To busy with their lovers and jobs to see Nino or Chris.

Nino grabbed the woman and slammed her to the floor, snarling. It was odd to see the turtle themed man snark but it fit him so well.

“You know I can fucking accept that you cheated us. I get that. You only cheated the Team because of your kid. That’s fine, we could have worked something out. But cheating on Snake? Nu-huh. Not gonna happen.”

“Please!” The woman screamed and damn. Sure Luka hadn’t been planning on marrying her or some shit but he’d liked her enough to possibly discuss bringing her into the operations a bit more. And she cheated on him.

Man, he hated that.

Nino barely could stay awake in classes. He had his little brother to look after it was more important than this shit. But then he met Adrien.

He spent time with Marinette, got a girlfriend, had a support system to lean on when he just needed to be a kid and not Chris’ parent. Chris loved Alya, loved Marinette and Adrien. It was great, it was awesome.

Then he became a hero and things just kept looking up.

Until they didn’t.

“Ugh,” Nino groaned, glaring at his hands. “I hate the upfront shit.”

“Sucks to be you, babe,” Chloé told him as Alya snorted. “But you have a job to do baby.”

“I know, I know.” Nino sighed. “I prefer the spy shit, my babes. Upfront killing is boring as fuck.”

“And gross.” Alya agreed, wrinkling her nose at her own hands.

“I love it.” Chloé grinned and Nino and Alya laugh.

“We know babe. You’re a wild card when you have your fun.” Nino told her, taking a moment to bask in the presence of his lovers. When the hell did he get so lucky?

Lila was whatever at first- cool but hey he knew Adrien and Marinette. But then her lies started getting a side-eye from him and Alya started frowning and things started going down.

When they stopped paying attention to her- her lies were pretty but stupid to listen to- she started attacking them. Nino barely cared. His parents weren’t home, he was more worried about Chris and shit.

He even got another girlfriend- Chloe and Alya were amazing and they got how he was often busy with Chris. They helped him and Chris out and it was amazing.

But then his friends? Nino’s fucking livelihood so he could pay for Chris and his shit cause his parents almost never remembered them? Attacking that? He nearly shattered.

“So, DJ Bubbles, why that name?” asked the talk show host.

“Well… I got akumatized into the Bubbler right? And me and my buddy Luka- Model Snake- were talking about it and I went: Why should I let Hawkmoth- Gabriel the fuck- take away bubbles from me? I love bubbles.”

“So it’s about reclaiming something.” The host said. Nino pointed at her.

“Exactly. Got worse when that Lila cunt talked shit about us.” Nino said. The host winced a little.

“Ah yes, that was… rather awful of her though she…”

“Nah, she didn’t deserve what happened to her, but can’t say I liked her or wanna talk nice about her.”

Oh, she did deserve exactly what she got, Nino knew that. But he couldn’t say. He had to play the game.

When his bro nearly was fucking murdered by Hawkmoth, Nino was cracked, broken pieces slowly falling down. Lila’s bullshit made the cracks spread.

Then she had Chris taken away from him. Reported his parents. Nino was left- he was more or less self-sufficient but Chris? Nah.

If Nino could see him it would be different but they didn’t let him. He wasn’t allowed near and it broke him.

He broke even more when Lila nearly killed their Ladybug. He broke enough he stopped giving a single fuck.

“Hey kiddo,” Nino said into the phone as he grabbed the body and began dragging it. “How’s school?”

“It’s great Nino!” Chris said over the phone. “It’s all so cool! Thanks for sending me here!”

“Hey, if my bro wants an arts school he gets an arts school,” Nino said as he huffed and picked up the body. “Gross.”

“What’s gross?”

“A garbage bag got juice on me,” Nino replied, and Chris laughed at him. Nino ignored the fact he was carrying a body and instead asked his brother about his boarding school more.

He was happy his brother was happy.

@northernbluetongue @ines-nz @seraphichana, @glasswolff, @crazylittlemunchkin, @miraculous786, @viinaa08, @18-fandoms-unite-08 @hypnosharkrebeldreamer@my-name-is-michell @emjrabbitwolf

#broken heroes verse #miraculous ladybug #chloe/nino/alya #max/kim #tw suicide #tw murder #tw torture #tw captivity #tw child abuse #maribat almost

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ghostbustermelanieking · 5 years ago

Text

snippets from an msr historical au

cleaning out my 2019 fic closet lol. this is excerpts of a historical au i did, based on a short au prompt i wrote in june here. it takes place in 1850s new york where scully and emily are irish immigrants who befriend mulder when he offers to tutor emily. i wrote these snippets months ago and it'll probably go unfinished, but i liked it too much to not share. so here is my scattered sense of world building.

---

Melissa had been the one to suggest the name. She had been there in the birthing room, the only one left after her mother had traveled to America with Bill and her father was gone and Charlie was in England. Daniel had been elsewhere, of course, it wasn't proper for husbands to be in the birthing room, and he upheld tradition stronger than she did, so it was Melissa and her friend the midwife, Melissa holding her hand, Melissa handing her the squalling babe. She had passed out from the pain and felt a rush of relief when she woke up again; she had feared she wouldn't wake up again after it was all over. She knew many women who had never met their children. Melissa had brought the baby back, the tiny child with their mother's eyes and a patch of bright hair, and Dana had filled with relief. If she had no one else in this marriage, which had long grown sour, she would have her daughter.

Melissa had suggested Emily because she loved Wuthering Heights, recently republished under the true name of its author. "It's a beautiful name, Dana, and perhaps, if she's lucky, she'll receive even an ounce of the creativity that comes with it," she had said, clutching the tiny hand in hers. "What a wonderful thing that would be."

That had been enough to convince her. Emily Margaret, she'd said, for her mother, far away in the heartlands of a country she would never see, and for her stepdaughter, who hated her fiercely, though she didn't live with them anymore. The girl hated her, for taking the place of her mother, but Dana saw it as a chance to make peace with the both of them. It did not work, though; Maggie had not had any interest in her sister, or in her stepmother, and Dana had long given up trying. Given up on the whole family, her husband included: he took little interest in her or his daughter, and when he did, it was in a possessive sort of manner that made her skin crawl. The medical lessons she'd received as a young woman were long gone, and he saw her only as the keeper of the house and of his child. He wanted more, but she refused.

When he'd died on the voyage over, a small, shameful part of her had been relieved. She would not have to pretend to love him anymore, to feel the same way as she had all those years before. But she had feared so greatly for her daughter, that the illness would take one of them, too. She knew life would be hard without a husband, as was the cruel and unfair way of the world (her mother had told her as a little girl as she braided her hair), but it would be impossible for Emily without her. She would end up alone in some horrible orphanage, neglected and abandoned. And Dana could not imagine life without her daughter now, imagine being alone in the city she'd heard so much about. She could not go out west alone, and she could not survive alone. She remembered lying in her small, cold, hard bunk, holding Emily's small figure close, her lips to her hot forehead and murmuring a prayer. And God had heard her prayers. Her daughter had lived, and she looked more and more like Melissa every day.

Emily often has questions about this, the family she will never know. When the two of them are lying in their bed, behind the makeshifts wall John had built to separate their tiny space from the rest of the equally tiny apartment (he and Barbara sleep in a bed on the other side, adjacent to the stove, and their boy Luke sleeps in a pallet on the floor), she will whisper questions about her father, her half sister, her aunt and her uncles and her grandparents. But it is often Daniel and Maggie, the family she will never know. "Did they love me?" she whispers. "Was Papa kind? Was Maggie beautiful?"

Dana offers some truths and some falsehoods, knowing she will never see either of them again, and therefore her stories will never be contradicted. Yes, Maggie was beautiful, although she mostly remembers a girl not ten years younger than her calling her a whore and a witch and a false mother. Yes, they loved her. No, Emily will never know her sister, because though she did love Emily (although Dana does not know if this is true), she did not feel the same for Dana. There is a picture that Daniel had made before they went, of Maggie, her hair combed nearly and gathered up, wearing her best dress, her cheeks thin, and Emily sitting on her lap, her face twisted with displeasure at having to sit still for quite so long. Emily loves to look at it, and of the faded portrait of the two of them on their wedding day, though Dana does not feel the same. But she allows Emily these frivolities. She cannot give her much more than that.

