#but having people dismiss or just not trying to spell or pronounce your name gets old really quickly

[gottagobackintime]

The fact that Zava didn’t apologise for mispronouncing Zoreaux’s name is pissing me off. Probably more than it should, but whatever.

As someone who has their first and last name misspelled and mispronounced a lot, it’s annoying. I had a substitute teacher when I was like 8, who called out our names in the morning and he said “my name” but he pronounced it “Nick-olé” kind of. And I didn’t understand that he meant me, because that’s not how to say my name. And then he asked if he missed someone and I said he missed me. He asked for my name, I pronounced it CORRECTLY, and he goes “but that’s what I said”. Like??? No, it’s not even close to what you said. Just apologise and say it correctly, that goes for you too Zava!

[apphiarothowrites]

(for the sake of these getting long)

Pops is, unsurprisingly, asleep when Marco makes it to his quarters. Marco busies himself with checking the medical equipment in the room and recording the early morning readings-all well within normal and acceptable ranges for Pops. It soothes something in him, to do so, and the twisting in his stomach is less pronounced by the time his father finally wakes up.

The talk they have, though, is sobering. Marco voices his worries, most notably the crew secrets (his own secrets, Pops' secrets) he could accidentally reveal. Pops listens with a considering eye, the line between Father and Captain very clear for the first time in a long time. When he's done, Marco slumps into the chair he's sitting in and exhales like his soul is leaving him.

"We'll set the 12th Division on finding a way to fix it. Haruta needs a project he can sink his teeth into. Word will get around the ship, though." Pops says after a long silence.

Marco waves a hand, trying to dismiss the concern Pops can't show. "I'll bunk down in my offices and the infirmary. The nurses know better and my Division respects me enough not to push-yoi."

Well, Mala might but only because they enjoy making him squirm when they're not buried nose deep in the paperwork. He knows how to keep them focused, though, so he doesn't foresee it being a problem.

"Alright son. Go talk to the people who need talking to, I'll call Haruta in here."

So Marco leaves, skips breakfast, and resolutely stays sequestered in the First Division offices where the bureaucratic paper nightmare of the Moby Dick's 1600-strong crew ends up. If it weren't for Mala, his First Officer, Marco would be the first mate in name only solely because he'd spend all of his time dealing with this aspect of the job. Instead, Mala happily takes over for him so he can focus on cracking skulls and nagging Pops about his salt intake.

Luckily, or unfortunately, even with Mala's strict devotion to the work (enough to make the Navy weep with envy) there's always more paperwork to be done. Losing hours reading, signing, and filing is easy. Losing whole days to that kind of work is the norm.

Of course, because the 12th Division is the intelligence division (read: full of shameless gossips), the whole ship knows by dinner time that Marco's been whammied with a "truth spell." He refuses to leave the office until it's just him and Mala left, and even then Mala has to forcibly drag his chair to the door before he admits defeat and trails behind them to the mess for dinner.

In short, it's a shitshow. People call out questions, statements, anything to get him to crack-as he expected they would. He saves himself from embarrassment only by keeping his mouth stuffed with food and drink. Izou and Jozu eventually call off the dogs with bellowed orders to stow their shit and stuff their gobs, but even that can't save him from the other commanders themselves.

Vista is where it starts. He says, with a humored glint in his eye, "So dear brother, I see you've decided hiding is the best course of action for your affliction."

"Wouldn't want to spill secrets that aren't mine to share-yoi." Marco says with a hard edge. Best to shut this shit down before it even starts.

Ace flinches, eyes wide, and Izou eyes the young man with keen interest. He pounces on the opportunity. "Secrets like what?"

"Like what exactly you like or don't like wearing under your kimono-yoi." Marco says meanly, not hiding how irritated he is by the entire thing.

Izou's eyebrows shoot up almost to his hairline, hands coming up in surrender. "Okay, okay, going right for the throat there aren't you?"

He backs off, as does the rest of the table, and Marco shovels his dinner down faster than Ace does. He flees the mess without taking his dishes back to the window-the idea of Thatch trying to trick something out of him enough to drive him straight back to his quarters for the evening.

The next morning, Haruta meets him as his door and bullies his way into the bedroom. He has news, but it isn't good.

The guy who shoved him has a devil fruit. The effect is, apparently, temporary but only once the condition of the original affliction has been met. Marco barely remembers the guy, so Haruta has to tell him.

"You have to prove your loyalty to the crew. Or at least to someone on the crew who doubts that you're as loyal as you appear."

Nothing but the truth

Nobody notices anything is wrong with Marco for a full two days after the fact. He doesn't blame them-it's not a habit or instinct of his to lie. Hell, he hadn't known anything was wrong with himself until dinner when Thatch shoved a plate of pie into his hands and despite his attempt to be polite about it, he somehow said "Oh, I'm not going to be able to eat this" instead of "Thanks."

Thatch barely batted an eye at the time, waving him off with a "Then give it to Ace!", already engrossed in passing dessert out to some puppy-eyed deckhands from the Second Division. Still, the fact that he couldn't pass off his dislike of this particular pie-chocolate mousse-like normal is what tipped him off.

He tests it throughout the next day. First with his first officer, Mala, during paperwork after breakfast. He opens a conversation about paint colors for a theoretical redecoration of his quarters, Mala asks his opinion about the color orange, and he tries his absolute damnedest to say he hates it with every fiber of his being. Instead what comes out is, "I love orange. Reminds me of Ace-yoi."

And while his attraction to Ace hasn't exactly been a secret in his own Division, Mala's eyebrows rise above the rims of their glasses regardless. He's usually much more subtle about it, quieter. He's never said much about it out loud, let alone so directly.

Later in the day, in deference to how close he got to just blurting something out that he isn't exactly keen on being known, he changes tactics. After a near disaster during lunch--Namur lamenting his shore leave will be cut short to supervise a supply pick-up for his Division that Marco nearly volunteers himself for--he switches to nonverbal answers.

Nods, shakes of the head, shrugging of the shoulders, a hand wavering in the air "so-so". He keeps his opinions honest, but practical and gentle. "You should tell your First Officer this." "That's the responsibility of your Quartermaster, ask him." "This isn't something my Division covers, take this to the Fifth."

He also delegates. On deck, he keeps himself reserved and quieter than normal. He relies on the deck bosses to be vigilant, allows senior members of the crew to throw their weight around to keep the younger or less experienced sailors in line, and generally stays close to the helmsman in the topmost deck. Ace is on the same deck shift as he is and he lets the younger man do most of the work. It isn't strictly out of character for him-he runs "tests" like these often enough that most aren't surprised by his shift in attitude. The only mild oddness is that he didn't warn anyone he was doing so-his usual routine is to give a heads up a week or so beforehand to the deck bosses and Division Commanders about such a thing. Thankfully, everyone takes it in stride-especially Ace who practically shines with how well he takes over the flow of the ship while he's in charge.

He even tells Ace so when the deck shift changes, patting the younger man on the back and praising him on the way indoors. Ace flushes, still unused to compliments, but gives him an odd look when they enter the mess for dinner. It's a close call, but Marco thinks he's in the clear once Ace starts wolfing down his multiple plates like normal.

In the end, though, it's Pops who figures him out. Pops appears in the mess halfway through dinner and things almost immediately go off the rails. The cheery atmosphere boils right over into riotous joy-songs, drinking contests, money changing hands, and food everywhere. Marco, already slightly on edge from the strangeness affecting him, finds his nerves wearing thin after the first hour. But moments like these have been getting rarer, where Pops' health is on the upswing and he's got enough energy at the end of the day to sit around and shoot the shit with the crew.

Pops notices, because of course he does. There's a lull, about two hours in, around him and he leans over on one elbow to nudge Marco's back gently where he sits on the arm of Pops' chair. "You're frowning there, son."

"Sorry-yoi." He says automatically. And he is, he hates when his worries and mood deprive Pops-or anyone-a chance at a good time.

"What's on your mind?" His father asks quietly-which, for a man his size, is still a dull roar but in the din of the cafeteria Marco knows barely anyone heard him.

"That guy from the fight two days ago did something to me." He says, not a single thought going to the preservation of his dignity. There had been a minor scuffle during a supply run, and a man had shoved Marco into a wall while accusing him of lying about his loyalty to the crew. "I can't lie and I'm having trouble holding back impulsive honesty or gestures-yoi."

Pops eyes him, one eyebrow raised, and takes a sip out of his massive tankard. "What's to be done about it?"

Marco shrugs. "Fuck if I know-yoi."

Then he blinks, the abruptness of his own honesty surprising himself. "I...I don't know. I'm going to piss somebody off though, or tell someone something I shouldn't-yoi."

Pops rests a massive hand against his back, warm and steady. Marco leans back into it, feeling strangely comforted and mildly embarrassed (like he's 18 again, freaked out by a nightmare and too prideful to say so). "Come see me in the morning, we'll discuss what we should do next. Until then, try to enjoy yourself son!"

He shoves Marco off the arm of the chair, directly into Ace's passing side, and laughs loud enough to make his ears ring.

[gb-patch]

I'm sorry but is there a reason why Qiu goes by Autumn as a nickname or why players have the option to refer to them as such? as someone who is chinese I don't know any east asian person who'd use the direct translation of their name as a nickname. Idk it just seems like you're making this character more palatable to non-asian players.

I'm not Chinese myself but the reason Qiu and their family are Chinese is because my longtime stepmom is Chinese and two of my little brothers are half Chinese. I'm working to have aspects of my family in my stories and to do it as well as I can so that players appreciate/enjoy those aspects. I don't know what perspective people will have coming in to the story, and I'm not making a game to try and suit that. What matters to me is what people feel/think about the character when they walk away from the end of the game.

For the question itself, Qiu loves their name and they love what it means and they want people to know what their name means. Autumn is their favorite season, it's a part of who they are. And while they don't dislike people for using that nickname, it is an option because Qiu is basically over-accommodating. That's part of their character arc. Qiu doesn't just say you can call them Autumn, they spell 'Qiu' right off the bat without being asked. Qiu is aware in-universe that they're not white and their name isn't English. So, they tell everyone how it's spelled before they can get it wrong and they let people call them Autumn so people won't keep telling them their name is hard to pronounce. And if Qiu is gonna let people use a word they're more familiar with, it's gonna be 'Autumn' rather than an entirely different English name because Qiu wants to keep the meaning even if the word is different.

And I don't want to be dismissive of your concerns or to make this ask seem like a problem (I also won't be posting any potential new asks that come in and are dismissive to or want to fight with the OP), but I do want to say that it's possible for some unclear things to be explainable with context but also that it's possible for people to get stuff plain wrong without it being a conscious attempt to intentionally misrepresent something. A lot of times people are imperfect at what they do rather than secretly conniving. I'm happy to listen to worries and keep working on the game until it's right. I hope when Our Life: Now & Forever has a full story it'll be something you enjoy after all.

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[hoodoo12]

The Ties That Bind (And How to Follow Them) 5/?

@bunnys-beetlejuice-blog @werwulfy @turtlepated @infptarius @mel-time @fireflower1015 @go-whovian-universe @sweetcat-666 @strange-n-unbluusual @monsterlovinghours @rainingpaint @genderless-cryptid @heresathreebee

SFW. A simple solution is suggested. Family is mentioned and summarily dismissed. Name calling.

She’d stuffed him haphazardly into her jacket pocket, but Beej didn’t complain. If Pate had slipped her mirror into her purse, he probably wouldn’t have been able to hear what she told the cops.

Listening to her talk about Lillian being her mentor (not a lie) and calling her so late because she had a bad dream that she hoped the older woman could help her with (partial lie that would be backed up by phone records), then coming over at Lillian’s request (total lie, but couldn’t be proved otherwise) to talk about things, then scaling the fire escape because the door was supposed to be unlocked and wasn’t, Beetlejuice was inordinately proud of the easy way Pate wove fact and fiction together. He was a good bad influence.

He worried a little about a question asking why she didn’t try to call Lillian again once she arrived, but it never came. The officers took her statement with little request for more. She even volunteered to show them her dream journal, allowing them to skim through it, adding weight to her words of continued nightmares.

Pate sat in the driver’s seat of her car, the door open, watching the ambulance pull away from the curb, lights flashing but no siren. She’d already given her statement to the responding police officer and was informed that she could leave. The EMS said it was probably a heart attack, but something about that explanation simply didn’t sit right with her.

Either way, there was nothing more to be done but go back home.

She’d driven home after it was all said and done and now she looked small in the blanket she’d pulled around herself on the couch. Beetlejuice wished he could be beside her, snuggled into her warmth, but he was still stuck in this goddamn mirror.

Dawn found her sitting on her living room floor, the mirror propped up on her coffee table so she and Beetlejuice could see each other, sharing a forlorn look.

They had run out of options, and Pate had no idea what sort of trick or spell or whatever Lillian had used in order to try and undo it herself. An idea had come to her that she had kept to herself, feeling certain of what Beetlejuice’s response would be. But now, with their one other avenue no longer available to them, perhaps he would surprise her.

“I was thinking, Bug,” she began tentatively. “You might not like it, but we do know someone else who might be able to get you out.”

She briefly averted her eyes and sucked in a breath, sighing out the words on the exhale.

“Your brother.”

When she sighed and ran her hands over her face, he knew her well enough to recognize the set of her jaw. She’d put some serious thought into something and was ready to share it with him. Like when she told him no to converting the bathtub to a pond for piranha or yes, she was okay with him occasionally ‘borrowing’ her underwear.

What came out of her mouth was a bomb that he was completely unprepared for.

She didn’t say his name. She didn’t have to say his name. Bile instantly rose in his throat and he imagined his dull hair shot through with red as she mentioned asking his brother for assistance.

“No! No! Absolutely not!” he shouted impotently in the soundproofing he was trapped in.

In case she couldn’t read his lips or his agitation, he tried to fog the glass so he could write it out. No dice. There was no difference in temperature between him and the glass, apparently, so no condensation. In frustrated anger, Beetlejuice spit directly on the glass and used a fingertip to make a large “NO!”. It was backwards for her, so he wrote it again with the letters facing Pate correctly, in case she couldn’t figure it out.