---

She meets him by accident one Sunday, her one and only day off from the factory. She and Emily go to Mass every Sunday, of course, and then she spends much of the day helping Barbara to clean, cook, do the laundry (she always does hers and Emily's, at least; though Barbara has the time in the day to do it, she will not accept the favor). She takes a rest, sometimes, or she spends time with Emily, playing jacks or cards (Luke Doggett taught her to gamble, and she cannot shake the habit), or with the worn rag doll she and Melissa had made for her in Ireland, or reading to her. Her favorite is a newer one by a man named Melville. Dana relishes the time alone with her daughter, as she is often too tired to do anything like this after work. She has meant to teach Emily to read and write herself, considering that she's too young to start school yet, and John claims that most children already know a bit before they begin school, but she's barely had the time to teach her more than a few words. Sometimes on Sundays, they have a brief lesson, but there is so little time in the week.

One Sunday, after Dana has hung the laundry, and scrubbed the floor, and washed the dishes, she decides to go and find Emily, thinking they can read another chapter of Melville, perhaps. (She likes the book, she will admit; it reminds her of her father and his stories of the sea.) She expects to find Emily on the tail of Luke and his friends—they are much older than her, but her lonely girl still follows her around like he is the brother she'll never have—but Luke claims he has not seen her. She finds her, finally, on the steps of the building, an old reader Luke had kept open on her lap, squinting furiously at the page. A man is sitting beside her, pointing out the words on the page, speaking in a calm and patient voice. Dana recognizes the man immediately as their neighbor, Mr. Mulder, a schoolteacher who she has spoken to in the hall before. She's seen him occasionally playing with the young boys in the building, or talking with the men and women about books, plays, politics, scientific discoveries. She'd had a particular long discussion with him once on the effects of anesthesia in medicine, which Daniel had commented on several times.

"Emily," she says, and Emily scrambles to her feet and runs to her side, beaming with excitement. "Mama, this is Mr. Mulder, the schoolteacher," she says in a rush, tugging at her skirt. "He saw me trying to read and he offered to help!"

"He did?" She strokes the top of her daughter's head, messy from where she's taken it out of her braids, stealing a look at the man.

"My apologies, Miss Scully," Mr. Mulder offers, getting to his feet. "I didn't mean to intrude… I only wanted to help, if I could."

"It's not an intrusion," Dana says, but she is still wary. "I have been trying to teach her, but I often cannot find the time, and she's so desperate to learn. She's still too young for school yet." And privately, Dana worries about what Emily will go through when she enters school, considering the anger New Yorkers have for immigrants. There is a Catholic school she's looking at, simply because it seems like the best option, but it still is too easy to worry.

"Mama," Emily whispers, tugging her skirt again as if she finds her embarrassing.

Mr. Mulder smiles a bit. "Your daughter is very intelligent. She should have no trouble catching up."

"I'm six years old," Emily informs Mr. Mulder, her back automatically straightening as if to look older. "In a year's time, Mama says she can put me in school."

"I'm sure you're very excited," Mr. Mulder says, without even a hint of indulgence in his voice. Emily nods, a little shyly. Mr. Mulder seems to be thinking a bit on the subject, but he speaks soon after. "Perhaps if your mother permits it," he says, speaking as much to Dana as to Emily, "I could tutor you in my spare time. Teach you your letters and give you a head start on reading."

Emily's eyes light up, shyness forgotten, and she tugs pleadingly on Dana's skirt. "That would be wonderful!" she breathes. "Please, Mama, can't I do it?"

"I don't know, Em… I wouldn't want to impose on Mr. Mulder's time." The man certainly seems smart enough to educate her daughter, but it seems too large a favor to ask of a complete stranger. It is also worth noting that she doesn't know the man very well outside of polite conversations in the hallway. She offers Mr. Mulder an apologetic smile.

"It's not an imposition at all," he says. "I would be glad to do it."

Dana bites her lower lip, her hand on her daughter's boney shoulder. "I-I could not afford to pay you anything," she says softly, although that may be obvious. None of them are wealthy—that is why they live here. But she may be a step down from the rest, staying in the corner of a friend's apartment with a screen instead of a wall, using her meager earnings to buy unsubstantial meals and pay a portion of the rent. If she had the money, she would get Emily and herself their own place, but she's got something of a disadvantage in that area. There isn't much she can do to rectify it.

Mr. Mulder shakes his head immediately. "No money is required," he says, his voice full of sincerity. "I would be glad to do it as a favor."

"I could not ask that of you…" she tries, but he halts her protests quickly. "Do not worry about it," he says. "When I was younger, my little sister was not allowed to go to school as I was, and she wanted to learn as badly as Emily. I tried to teach her, but I wasn't very good at it." He offers a rueful little smile. "I would be glad to be able to give someone else the opportunity where I couldn't give it to her."

Emily tugs at her skirt again and whispers, "Please."

Dana chews her lower lip again and sighs. "If you are absolutely sure it would not be a problem, Mr. Mulder," she says. "I know Emily would appreciate that very much."

Overjoyed, Emily bounces up and down on her toes with excitement. Mr. Mulder smiles at the both of them widely. "I can assure you it won't be a problem, Miss Scully," he tells her. "It will be my pleasure."

---

They practice reading each night, at least for a little while. Even when Dana is so tired she can scarcely keep her eyes open, they spend a few minutes going over Mr. Mulder's lessons, if nothing else. Emily has always been a fast learner, and within a couple of months, she is able to stumble through a page or two of Moby-Dick. Dana is incredibly proud. She can remember her own lessons in reading and other forms of education: her father had taught her often when she was younger, alongside Billy and Melissa, but the lessons had more or less stopped at a certain point. Past that, she had more or less taught herself with books of her father's, watching Bill and her father as they worked, more books still from Daniel's vast library. She never wanted that lapse in education for her daughter; it may be inevitable at some point, but she'll do what she can to prevent it.

Emily seems to adore Mr. Mulder as much as she does the lessons. "He is funny, Mama," she tells her in the second week, after she's retrieved her and thanked Mr. Mulder profusely. "And kind, just like John is. Much kinder than the other men in the building. Luke says he's the best schoolteacher he's ever had, and he's very smart and fair to the other children."

"He sounds very nice," says Dana, swinging their hands between them.

"He is." She looks up at her with Missy's eyes. "Was Papa like that?" she asks.

Her voice is so high and innocent, it makes Dana want to cry. No, she thinks, biting her lower lip. She says out loud, "I-I could not say, Em. I don't know Mr. Mulder well enough to make a comparison between him and your father."

Emily nods, her face serious. She looks down at her shoes, almost self-consciously. "I would like to believe that Papa was like Mr. Mulder," she says softly, and Dana squeezes her daughter's hand tightly. "I-I imagine him reading to me some nights, and helping me read. Y-you could take turns. And he could buy me pretty things, perhaps, and teach me all that he knows, like John does for Luke. Do you think he would have, Mama?"

"I know he would have," says Dana. It may be a bit of a lie, but that hardly seems to matter as much as her daughter's happiness.

---

Mulder had done it, originally, because Emily Scully reminded her of his sister. He'd seen her as often as the other children in the apartment building, sometimes hovering after Luke Doggett the way that Samantha had followed him. But more often, he'd seen her by herself, playing alone on the front steps with a ragged doll in hand, or trying desperately to read, hunched over a ragged old reader and struggling out loud to sound out words, dress muddy, pigtails unraveling. And he had thought of Samantha, sneaking reading lessons in the back of their immaculate library, trying to climb up a tree and ripping a hole in her stockings. It had been enough to cause him to offer up free tutoring, on an impulse, remembering his sister and how frustrated she used to get whenever he would leave for school and she would have to stay home. He hadn't been lying about that.

But a part of it was because of his admiration for her mother, Miss Dana Scully, who he'd seen in the halls often beforehand. She is beautiful, and intelligent, and there is something about her that simply draws Mulder to her, in a way he cannot explain. He is sure it won't go anywhere past friendship—Emily has reported that her father died only a few years before, on their trip over from Ireland, and Mulder himself has never particularly expected to be married—but he still enjoys any opportunity to spend time in her company. Particularly the talks they have when she drops by to retrieve Emily after shifts at the factory; they often last long, while they discuss books or plays or scientific theories, anything of the sort. Sometimes, he will ask Emily and Miss Scully to stay and share in his supper, sparse as it is; other times, Miss Scully will invite him to share leftovers of John Doggett's, or whatever cooking she has done herself. Sometimes, he fears he is bothering her, but other times, it seems as if she might like him a bit, too. He cannot tell for sure.

He tells himself it does not matter. He is here mostly to save money, so that he can travel. He hears there is opportunity in the west, but he would be fooling himself if he cited that as the reason. It does not matter to him where he ends up; all that matters is that he finds his sister and brings her home, after all of these years.