Growing more agitated because he truly could do nothing to stop her from going ahead with her plan, Beetlejuice ground his teeth and pulled his hair. No Rigel! No Bellatrix! No Saiph! Oh sweet god, nobody from his family! He’d rather be trapped here than owe any of them anything. He couldn’t do anything to protect Pate from in here, and there was no way Rigel or any of the others would hold true to a word of helping them out.

A thin keening whine escaped him. He didn’t know what to do to make her understand.

Beetlejuice responded precisely the way she expected he would: with abject rejection of the whole idea. Pate threw up her hands in surrender as he drew an outright denial in his own spit inside the mirror.

“Yeah, that’s about what I thought you’d say,” she admitted, leaning forward with a sigh and resting her chin on the edge of the table. “But I don’t know what else to do to get you outta there.”

Pate watched the flaming red of his hair gradually simmer down as his temper cooled, wracking her brains to figure out some alternative to demonic assistance that he was so stridently against.

She had none of Lillian’s tools, much less her expertise and experience, no idea how to go about reversing what had been done. And something about Lillian’s sudden death still nagged at the back of her mind, and she caught herself speculating that it couldn’t have been natural. But then that was ridiculous, of course it was natural. People died of heart failure all the time.

Ugh, focus! She told herself impatiently. How do I get my demon boyfriend out of this mirror? Come on, think!

With no Lillian there to explain or offer guidance, no knowledgeable supernatural assistance and Beetlejuice unable to offer any insight that didn’t involve charades, Pate sat in the silence and thought.

And then it came to her, like a bolt from the blue.

She straightened, not quite looking at Beetlejuice in the mirror, still formulating in her head to see if the logic of it worked out. As far as she could tell, it seemed like a solid strategy. Beetlejuice had first entered her life and her world when she said his name three times. Now that he was no longer in her world technically, maybe saying his name three times would bring him back to it.

“Bug, I think I have another idea,” she said, relaying the thought to him to see what he made of it.

It was comforting that she let her train of thought derail at his insistence. Beej gave a sigh of relief. He pressed his hand against his side of the glass, found it slick with spit, and wiped his palm on his trousers before putting it there again, wishing he could touch her.

Pate’s open hand was large compared to his, but it being somewhat against him made him as happy as he could be, stuck here. She was quiet in thought again, looking increasingly tired.

She jumped as if startled, her eyes wide. Beetlejuice couldn’t hear anything that may have done it, so he cocked his head in pantomime confusion.

Breathlessly, Pate told him her next idea, and waited expectantly for his thoughts on it.

"Baby . . ." he began. It was difficult to break the habit of talking to her.

The concept was intriguing. He was bound to his name, and her suggestion just might be enough, have enough power, to yank him to her side despite whatever spell Lillian had cast. A hastily concocted binding couldn’t be as tight as what tethered him to his name.

Beej shrugged with a smile, feeling suspiciously like he’d been trapped here like a puppet or a clown.

"Yes. Try it baby," he said, just to help break that bug under glass--haha, wasn't he the comedian!--feeling. He raised his voice, even though that didn't help. "I can't wait to kiss you!"

With Beetlejuice’s affirmation of the plan, Pate got to her feet and stood in the middle of the living room with the mirror held out at arm’s length. In her head, she hoped it would give him plenty of room to appear. He looked eagerly out at her from the glass, both hands pressed against the inside of the mirror. Flashing him a grin, Pate steadied herself and took a breath.

“Bheteljuz . . . Bheteljuz . . . Bheteljuz!”

Pate stood alone in her living room, holding the mirror that was now empty but for her own reflection. A thin crack had split the glass all the way across, but she wasn’t troubled by that. What was troubling was the fact that Beetlejuice had failed to reappear.

She gave him another minute, in case it took longer because he’d been stuck in the mirror, but as the minutes wore on she began to fret that something had gone wrong.

Had she performed the summoning incorrectly? She’d been very careful to pronounce his name just the way she was supposed to, she’d said it three times for sure, and he certainly wasn’t in the mirror anymore. What could have happened?

After thinking for a bit she remembered the other caveat of his name: three times to summon, three times again to banish. What if she’d banished him by accident?

Cursing to herself, Pate set down the broken mirror and quickly recited his name three more times, preparing her apology for sending him away, more than ready to feel his arms around her after this strange and upsetting day. Seconds ticked by, but still the grinning ghost did not reappear. Was he angry with her for the banishment?

Her pulse picking up at the growing sense of foreboding balling tightly in her gut, Pate took a shaky breath and said his name again. But still to no avail.

Something was wrong. She wasn’t sure how she knew it, but she knew it. Beetlejuice wouldn’t stay away unless something was stopping him from coming to her. Increasingly desperate, Pate called his name again, louder this time, as if maybe he just couldn’t hear her.

“Please come back,” she begged the empty air, feeling tears threaten in her burning eyes.

⁂

He gave himself a shake. Ran a hand through his hair. Straightened his tie--then wickedly thought that maybe he should appear back at her side completely nude except for the tie; he never minded a little playful tie-pulling as a precursor to some adult fun, especially from her. Pate was tired, of course, she’d had a long night. That didn’t mean he couldn’t just take care of her.

Kind of a reward for breaking him out, he reasoned. She could just lay back and let him indulge her with his mouth, then when she was sweaty and mostly spent he’d crawl up her body and slip his cock deep inside her--

The typical tingle in his fingertips that accompanied someone saying his name was sharper. It was more like pins being shoved under his nails. The mirror must have amplified the sensation.

The second repeated made the pain worse, shooting it up his arms and legs towards his torso. Beetlejuice gritted his teeth and closed his eyes. He could handle this, just one more and he’d be out!

The third recitation doubled him over. No matter! He was free, he was out no more endless white mirror world to be stuck in. No wonder vampires hated them so much. Mirrors sucked.

He’d have expected Pate to say something or grab his hand. She was oddly silent.

Forcing himself to take a deep breath, Beetlejuice opened his eyes. He didn’t think it was the fog of pain that made nothing seem familiar. This wasn’t Pate’s apartment. This was somewhere else. This was surrounded by people who looked too excited to see him, outside a circle drawn on the floor where he stood.

He was immeasurably glad he hadn’t stripped down to his tie.

tbc . . .

[15-dogs]

Hi! I saw that your requests were open so can I request harry x female reader with prompt #2 from prompt list 2?? Thank you :)

best dressed |h.p.|

pairing: harry potter x fem!reader

summary: you’re paired up with your long time crush, harry, for your amortentia project when things go awry

prompt: your shirt/jumper was in the laundry pile and I couldn’t help but steal it

warnings: none

guide: (Y/N) = your name, (Y/L/N) = your last name

word count: 2406

a/n: may I just say that this is my first ever request and I was literally so happy when I saw it!! I hope I did your request justice lmk what you think :)

Things were going terribly, to say the least. Well, not terribly, but certainly not good. Hermione always did say you had a flair for the dramatics. You and Harry were partnered up during Potions for a big project, one that took you ages to complete. Of course, you just so happened to be brewing amortentia, and Hermione had just so happened to abandon you with the guy you were hopelessly crushing on. So, really, it shouldn’t have been all that bad. Concocting love potion with the guy you liked seemed like something out of a muggle romance novel but things never seem to turn out the way you wanted them to.

“So,” you began, depositing the materials on your shared desk, “here’s the stuff we need. Slughorn said that it’ll take nine days to brew this so we might as well get started.”

Harry nodded and cracked open his textbook. Your heart ached a little; he couldn’t even look at you? Not even reply with a semi-enthusiastic “yes”? Apparently not. He had been acting strangely ever since you two were partnered up but you dismissed it, opting to relish the time spent with the messy haired boy next to you.

“Okay, first, we turn on the flame.” You lit a fire with your wand underneath the cauldron and it grew larger with every passing second. Harry looked up, eyes wide, jumping up from his seat to tug you away.

“You could burn yourself!” he scolded. He took his own wand out and muttered a spell to reduce the flames.

However, you couldn’t focus on what he said as your back was flush against his chest. You could feel his heart pounding, wondering what on Earth could have gotten him so nervous. He seemed to notice that you had been silent for a moment too long (because the feeling of his strong arm clutching your waist was a bit distracting) and quickly retracted his hands, hurrying back to his seat.

“Since when have you been so careful?” you teased, raising an eyebrow at him with suspicion. He glanced over his shoulder at you as you resumed your position beside him.

“Since always,” he replied with a shrug. You began to laugh loudly at him and he looked up at you, blush coating his cheeks. For a moment, you faltered at the sight before regaining your sense of self.

Clearing your throat, you said, “Yeah, right. Next thing you’re going to tell me is that I’m related to Malfoy.”

A smile erupted on Harry’s face that had you weak in the knees. “Don’t joke about that. Don’t want that one coming true, now do we?”

It was the third day into brewing and you and Harry had decided to meet up after classes to check on your potion. Both of you had stripped of your heavy school uniforms once you entered the stuffy classroom, draping robes and sweaters on the chairs near the back of the room.

“You know, I wasn’t so impressed with the season this year. The Canons barely proved competition to anyone but the Harpies!” you complained as you stirred the potion. Harry chuckled at your enthusiasm.

“Is that so?”

“That is so!”

You couldn’t help but laugh with him. His happiness was so contagious, it was ridiculous. Sometimes you thought that he knew how you felt but Hermione assured you that it wasn’t obvious. No, those longing glances in class weren’t obvious, nor were the pronounced ogling of him as you daydreamed.

How could he be so oblivious?

Harry scanned his textbook, his brows knit together. He ran his finger across the words again with confusion. He looked up at you and explained, “I’m going to fetch something from the ingredients closet, d’you mind?”

“If it’ll speed this up, please go for it.”

Although your words were joking, Harry seemed a little disappointed. His smile fell slightly before he nodded with a grin that didn’t quite meet his eyes. He disappeared into the closet leaving you feeling lost.

Ah, perfect. Where things go wrong.

You never even bothered to ask him what he was getting. Thinking you were doing yourself a favor, you glanced at the textbook. Would you look at that, that flames should be higher. You took out your wand to induce a larger flame, causing the potion to bubble. But then it started to boil. And then it exploded.

It wasn’t a loud, dramatic pop, but rather a silent burst of hot solution staining your entire shirt. You immediately turned the flames down before groaning at the sight of your ruined shirt. You peeked at the closet doorway, then ran over towards the abandoned clothing at the back of the room.

You shouldn’t have done it, but you did. Harry’s sweater almost looked too promising. Your fingers subconsciously reached out to it after removing your blouse. You slipped on the worn material, massaging the cloth between your fingers. You raised the fabric to your nose, inhaling light cologne and laundry detergent.

“Is that my jumper?” Harry asked. His voice made your heart jump into your throat. Your hands began to shake as you turned around to meet his eyes. You gasped at the way his gaze lustfully roved over your body.

“I...yes, sorry. I, um, blew up the potion.” You winced at your words, your eyes clenching shut to avoid his glare. You opened them after you heard footsteps coming your way.

“Well,” Harry began, glancing over his shoulder at the mess, “still made it farther than I could alone.”

Your laughter got caught in your throat at the way he studied you. He was so close, it was intoxicating. Whatever aromas that lingered on his sweater were a thousand times more powerful up close. You let out a shaky breath as Harry hesitantly placed his hands on your hips. Before you could ask what he was doing, he kissed you. You were frozen, your cheeks red hot with embarrassment.

He pulled away quickly, raising his hands in the air. He shook his head and backed up into the table, nearly knocking over the half emptied cauldron. You took a few steps towards him but he tried to back up further.

“I can clean this up,” he offered. “Go to dinner.”

“But Harry-”

“It’s really okay, (Y/N).”

You slowly exited the Potions classroom and made your way to the Great Hall, wondering what in the world had just happened. You anxiously tugged at the sleeves of the sweater you wore, realizing just then that you had left with Harry’s sweater on.

Harry was quite good at avoiding people when he needed to. You could barely chat with him during class because he had his nose buried in his textbook which, for everyone there, was a rather strange occurrence. Rumors spread quickly about the two of you after you had attended dinner in a size too large Gryffindor sweater― Hogwarts did love a good rumor.

Fantastic. Another way to ruin Harry’s day.

Slughorn had been quite angry at the two of you for screwing up the potion. He docked your grades and encouraged the two of you to split up because you were no good working together. You were forced to join Malfoy and Crabbe while Harry got the pleasure of joining Ron and Hermione. At least you didn’t have to feel guilty about partnering him up with someone he hated. You decided you could take the bullet on that one.

But leaving you in the dark like that was something you couldn’t accept. You had begged Hermione to clue you in on anything that Harry might’ve said that would have pertained to you but she claimed she knew nothing. She was quite an awful liar.

“I don’t buy it,” she replied with a shake of your head. Hermione feigned offence before dropping her facade at your knowing look.

“Fine, so he may have mentioned something.”

Your heart began to race. “Something? What? What did he say?”

“He mentioned something about his jumper being missing? How he felt guilty about...Godric, what was it?”

You groaned, tugging at your hair. “Come on, spit it out!”

Hermione sent you a sharp look. “I’m trying, (Y/N), Merlin...oh! Right. He said he felt guilty about not following through. Does that mean anything to you?”

You scoured your mind, searching for an answer. Sadly, you shook your head. “When did things get so bloody complicated with him?”

You sauntered up to your dorm not too long after, feeling an emotional toll on yourself. Harry was your friend, first and foremost, but now he acted like he didn’t even know you. As you fell on your bed, you noticed the house elves deposited your fresh laundry there. You shuffled through the items, freezing as Harry’s sweater was mixed in.

You shouldn’t do it, no. But of course you did. You threw that thing on with haste, wasting no time in bringing the material up to your nose. His smell was still there, at least a little bit of it. Enough lingered so that you fell asleep, dreaming of Harry beside you. You dreamt of him holding you against his chest, how his hands would slowly trail down your back and pop under his sweater which you wore, caressing your skin softly. He would trace his initials into your back, not to say that he owned you, but rather to say that he had someone to spend the rest of his life with.

Yes, those were nice things to think about, but clearly they would never happen as Harry had really taken to not talking to you. However, you didn’t need to think about that.

Malfoy and Crabbe squished you between them, their shoulders on yours. You huffed a little as you tried to wiggle out of their enclosure, the two bullies cackling to themselves.

“Leave her alone, Malfoy,” Harry commanded. His sudden presence made you jump― so now he wanted to talk to you?

“So, it’s true, then? Potter is in love?” Malfoy sneered. When he was distracted, you managed to slip out from the two Slytherins and slide over towards Hermione, nodding a polite thanks at Harry.

Before Harry could fight back, Slughorn demanded everyone return to their stations as they were to test out their potions. One by one, students announced the scents that appeared in their amortentia. But honestly, everyone was really only waiting for two people to respond: you and Harry. Were the rumors true? Were you putting on an act? Who is Harry Potter’s soulmate?

Whispers flooded the room as Harry leaned forward to smell the potion. He instantly went red, looking at you from the corner of his eye. He gave a tight-lipped smile to Slughorn before he said, “Must be coming down with something because I can’t smell a thing.”

Slughorn, who looked like he would combust from all the commotion, simply nodded. “Right, then. Next is...Miss (Y/L/N).”

Your heart pounded in your ears. Although you hated to admit it, you were beginning to buy into those rumors; who really was Harry Potter’s soulmate?

You took a deep inhale, then frowned. You tried it again, groaning as you looked over at Harry. “Harry,” you complained quietly, “would you stop wearing that...cologne? Whatever it is, I can’t smell the potion.”

Harry’s eyes went wide. You raised a brow at him in confusion. Murmurs filled the room.

“Erm, (Y/N)?”

“What?” you responded, slightly irritated.

“I’m not wearing any cologne. In fact, I used Ron’s soaps today because I ran out of mine.”

Your jaw dropped. While still maintaining eye contact, you leaned forward once more to sniff the potion. All you could smell was that cologne, wait...no, there was broomstick wax and pine. It felt like inhaling his scent from his sweater all over again.

Class was painfully slow after that. Harry bounced his leg anxiously while you fiddled with your robe to avoid looking at him. A pit formed deep in your stomach― it was almost too embarrassing that, not only did Harry know that you liked him, but the whole class knew as well.

The second class ended, you darted out of the room and towards the dorms. Harry couldn’t keep up with you so he ended up trailing lamely behind. You bolted upstairs to your room and sniffed his sweater again and again, confirming you hadn’t gone mad for thinking that you smelled Harry in your amortentia. As your anxiety increased, you put on Harry’s sweater, the action instantly grounding you.

“(Y/N)!” a familiar voice shouted from outside your window. “(Y/N), please! I’ll cause a scene if I have to!”

You peeked out the window to see Harry hovering on his broom. You cracked the window open and let him in, feeling your body thrumming with nerves.

“Are you thick?” you cried. “What are you doing?”

“(Y/N), I lied. I smelled you in the potion, I just...I couldn’t put you through any more humiliation, so I lied!”

“Humiliation?” And here you were thinking you humiliated him.

“Yes, humiliation. I knew that my feelings towards you would come out one way or another, but I never expected it to be the way that it did, spiraling into rumors and all.”

“What are you saying? You fancied me prior to this?”

That’s not exactly what you wanted to say but you couldn’t help yourself. The words just spilled out of your mouth and you couldn’t take them back.

“I don’t want you to be just another rumor.”

“That’s not funny, Harry,” you mumbled dismally.

Harry gripped your arm to get your attention, his eyes looking through you were severe intensity. You gasped slightly at the feeling, butterflies erupting in your stomach. Harry opened his mouth to speak but was cut off when he noticed the familiar material in his hands.

“Is that my jumper?” Your body went rigid at his words.

“...no?”

Harry’s eyes flickered down to your lips. You didn’t have time to process the action before he was on you, kissing you sweetly. You clutched him for support as his gentle kiss left you stumbling. Your arms snaked around the back of his neck, playing with tails of his hair as he pulled away from you.

Ah, right. Hermione’s comment made sense now. There was the follow through.

“It looks much better on you, anyway.”

[ythmir-writes]

Fictober 2020, Day 01

Prompt: “No, come back!” Fandom: Obey Me! feat: Solomon Audience: Teen and up; mentions of wounds and blood

I know Solomon first as a regular customer in one of my supply shops. I can still remember the first time I had met him. You cannot miss that sort of power coming into a room. It’s a kind of tickling on your skin, a sense of foreboding that something larger than you can ever fathom has arrived, and you would best hurry along.

Most do. Even if you had not yet heard of how he survived a year in Hell unscathed, there was no mistaking the tattoo on the back of his left hand: a demon seal. Etched on skin and bone and soul. Very few survive the process of making a pact with a demon, and anyone who tells you otherwise is either lying or a demon in disguise tempting you to try.

If only that kind of daredevil behavior translated properly into how Solomon presented himself. He had an affable smile and an air of politeness around him that almost made you forget about the rumors. In the times I had spoken with him, he replied only in gentle tones. He also always paid up-front, and whenever he needed bulk orders for whatever concoction a sorcerer of his calibre needed, he afforded the shop enough time to prepare them.

Surely a fellow practitioner to whom the Council had nothing but praise for, must be a good person – is what his entire demeanor said. Surely someone who looks the way he do, who is pleasant the way he is, who never misses payment, is not a man to be feared.

Most dismiss his smile as veneer; nothing more than a ploy. For what reasons, the stories are endless. There is always some poor sap or other who had seemingly witnessed the atrocities Solomon had done, who had seen the shadows yield to him, who had seen him with blood on his hands and mouth. A human simply cannot survive living with demons without some evil in him.

And he was a sorcerer. Everyone knew their magic was different for a reason. That this reason has been lost to time and has long been laid rest in numerous debates in academic circles was often ignored by those who disliked him.

It did not help that Solomon did nothing to dissuade whatever was untrue.

✧ ✧

It also did not help that often Solomon had peculiar requests, some of which were too strange and dangerous to the point that if he had any special orders, it would be best that I handled them directly. Being discrete was important in our line of work.

The strangest request being a bottle that could hold a soul, in exchange for knowledge.

To be fair, it was a simple trade. Basically, a commission. If not that, then a barter.

Solomon wanted my expertise. He was the rising star of sorcerers, a human with such uncanny ability and talent he had his own personal grimoire. And while I may not carry the same infamy as him, I was one of the few apprentices of Isabel, the Witch of the Sierra Madre. And that was fame by and in itself. For all that the world has always lived with magic, there still remains some practices most find distasteful.   

Or at least he knew that Isabel, had an apprentice who was just as good but less susceptible to dark moods.

“Your words, not mine.” I had said, the moment the words left him. “Best not to speak ill of her, even if she is not in the same room.”

“Or country.” Solomon had agreed, but shrugged nonetheless, as if suffering Isabel’s wrath was all in a day’s work.

“Why not go to Isabel herself?” I had asked the obvious question.

“I am currently pressed for time,” He had admitted, looking sheepish at that. “I simply cannot afford to fulfil her many side requests before she considers if she would commit.”

“I should charge extra for convenience.”

“So you will do it?”

To set the record straight, it had taken me more than five minutes before I made a counter-offer. “Two pages from your grimoire, and you let me meet the Demon you made a pact with.”

“How long will it take?”

“Give me a week.”

“But if I give you the ingredients?”

“I don’t trust your ingredients.” I had answered honestly.

Solomon had laughed at that. “Only a true arbularyo would say that.”

“Only a true arbularyo could do it in a week’s time.” I had explained. “You want a real soul bottle, you have to make time. Anything rushed and it could break.”

Solomon had nodded, as if he knew that undesirable result only too well. Then, he had offered his hand to me. The hand with the demon seal. “It’s a deal.”

And what else could I have done but take it? We shook hands, professionals and in a way, peers. “I know it’s not my business, but in theory, having a general description of the soul you plan to keep would make it easier to hold them indefinitely.”

“Then I suppose, if you’re free, you could meet Asmodeous now and he could give you a thorough description of her.”

But of course Solomon made a pact with a Lord of Hell.

✧ ✧

I know Solomon second as a friend. You interact with someone on a consistent and regular basis, and you begin to know some things about them. Small glimpses shared in the moments when goods and payment exchange hands.

I know he preferred his mushrooms whole, no matter the kind. He knows I prefer to be paid in coins, rather than bills. I know he keeps a list of true names with him, always. He knows I have a latent talent for necromancy I am too afraid to explore. I know he likes to make quips about everything. He knows I find them insufferable. I know he is an absolutely terrible cook. He himself does not know this.

I know he has more than one demon seal on his body. He knows I keep a small collection of peculiar skulls in the back room of the shop.

I know Solomon did more than just survive in Hell. He knows I can be persuaded to look the other way for the right book.

Small glimpses but nothing harmless. Enough that favors could be exchanged when the need arises. I know that often he would go away on some grand adventure. He knows I have a spare room in my apartment he could use while he smelled of brimstone and death without judgment, for a story. He knows I hate the trinkets he keeps giving me as souvenirs. I know he hates my singing. I know that he has a stash of questionable encyclopaedias in his private safe and he knows exactly where he can keep the key safe  in my library.

Rapport is important. Second only to your word of honor. There were already few of us who understood that magic is life. Magic is blood. And that as practitioners, we should never discriminate based solely on origin.

But I digress.

I am often asked this question: if I had known that associating in any way with Solomon would end with the way it did, would I still want to associate with him at all?

Obviously, yes. I would have.

Power and knowledge rarely come knocking voluntarily on your door. Most have fought for it, or bled, or sacrificed, or have done numerous ghastly things for a sliver. A few have even died for it.

Solomon had walked up to me, offered his hand, and offered a trade.

Only a fool would have turned him down.

✧ ✧

And only a fool would not help a friend in need.

I trust Solomon and his abilities. No ordinary human can simply manage to tattoo most of their body with demon seals without skill and strength. Most people forget that a demon has to like you before it would even consider making a pact – and that was already a feat in itself. You had to be strong enough to survive the seal. Stronger still, to carry demon magic as part of your own.

It was not to say I had never been tempted to try. However, Asmodeous had taken one good look at me and told me I would not survive. I took no offense and believed him. My magic was simply not made for the living.

So, I have never pressed Solomon into telling me what his business was in Hell. For his sake, and mine. Demons know when you speak their name. Solomon might fearlessly recount the stories he feels are safe to share, pronouncing ancient names others would go mad from just by hearing, but that is for him to do. I can only listen and sometimes, tell him he had made an absolutely lame joke. Whatever detail I do ask him are of the other players, the angels, the mortal transferees, the lucky (or unlucky) souls invited to glimpse the other planes.

However, when he suddenly appeared one night, wounded, terribly disoriented, and still clutching the very first soul bottle I had made for him in his hands, I knew something had gone very very wrong.

“I shouldn’t be here.” Solomon had whispered, his eyes barely focusing on me. “I didn’t meant to go back here, I’m sorry ��!” Solomon’s body had begun to glow. He had been about to use a teleportation spell despite his obvious confusion.

I pulled at his arm. “Solomon! No, come back!”

At this point, it is obvious that I have much respect for Solomon as a sorcerer. I want to make it of record that the same cannot be said when it comes to his impromptu decisions like these. Even a child knew better than to teleport while confused.

“Solomon, don’t be an idiot.” I pulled him back, pushing away the remnants of his magic. “You are here because you thought you would be safe here. You are. Don’t make me have to clean the rest of my apartment of your blood.”

“I’m sorry…”

“Don’t talk, don’t use sorcery.” I had sternly said. “I will grab bandages and you will stay.”

“Chasing me…”

“Stay, Solomon.” I pulled him towards me, pressed his forehead to mine. “Stay.”

If Solomon had made further protests, I was tempted to smack him into unconsciousness just to get him to lie still. As it happens, there had been no need for any of that. His wounds had been far deeper, his coat soaking up most of the blood.

I have seen enough in my life to be able differentiate between the kind of unexpected you could learn from and the kind you cannot escape. This is not an exaggeration of my abilities. You do not survive through and finish kulam apprenticeship without developing a sort of sense for these things.

And this, whatever Solomon had tangled himself in, was definitely the latter.

(part 2)

[boogiewrites]

Mae Flowers Ch. 7

Characters: Alfie Solomons x Mae LeBlanc (OFC)

Summary: A modern, magical Alfie Solomons AU.  Mae works towards growing her powers and Alfie is there to explain every step. They begin learning more about each other and find a connection that neither truly expected.

Warnings/Tags: Language.Magic/Supernatural. Soul mates.Some domestic fluff, getting to know you stage. Talk of the unknown.

Click on my screenname then go to Mobile Masterlist in my bio for my other works and chapters. (Had to do this since Tumblr killed links, sorry.)

The sun rose high enough to peek through her curtain. It wakes her by gently kissing her face. Mae greeted the new day with enthusiasm.

Alfie had given her the task of sprouting, growing, and blooming a plant with her powers. She had been a bit cocky, she supposes, after the meditation went so well. But using her own undisciplined powers to do work was entirely different from receiving a gift of knowledge from her light. With Alfie's strong influence, the visions were much stronger than she could’ve formed herself. He’d asked endless questions, just like she would do. But unlike her, he'd had years to find the answers.

She stood in the kitchen, glaring out the bay doors at the sprouted plant on the patio table. She sipped her coffee as the maker gurgled in the background. The house was quiet, save Percy's feet crunching in the litter box.

Alfie had set her a task, and she was days into trying to achieve it. He had vaguely explained that he had some spell work to do that he needed privacy to accomplish. After giggling at the way he pronounced privacy she nodded and he disappeared. He’d still been up every morning,  looking a little rough around the edges. She didn’t want to pry but she also thought she might want to know what was going on in her house.

It was almost 10, she’d taken her time and lazed around long enough. She'd showered and eaten while hoping he would appear. But he hadn’t. So her curiosity got the better of her.

She made her way to the wall that held the archway to her sunroom and the door to the guest bedroom. She stood with a furrowed brow and pressed lips. She felt like she might be behaving rudely. She quietly knocks, her hand hovering over the door for some minutes before she talked herself into it. A quiet knock, then a more confident one after no noise from the other side. She pressed her ear to the door and heard nothing, not knowing if she felt relieved or more worried.