But still, he enjoys tutoring Emily. She's a bright young girl, a quick learner, and sweet. He does not know anything of her father aside from his death, but she still undeniably resembles her mother in every way he can see. He teaches her a bit of mathematics after she's gained some talent in reading and writing, and she enjoys that immensely. She has a load of questions for him every time she sees him: about stars, about history, about how things work and why they happen and where places are. Sometimes, Miss Scully will answer her before he can even open his mouth, blushing a little after and looking at him as if to see if he minds. He never does.

---

She shows up at his door after midnight, her face white, shaking. Emily at her side, curled into her with a blanket wrapped around her shoulder, her face hidden in Miss Scully's skirt, crying softly. For a second, Mulder doesn't know what to do, what to say. "Miss Scully, is… is everything okay?" he stammers, clutching his door in one hand. He sees a sudden splotch of red on her dress, alarming and bright. "Are you hurt?" he stammers.

She's shaking her head. "No, no, Mr. Mulder, it's not that, it's just…" She swallows hard, her eyes wide and helpless. "I-I need you to take care of Emily. I need to leave her here. Please."

Emily seems to clutch Miss Scully's skirt harder at that, shaking her head and crying more frantically. She mumbles something that sounds a bit like, "Don't leave me, Mama, don't leave me."

Mulder takes a sharp breath and opens the door wider. "Come in, come in," he says, and Miss Scully does, stroking Emily's mussed hair with quivering fingers. "W-what has happened, Miss Scully? Perhaps I can help."

Miss Scully clenches her chin and shakes her head, her face turned down towards her daughter. "I-I cannot… I do not have time for this, Mr. Mulder. I… Please. Please, Mr. Mulder, I have to leave, they will be coming for me."

"Who?" On an impulse, he reaches out and takes her free hand. It is cold and soft, and as he draws it closer, he sees the same glimpses of red, red crescents under her fingernails. "Who is it, Miss Scully? Who is coming for you?"

Emily's sobs are heart wrenching, even muffled by Miss Scully's skirt. Miss Scully looks to be on the verge of tears herself. She does not pull her hand away. "The… the police," she whispers.

"The police?" Mulder's mind tightens in fear as he remembers something suddenly, something he has often forgotten: the Irish are not well liked here. He wonders if these prejudices have somehow found the Scullys. "What has happened?"

Miss Scully bites her lower lip before lifting her chin so that her clear, blue eyes meet his. "There… there was a fight at a bar," she says tentatively. "John's son was involved, and so he intervened, and was injured. They followed him home. I… intervened, and I… harmed a man in an attempt to protect the Doggetts and my daughter." Her chin quivers once, steadies. She presses a hand over her daughter's head, spreading her fingers over her scalp. "He's dead," she whispers. "And he… he was police. So they'll be coming for me, to arrest me, and I… I will not find mercy here. I have learned that much."

His mind racing, he stammers, "But that… that is not murder, Miss Scully… that is self defense. A-any jury would see that."

She laughs bitterly. "But who can prove it? Emily did not see, and Barbara and John had already slipped down the fire escape. The only witnesses are the men who would have me arrested. And I will be convicted. Americans do not have any sympathy for women of my background." She swallows again, her pale white throat, a bruise blooming underneath her jaw. The sight of it makes Mulder furious. He is still clutching her limp hand. "S-so I am begging you, please take my daughter," she whispers. "She adores you. Take her, a-and take the money I have saved, and you can send her west, to my brother's house… I have to go. If they catch me, I can't let them get her. And if I escape…"

"Please, Mama, please don't go," Emily whimpers, drawing back, her cheeks smeared her tears. "Don't leave me alone, Mama, please."

"I have to, sweetheart." Miss Scully leans down to kiss her daughter's hair. Mulder can see her tears falling, glistening in the candlelight. "I must. But you will be safe here…"

"I cannot do this," says Mulder, speaking abruptly, almost without thinking.

Miss Scully's eyes widen with horror, and she pulls back her hand as she looks up at him. "You… you will not help me?" she whispers furiously. "After everything, I-I thought you cared for my daughter… cared for me, as a friend…"

"N-no, Miss Scully, y-you misunderstand," he stammers, his eyes wide. "I will protect Emily, of course I will protect Emily, but I… I will not leave you to be arrested."

Her eyes widen in surprise. "You are foolish to offer this," she whispers. "If they catch me… you cannot hide me here, Mr. Mulder."

"I cannot," he agrees. "But I can get you out of the city. You and your daughter both." His mind is racing, full of ideas. "I-I have friends I trust, a house I could take you to tonight. And tomorrow, we-we could go to my mother's house, in Massachusetts, for the time being. The two of you could stay there until… until we figure out a way to get you to your brother's."

Miss Scully is quiet, her eyes wide. Emily, leaning into her mother, is looking between the two of them curiously, like she is hopeful that this will happen. "You will be safe," Mulder adds. "Both of you. I promise you that."

"I could not ask that of you, Mr. Mulder," Miss Scully whispers. "It is too much."

"It's not." Mulder thinks of the money, put aside to search for Samantha. Enough for three train tickets north at least, if not a little left over after to fund a trip to wherever Miss Scully's brother is. A part of him is reluctant to spend the money he has been saving for so long—part of him feels like he is abandoning his sister, his family—but the rest of him is remembering Samantha at seven, at eight, more caring and compassionate than anyone in his family. She rescued animals (kittens, baby birds, piglets from the barn), knitted things with their mother to send to the local orphanage, shared her food with the servants on occasion and stole food from the pantry for the family down the road who never had enough food. She would want him to help them; he can still picture her wide, teary eyes, her weepy voice prodding him to help them, help them, Fox. And he wants to. He looks at Dana Scully and her daughter, the best companions he's found in the past few months, and he knows immediately that he must help them. He has no choice.

"I have money," he says out loud. "I can get you out of the city. I can help you. Both of you."

"Please, Mama, you must come with us. We can't leave you all alone." Emily hugs her mother hard around the waist, sniffling loudly. "I need you, Mama, please."

Miss Scully looks to her daughter, and then back to Mulder. Her eyes are still wide with fear. She sighs a little, tensely, and whispers, "I'll need to pack some things. My savings…"

"If you tell me what you need, I'll go and get it. You should not have to go back there."

Miss Scully rattles off a list in a quivering voice: clothes for the both of them, a knife that her father gave her, her bundle of coins underneath the bed. Emily tugs on his sleeve and adds softly, "And my dolly, please. And the picture of my sister Maggie, and of Mama's family. There's two of them."

Mulder slips out of his apartment and into theirs and finds it all, bundling it into a ragged carpet bag. He grabs their coats, too, and the family Bible under the bed, and a pistol he finds in John Doggett's part of the apartment. He tucks the pistol into his waistband and goes back to his apartment, where he finds the girls sitting on his bed, Emily curled up asleep in her mother's lap. "There is no need to wake her," he says when he sees Miss Scully moving to do just that. "I can carry her. It may be easier if she is asleep."

She nods, taking the carpet bag from his hands. "I… I cannot begin to thank you, Mr. Mulder," she whispers, shifting Emily off of her lap and standing.

He's begun to gather his own things, shoving his feet into his boots, retrieving his own savings. He puts a few books he cannot bear to part with into his bag, and a drawing he's held onto for years now, a portrait his father commissioned of Samantha. Photography was not in fashion when he and his sister were growing up, and so this drawing is the only memory he has as to what she looked like. "There is no need for thanks."

"You've done too much for us," Miss Scully whispers. She's put on her coat, and Emily's coat, and now she is tying a piece of cloth over her head—he assumes, to hide her bright hair. Her voice, soft as it's been all night, sounds a little different, as if she's trying to sand off the edges of the accent, attempting to sound different. "I… will find a way someday to repay you."

"It is not at all necessary." He shoulders his bag, grabs his hat and pulls it onto his head, before leaning down and scooping up Emily. She is a bit tall to be carried, but much lighter than he expected, barely weighing anything in his arms. She stays asleep, her coat and the blanket hanging off of her lightly. He shifts her in his arms and turns back to Miss Scully. "Shall we go?"

Miss Scully nods, her fingers rushing to button her coat. She grabs her carpet bag, clutching it to her chest, and trails out of the apartment after him.