“Alfie?” She asked with a crack to her morning voice, not yet warmed up. No response. She tried to focus, head to the door, and see if she could feel anything. She didn’t really know what she was doing though, they hadn’t gotten to that lesson yet.

With no answer she reluctantly reaches for the knob, hand once again waiting to take action. As she clicks it, it sounded like one of the loudest noises she’d ever heard. She makes a space big enough to peep her round face through.

“Alfie?” she spoke softly, voice barely above a whisper into the stillness of the room. She made her way in, turning to see him star fished on the bed. His hair was a mess, hands still covered in what looked like soot, and lips pooched out while he was clearly in a deep sleep.

There were jars sealed with wax all over the dresser, salt around them, and little labels attached with twine to each. She was most curious and began to move towards them before a sudden grunt and sniff catch her attention from the bed. Unknowingly she’d passed the threshold of protection Alfie had cast and it had woken him up from his much-needed rest.

“Mmph Mae? What ya- bloody hell what time is it?” His brow arches high, dad noises followed as he rolled over to reach for his phone. “Oh fuck I’ve slept in.” He mutters and begins the process of moving his tired and half awake limbs to sit up on the bed.

“It’s not a problem, I just didn’t know what you were doing in here. I knocked… by the way. I was worried about you.” She explains hesitantly.

“No need. Just restin' me eyes.”

“Mm hmm.” She hums.

“Don’t appreciate that sarcasm Mae.” He rubs his eyes but she sees the grin behind his soft dark gingery beard.

“I knocked… like I said, twice, and said your name and you just laid there so…”

“You callin' me a liar? Bold of ya.” He kept a deep gruff tone as he yawns and stretches, but she could tell he was joking somehow. She felt comfortable with him in the snippy exchanges.

“Well I ain’t callin' you a truther.” She shrugs and gives a huff of a laugh.

“You’re a funny little flower, Mae.” Her odd response makes him laugh that turns into a cough. They share a pleasant lingering smile before something catches Mae’s attention. A movement under the covers of the bed.

He feels it against his hand and shoots his eyes in the direction Maes wide ones are staring.

“What the-?” He grumbles and jerks back the covers, and much to Maes horror a huge snake is making its way from the bed to the floor and towards the open window. “Fuck me, that wasn’t a dream? Ya sneaky cunt! Get out, ya slag!” He shoves the snake off the bed with a heavy thump while Mae presses herself against the door with too many questions rapid firing in her head. “I was tired from the work and you come all the way out here-?” His hands wave and he stops as if he were interrupted as he pushed the snake out the window. “Work innit?” He snaps and opens the window wider. “Ya ain’t fuckin special love. That’s always been ya problem. If ya never learn you’re gonna be like that forever!” He sticks his face thru the window opening before slamming it shut.

He turned around all huffed and annoyed and now awake.

“Uh… friend of yours?” Mae asks with a broken nervous laugh.

“I’m sorry Mae. She snuck in, I didn’t invite her. She’s never been much for respecting people’s space.”

“Wuh… so it was a friend?” She asks with eyes still looking at the spot where the snake had slithered out even though Alfie is moving around the room now to put the sheets back on the bed in his pajamas, a very rumpled white t-shirt with a v cut and his always present smattering of amulet holding necklaces.

“Well… yes and no. Bit complicated.”

“Like Facebook ‘It’s Complicated or…?”

“Like what?” He stops to plop on the bed and gives her an intimidating stare that suggests she might be behaving like an idiot.

“Y’know the relationship options on Facebook?” She says with an obvious nod. “You do know what Facebook is right?”

“Of course I fuckin know what Facebook is ya cheeky bugger.” he says harshly but huffs a single hard laugh.

She grins at his response and continued on with a lazy lilt to the early afternoon conversation. Her hands moving casually as she talked like the dust that was visible in the sun through the guest, well, Alfie’s room window now. “People can put it’s complicated as a relationship status. Usually, a sign someone’s made some bad decisions at some point.”

“Yeah? Like, fuck a snake?”

She snorts and covers her mouth as she laughs with bright eyes. “I wasn’t gonna say it but-“

“Didn’t have to read ya mind to know that’s what you were thinkin’, mate.” He shakes his head and fussed with his hair for a moment.

“I’ve been told I have a very bad poker face.”

“Terrible.” He says obviously but she felt the warm tone in his voice as he stood and gave her a smile that wasn’t accusing. “But it’s also somethin' you can learn.”

“Another thing to add to the long list of things you’re going to teach me.”

“That it is.” He says with an affirmative nod. “It comes with controlling your emotions. You feel things so strongly because you are unpracticed but we’re workin' in it yeah?” He nods and pats her shoulder.

“We are. I don’t feel as bad as I usually do after a rough day like yesterday.”

“Very good. Since I slept in like a fuckin lazy sod have ya got around to ya studies today?” They both move and carry a conversation into the kitchen as he makes himself some tea.

“Not yet, was being slow because I didn’t want to start until you got up. But then-“ she motions towards the cracked guest room door.

“Ridiculous, innit?” the previous annoyance at his unexpected visitor comes back to show on his face. “Not even my house and she doesn’t know you, yeah? Just invites herself in. Like everything’s bloody normal.”

Mae blinks with curious but very polite eyes as he rests against the counter for a moment, huffing and displacing a fluff of hair hanging onto his forehead. “I’m glad you also don’t think it’s normal. I know things are gonna start changing now, but python booty calls were not something I was prepared to handle.” She pauses her thousand-yard stare shifts to him. Blinking her full lashes over brown, now golden in the noon sun, eyes. “Not to be rude or anything. Just… being honest.” She shrugs, making herself smaller. “Thought it would be best to be… y’know with… all this witchy stuff.”

“First off, not a booty call.” He dismisses with a swipe of an expressive finger. “Secondly, honesty is the best policy. Always…. Unless ya Gotta lie.” He gives a more sly and cheeky smile her way as he takes a sip of tea.

“Are you lying about the snake booty call?”

“Nah, mate.” He gruffs out casually, “Not that I didn’t before she found herself in her current form. A stone-cold bitch of a witch that one. Piss off the wrong witch and ya go 'bout bein a twat and then next thing ya know you’re cursed to take her so-called, and very dramatically said at the time I might add- “true form”. He pauses, his tight but expressive face once again hides behind the tea mug and the fluff of mustache over the rim. “Old flame 'n that. Long, long time ago now.”

“How long is long for you? Since you’re…?”

“I prefer the term immortal to old if that’s what’s ya askin'.”

“I wasn’t but thanks for clarifying.”

“Years before you were even swimmin' in ya gran dads bollocks.”

“That’s the grossest way I’ve ever heard that put. Creative but, still gross.”

“Didn’t mean to be crude at the table, love.” He gives a nod but the polite face has mischievous and playful eyes behind it.

She huffs out a quiet laugh. “Wasn't a complaint.”

“Good to see ya aren’t squeamish. A sense of humor will help ya out in this work. Also nice to know my other half isn’t a stick in the mud.”

“Oh, I’ve been called that before.” She adds quickly and he laughs.

“Eh, don’t seem too bad to me Mae.”

“Well we just started so just give me a bit and I’ll let ya down.”

“Bad attitude like that means one thing.”

“What?”

“You didn’t eat a good breakfast did you?”

“I had-“

“Yeah, those bloody breakfast bar- bullshit things.” He cuts her off. “Ya have to eat real food now, pet. So we’ll be late getting at it today but nothings gonna get accomplished by no human without bein' fueled properly.”

“I don’t usually cook a big breakfast.”

“And ya ain’t gonna start now. I got it.” It’s almost as if her thought of standing to help was nipped from her mind, swearing she might’ve felt a light push to stay in her seat by some invisible force.

"You're not fattening me up to eat me are you? You and that snake?” She asks with a subtle playful smile but accusing eyes.

He lets out a loud sudden amused sound at her suggestion. “Maybe I am. Gonna butter ya up and stuff you in the oven.” He gives her a wink and chuckles to himself at the delightful energy she was putting out today before he turned back to the counter.

She blinks rapidly and finds herself hiding a flush in her cheeks at the seemingly innocent gesture. She retreats back to her normal sitting posture clenching her teeth to fight the smile that would otherwise appear on her face. Being forced to reckon with a handsome man winking at her that she wasn’t repulsed by was something new and she didn’t want to look like a giggling school girl. She was far from being a schoolgirl by being in her thirties but he made that same old energy bubble up inside her.

She clears her throat and tries to gain control of her emotions before they sweep her away. Since he’d been around all sorts of things were becoming quickly overwhelming. Since Alfie's appearance in her life, she’d started having mood swings, vivid intense dreams, and some rather animalistic passing thoughts. Most of them with the focus being on her new roommate. And she wasn’t talking about the unusual amount of reptiles she’d seen the past few days. She could swear the birds chirped louder now. It was as if she was going through some psychic puberty. Every sense and emotion was turned up so drastically it was as if she could feel a static tingling at all times. It didn’t hurt, but it was something she was trying to get a grip on. She was trying to be optimistic but her first round of puberty was something she felt she’d failed miserably at.

Alfie could feel her energy shifting and remained quiet. He had been both confused and impressed with her attempts to control all this new energy herself. He didn’t know why she didn’t ask about it but knew she was a scrappy little thing, forgo the occasional breakdown. Which he thought she had earned.

“MROW?” Percy jolts up from his warm bed in the sunroom, his morning sun spot starting to shift. He trots into the kitchen, the shifting of energy from his master drawing him from the bed.

He was a welcome distraction for her and both the men in the room, both he and Alfie felt ease as soon as Percy was in Mae’s lap and focusing her attention.

“Good little lad you’ve got there,” Alfie says, looking over his shoulder at the cat purring and grooming its owner.

“When he wants to be he’s very sweet.” Mae let’s put a sigh and cuddles him closer, feeling the tension in her body dissipate as she rubbing her face into the fur of the large white fluffy boy with his pink toe beans and nose.

“You know… I have a Percy.”

“You have a cat?”

“No, love. Percy is your familiar. I have one right now as well.”

She blinks in thought for a moment. “My familiar?” She asks, directed at the cat who was staring up at her with bright green eyes.

“A companion. A kindred spirit. He’s a little soul that is meant to help yours.”

She stares into the cat's eyes. “He just showed up one day. Like he already lived here.”

“Because he was called to you. Your power must’ve been blossoming at the time.”

“So you’re my familiar huh? If you’re supposed to help, why do you sleep on my clean laundry?”

Alfie let out an amused chuckle.

“Mrrm.” Percy responds and flicks his tail.

“I’d like to know how sleeping all day is supposed to help me out.” Mae gives him a big smile and scratches his chest. “Sassy little butthead.”

He purrs in response and rubs against her chest.

“Is your familiar a cat?” Mae asks while fussing over the affectionate cat in her arms.

“Oh no. Charles is nothing of the sort. A cat wouldn’t suit me would it?”

“A big fluffy ginger cat might.”

“Offensive language.” Alfie protests and Mae chuckles to herself.

“What is he then?”

“I’ll have you meet him sometime soon. Best to let him introduce himself instead of me.”

“Is he an animal?”

“He is. Familiars tend to be.”

“Can they be other things?”

“Sometimes a human. But rarely. Some have been Fae. Some like to stay in specter form if their counterpart is gifted in communicating with that plane.”

“So like spirit guides?”

“Good comparison, yes.” Alfie nods as he continues moving about the kitchen. “There are many forms any single soul can take, you see..” he began an impromptu lecture which he had done on occasion for the sake of educating her.  He kept talking, as she found he had the tendency to do if the mood struck him.  For now, he stuck to lessons about her, the baby steps any born and raised witch would know without even realizing. He didn’t want the sweet thing to seem like she lacked common sense when it came time to mingle with others like them. So he tried to begin with what to do to be able to perform at your best.  He spoke of fuel and food, energy creation and destruction, and how it works with people like them. Or well, her, he was different from her biologically. But that was a lesson for another day.

—————————-

Alfie checks on Mae once again, a little lump sat in the grass in her back garden with those golden eyes focused on her task. He hadn’t really known how fast or slow the process would go, and the fact that she had made any progress at all made him happy for her. She sat with her hands pushed against her face, elbows on her knees as she sat with crossed legs in the grass in front of the plant. Her button nose was wrinkled, thick dark brows made her look more severe than usual. A stray loose curl would flop in the wind on occasion, but besides that, she was being very still. The fruit-bearing trees planted along the high fence line now had different symbols in new shiny paint. Mae had learned about protection and she was taking it very seriously. The glitter paint, her choice, sparkled in the light along with the various windchimes and suncatchers she had hanging all over the garden. You could always hear at least a small ting of metal against metal outside, it was something Alfie grew accustomed to quickly and found it rather pleasant now. All her new decor made space seem even more full of life with the rapid onset of spring. Not to mention Mae’s growing powers were causing the flora all around her home to begin to flourish early.

Alfie was writing labels, carefully packaging the spells he’d made to send out. He was enjoying a quiet afternoon. The weather was pleasant and the clink of chimes with the lazy breaths of wind outside was a calming melody. He was musing about how nice it was to finally feel some true calm for the first time in his afterlife. This is why the sudden shrill scream of Mae made him almost drop a spell jar in surprise. He would’ve never let his guard down enough to get caught off guard like that before he’d met Mae. He’d never stopped to consider if being with his other soul half might make him soft. But it was swept away from his cares when he saw the bundle of sunshine that was Mae. He could see the joyous yellow rays emanating from her small feminine form. Her hair bouncier and her cheeks flushed as she screamed his name in the middle of jumping up and down with excitement.

“Alfie! LOOK!” She squeals and stomps her feet, her hands with the chipped yellow polish point towards a now fully bloomed plant on the ground.

“WHAY!” He throws his arms up in celebration! “Mozel tov boobah!” He claps and approaches her. Much to his surprise she fillings herself towards him in an impactful hug. As soon as her delightfully soft cheek pressed bare against the fuzzy section of his chest his shirt allowed, their breaths caught in tandem. His hand on the back of her fluffy hair, one arm keeping her steady in her back. There was an ebb and flow that much resembled (to those gifted enough to see such a thing) an aftershock that shot through them on contact and was sent back into the world around them.

It felt almost as if she was in the middle of a giant speaker in the back of some fuck boy's car. Or those old 5ive gum commercials. The second feels drawn out and heavy as that pulse connects them and is loaded into their systems. something neither had felt in such a pure form before they felt a split moment of euphoria. A total lack of worry and anxiety, total zen.

They both exhale with synced breath and everything shifts back to its former self. Mae looks up at Alfie with an expression of what the hell was that and he blinks down at her and tells her that for the first time in a long time. He didn’t exactly have the answer.

Mae licks her lips and looks at his chest, her nose set above puckered lips showing the wheels turning behind her eyes. That were a very vivid -damn near glowing actually- golden. They were large and often wet and they reminded Alfie of a frog on occasion. Especially when she wore her little round glasses. He considers this a compliment as he is quite fond of frogs.

“That was..” she takes a deep breath and clears her throat, “...you know those little sand...zen gardens with the stick and you-?” She draws a swirl on his back where her hands stay.

“Yeah. With the wee Buddha’s?”

“I feel like what one of those is supposed to make you feel.”

“Felt much like I’d gone up and slapped the Buddha and he hit me arse back on my end.”

“Didn’t it feel… good? Though?” Her face shows her uncertainty as it always does.

“Ya bloody right it did.” He lets out a warm laugh that reassures her.

“What is..?” She hugs him again. The same grip as before but it doesn’t happen. She squeezes. Waits. Alfie looks around after her third attempt and considers intervening.

“‘Ere.” Alfie says. Moving her hand to mirror his, slightly outstretched towards each other. “Can you see that?” He asks quietly as if he might scare something away.

“I don’t… I feel something though. I think…”

“Trust your intuition, Mae. It’s where the answers are.”

She follows his advice, taking a deep breath and a slow exhale and clearing her mind and really looking at the space between their hands.

“Do you feel anything?” He asks after a moment, seeing her face shift.

“Yes.” A much more confident response.

“Good girl. What is it?”

“It’s..almost like electricity.”

He keeps quiet as he sees it differently. It fascinates him.

“Like the Ghostbusters ray guns.” She answers seriously then laughs. “Except it isn’t really a color exactly it’s, it’s sort of yellow.”

“I see yellow as well.” He nods.

“Now concentrate. Look at the… rays and what they feel like.”

“Oh! They’re happy.” She answers quickly and cheerfully.

“What happens when I-?” He asks and touches their fingertips together.

She smiles and laughs, “It's like you’re touching the surface of a lake.

“It’s a reflection.” He nods.  “Now watch.” He begins to move it away and it’s as if a string is being pulled, the flow is taffy and it becomes thinner the farther away he gets. Her power is less loud, less clear the farther he is.

“It’s reacting to you.”

“It’s us. Welcome to stage one of your awakening. You can now see energy.”

“Did this happen because of the flower?” her head tilts like a curious baby animal.

“Flower?”

“Oh! Shit! I forgot! The flower! Alfie look!” She grabs his wrist and proudly shows off the fully blossomed Lily.

“Brilliant work, love.” He touches it and it’s strong and very alive. “Look at this little lass. Gorgeous.” He pets the plants leaves affectionately. “Lovely innit.” He leans towards Mae. “Takes after her muva.” He teases.

“I don’t see anything around it.” She says waving her hand near it.

“You won’t see everything at once. Be grateful for that because you’d go as mad as the first mantis shrimp.” He snorts at his own joke.

“The what?” She asks and shakes her head. “Alfie stop talking about mudbugs and explain.”

“You’re growing Mae darling! It’s all very good. Don’t worry. If there was cause for worry I would tell you, yeah? You’re learning to wield your powers and activating new ones. Natural innit?”

“So this is just my power growing?” She asks referring to the wobbly bit of energy as she moved closer to his body.

“I believe it is our souls. They want to be close. The closer the more vivid it is, see?” He touches his nose to hers and shows the tiny jolt of electricity that appears where their skin touches.

“It’s like static electricity. But it doesn’t hurt.”

“Nah, love they’re happy. They want to be close, little monkeys. They haven’t seen each other for so long. They get a bit excited.” He chuckles and rubs her arms reassuringly. He left a warm and good feeling behind in his wake. “Your powers are growing. You’re doing so well. In fact, I believe you are much deserved a few celebratory festivities, love.” He speaks quietly as he remains close to her.

“Like donuts?” She asks with a perky inflection.

“Could be but I was thinkin' more you should get yourself done up. Celebrate yourself. We can go out and I suppose eat since that seems to be where your mind is.”

“Done up? Like go out and eat together? A date?” There’s a mild flash of horror in her eyes.

“If that term scares you so then no. I am simply your friend-“

“Soul mate” she corrects.

“...soul mate who believes you should do things to celebrate this growth. Hard work earns hard play and you Mae darling have been working your bum off. You deserve it. Stop selling yourself short.”

“You being able to read me is good and all but it also really gets on my nerves. You get too real too fast on me like I’m just supposed to be okay with you plainly saying my obvious shortcomings.”

“It’s called growth. It’s what we’re here for.”

“When am I going to make you start growing?”

“Already have.” He states fast.

“I have?”

“Course! I don’t know if you could tell but I have not historically been known to be a very… coddling man. I have been alone and seen and done violence with my darkness… but being around you, your soul, it makes me feel like I’m young again at times. Your...spunky little personality- which is a great relief I must add- paired with the positive attitude and earnest approach has made me address how I approach things.”

“You like my personality?” her eyes look a bit sad but more intrigued.

“That’s what you took from that?” He chuckles.

“It’s a really nice compliment.” She quickly feels tears burn in her eyes.

“Oh bless your cotton socks.” Alfie laughs and pulls her in for a hug. “You little bugger.” He rubs her back as she gives him a tentative hug back. “You are kind and honest and curious. The world needs more like you. Your emotions are a gift. I do not see them as the burden you do. Most humans go through life feeling so very little. Did you know? It is a blessing to feel so strongly.”

“You’re so nice.” She sniffles and he once again laughs and kisses her head. “C’mon love. Let’s have a cuppa and we’ll get dresed up eh?”

“And then we go get food.” She sniffles.

“Yes, darling Mae then when go get food.” He lets out a deep chesty laugh as he escorts her back towards the house.

@jaegeeeeer​  @brianaisasongbird​ @hardygal69​ @emerald-bijou​ @captstefanbrandt​ @coolgh0st​ @tinastarkandco​ @xstylishmileage​   @s-h-e-w-r-i-t-e-s​ @peakys-mystic​

[kelyon]

Golden Rings 11: A Doctor

The Storybrooke sequel to Golden Cuffs

Mrs. Gold seeks some medical advice

Read on AO3 

Her horse thunders down the mountaintop. Cloak streaming behind her, her loose hair tangles in the wind. The leather satchel, in which she carries her most treasured possessions, bounces on her back. She kicks at her horse to make him go faster. Though unused to such urgency, the farm horse neighs and doubles his efforts. They go at a full gallop, bolting away from the castle, their home.

She has to look like she is afraid.

On the road in the forest, she comes upon a prince and his knights. They are travelling up the mountain she is coming down. She has seen this prince before, though he doesn’t know her. Her husband says she can trust the prince and his true love to always do what they think is good. This band of soldiers is armed to the teeth, but they are no threat to her. 

Not if she does this right.

“Oh thank the gods!” she cries when she sees them. Her voice is pitched with fear and relief. “You found me!”

The prince slows his horse to stop and talk to her. “Who are you?” he asks. “Did you come from the castle on top of the mountain?”

“I did!” Tears choke her voice, but her eyes are dry. “I used to live there. The Dark One, he--”

“The Dark One can’t hurt you anymore,” the prince says. He is kinder than most men in his position. “That monster has been defeated. He will never hurt anyone again.”

Behind the prince, the knights nod and laugh in agreement.

Now tears fill her eyes. “Is he dead?”

“He’s captured.” The man who speaks is dressed as a knight, but he has the stature and features of a dwarf. Atop a horse, he is at the prince’s right hand. He seems to speak with authority. “Not even his magic can get him out.”

She shudders. Hopefully, these men will think that she is overcome with terror at what the Dark One has done, and not at what might be done to him. 

“He kept me a prisoner.” She does not lie. “He did things to me, unspeakable things.”

Certainly unspeakable in polite company.

“Then don’t speak of it.” Again, the prince is kind. He could so easily dismiss her, be rude and condescending. But instead he is gentle, considerate. It is easy for a man to show compassion when a pretty girl presents herself as a victim. “You are safe now.”

“Are you going to the castle?” she asks.

“We are.” The prince straightens in his saddle. “We need to find out what other evils the Dark One might have brewing in his fortress.”

“You can’t!” This is far from the most crucial step of the plan, but it is the part she cares about the most. She does not want these men poking about in her husband’s things. “You will take your lives into your hands if you try to invade that place.”

 “We have protections against dark magic,” the dwarf-knight says. “The Blue Fairy herself enchanted our weapons and armor.”

“Is she here with you?” She looks over the knights, wide-eyed in her show of innocence. “Surely such a powerful force for good would want to oversee this victory herself. And of course it would be as safe for her as it is for all of you!”

The prince gives her a careful look and does not answer her question. “How did you escape?”

“Once the Dark One left the castle, nothing stopped me from sneaking out through the stables.” Nothing would have stopped her from leaving the castle even when he was in residence. It was her home and he never forced her to do anything. “But it is much more dangerous to get in than to get out. There are traps and wards and all kinds of dangers to those he doesn’t want to be there.”

The prince furrows his brow. “I’ve come to that castle univintied before.”

“He wanted you there,” she answers grimly. “They say he knows everything, that nothing happens that he hasn’t already foreseen.”

“He didn’t see our trap coming,” the dwarf says.

She covers her mouth so the men can’t see her stern face falter. Her husband saw through their plan to capture him from the very beginning. He practically put the idea into their heads. 

“You have no idea what he is capable of.” She says when she trusts herself to speak without smirking. “Please stay away from that place, for the sake of your own lives.” She looks at the prince. “I am already severed from my husband because of the Dark One’s devious machinations. I would not have any other bride lose the man she loves.”

He sits back at that. “You need to find your love?”

“I don’t know where he is!” Her voice breaks, and that is not a part of the act. “I would give anything to be with him again.”

“Do you know where he might be?”

Sitting on her horse, she is at eye level with the prince. Nevertheless, she makes an effort to look small and weak. Helpless. A damsel in need of rescuing. “He could be anywhere. He might be somewhere in the Queen’s kingdom. And the gods know what happens to people there.”

The prince’s mouth tightens into a hard line. “That woman is not a queen anymore,” he declares. “And that kingdom belongs to my wife.” He turns to his men. “Change of plans! We’re going to escort this young woman to safety. And then we’re going to remember who our real enemy is! We’ll redouble our efforts to take away the witch’s power so she can never hurt innocent people again!”

The knights cheer, all except for the gruff dwarf. “What about the Dark One’s castle? There could be some kind of weapon there that we could use to defeat her.”

“Yes, Grumpy, there might be,” the prince says. “But it could also blow up in our faces. Literally. I, for one, want to look upon my child before I die. We’re going back to Snow.”

On her farm horse, she rides along with the knights and the dwarf and the prince. Later, she is at a castle that is not her home. She is presented to the court. A pregnant woman  dressed in white sits on a throne. Her hair is as black as ebony and her lips are as red as blood. 

Her story is told, her plea for help heard. A talking cricket questions her. Nothing she tells him is a lie. Her husband is gone. She is afraid of the Evil Queen. The Dark One did things to her that none of them could ever imagine. She is good and she seeks a place in this haven they have created. 

A light shines over her. Floating, sparkling, blue light. It threatens to blind her if she looks at it too long or too closely. Through squinting eyes, she can see that the light is really a tiny person. 

No. Not a person. A fairy.

Her husband never had anything good to say about fairies.

The thing looks like a woman. It speaks with a woman’s voice. It flutters around her, examines her. It is trying to see into her soul, to judge whether she is worthy of kindness or trust. 

“You have been touched by dark magic,” the fairy says as it looks her over. “Penetrated by it. Deeply… over and over… everywhere…”

The stakes are too high for her to laugh at what the fairy says. She maintains a stone face.

“But your heart is full of love!” the fairy announces joyfully.  It addresses the crowd. “This is a pure soul, a good person. We must welcome her!”

The court claps and cheers. The woman in white stands to her feet. Holding her belly, she is assisted by the prince and a girl in a long red cloak.

She is embraced and greeted, welcomed to the fight against evil. Someone asks, “What is your name?” 

Before she can answer, everything fades away.

****

It was still dark when Mrs. Gold woke up. Her dream had been filled with light and color and noise. Waking up to blackness and near-silence was a shock.

More shocking, Mr. Gold was in bed with her. She felt the warmth and the weight of him on the mattress. Heard the gentle steadiness of his breathing. It must be early enough that he hadn’t woken up yet.

They had never been the sort of couple who copied each other’s nighttime routines. The trial of two people crowding around a tiny sink to brush their teeth at the same time had never come up in their marriage. Mr. Gold had always kept his own hours, and he allowed her to sleep whenever she wanted to. If her husband wanted her, he had no qualms about waking her up and putting her to work.

But lately, the differences in their schedules had become more pronounced. Sometimes Mr. Gold would stay in his study until she was already asleep. Or sometimes he would have the light turned off before she even came upstairs. No matter what time he went to bed, he always got up earlier than she did.

Almost every morning, she woke up to an empty bed. 

As her dream faded away, Mrs. Gold was left with a crucial memory: Her husband was gone from her. In the dream, the man she loved had been captured or kidnapped. Something terrible had happened to him. He was far away, but she would go to him and get him back. Now, in the real world, Mr. Gold was right next to her.

But she was running out of ways to reach him. 

How long had it been? She didn’t like keeping track of the days. That would just make all the changes in her life more real, and she didn’t want them to be real. If she didn’t know how long it had been, it would be easier to convince herself that it hadn’t been that long. This was just a fluke, a dry spell. It wasn’t as bad as she thought.

She could convince herself of that, until she remembered that Rent Day was this Sunday. Then she knew exactly how long it had been since her husband had last touched her. 