---

She was twenty-one the first time she was married, at the end of the famine that had plagued her teenage years. She remembered being frightened, if only a little bit. She'd met Daniel a few times beforehand, and though at the time he'd seemed kind and honorable, she found it bizarre that his young daughter was only seven years younger than her. Practically the right age enough to court her younger brother. She hadn't wanted it for herself, it was the last thing she'd wanted in a way, and yet she could not protest. She could feel her mother watching Melissa as she helped her to get ready, and knew she was thinking about the disappointment Melissa had given her by refusing to marry, even driving away potential suitors. Her sister was going to have the life she wanted, and Dana was going to take her place as the honorable daughter, the one who did what she was supposed to do and did not argue. She wasn't marrying Daniel Waterston for herself, but for her father, because it was what he wanted, and she could not stand to let him or her mother down. Her father walked her down the aisle, and she wore the veil her mother had worn when she'd gotten married, and she'd wished to be somewhere else.

Now here she is again, in front of an altar with a man, but her father is dead, and she hasn't seen her mother or sister in years, and her daughter sleeps in the room upstairs, and she is twenty-eight and grimy and dressed in a dress that is too large for her because her own dress has bloodstains on it. She does not feel like a bride. The only good difference, she thinks, is that she knows her husband-to-be better than she perhaps ever knew Daniel. She knows he is intelligent and kind, and willing to protect herself and her daughter. And no matter the reason for this impromptu, inconvenient marriage, she is glad for at least that.

Mr. Mulder is holding her hands, so gently in his, and he's not quite meeting her eyes, but she can still see kindness in his face. She doesn't quite have the courage to look at him, either, and so she looks down at her boots. Mr. Frohike, their witness, stands in the corner. The preacher, a friend of Mr. Frohike, stands before them without asking questions. He simply opens the Bible and says the words, all the right ones. Dana and Mr. Mulder say what they are meant to, too, and then it is done. They do not kiss, not even chastely. There is no music or flowers or white dresses. Dana could not care less.

Just before the ceremony, Mr. Mulder leaned down to whisper in her ear, saying, "I promise you I will be a gentleman, Miss Scully. This marriage is for the safety of you and your daughter. It doesn’t have to mean a thing."

She blushed immediately, heat rising on her cheeks, and looked to the ground. "I cannot thank you enough, Mr. Mulder," she had said softly. "And you need not worry. I trust you."

When she looked back at him, he was smiling. "Perhaps we should do away with the formalities, Miss Scully."

"Perhaps," she had agreed, a bit amused. "I won't be a Miss anymore, after all." She offered him a small smile back, still unbelieving that he was helping her so much, that he was willing to hide and marry a murderess. A man she barely knew. "Shall I call you Fox?" she asks.

Mr. Mulder had flinched, just a bit, and shook his head. "Perhaps… just Mulder, if you do not mind. I have never liked my first name, and most people I know call me Mulder."

It's unusual, but it's no more unusual than the rest of this situation. Dana smiles and nods. "Well, you may call me Dana or Scully, I suppose," she said lightly, unsure of why except that he has always called her Miss Scully, like she has always called him Mr. Mulder. "Whichever appeals to you."

"Which appeals to you more, Miss Scully?" he'd asked, teasing, and then the preacher had been ready, and now here they are.

Once, she had believed she would never get married again. Now, she is married, and she has no idea whether or not it counts.

Mr. Mulder—Mulder—keeps hold of her hand as they go back upstairs to Emily. It's the first time anyone has held her hand in years, and she is surprised by how nice it feels, his warm and callused fingers wrapped around hers. Daniel's hands had been cool, his touch unyielding, his voice the same faux-polite sound it always was as he talked to everyone but her. Mulder's hands are gentle, holding her hand carefully—not as if it is fragile and may break, but as if it is something precious, something he cares for. She knows this is not quite the case, it cannot be, but it is nice to pretend, for just a moment, that this is a true marriage, that she and Mulder love each other as a husband and wife should.

#i miss writing for this fandom sometimes... it and asoiaf are fun but this is so comfy #xf fanfic #i wrote this

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mythvoiced · 4 years ago

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9, 10, 27!

@listered | — ⊱asks for muns with a multimuse or more than one muse⊰

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-. 9. why were you drawn to each one of your characters? Since I covered all of my original characters here already - and it got about as messy and long as you’d expect - it is time for me to dedicate this space to Héloïse, and why she drew me in. The simplest way to put this would be I adore the movie and love her, but I’d like to go a little deeper than that.

This film is to me poetry of the tragic likes of Leopardi taken form in a story I could actually feel for. The nearly complete lack of background the characters received forces you to focus only on the now of the film, on the women they are when they appear on screen, to judge them for what you see, and the things they want you to know about them. We don’t get last names, birthplaces, we don’t get details on the convent, pictures of it. All we get is the story as it is being told, through the lenses of an artist, nonetheless. Every camera angle, every shot filled with next to nothing but silence and unspoken thoughts, this film is art. And Héloïse is the centre of it all. She’s the goal, the loss, the change, the plot acting on the character, the character acting on the plot. She’s just so very beautiful in the contrast between how mature she can be as she stands her ground, how adult she is, and how child-like her demands can sometimes be, that scene where she says goodbye to her mother in the way ‘she used to’, how she’s a woman forced to live a life she doesn’t want to live, how her time in the convent have kept her stuck in a lack of knowledge of the world in a factual sense usually attributed to children and her curiosity to learn more, and how the pain of losing so much and never being granted everything, of being pushed around and have her wishes left unheard and trapped within her chest gave her an outlook on like and a knowledge of the world that is painfully aged. Héloïse is beautiful, so so so beautiful. Her anger, and her love, and her pain, and her intelligence, and her stubbornness, her everything is so so so so human. When I first wanted to write her, I didn’t know why. I explained it because I fell in love with her along with Marianne as I watched the film, that I simply adored her, attributed it to that scene when she turns around for the first time and I lost my breath. But it’s what I saw in that scene that drew me in: I lost my breath because I must have seen that Héloïse is literally La jeune fille un feu. She IS the film. And to hope to one day be able to encompass in my writing all of what the film gives us and what Héloïse is... it would be an honour.

-. 10. which muse is the most fun to write for? That would depend entirely on my mood, I think! And on what I’m looking for in my writing on any given day. I have the utmost fun writing Nathaniel when I’m looking to write something that is unapologetic, something where I don’t have to hold back for whatever character-central reason, because he’s someone who speaks as he wishes and does as he does. When I’m looking for something silly and care-free, something without the need for plotting, Yoshino is always the most fun to choose, for she’s an easy character to write. I also have a lot of fun writing themes that aren’t… you know, fun. Seona is fun to write because of her crass and disinterested nature, and her being in great contrast to all of my other muses, her confidence and her demeanour. Taejoo & Jungwoo who are heavily driven and influenced by their traumatic experiences are fun to write when I’m looking to explore something more serious in Jungwoo, or how even the worst of neglects and parental mistreatment can lead to a near-infinite amount of gentleness and what is actually submission perceived as the only means to survival, in Taejoo. If I’m looking for a character that stimulates me intellectually, that demands higher vocabulary due to the character’s nature of expressing themselves or how they think, Catharina & Patrick become apparent choices, with Kangmin closing in.

BUT if I had to pick a muse that is simply, unconditionally, incredibly fun to write, because every time I do write them, it just makes me FEEL good and giddy and puts me in a good mood and makes the world a little brighter, the title would go to and get shared between Junghoon & Sabriel, because I love them.

At the end of the day, though, it DOES depend on my mindspace: if I’m looking for something tense, something dark, something mean, Nathaniel would be a lot more fun to write than Lotte.

-. 27. is there a rule that someone keeps breaking for your muses? Not… per se, actually. I don’t have any character-specific rules and all of my actual rules are… pretty basic stuff that no one’s ever crossed or attempted to break during mythvoiced’s run time, the only thing I can think of that comes even remotely close is a few occasions of misgendering in Sabriel’s regards that have left me a little confused. I have used the wrong pronouns on two occasions myself, two singular uses of ‘he’ while I did stick to ‘they’ for the rest of the thread, so I realize that sometimes writing text in pronouns one isn’t used to associate to certain faces can be tricky – and continued effort should be put in, which is what I will continue to do to the best of my abilities – but it seemed odd to me that ‘he’ was used when everything involving Sabriel (safe for an early open, which used ‘she’) that can be found on my blog, from their stats, to their threads, to the tags in posts relating to them, the pronouns they/them reign superior in a 98% of the cases, so it made me feel like their stats hadn’t actually been checked beforehand, and it’s kickstarted a knee-jerk habit of me stating ‘they’re pronouns are they/them, btw :3’ whenever discussing my nonbinary/genderqueer muses, rather than solely naturally using they/them while describing them because it doesn’t guarantee that those pronouns would be used in turn. I realize, it’s sorta my fault, for stating ‘they/she/he/ as their pronouns on the muse page and their stats and never correcting them when I realized, through writing them, that Sabriel doesn’t connect to she/her & he/him at all rather than just slightly, but… still? Either way, I will get to changing their stats now ♥

#listered #;ooc #;to be tagged #when i say i squealed #THANK YOU SO SO SO SO SO MUCH for sending these in ;;;;;WWWWWW;;;;;;#and of course thank you for your interest as well ♥♥♥♥♥#a:#;queue

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banashee · 4 years ago

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Part 20 of my @badthingshappenbingo

Square: Verb al abuse

Please mind the tags and warnings in the bottom notes!