A month.

It had been a month without sex. A month without him. A month without punishments, lessons, or orgasms. A month since the last time she had gotten on her knees and kissed his shoes. A month since Mr. Gold had called her a good girl in that breathless, exhausted way he did when he was really satisfied, when he really meant it. 

A month since he had last looked at her like she was beautiful--or pathetic. Something to be treasured and degraded all at once. Those were always the best times, when he gave her both. Pleasure and pain, affection and malice, hot lust and cold disdain all at once. Perfect whore, he would call her then. Filthy angel, delectable cockslut. 

Mrs. Gold let out the faintest of moans. His voice could always bring her off. Now just thinking of it was enough to make her wet. His voice and his words and the way his lips curled  back like a warning. It always made tension coil inside her, as she waited for those words to become actions.

Before she could do anything stupid, Mrs. Gold pulled her hands up from under the covers. She clasped them together over her stomach on top of the blanket. That was one of the biggest rules: She was not allowed to touch herself for her own pleasure. 

She could tease herself, when Mr. Gold ordered her to. But she was never allowed to have an orgasm without him. Early in their marriage, it had taken her a while to remember all of Mr. Gold’s rules, and even longer to get into the habit of obeying him without question. He had been patient with her about many things, but he had no tolerance for her being self-centered with the body he had bought. 

Even in the middle of this weird patch they were going through, she knew better than to disobey. It wasn’t that she was afraid that Mr. Gold would punish her--if anything, she was becoming afraid that he wouldn’t. But who you really are is who you are when no one else is looking. She wanted to be Mr. Gold’s good girl. 

So she would follow the rules. Even if he wasn’t going to enforce them. She would do it because she wanted to.

She would do it because she loved him.

In the darkness, Mrs. Gold shut her eyes against the tears. She rolled over to her side, so she was facing her husband’s back. She wanted to reach out to him, to touch the soft silk of his pajamas. She wanted to curl up around him, throw her arm over her chest and let their legs get tangled up in each other. She wanted to cling to him and cry.

But she didn’t.

Pain sat heavy in her chest. It made it difficult to breathe. Mr. Gold didn’t like to be touched. And he hated her touching him without permission. Almost every time they had sex, he would make sure her hands were out of the way. Tied together, handcuffed to the furniture, tucked away under her body, or held under his own strong grasp. He could only relax when he knew she was under control. 

Clenching her jaw, Mrs. Gold got on her back again. She wasn’t allowed to touch him any more than she could touch herself. She really should just try to sleep.

But all of her tossing and turning must have disturbed Mr. Gold. While she was on her back, he rolled over to his other side. Now he was facing her. 

He wrapped his arm around her waist, as natural as breathing. Still asleep, he snuggled up to her body. His face buried into the nape of her neck. She felt his lips move against her skin as he murmured, “Sweetheart.”

Mrs. Gold let out a breath. 

The sudden contact--more touch and more gently than she had gotten in ages--brought tears to her eyes. And the words! Had Mr. Gold ever called her sweetheart? Had he ever said anything so loving before? This was like a dream. But she knew she was awake.

She didn’t move. She didn’t dare. She didn’t know how long this embrace would last. She didn’t know how long it might be before her husband touched her again.

Staying as still as she could, Mrs. Gold kept awake until dawn, savoring every stolen moment of her husband’s love. 

****

When she woke again, he was gone. Breakfast was normal. Mr. Gold acted with as much polite distance as he had for the past month. He didn’t seem to remember what he had done in the night. Or if he did, he wasn’t going to talk about it.

Mrs. Gold read the paper aloud, as always. There was a good write-up about the earthquake in the abandoned mines that had happened recently. The mayor’s kid had gotten stuck in a mine shaft and that blonde lady--she was Sheriff Graham’s deputy now--had gone in to rescue him. 

In other news Marco the handyman had fallen off a ladder in front of the hardware store while he was replacing a burnt out lightbulb. He had broken a bone and sought treatment at Storybrooke General Hospital.

“Huh,” Mrs. Gold said after finishing that article. “I never thought of that.”

“What’s that?” Mr. Gold took up the last bite of his eggs and toast. As usual, he wasn’t really looking at her. 

“Oh, it’s nothing important.” Nonchalance was as close to lying to him as she would ever dare. “I just… remembered that doctors exist.” She giggled. “It’s amazing the things you don’t think about. Or at least the things I don’t think about!” 

Normally--or what she used to think of as normally--Mr. Gold would have ordered her to stop playing dumb and tell him what was going on. He would remind her that he knew exactly how stupid she was. She couldn’t fool him by putting on the bimbo act she did for other people.

But today he just made a noncommittal sound and stood up to clear the breakfast dishes. Mrs. Gold stayed seated and let him move around her. She bit her lip and twisted her wedding ring over her finger.

It had been a month. She couldn’t pretend any longer. Something was wrong with her husband. And she had to find out what. 

 ****

The next day, she dressed to impress. Black silk thigh-highs with a line down the back, like old-time Hollywood bombshell. Shiny red heels that would match her red sunglasses. She even got out the black latex bra and garter belt she liked to wear on special occasions. With a tight black dress, cherry red lipstick, and a diamond bracelet, she was ready to go. 

All she needed was a wide-brimmed hat and a cigarette and she’d look like a goddamned femme fatale.

Mr. Gold blinked when she came down for breakfast, but he didn’t mention her outfit. That only strengthened her resolve. She had to get answers, and soon. 

They went their separate ways. Mr. Gold had taken some leftovers for his lunch at the shop. He gave her money and she assured him that she would go to Granny’s if she got hungry.

Her first stop was the drugstore to pick up her birth control. Not that she needed it, but you never knew when things could change. Unlike every other month for as long as she could remember, Mr. Gold hadn’t called in her prescription. When Tom Clark, the pharmacist, realized that she was going to wait in the store until he filled her prescription, he sneezed so hard he nearly blew his nose off. What a stupid little man.     

She killed time until lunch was well under way at the diner. It was a cold day, so she had to spend more time in stores than out on the streets. Even if she didn’t have Mr. Gold’s attention, she could still get a thrill out of the stir she could cause just by walking around in a getup like this. The sunglasses helped disguise the fact that she was watching people stare at her. 

The patio outside Granny’s was empty except for two pre-teen girls drinking hot chocolate. They were huddled up together, playing some sort of hand-held video game. 

“How are we supposed to prove that this is the real sacred urn of Kurain? You know the prosecution is going to want evidence.”

“It’s gotta be fingerprints.”

“But whose?”

She stopped and cocked her head at them. What kind of video game required evidence for the prosecution? Mrs. Gold had an easier time recognizing the girls than she did understanding their game. 

The blonde girl in the lime green puffy coat was Paige Lewis. She was the one holding the device that sounded out a stream of tension-filled music. Her parents owned a large house in New Town. Tim Lewis was an insurance salesman who had a debt with Mr. Gold that he paid extra to keep his wife from knowing about. Of course Paige didn’t have a clue about that. She was a kid, and rich enough to be carefree and happy.     

The other girl was owl-eyed and sallow-skinned. Her brown hair was lank and lifeless. Instead of a real coat, she was wearing an oversized insulated hoodie--the kind a man would wear for hazardous outdoor work. Lexi. Wasn’t that her name? Lexi Paisan. Her father had died in an accident at the cannery a few years ago. The mother, Suzy Paisan, was a waitress and a housemaid here at Granny’s. The rent was never late from them, but Lexi never had new clothes. She always looked cold and hungry.

Today was no exception.

Both girls noticed her looking at them. Paige turned off the game, and Lexi’s mouth dropped open. 

“Damn!” she said, with more energy than her sullen demeanor would have indicated possible. “You look like a million bucks!”

Mrs. Gold snorted and walked over to them. “Not that much, not in this outfit.”

Paige spoke next, “Wait, do you literally have a dress that costs a million dollars?”

“Not one dress, no. But I bet if you added up all my clothes and shoes and bags and jewelry together it would come pretty close.”

“That’s crazy.” Paige spoke like she was the complete authority on the subject.

She looks just like her mother.

Mrs. Gold blinked. Why had she thought that? Paige’s mother, Mia Lewis, was a thin, auburn-haired Realtor with hazel eyes. Paige had a mop of curly blonde hair, beautifully plump cheeks, and dark eyes that sparkled with a specific type of knowing mischief. She was a pretty girl, but she didn’t take after her mother at all. 

Weird. 

Lexi was still staring at Mrs. Gold. “How do you walk in shoes that tall?”

Smirking, she lifted one foot off the ground to give the girls a better look at her heels. “Practice. And your feet get numb after a while.”

“Is that healthy?” Paige asked.

“Nope.”

Lexi nodded her approval. “Badass.” 

Mrs. Gold snorted again. “I’ve been called a lot of things, but never that.”

“How much did those shoes cost?” Lexi asked. 

She didn’t answer. This pair of designer heels had been a gift from Mr. Gold. She had seen an ad for them in one of her magazines and pointed them out to him. He said that he would buy them for her, if she let him make her thighs as shiny and cherry-red as the shoes themselves. When she agreed, he took off his belt and had her lift up her skirt right then and there. Her legs were still bright red when he had finished fucking her, and the bruises had lasted for weeks. 

That was how much these shoes had cost.

Instead of saying any of that, Mrs. Gold put on her widest smile. “Shouldn’t you guys be in school?”

Paige furrows her eyebrows. “It’s Thanksgiving break. We’re off until Monday.”

“Oh.” 

Weird that the major holiday at the end of November could completely pass her by. But it checked out. Thanksgiving was tomorrow. And Rent Day was this Sunday. And it had been a month since Mr. Gold had fucked her. 

“Well,” she kept smiling. “I guess that’s what happens when you don’t go to school anymore! I’ll let you girls get back to your game.” 

****

Inside the diner, every table was full. Mrs. Gold took a moment to survey the scene. Leroy Miner and a few other rough-and-tumble working men lined the bar stools. Ruby Lucas was on the phone with orders for take out. Suzy Paisan walked past with a tray on each arm. And in a booth by the window, Doctors Hopper, Atwell, and Whale were lunching together and arguing.

Perfect. 

Without missing a beat, Mrs. Gold walked up to the table with the best view of the booths. There was already a customer at the table. Keith Sherwood, who never had his rent in on time. He was a younger man, scruffy and unkempt--like almost every man in Storybrooke. He had oddly pursed lips and a chin that looked like a butt. She’d always hated him.

“I want to sit here,” she announced coldly. “Alone.”

And that was all she needed to say. Bug-eyed, Keith swallowed the bite he had been chewing. He nodded vigorously and stood up.

“Yes, Mrs. Gold.”

He held out the chair he had been sitting in, but she walked around to the other side of the table and took her place. Delicately, she pushed away the plate where he still had half a tuna melt and a few scattered fries. 

“Let me clear that for you, Mrs. Gold.” Keith picked up his dishes and silverware and looked around frantically for a place to put them.

“Aren’t you going to tip your waitress?” She examined her fingernails, only slightly disappointed that she was missing the show of Keith trying to grab his wallet while still holding on to his garbage.

Somehow he managed. When she looked up, there were a few crumpled ones on the empty table and Keith was out of sight. 

She barely had time to pull out her purse before Ruby came running out from behind the counter with a pad and pen at the ready.

“Hello, Mrs. Gold! What can I do for you today?”

God, was it only a month ago that she had been shaking down little Ruby for her grandmother’s rent? A lot had changed since then. 

Mrs. Gold did not smile at Ruby. Instead, she placed one fifty dollar bill on the table. “I want a pumpkin spice latte, skim milk.” She set down another fifty. “Burgers and fries for those little girls on the patio.” Another bill. “And when Dr. Whale is done with his ‘meeting of the minds,’ you’ll let him know that his check has been taken care of.” Setting down the last fifty, Mrs. Gold looked up at the waitress’ bulging eyes. “And you will keep this all to yourself. Won’t you, Ruby?”

The cash was in Ruby’s apron pocket so fast it might have never been on the table at all. “Absolutely, Mrs. Gold.”

She rolled her eyes behind her sunglasses. 

**** 

As she sipped her too-sweet latte, Mrs. Gold observed the doctors in the booth on the other side of the restaurant. Every Wednesday, the shining stars of the Storybrooke health community met for lunch. Lunch and a ritual re-hashing of the exact same argument every week.

Dr. Atwell was the shortest and oldest of the three men, with gray hair and reading glasses. He had a high-pitched, piercing voice that carried over the bustle of the diner.

“You can’t deny the truth, Archie, and this is the oldest saying in the book: You’re not a real doctor if you haven’t delivered a baby!”

Dr. Hopper shook his head and chuckled good-naturedly. “If that’s the case, then you’re more a doctor than Victor.”

Dr. Whale made a face like he was wounded. “Well, Roy has an unfair advantage! Puppies come out seven at a time!”

All three men laughed. It was eventually agreed, as it was every Wednesday, that they would invite Phillipa Sherman to start coming to these lunches. Then the vet, the shrink, and the medical practitioner could all band together and taunt her for being a lowly dentist.

Shockingly, Dr. Sherman never made an appearance. 

Eventually, they gathered their coats, and Dr. Hopper’s umbrella, and went to the cash register to pay. Dr. Whale was last in line. After a moment of murmured conversation with Ruby, the good doctor looked over at Mrs. Gold.

He began to walk toward her, but before he got to her table she was already on her feet and out the door. 

On the patio, Paige and Lexi were hunched over their game again. The plates on the table in front of them were empty except for smears of ketchup and honey mustard.

Without looking behind her, Mrs. Gold strutted around the corner to the alleyway between Granny’s Diner and the Atlantic Twine and Net store. She leaned against the brick wall across from the dumpster with one foot propped back at an angle behind her. Perfectly casual.

Dr. Whale didn’t keep her waiting long. He followed her into the alley, his usually purposeful stride fumbling a little in this new circumstance. 

“Mrs. Gold.” He kept his hands in his coat pockets, maintained as respectful a distance as the cramped alley would allow. “I understand I owe you lunch.”

She lowered her sunglasses to meet his eyes. He wasn’t bad-looking, if you liked cocky young blondes. Evidence suggested that quite a few ladies around Storybrooke did. 

“You’re doing me a favor just by talking to me, Doctor.” She tossed her hair to expose her neck, watched his genial smile falter into something more serious. How much did he like what he saw?

He cleared his throat. “Is there… something I can do for you?”

 Mrs. Gold pushed off the wall and sauntered closer to him. She made her hips sway as she moved and watched his eyes follow the motion. Slowly, she brought her hand to her mouth, rubbed her thumb over her lower lip. Thank God this lipstick was smear-proof.

“There is something I want to ask you.” She kept her voice breathy, soft. Whale had to lean in to hear her. “But it’s… kind of naughty.”

The noise Whale made in the back of his throat sent a bolt of lightning through her. Not to her libido, but to her ego. Sex appeal was the only power she had, and it had been a solid month since she’d gotten a chance to really use it. 

When Whale was able to speak, his voice was thick and heavy. “I can be naughty.”

Mrs. Gold giggled and reached out to finger the lapel of his coat. It wasn’t bad, a navy blue wool blend. Not as high quality as any of Mr. Gold’s coats, but respectable. And it fit him, which was half the work of looking good in clothes.  

“See,” she said as she closed in the space between their bodies. “The thing I want…”

“Yeah?” They were too close for her to focus on all of Whale’s face, but she could see that his lips were twitching. He was getting excited, but he kept his hands in his pockets like a good boy.  

“I want…” She ran her hand up his collar and stretched out her finger to brush against his ear lobe. “Mr. Gold’s medical records.”

“What?” Dr. Whale straightened up and jerked away. “You--you want what?”

She stood her ground, crossing her arms over her chest. “You’re his doctor. He’s my husband. I believe I have a right to know if there’s something wrong.”

Whale ran his fingers through his hair and blew out a long breath. “Oh, that was more effective than a cold shower,” he muttered. Then he looked at Mrs. Gold. “Was that what this was about the whole time?”

“Maybe,” she shrugged. “Depends on how well it worked.”

“Yeah, but just to be clear,” he said. “This is not a quid pro quo situation, is it? You were never going to deliver on any of that enticing body language.”

“Not unless Mr. Gold wanted me to.”

“And he doesn’t, does he?” Whale looked her over. For the first time since he entered the alley, he appeared to be using his brain. “He doesn’t know you’re talking to me.”

Mrs. Gold swallowed. Then she put on a smile. “It would be very nice of you not to mention it. I’d hate to give Mr. Gold a reason not to trust you!”

Whale opened his mouth, then closed it. He nodded, understanding the way she had set it up. The moment he had walked into an alley with another man’s wife, he had lost any moral high ground he might have ever had. 

“So,” he said slowly. “Whatever happens here… it stays between us. Does that work out for you, Mrs. Gold?”

She stuck out her hand and he shook it. “Deal,” she said brightly. 

Sighing, Whale stuck his hands back in his coat pockets. “I hope you know I can’t just pass out copies of my patient’s medical history.”

“That’s fine,” she said. “I don’t need a paper trail or anything. I just…” she trailed off. She had put so much effort into getting some answers, and now that she had the chance she didn’t even want to ask the questions. 

She took a breath and dug her fingernails into her palms. She had to do this. Her marriage was in trouble and she had to know why.

“I just need to know if Mr. Gold is sick.” When Whale didn’t say anything, she kept going until everything came bubbling out. “I don’t know if it might be heart disease, or somehow his leg got worse or if it’s like a hormone problem or ca--” She choked over the last word, the greatest fear, the enemy that could never be defeated, the war that would never be won or even survived. “Or something worse. And he won’t talk to me about anything and he’s acting strange and we haven’t…” Again she stopped, this time in embarrassment instead of fear. She took off her sunglasses and looked up at Dr. Whale. For the first time in a while, she said something truly honest. “It’s just been really hard for us lately. And I want to know if there’s a medical reason for it.” 

With a deep breath and a small nod, Dr. Whale seemed to come to a decision. He stepped a little closer to Mrs. Gold. Not as close as they had been, but a professional distance. Neutral--not attracted, not repulsed.  

“Mrs. Gold, I need you to understand something,” he began. “The breach of doctor-patient confidentiality is a death sentence for my profession. I could lose my licence to practice and I’d never be able to work again. And I need to work.” His chuckle was tinged with bitterness. “I’ve been a doctor for as long as I can remember and I still haven’t paid off my student loans.”

“How terribly sad for you,” Mrs. Gold said through gritted teeth. She tried not to think about how lucky he was to have student loans. To have even gotten a chance at higher education. Some people’s life savings, including their kid’s college funds, got swallowed up in medical bills. “Are you going to help me or not?”

“That’s what I’m saying, I can’t,” he said. “I can’t tell you about anything that was mentioned in any appointment with your husband. Not without his permission.”

Mrs. Gold felt the pumpkin spice latte curdle in her stomach. “You mothe--”

“But!” Dr. Whale cut her off. “I can tell you if certain subjects were not mentioned. Do you get what I mean?”

“Think about who I’m married to before you ask me again if I understand loopholes.” Instead of any relief or gratitude, all Mrs. Gold could feel was irritation boiling into anger. 

“Right.” He smiled, trying to diffuse the situation. Pathetic. “That being understood, I’m very happy to tell you that I have never spoken to Mr. Gold about heart disease. We’ve never had a reason to discuss hormone imbalances, urological problems, erectile dysfunction--”

“I never said that!”

“Neither did I,” he said with the calm of an ER surgeon. “This whole conversation is about conversations that didn’t happen.” He put one hand on her shoulder and looked her in the eye. “And I’ve never spoken to Mr. Gold about cancer.”

She tried to keep her face frozen. But that was hard to do when her legs were shaking. Mrs. Gold closed her eyes and let herself fall back against the bricks. 

She breathed, for what felt like the first time in days. 

He was safe. He wasn’t sick. She wasn’t going to lose him. Not like that, at least. 

“Thanks,” she said softly. “I didn’t realize how much I needed to hear that.”

Dr. Whale grinned. “Best part of being a doctor is making people feel better. That and getting to play God.”

He laughed at his own joke, but Mrs. Gold didn’t react. She was still waiting for her heart rate to return to normal. 

“Listen,” Whale said. “You mentioned that Mr. Gold wasn’t talking to you about things and you were worried. Now, I know we give Archie hell about not being a real doctor, but talking to him does help people.”

Mrs. Gold glared up at Dr. Whale. “I’m not crazy,” she said with determination.

“No, I don’t think you are,” he answered. “But you don’t have to be mentally ill to have problems in your marriage.”

She pushed off from the wall and rounded on him, brandishing her sunglasses under his chin like a switchblade. “Who said anything about problems with my marriage?”

Whale backed out of the alley. “N-no one, Mrs. Gold. But--But it is my job to offer you the best advice I can based on the information I’m presented with.”

“Well you did your job then. Good for you. Do you want a fucking lollipop?”

Before Whale could say anything more, Mayor Mills walked into the mouth of the alley. “What is going on here?” she demanded of them both. “Dr. Whale, did you forget that you have an appointment with my son today?”

Thrown from one infuriated woman to another, Whale had to think for a moment before he recovered himself. “Ye-yes of course, Madam Mayor. Henry’s appointment is at two.”

“And it’s almost one-thirty now.” The mayor had a fascinating way of speaking that turned facts into accusations. “I imagine you want to head back to the hospital so you can review his file before you examine him.”

“Uh, yes. Yes of course,” Whale shook his head. “I definitely don’t want to be here.” He nodded to Mrs. Gold before scurrying around the mayor and all but sprinting down the street. 

“And you.” 

Mayor Mills was the sort of person who was always in charge because it was just so obvious that she should be. She could pin someone to the wall just by using the right tone of voice or raising an eyebrow or putting her hands on her hips. Mrs. Gold knew she wasn’t exempt from that power.

But, when the mayor spoke again, her voice was gentler, almost sweet. It was like she cared. Mrs. Gold suddenly got the notion that the mayor had just as many carrots as she had sticks and that she knew very well how to use both.

“Are you alright, Mrs. Gold? You seem upset.” The furrow of her brow was practically sympathetic. “I hope there isn’t any trouble at home.”

She wanted to say something. Maybe Whale was right, maybe she needed to talk to someone about what was going on with Mr. Gold. And if you couldn’t trust the mayor, who could you trust? But in the back of her head, some voice insisted: No. Not Regina! 

So she didn’t break. She didn’t say anything. Mrs. Gold put on her sunglasses, and for a hot second she felt the way Lexi Paisan had described her earlier. She felt badass.

“Nope,” she lied to Mayor Mills. “Everything’s fine.”   

[glitterbootsharry]

Three- Lullaby Woe

Word Count: 2K

Disclaimer: I do not know much about witchcraft or anything associated with it besides the few tv shows and movies I have seen. If I have gotten anything wrong or mixed up, please feel free to let me know. I want to get as much right as I can as I have done some research, but I know I do not know a lot.

Warning: Talk of divorce, childhood trauma, and a car crash. 

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“Sorry ‘bout that,” Rowan enters the room, her face and body much more relaxed from when we first arrived at her cottage, which in turn relaxes me. “Gran, she, erm…” Rowan sits down next to me on the couch before picking up her tea cup, trying carefully to choose her words, but they never come to her rescue. She shakes her head, dismissing her entire argument altogether. 

“She seems nice,” I say, trying to ease into the motion of conversation. I smile as I sip my tea, the orange aftertaste lingering in my mouth. There were millions of questions running rampant through my mind, enough for me not to be able to process anything that had happened between Alice and I. Was her intuition that great? Did I linger too long when looking at Rowan? 

“She can be a little much,” she smiles, laying back into the faded blue cushion. Her head falls back against the wooden frame, her eyes closing- a moment of peace for her, a thousand memories for me. Her neck, tanned and delicate, is long and vulnerable, though my wanting of tracing her skin hasn’t ceased, I clear my throat, trying to adjust my jeans hoping the evidence of my wandering thoughts isn’t noticeable. “Sorry if she freaked you out or anything.”

“It’s fine, really,” I say, half-believing my own words. The words that formed in my mind, unspoken, had been the center of attention in our conversation. I just want to know what gave it away. “Erm, who is Astarte?” I clearly butchered pronouncing the name when Rowan’s eyes click open instantly as if the owner’s name was some sort of curse word. She sits up and faces me, her leg crossed under the other. Her dark wide eyes blink at me slowly, carefully as if she wants me to believe what is coming out of her mouth.

“It’s my mum,” she said, a hint of sorrow in her voice. Bringing up the woman must have brought in memories that Rowan wished to forget, and I’m the asshole for asking. “Most of these books,” she looks at the black leather book I had been holding only moments ago, “were hers. She was really into herbs and such. And it’s As-Tar-tee, not A-start-e.” 

I knew from the vagueness of her answer that the subject’s waters I’m dancing around was best left alone, but the arrogance and stubbornness in me was dying to know everything I could about Rowan.

“Was?” I ask, half knowing the answer already. I keep digging my early grave with every word I say. Curiosity killed the cat, I reminded myself.

“She died when I was young, along with my dad,” she clears her throat before setting the tea cup on the dark wooden table. She smoothed her ponytail before standing up only to look down at me. “Do you want to see the garden?” 

There wasn’t a spoken answer, only me nervously nodding my head as I hastily set my teacup on the table before following Rowan out the back glass door. I feel like a puppy, following my new owner around, high on her heels so when she turns around to show me a flower she had just planted only a few days ago, she bumps into my chest, her hands both on the two birds that are permanently there. 

“Sorry,” I whisper, feeling the fire where her hands were touching. For a moment, I wished her hands were hot pokers because I would wear my branding marks with pride. She smiles toothily before pulling out a beige rose from behind me.

“Do you know what the colors mean?” She asks, her teeth grazing her bottom lip as she looks up to me. I shake my head, only knowing red means love. Rowan continues to smile as she pulls the flower to her nose to smell. “Beige means fascination. Red, love and respect and courage,” she walks away and I try to keep up, falling under whatever spell she’s casting. Her hand hovers over the flowers as she walks, her skin glowing in the sunlight. “Orange stands for passion,” her voice sultry as she points to the mass of orange roses. “Yellow is for friendship,” she pulls the yellow rose out from the ground and hands me the flower. I look over to the light purple flowers that are planted at the end of the row that sits along the falling fence. 

“What about the lavender ones?” We walk to the flowers I asked about, gently squeezing the stem before plucking it from the dirt. I extend the flower to Rowan who smiles with her lip caught between her teeth as she blinks wildly. “Careful with the thorns.”

“Enchantment and love at first sight with mystery mixed in,” she whispers, taking the rose from me, her hand gingerly grazing over mine. Perfection at its finest. Her lips part, in anticipation of speaking or something else, but I want so badly to kiss Rowan here in the garden of lost time and emotion. I step closer to her, my head slightly bent as my head hovers over hers. I feel her breathing become hitched and her eyes close as our embrace closes in ranks, but she pulls away, smelling the rose I had given her. “The white flowers represent innocence and remembrance. I planted those for my parents which is why there’s only two.”

“What happened to them, if I may ask?” I stand where Rowan left me, completely still until I feel something rubbing between my legs. A small shriek comes out of mouth, embarrassment flooding my face afterwards. I step back and see a small black cat slinking over to Rowan. 

“Fernsby, you can’t scare our new friend,” Rowan picks up the black cat, holding the animal in her arms before I step over to pet the creature that startled me. 

“Sorry mate, thought you were a snake,” I say, the cat purring almost instantly when my hand rubs his head. 

“He’s friendly, don’t mind him. He likes to spook new people,” Rowan sets Fernsby down on the ground so that he could chase the Monarch butterfly that was fluttering about the garden. 

Rowan clears her throat before she begins to speak, her eyes still on the white roses, “My parents died in a car crash when I was young so I don’t really remember much about them. We only had one car so after my parents dropped me off at school one day, my dad was on his way to drop my mum off to work. She was a nurse at the hospital and worked the dayshift. It was raining that day and my dad had a hard time seeing the road when I was in it. He kept swerving and getting into the standing waters. I was in the backseat hoping that it would stop raining just for one minute,” Rowan looked up at me, tears forming in her eyes. She sniffles before continuing. 