Tony is sitting on the living room floor, quietly occupying himself with a wooden car that he’s pushing back and forth on the marble floor. He’s been doing so for hours, as his day has been rather uneventful.

He’s spent all morning with Jarvis, who is now preparing lunch and asked Tony to play by himself for a little while. The butler reassured him he’ll only be one room over and just a call away, so Tony had agreed, settling down with his toys.

Even at four years old, he’s already showing signs that he’s almost certainly inherited his father's brilliant mind. While being a curious child, attentive and intelligent, he also likes to explore the world in his own way, just smelling the flowers and playing around. Just like any other child does.

But his son being just like any other child is not good enough for Howard Stark.

So when Howard walks into the room, distracted and talking to no one in particular, he almost trips over one of the other small wooden cars on the floor.

The steps make Tony look up from his game, face lighting up at the sight of his Dad. But Dad doesn’t look happy at all, he glares at him and snarls angrily.

“For fuck’s sake, Tony! Pick this up! And go do something useful instead of wasting your time.”

One of his hands is audibly hitting the doorframe, and then Howard is leaving Tony there, sitting on the floor and completely shocked by the outburst of anger. He’s so taken aback, he doesn’t even cry, simply remains where he is, speechless.

The little boy looks after Howard, his brown eyes wide and shiny while he’s still trying to make sense of it all. He’d only been playing, and he didn’t mean to mess up.

The toy drops out of his small hand and clatters to the floor where it lands on it’s side.

Then, he is gently picked up by Jarvis, who came rushing out of the kitchen as soon as he’s heard Howard yelling. Tony wraps his arms around the butlers neck as he scoops him up in a well practised motion, pressing close to him and still in shock. This certainly isn’t the first time his father has yelled, but it’s the first time he’s scared him like this.

It still rings in his ears, and Jarvis keeps him wrapped up in his arms, hoping to comfort the boy. They stay like that and the toys remain where they are for now. If Howard comes back now, which is unlikely but still, Edwin swears he’ll get in between his master and this child, no matter what.

Jarvis never raises his voice. He is always friendly, always calm, even when he is scolding. With him, Tony feels safe at any given time.

When they pick up the toys from the floor and put them away, Jarvis keeps talking to him in that patient, reassuring way, voice laced with britishness even after so many years overseas.

“Your father doesn’t mean it.” he says, faintly hoping it is not a lie, but even so - for now, Tony is still young enough to believe it - he probably won’t be for much longer.

“But it is important that we clean up after ourselves and not leave our belongings laying around where people can trip and hurt themselves.” Jarvis explains not for the first time as they pack wooden cars with little wheels into their box on the shelf, and Tony nods, because he knows but needs to be reminded sometimes.

“Okay. I’m sorry, Jarvis.” he says, looking up at the kind grey eyes with his own dark ones.

“It’s alright. Just try to remember it next time, okay?” Another nod, and he continues, “Thank you still for apologizing.” He’s smoothing down the boys dark hair with one hand, trying not to dwell too much on how he always leans into even the smallest of affections.

Then, he takes Tony by the hand as they walk towards the garden.

It’s a beautiful place, various kinds of rich and colorful flowers everywhere. There is also a swing set in the back, and Jarvis is leading him right there.

“We shall go outside and occupy ourselves there, Master Anthony. Perhaps I will be able to sneak out a bowl of ice cream for you later.” he adds with a small smile, getting a bright smile and excited little “Yai!” in response.

But he is wondering in the privacy of his own mind for how long this will be enough to keep this little boy safe. How long until leaving the house for a bit won’t be enough to wait for Mr. Stark to calm and get a grip on himself.

He is well aware that Howard's drinking has a lot to do with his mood swings, but it is no excuse.

Tony might not be his own, but Edwin Jarvis loves the little boy just the same and will do anything to keep him safe and happy.

*+~

“Start over. You can do better than that.”

Howard sounds cold and disinterested, doesn’t even really look at the machine that his son is presenting to him. He empties his glass and pours another drink, waving him away.

It stings - it always does, but Tony turns on his heel and leaves, biting back the answer he would like to give. This answer involves many strong words and a lot of sass .

‘ Maybe someday ’ , he thinks. ‘ Someday, I’ll tell him where to shove it. ’

Tony isn’t too sure it would even change anything.

Soon after this particular interaction, Tony simply stops showing his father what he’s built. He’ll get praise when there are cameras or reporters around, but he knows it is all for show - he tries not to latch onto that, knowing it’ll only get him hurt in the end. Besides that, even at twelve years old he already has developed a distaste for reporters and camera teams. Their presence means putting up an act, playing happy family.

His “public face” is well practised by now, and he hates it.

By the time he leaves for college three years later, it is fine tuned to perfection.

By the time he’s twenty-one and owner of his father’s multi billion dollar company, with Edwin and Ana Jarvis no longer alive and both parents dead and buried as well, his public mask slips in place almost effortlessly.

He kinda hates himself then like he did as a child but at the same time, it becomes like a suit of armor - it works.

*+~

Many years down the road, Tony is sitting on the grass in his backyard where a lake spreads out for miles and miles behind him. It’s a beautiful spring day - not cold, but not too hot, either. It’s perfect, and in moments like this, his life as it is now still like a dream sometimes.

Tony smiles down at his daughter sitting in front of him with her tiny arms outstretched, excited she just won their game of Memory - again.

Morgan squeals in delight, face bright and joyful and so full of love, it almost hurts. She’s nearly four now and living with her is like having a ray of sunshine around at all times.

Tony picks her up and lifts her high in the air for a few seconds and Morgan giggles, the happy sound traveling through the entire garden and into the house, where Pepper is on a conference call with a group of SI managers and she smiles, quietly bathing in the happiness that is their home. She’ll join them as soon as this conversation is done.

Back out in the garden, Tony has flopped onto his back and laying in the grass, sun shining into his face and Morgan cuddled up on his chest. He’s so incredibly happy - having their daughter is like a miracle, and he wouldn’t ever trade it for anything. It also makes him think of his own father, even after so many years of largely ignoring the topic whenever possible.

The thoughts of Howard Stark are very rarely happy ones, and Tony thought he would have finished dwelling on it - he’s an adult after all, and in control of his own life now. Struggling with insecurities and memories, sure. Amongst other things. But at least he can be his own person now.

But ever since Pepper got pregnant, the thoughts about his father kept creeping back into his mind. They have talked about this, still do, and Tony has sworn from the start that he wants to do everything different now that he’s got the chance.

From the day Morgan was born, he kept asking himself how a parent could fuck up as much as Howard had. And once again he swears, he’ll do everything different to break the cycle of coldness and neglect.

Morgan, too, has inherited the brain that seems to run in the Stark family - pair that with Pepper’s own intelligence and wit, and you’ve got a wickedly smart child.

They support and encourage her in all of this, but the most important thing is to let her simply be a kid. They support her interest in all the things, let her do little exercises that are meant for kids much older than her, and she solves them with ease. But it’ll never interfere with play time - they want to give Morgan the best and happiest childhood possible. She’ll have to grow up soon enough, so they want her to have as much time to simply be as they can.

And Tony wants to be involved in all of it, unlike his own father.

Children can be messy - stuff breaks, clothes and carpets get stained with unidentifiable substances. It happens, and it really is no big deal.

Sure, both Pepper and Tony are exhausted sometimes and simply don’t have the energy to deal with anything anymore that day. Things get frustrating then, but still, even in his worst state, Tony would rather hack off his own hands than snap or yell at Morgan like Howard did at him.

‘ Break the cycle .’ he thinks, and his daughter seems to pick up at the change of his mood, however small it might be.

“Daddy, are you happy?” she asks, and the genuine question makes him smile and hug her closer for a moment, nose stuck in her dark hair.

“The happiest, munchkin.” he replies, and Morgan wrinkles her nose at the nickname, but the giggles that bubble up betray their ongoing game of her pretending to hate those names.

A little while later, Pepper steps out of the house, now dressed in jeans and one of Tony’s ancient AC/DC shirts instead of the suit she’s usually wearing for work. She finds her two favourite people fast asleep in the afternoon sun.

Smiling, Pepper simply lies down next to them, head pillowed on Tony’s arm and one hand resting lightly on Morgans back.

She breathes out, long and content, letting go of the day. It doesn’t take long for Pepper to fall asleep right then and there, too.

*+~

Square: Verbal abuse

Notes:

Warning:

- Child abuse / child neglect - verbal abuse - hitting a wall - Bad parenting - Lasting effects of said childhood abuse - non-graphic brief mention of character death - references to alcoholism

#banashee writes #Bad things happen bingo #howard starks a+ parenting #marvel fanfiction

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otome-writer51 · 5 years ago

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A Ninja’s Kin Part 2

Part 1

Now that both of my sons were busy with their punishments, I could relax. I let out a deep sigh, instantly regretting how harshly I had treated my babies.

‘They’re just children,’ I told myself as I raked my hands through my hair, ‘but they also wish to be just like their father some day. I also know that they cannot be coddled if that is the path they wish to take in life. They just made me so so angry. I just…’

“Mommy?” A sweet, honeyed voice reached my ears, pulling me out of my internal war with my emotions. My gorgeous girl was wanting my attention.

At some point, she seemed to have made her way over to me, nonetheless I answered her in a kind voice, “Yes, my sweet angel?”

“Can you braid my hair for me? It is pretty messy right now and it’s making me hot. I wanted to braid it for training, but I am not as good as you,” she looked at me, “PLEASE MOMMY!!!” she begged, spitting out every word so fast it was hard to tell where one began and one ended. I chuckled as she looked up at me with those big puppy dog eyes I could never say no to.

“Of course I will, my heart and soul. Anything for you.” Maybe it was because I was feeling very guilty for how poorly I had treated my sons, but I couldn’t help but be extra sweet to Sakura.

“That is great mommy! Let’s go back to the veranda.” Gently taking my hand, my baby girl pulled me to take a seat. She plopped herself down in front of me, handing me her favorite comb. I began to brush out her knotty hair.

“Wow!” I exclaimed in wonder, “Sweetie, you weren’t joking, your hair really is a mess!”

She giggled cutely, “I told you, it always gets like this... but training makes it worse.” How in the world was this girl able to survive with her hair like this? I couldn’t believe she lived the way she did, sometimes.

Although her hair was a tangled mess, there was something soothing about combing out her long locks. It was so soothing, in fact, that it cleared my mind of everything, except the one thing I was worried about the most; my boys.

‘Oh my brave, strong, kind boys. I was too harsh on you both. I was just frustrated to see you both so at each other’s throats. That is not how brothers should behave under any circumstances. It was cute at first, but then you two just lost your heads and I lost mine as well. To make my little boy run off in tears like that, I shall forever hang my head in shame. What can I do to possibly make it up to him? Someone please tell me what I can-’

“Mommy, you’ve been brushing my hair for a while, now. I think it's ready to be braided,” said my daughter, turning around to find out why I had not started to braid her hair already.

“Oh, I just got lost in my thoughts dear. I will start right away.” Parting her hair in my fingers, I began to twist the strands together, into a pattern.

And once again, I fell victim to my own thoughts. ‘Just what to do with my boys. ‘How do I make it up to them?’

And once again, that sweet voice brought me back to the surface. “I know it may not seem very wise coming from an eight year old, but… I think you handled the situation the right way mommy.”

‘Oh what’s this? My girl has seemingly figured out the cause of my distress. She is sneaky like her daddy, but she is also quite perceptive as well.’

She continued on, “We are just children, we don’t see the world the way you do yet. With the path in life we have chosen, we are destined to need strict teaching. We cannot be successful without it.”

‘Not wise for an eight year old, dear. Give me a break, you are schooling your own mother here.’

“They were in the wrong, they did not listen to your orders when you gave them to them. A ninja needs to be a master at leading, but should also know when they must follow in line. The two of them have yet to figure that out it seems.” Chuckling at her jibe at her brothers, she gave me one last piece of advice. “A ninja also needs compassion. I feel that you have scared them for long enough and that they are now due for a reward, yes. I say you should let them know that they were completely in the wrong, but you should also let them find comfort in you after all is said and done.”

It was in this moment that I realized how much like her father she truly was. Takeshi may look exactly like him and Haru might be cheeky like their father too, but my beautiful girl definitely is his replica in personality. She is so wise for her age, and I know it is because of how closely she watches him. It warms my heart to think about how much my children love and adore their father. They still are far away from where they need to be, but they are already far more ready than I ever dreamed they’d be at this age.

Finding my resolve, I figured out what I was going to do. ‘When Haru gets back I am going to hug him, and Takeshi, so tight; tell them they don’t have to worry about those chores, and that they will be allowed at supper. I will give them a talk too, along with their father tomorrow, but for today, I believe they have been punished enough.’

“Um, mommy, you’re doing it again.�� For the final time that day, my daughter rescued me from the violent waves crashing down on me from above. “You stopped braiding a while ago. Are you ever going to finish?”

It was only now that I came to know what I had done, or what I hadn't done. I stopped intertwining her locks about two-thirds of the way down. I’d been so kept up in my own mind I neglected what I was doing in real life. Finding new found motivation, I finished her hair faster than I had before and then I tied the ribbon on, securely fastening her beautiful hair-do.

“Oh! I love it! I love it! I love it so much!! Thank you mommy,” she twirled, watching her locks fall around her in awe. She ran over to give me a hug and a kiss, both of which I happily accepted.

‘I love you so much my precious angel. It feels so good to have you in my arms. I only wish I could be holding all three of you at the same time. My fierce Takeshi, My beautiful blossom that is you, and my little light Ha-’ I froze, alarm bells immediately sounding in my head at the thought of my son.

“OH MY GOSH!!! WHERE IS HARU?” I yelled, my loud voice right in my daughter’s ear making her jump. Takeshi also raised his head in alarm towards me when he heard the desperation in my voice. “He should have been back a long while ago… Where could he possibly be?” I muttered, worry starting to run through me. The sky had begun to paint itself in beautiful and vibrant shades of orange, yellow, and magenta strokes.

“Don’t worry mom, I will go look for him,” Takeshi said reassuringly to me. He truly was my brave, brave boy. With the way he was acting earlier, you wouldn’t think he would want to go find his little brother. Takeshi turned, and set off to find his brother.

“Honey, don’t do that! I shall go.”

Takeshi smiled, but said in a determined tone of voice, “Thank you mother, but this is the least I can do to make it up to him for being such a jerk, and to you for being such an awful son.”

My heart broke at his remorseful tone. “My dear, you are not an awful son; you never have been, and never will be. I love you so much, my brave boy. If this is what you wish to do, then go do it. Go find Haru and bring him back here.” With a smile of a boy who knew exactly what he needed to do, Takeshi looked at me one last time before he turned to follow the direction in which Haru had gone.

“Thank you, mother. I will not let you down.”

After my boy rounded the corner, I turned around to my daughter who was currently executing her sneak attack on Yogurt. My feathery boy thought he was in the clear in his newest hiding spot. He didn’t account for the fact that his huntress was my daughter, and she would always find him.

Holding in my laughter, I continued to watch my girl who was almost upon the skittish chicken. Tip-toeing closer, she got onto her knees, reached out, and…

“Cock-a-doodle-doo!,” she yanked Yogurt out of his hiding place, unbothered by the ear piercing shriek he let out. Cuddling him tight to her chest once more, she whispered words of affection to him as he tried to get away.

“Hehehe,” a giggle was the only sound I could force out of my mouth. ‘She really does love that chicken.’ Watching her with him warmed my heart and, letting that warmth sooth my mind, I all but put my missing son out of my worries. That was until a look of fear, one I've never seen present on my child’s face, seemingly froze her to her core, making her drop Yogurt in the process.

“Sakura, what is wrong?” Frozen in her fear, she was unable to talk to me. In turn, I followed her wide eyes to… A very horrid sight indeed. ‘“Huh?!” I gasped, startled at the sight in front of me. There were my two boys, not back with the training sword but tied up and gagged, desperately pleading for help.

A man, standing at least seven feet tall, broad-shouldered and built, with scars ravaging his entire body, held both of my children by their waists. His menacing eyes bore into mine with a hatred that spanned more than a decade. This man looked as if he knew who I was, but I did not know of him. He was here to destroy, and I could bet my son's lives that he wanted to kill.

Frightened I might have been, but I had no time to waste on my fears. One mere second was the matter of life or death here.

‘If I wish for my sons to live to see another year, I must act now.’

“SAKURA! GO GET YOUR FATHER NOW!” I yelled to my princess, but she was still frozen in fear. “SAKURA!” Having heard me this time, she ran off to fetch her father, and hopefully anyone else along the way.

My full attention now was focused on my sons’ captor; his inhumane yellowish gaze, just that of a monster, followed my every movement.

Unsheathing my hidden sword from inside my robes, I barked at the creature, “State your name, order, and place if you wish to be alive for longer than the sunset.” I wielded my weapon, pointing it directly at the savage’s heart, daring him to speak.

“Ugggghhhh,” he threw my sons to the ground, and their muffled groans of pain infuriated me even more than I already was.

Surely, I yelled loud enough for the whole castle to hear me, “STATE YOUR NAME! PLACE! AND ORDER! Or, so help me if you do not, I will make you regret it even in death.” My tone could have sent any normal man into hell in seconds, but this was no normal man.

Stepping over my sons, he reached behind his back and withdrew his dual blades. Sizing me up, he finally spoke, “You do not deserve the dirt on my feet, you nasty bitch. All you need to know is that I am the one who is sending you and your disgusting filth of a family to hell tonight.”

His venomous voice wrapped its vice grip around my lungs, and squeezed the air out, chilling me to the bone. He eyed me, similar to an eagle stalking its prey, and I glared at him with just as much animosity.

“If you were wise, you would let my sons go and move your ass along, out of my home.” This man was severely testing my patience.

It was my policy to settle with words before violence. I should’ve known from the start that it would not work with this one. Chuckling darkly at me, what he did next pushed me over the edge and all of my self control came crashing down. ‘My babies!!!’ He raised his left blade to Takeshi’s head, and the other above Haru’s.

Before he could have even thought of striking my sons, I advanced, charging like a wild bull who saw red. “Haa!!,” I grunted as I swiped my sword across his torso, narrowly missing him as he leaped over me, rolling into his battle stance. Sliding in the dirt, I caught my footing, spinning around to charge once more.

Before I could, however, this time he made the first move. He was sprinting towards me with a very clear intent; I was not to survive. If I was any normal woman, I would’ve cowered in fear but, alas, I was no normal woman; I was the lord assassin Kirigakure Saizo’s wife.

While I stood my ground, ready to pounce, my assailant arrived. He thrashed at me wildly and I blocked every swipe, stab, and thrash. Moving in graceful harmony, to an outsider it would have looked as though we had rehearsed the final act of a play. Every attack I had a response for, helping me bide my time for my opportunity to lead this dance.

Part 3 Part 4 Part 5

#love 365 find your story #love 365 #samurai love ballad party #SLBP #slbp saizo #slbp yukimura #slbp fanfic #fanfic #family au #fluff #saizo fluff #badass chicken #badass wife #badass mom #adorable kids #sexy ninja #YOU ARE A QUEEN AND YOU DESERVE THE WORLD BUNNY

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b-rainlet · 5 years ago

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You made me ship Lunya T.T but as a Allison stan this kind made me ship her with Diego... headcanon about the neglected couples? :O

Tbh, there are a lot of ship possibilities that could be seen as neglected couples since there are 7 main people who could be thrust into about 21 ship dynamics - not counting poly ships and not counting ships that aren’t sibling ships - like Klave or Vanya/Helen or even still incest stuff like Gracexthe sibs.

So you see, endless possibilities but there are only about 4 ships who are really popular? Klave, Kliego, Fiveya...maybe Horrance? And even then, most Horrance or Fiveya shippers still see their ship as a rarepair because compared to Klave or Kliego it more or less is.

Which may have to do with the fact that if you’re an anti but wanna ship something you have pretty limited options, so Klave it is.

So you probably want some Allison/Diego hcs but I’m gonna do a little more because Allison is less popular in general so her ships are not that often talked about.

I’ll leave out Alluther because I did some OTP asks about them, but y’all know I ship them because it’s the sweet story of childhood sweethearts meeting again and falling in love all over again and it’s just...*sighs dreamily* lots of possibilities.

Allison/Diego: A fun ship! At first you’d probably say: ‘We have a pretty much functional adult with a child and a guy who eats raw eggs to seem edgy’ so it’s easy to fall into a Hermione/Ron relationship interpretation where you have a dumbass and someone done with their shit - and I can see it being like that occasionally but not always!

When I think about them I mostly think about teasing. They totally do some competitive shit just because they wanna best each other but where that same dynamic could quickly turn into arguments for Luego I can see it staying mostly light-hearted with Allison/Diego.

(Quick question, do they have a ship name? Asking for tagging purposes).

And Allison would take none of Diego’s shit. Oh, Diego has one of his mood swings and tries to be an emo boy and pull that ‘I don’t need anyone shit’? Boy, Allison is a single mother who’s been through a divorce already, she doesn’t have time for your angst.

Lmao, Allison being like: “We’ll sit down and talk about our feelings now” after a fight and Diego complains the whole time but sits down like a good boy.

Also, Allison would do the vigilante thing from time to time because she may pretend to be an adult and above that kinda stuff but it’s fun and they definitely argue over who took out more people.

Give me that power couple pls.

Allison/Klaus: One of my favourite ships! Can be real whole-hearted or angsty depending on the angle you take.

Like, Allison who keeps busting Klaus out of prison with her status and her rumours and who pays for his rehab stay every single time, at first still telling him that she’s gonna fix him with that Hollywood ‘You can do it’ attitude - slowly getting more and more annoyed by her no-good brother, feeling like a babysitter - maybe even refusing to keep indulging his brother, to keep giving him money he’s only gonna use on drugs anyway.

And Klaus who despises Allison’s glamour lifestyle, her polished image and her nuclear family - we could even throw some biphobia in there because Klaus remembers their talks about how pretty girls are but Allison pretends that never happened because it wouldn’t do her career much good. (Just like being seen with her junkie brother, “isn’t that why we can’t meet anywhere that isn’t a back alley? Why you can’t talk to me without sunglasses and a hat? Why you keep your voice down even when I scream at you?”)

Plus, some added angst: Patrick telling Allison to just drop her brother already, he’s just gonna self-destruct and take her with him and that creates tension between the two of them, could even be one of the many reasons for their divorce.

And just like that, Allison loses all of it. And Klaus is there with a cheap bottle of Tequila, already high and grinning at her: “Welcome at the bottom, sister dearest!”

*insert the 30k story about the two of them slowly learning to understand each other and finally being able to heal - with the help from the other but also because they wanna change for themselves. I vote for added bed sharing and sleepovers and them doing each other’s nails but also them fucking once and not talking about it because they were both really hurt and not really thinking when it happened but it staying in the back of their minds until they realize that they could actually work together*

This got angstier than it was supposed to be, sorry! I love them, I swear!

Allison/Five: Probably the least popular one out of all the Allison ships!

I have to admit that I don’t think about Five ships much? Which probably has to do with the whole child body thing but I’m not opposed to ships involving them! (Especially when they’re enby, y’all know my brand).

Allison/Five would be that kinda snob couple who knows they are superior to you and they’re not above showing you. Lots of quibs, lots of sarcasm.

But also probably one of the more mature ones? I can see Allison being unsure at first because Five is- no, looks like a kid and who knows when that will get fixed? And maybe it’s because she’s a Mum but sometimes she just treats them like a child and Five hates it.

(Five probably has to do a lot of courting before Allison considers a relationship. Which is bullshit. They both know there’s tension there, why the fuck is Allison drawing back from that? Just because Five’s trapped in this body? Does Allison think they want that?)

Five aggressively flirting while Allison to herself is like: ‘Hoe, don’t do it.’ but eventually giving in.

And of course, depending on your take of Five’s body, things are gonna be weird. Like, a popular hc is to have Five in a 20ish body but even then, just imagine the headlines.

Allison Hargreeves, world star, dating a guy 10 years younger!!! Is she getting over her divorce with a boy toy?

(Not to mention the pseudo-incest part).

They’d get a lot of shit I’d say.

And Five would be furious about that. How dare they imply that their relationship with Allison is just some fling? They’ll show them. So they make a game out of proving the paparazzi wrong. Makes it their mission to treat Allison as right as possible.

(Also I have feelings about the whole Five - Claire - Allison thing. I mean, just Five mentioning wanting to meet Claire? Knowing her name? I am soft).

And I know I am rambling a little but whether you think Patrick was/is a nice guy or not (I personally think he is), I can see Allison being so obsessed with seeming flawless and having the picture perfect family - as opposed to her own family - that she felt like she could never really be herself? Like she had to hide a lot of her more ‘ugly’ sides to be desirable.

And Five doesn’t care about that shit. Five also doesn’t care about courtesy. Five will jump into her room at the beginning of their relationship, watch her scramble around to try and change into something nicer than her pajamas and apologize for her messy hair and her pimples- “I just woke up, I didn’t have time to put on my make up, can’t you come back later Five?”

And Five’s like: “You look like someone who just woke up. Your hair is sweaty and you have a pretty big pimple on your nose. Also, your morning breath is horrible. Can we cuddle now?”

(Five is the first partner Allison burps in front of. It’s pretty freeing).

Five on the other hand has someone they can be insecure in front of. Where they don’t have to pretend they know all the answers. Be dismissive with. (They’re trying to let all of their siblings in but it’s a process, okay?)

I’m sorry, I’ll stop now but I gave myself feelings.

Allison/Ben: This feels like an easier couple. Like, more normal, lmao. Just a couple of adopted sibs falling in love the old-fashioned way - after one of them gets brought back to live and they survive a near apocalypse their sister caused.

I like to spin some tale of being in love as kids (like with Alluther) but for me the two of them really work better as just being friends as kids and then once Ben comes back, Allison realizes how much she missed him and she’s like “What is this???? Am I....crushing on him??” (imagine the Beauty and the Beast song where they realise they like each other while playing in the snow).

Just...some good and nice slowburn. Maybe some added angst with Ben thinking Allison is confusing her relieve of him being alive with being in love or believes she’s looking for a rebound after her divorce.

Or maybe he believes he’s just touch-starved and that’s why he clings to Allison?

(Imagine the two of them chilling at the mansion together, just picking up where they left off, pretending to still be kids. Allison all excitedly showing Ben what he’s missed during all those years and what he only gets to experience now - let’s be honest this mostly boils down to Allison making him eat a bunch of stuff, not even waiting until he takes a bite himself but just putting it in his mouth because she wants to see whether he likes it).

(I hc that Allison can’t cook for shit but Ben has no real frame of reference unless you count blurry memories of what food used to taste like so it’s heaven to him and Allison is giddy).

They’re just cute, okay?

Allison/Vanya: ANGST. GAY ANGST. I mean, the guilt over what happened, Allison feeling like it’s her fault and treating Vanya all nice but Vanya stilll flinches everytime she sees the angry red scar across Allison’s throat. Plus, if Allison still can’t speak and will never speak again and Vanya tries her hardest to learn ASL with her so she doesn’t have to write down everything all the time.

Young Allison/Vanya with Vanya realising she’s queer and sneaking glances at Allison and immediately feeling guilty because she shouldn’t be looking, it’s wrong and dirty and Allison will hate her and-

Whereas she is completely missing the way Allison is looking back.

Also this ship can easily turn toxic with either of them - or both - getting overbearing after all that happened. And tbh, that’s just as exciting to write/think about.

That’s all I got for now but you’re welcome to talk more Allison/Allison ships with me!

#Allison Hargreeves

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ravage-my-mind · 4 years ago

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22-8-2020

It’s late at night and lately I feel like I’m playing the same stories over and over again in my head. I’m constantly thrown back and forth between denial and acceptance. For some reason it’s really hard to come to terms with all the abuse I’ve endured in my entire life. Sometimes it feels like it didn’t even happen, even though I see clear images in my head. So maybe when I write it down and face the facts, I can come to terms with it. It started when I was young. I was never “the favorite child”. My parents, especially my dad, made me feel like I was out of control. That I wasn’t an enjoyable child. I played by the rules, but I was and still am the type that likes to swim against the current and have my own opinions. My needs were often neglected and my voice was often silenced. My family was cold and there wasn’t a lot of love or displays of affection. I was rarely hugged or told that I did something good and that they were proud of me. Encouragement was a rare thing as well. I was criticized a lot and in retrospect, I was kind of a puppet on a string; I had to listen and obey or else I was punished by being ignored or, in my dad’s case, beaten. The bathroom was my safe space, so whenever my parents (especially my dad) was turning agressive towards me, I hid there. But it didn’t stop there. How often I’ve heard the threats of him destroying the door and coming for me while he was banging on the door and yelling at me as I crawled away further from the door, hoping he didn’t act on it. My mother was working most of the time, so she didn’t see a lot of it and when she was home, she was tired and just wanted to sit down and do the least possible. Sometimes I was ridiculed or laughed at for the way I acted or the things I liked. The older I got, the more I watered myself down. Then I got into relationships. The first two weren’t too bad. The last 3 were horrible in their own ways. The first one of those 3 skyrocketed me into a depression. I was a complete slave to the way I felt about her. Beautiful things were said and almost promised, but actions never followed through. She was cold, harsh and verbally agressive. I’m do not claim to be a saint and if there’s any mistakes I made, I would always own up to it, sometimes in a messy way. That was my first experience with feeling invisible and alone in a relationship. Where this first one got loud, the second of those 3 was more silent. She was the type of girl who could never see things from my perspective. As long as I nodded and agreed, things would be okay, but as soon as I spoke up, I got the silent treatment. Not just for hours, but for days even. She expected me to build everything around her and her life and the plannings that came with it. Everything was on her terms or when she felt like it. She had friends who claimed her and almost controlled her, which eventually lead to cause a gap between me and her friends. She never denied her friends. She did deny me. Then came the cherry on top. The last relationship I’ve been in. What started off as something almost fairytale like turned into trauma bonding. It started intense. Way too intense, in retrospect. We were on a car with no brakes and we were just headed for collision. This is the relationship where I’m most in denial about the events that happened. Even though the scars and effects are there, I somehow cannot come to terms and accept that this is what happened to me. Everything seemed to start really balanced, up until a certain point. One by one the strings were attached to my limbs and by the end, I just danced whenever I was told to dance. I was cracked open to get shut down again. Instead of me rebuilding myself again, I was molded and formed into someone I was not and made believe that that version of me was the real me. Encouragement turned into doubt. Everything turned into doubt. I was made feel guilty for being me and seeing things the way I see them, feeling the things I felt and thinking the thoughts I thought. At some point, all I did was try to not make her upset or trigger her, even if I had to do things against my will. With everything I had I tried to make her feel like she was on top of the world, but what I did not see that by doing that, I made it so she could look down on me. Every bit of life, self worth, confidence and hope was stripped away from me and these wounds still hurt to this day. It’s been 2 years and sometimes it feels like as if it was yesterday. This relationship completely distorted my reality and the way I view and experience things. She was always right and I was always wrong and still whenever I talk about this, I feel guilty for saying the things I say, even though this is really been my experience. I was constantly thrown back and forth between things being too much and things not being enough. I could not get a second of rest. I have lost several good friends over that relationship, because of her either imposing her view on me or almost forbidding me to talk to them. My heart still fucking breaks every time I think about how I’ve hurt people so close to me, just to keep her happy. Overall I still feel really sad and angry about all the things I kept myself from doing for her. My world just existed out of her. Not by choice, but by subtle force. My life was just about pleasing her and keeping her happy and satisfied while I neglected myself and my needs more and more. I was almost forced to be a certain way and be a person I was not. At some point, it was more that I was thinking that I should do certain stuff rather than me doing things naturally and because I felt like doing them. That’s when it came to affection, words of affirmation and even sex. I knew what I had to do to cause the least conflict and that’s just what I did. I was always overruled and overpowered. Whenever I tried to climb up, I was kicked down again. I really don’t feel sorry for myself and I refuse to call myself a victim. It’s just really hard when I keep telling this story and I look over at the other person and they just sit there with the most concerned and disturbed look on their face and all I can think is “is it really that bad?”. Even when they sum it up, it seems unreal. Gaslighting. Emotional abuse. Sexual abuse. It doesn’t seem real, but maybe that’s just me being in denial and still not feeling that I can have my own reality and experience with things. After being silenced for so long, it’s hard to have a voice about things like this. Sometimes it’s pretty clear to me that the things that happened were bad and sometimes, it’s complete denial. “Things weren’t that bad”. “It’s my fault”. The hardest thing about this phase in my life is coming to terms with everything and finding healing in all the pain, sadness and anger. Even writing this makes me feel like I’m blowing things out of proportion or that I’m exaggarating or dramatizing things, but it’s real. I’m still scared and anxious and being in a relationship still triggers me to the bone. My life is balancing between finding distractions and dealing with things. I feel guilty about the things that I feel and I feel guilty about the things that I think or say. It somehow still feels like everything is my fault and that I’m the bad seed in every connection. Things are getting better, though and I’m healing. Acceptance is hard, but not impossible.

#trauma #ptss #bpd #borderline personality disorder #mental illness #depression #my past #writing #abuse #tw abuse

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