“There was this curve on the way to mum’s work that was dangerous even when it’s not raining. It was on the side of a hill. I’m sure my dad was careful, not speeding and all, but there was this big truck, the kind that you use to move, and it, erm, was on the curve with them. It started hydroplaning and it crashed into my parents. They rolled down the mountain and…” Rowan’s voice fades as she tries to steady herself. It was tough hearing the story, letting alone telling it. I grab Rowan by the elbow and pull her into my embrace, my arms squeezing her as she sobs into my chest. My chin rests on her head and we sway in the garden as I let her cry. 

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked,” I say as I feel her stir. She wipes away the smears of makeup and tears, her eyes red. She looks up at me and smiles gently. 

“It’s fine, Harry. You wanted to know,” her words cut me down. My curiosity hurt Rowan, made her relive the trauma she was so desperately trying to forget each morning after waking from dreams of her family together. “After the accident, I came to live my gran and it’s been like this ever since.” 

“What was that that she called you?” I ask, my arms still holding Rowan in her rose garden. A few birds twirped in the air as the sun shine down upon us.

“What? Erm, Ya Amar? It’s my pet name for her. It’s Arabic for my moon- something she’s always called me,” Rowan points to the tattoo of the crescent moon and stars behind her ear. 

“Arabic? I didn’t know you were from the Middle East,” I say, smiling down at her. I swallow hard as her dark eyes look over me. She smiles sweetly before stifling a small laugh. 

“We’re from Egypt, Harry,” she says with kindness in her voice. “It’s a language used throughout a lot of countries.”

“Oh,” is all I could say as she pulls away from me. “Was your mum Egyptian or your dad?”

“My mum,” she says as she bends down to pick a weed out of the ground. “Gran came to London years ago to start a new life. My grandfather refused to leave Alexandria, Gran took my mum and came up here. Said that people are more accepting up here, but we know now that was a lie. My mum met my dad at Uni and had me.” Rowan swallowed hard, her eyes diverted to the ground. Clearly there was something else, something she wasn’t telling me, but I’d rather not pry now.

“There’s so much sadness in your family, I can’t imagine. All I have is divorced parents and an absent father,” I say, half-smiling. “He left when I was young and told me that I was the man of the house. At no age should the son be that,” The memory of my dad closing the front door for the last time echoes in my mind. I cried, pleading with him to stay, but it was no use. He had left my mum, Gemma and I to our own devices. 

“Why did he leave?” Rowan asks as she walks around the section of green shrubbery. “Herbs.”

“I dunno. Never asked. Don’t want to know, honestly. Things are better off with the only communication I have with him being the birthday and christmas presents that I get in the post every year,” I feel the soft leaves of the plant closest to me, still holding on to the beige rose in my hand.

“That’s so sad,” Rowan looks up at me, biting the inside of her cheek. “What about your mum?”

“She remarried, but my stepdad passed away a few years from cancer. He was the light of her life. I’m really happy she got the happiness she deserved. They were really in love. Hope I get that one day,” I shuffle my brown boots into the ground all too aware of a pair of eyes on Rowan and me. I looked over to the white lace curtained window to see Alice watching us, her fingers curled around the fabric.

Rowan smiles as she sees her grandmother watching us. “She likes you. Thinks you’re the bee’s knees because you drove me out here. She says you remind her of her husband.” She steps closer to me, the smile on her face growing. “She’s got a bit of dementia and her memory isn’t as good as it used to be, but you remind her of Clifford when they were younger supposedly.”

“What happened to him?” I ask, scared of the answer. 

“He died when I was a teen. Drank too much. Said our family’s history was too much for someone like him to bear.”

“What history?” The words fall out of my mouth before I could think, my heart racing as Rowan steps closer to me, her fingertips holding onto my inner elbow. She stands on her toes as she pulls leaves from my hair. 

“As if you haven’t heard, Harry. You’re standing in an accused witch’s garden, after all,” She smiles, her white teeth showing, and I know that whatever enchantment, spell, or curse Rowan was putting me under I would never forget our time in the garden. A devilish grin is plastered in her face before she dusts off the small bit of grass from her pants. She takes my flower to her nose before smelling it once again and then blow cold air in my face. “Be careful or they’ll say I cast a spell on you and made you mine.”

####

@sunflwr-styles​ @awomanindeniall 

[concealeddarkness13]

WHG Post Games Boat Heist Part 1

There will be different POVs throughout this heist. I hope you enjoy this! Tagging: @ratracechronicler (also, thanks for Elvira and Rebecca!), @maple-writes (also, thanks for Asher and Cirrus!), @nightskywriter, @rhikasa, @pen-of-roses (also, thanks for Rowan!), @aeslin-writes, @the-moving-finger-writes, @knmartinshouldbewriting, @makeitmonstrous, and @timefirewrites!

Lynne

I just sat on the couch of the small apartment the Capitol had put me in. I stared blankly at the TV. It was on Capitol propaganda 24/7. I couldn’t turn it off, but I barely processed what was being said. We were going to escape from the party, and everything would be better.

There was a soft knock on my door, but I didn’t get up to open it. Whoever it was would come in anyway. I looked away and squeezed my eyes shut when Churi walked in with a smirk playing on his lips.

He sat down right next to me and put a hand on my shoulder, a normally gentle gesture that made me shudder when it was coming from him. He clicked his tongue. “Ms. Marne, you have still been rebellious even after I threatened your friends, so I thought I should come and visit you personally.” He pulled out a phone and pulled up a picture. “I thought you would like to see this.”

He held up a picture, and I gasped as tears welled up in my eyes. Atwater, but he was bruised and bloody and his expression was twisted in pain. He looked like he had been tortured. Churi laughed. “This is what happens when people get close to you, Ms. Marne. They’ll get hurt unless they comply. And I think you’ll be happy to know I followed through on my promises.” He flipped to something else and held it up for me to see.

It was a video, and tears streamed down my cheeks as I watched, but I couldn’t look away. Everyone I had allied with in Peacekeeper uniforms. Nesri beating up helpless District 11 families. Zenith stabbing helpless people. Rebecca wielding a sword against unarmed opponents while grinning. A sob escaped my lips, and I started shaking. I had hoped that they were safe, but here was proof they weren’t.

Churi took the video away and rubbed my shoulder as if he wanted to comfort me. “This is what happens to anyone who gets close to you. Even Alastair. You are property of the Capitol now. No one can come close to you and leave intact. Your friends were commendably rebellious and stubborn. At least until we brought in someone else. Hebi was very good at changing their minds. They can make anyone follow what they command. Your friends didn’t stand a chance. One order, and your friends were ours.” He snapped. “It was simple, really.” He paused. “We are ordering your friends to be at the party in a few days. To remind you what happens when anyone gets close to you.” He smirked and left.

I hugged myself as sobs wracked my body. I was alone. I couldn’t let anyone get close. They had someone who could change minds in an instant. No one was safe around me.

Nesri

The day of the party came, and we were all ready. Triel had successfully gotten all of the makeup and temporary tattoos on everyone, and then she showed up in her own costume. I had been annoying Cirrus, but I stopped and stared. She was wearing all black: high heeled boots; a low cut loose shirt; a long, black coat; and a black, wide brimmed hat. Damn. She looked good.

She smirked at all of us and put a hand on her hip. “Are you all ready? Shine will drop us off in Capitol-approved boats to take us the rest of the way. They’ll stay near in the invisible airship just in case something goes wrong.”

I nodded with a stupid grin. Dang. She was going to be my girlfriend someday. Rowan nodded too. Rebecca tapped the hilt of her sword in its scabbard, and Elvira nodded.

Triel nodded, and we headed out. The flight didn’t take very long, and Shine dropped us off with no problems in a secluded area where no one could notice what kind of airship dropped us off (spoiler alert: our airship looks completely different from the Capitol’s airships). There were tons of people heading toward the yachts, and we joined the crowd. There were even people airshipping onto the yachts, skipping the boats entirely.

After waiting in line for what seemed like hours, but was really only thirty minutes, we flashed our tickets to the Peacekeepers scanning them, and they bowed and let us on. Avoxes walked up to us right away and showed us to our rooms.

And we came face to face with two Capitol people who were covered with so much makeup and tattoos that I could barely tell them apart. The only way I could was one of them was wearing a bikini with pirate flags on it and the other was wearing swim trunks with treasure chests on them. And they were both wearing very cheap looking pirate hats.

They grinned at us and showed us their tickets that indicated that they were sharing rooms with us. The one with the bikini held out her (?) hand. “My name is Trieseuril. It’s pronounced ‘treasure’.” Yes, we know. You’re saying it out loud. “My parents were totally pirate fanatics. This is what pirates always wore! They had to be stylish while kicking butt!”

The person in the swim trunks laughed. “Truly so, my dearest.” He (?) held out his hand. “My name is Calypso. I’m named after the Egyptian goddess of treasure. My parents were totally historians. Since I’m named after the goddess of treasure, and she is named Trieseuril, we were totally meant to be.” He tipped his hat. “Our parents painstakingly made these by hand for us. They’re totally accurate with the rest of our outfits.”

“Your parents made mistakes,” Rebecca muttered under her breath.

Calypso didn’t notice. “And it looks like we’re your roommates!”

For once, I was rendered speechless. I didn’t even know where to start with how wrong they were.

Before anyone could say anything Trieseuril (I didn’t want to know how that was spelled) frowned. “That’s a problem, though, sweeties. You see, we’re on our honeymoon. We thought this party would be the perfect place, and we won our Hunger Games too! We got the tickets, and nothing is going to ruin that. So, there are two rooms and ten of us. I think it’s only fair that we get a room to ourselves. You’ll be fine in that small room together, right?” She grinned. “Thanks!”

Rowan stepped back, looking like they wanted to hide, and Cirrus looked indignant, but he actually didn’t say anything. Our new “roommates” still stood there, grinning stupidly, as if they expected us to congratulate them on their honeymoon, or something.

Triel stepped forward to save us. She smiled and tipped her hat. “It’s a pleasure meeting you. Of course you can have our other room. I can’t imagine eight people having trouble trying to sleep in two beds. I wish you the best of nights.” When they nodded with satisfied smiles and went into their room, she turned toward our room. “And by ‘best of nights’ I mean that we’ll make sure you won’t get any sleep until we head off tonight,” she muttered. She opened the door, and I stared at the tiny room as the Avoxes started setting our packs down in the room (we couldn’t come without bringing luggage, it would look suspicious). How did they even expect five people to sleep in such a small room?

“Well, this is…cozy?” Rowan looked around the room. “At least we have a—I think that counts as a window anyway?”

Zenith sighed, rubbing his eyes. “I must have repressed memories of these rooms. I don’t remember them being this small.”

“Well there probably wasn’t this many of you crammed in here.” Cirrus made his way through the room, checking out the beds and windows. After he was done, he dismissed the Avoxes.

Zenith grunted. “But Arque has no sense of personal space.”

I laughed. “None of us will have any sense of personal space if we have to wait in here very long before the heist starts tonight.”

“I’ll be reconnoitering.” Elvira sniffed and backed out of the room.

We all nodded and scattered. I was going to check out where the best place to escape would be. I could text Shine the location after I found it.

I walked along the deck, looking for a good place to make President Snow drink lake water and a good place to escape. I was texting Shine back and forth about good places when someone tapped on my shoulder. I just tried to ignore them, but they insisted.

I growled. “If it’s Trieseuril, I’m a little busy and your outfit sucks.”

“Who’s Trieseuril?” I sucked in a breath at the voice and turned to see Kiryth watching me with a cocked eyebrow. Shit. I had met him a year ago when Shine first had to be a mentor and Triel made the excuse that they needed adult supervision since they were still a minor. I had gone along as Triel’s other charge. Kiryth and I might or might not have dated for a while until we both decided that it wouldn’t work out, even though we both wanted it to. That didn’t mean that my heart didn’t melt when I saw him again.

I adopted my best rich voice, even though I knew he had already recognized me. “Oh, some posh woman who has the best name and the best pirate outfit.”

He cocked his head. “I’m not sure about that. Yours is very flattering, miss.”

I flushed. Crap. Control the situation. “Well, I can’t say the same for yours. Did you miss the memo?”

“Unfortunately, I’m on duty and not allowed to wear a costume.” He leaned in closer. “Ness, what are you doing here? You’re supposed to be dead.”

“I think you missed more than one memo,” I whispered back.

He smiled that crooked smile that always made me melt. “Come with me. We’ll talk somewhere more private.”

Could be a trap, but…he had never been as infatuated with the Capitol as all the others. His family had always served the Capitol, and they had forced him into that as well. I followed him down a hallway, and when there was no one around, he leaned against the wall and turned to me. “So, what’re you doing here? Can I help you with anything?”

I narrowed my eyes at him. “And how do I know you’re not an expert Capitol spy, using my weaknesses against me?”

He laughed and held up his hands. “I don’t even know what’s going on. I’ve had to prep these stupid yachts for weeks. I wasn’t able to watch the Hunger Games at all, which isn’t much of a loss, but I had hoped to see what happened to you.”

I pursed my lips, but he was a horrible liar. “We’re trying to help the captured tributes escape. We have a good plan already and everything. Maybe just listen up for anything that might fuck up the rescue attempt?”

He nodded, but after a pause, he smiled. “I can actually help more. The captain of this yacht is actually more sympathetic than most Capitol people. They would probably be able to help if you need a distraction. They know this ship better than anyone else. Would you like me to introduce you?”

He was so awesome, always thinking of good plans! I flung my arms around him and kissed his cheek. “That would be perfect! But first, I need to go. Find me in a couple hours.”

He nodded, and I ran off. I needed to let everyone else know.

Zenith

I had to find everyone’s rooms so we knew where to go to grab the captured tributes when we started the rescue attempt. It was hard to walk in a straight line with no depth perception, but I was getting better.

And just as I thought that, I bumped into someone. I mumbled an apology, but that person gripped my arm too tight, and I whirled on them, almost slipping my knives into my hands.

But it was just Alastair. He frowned and gripped my arm tighter, and I glanced at the other people who were noticing us. He wasn’t very subtle, was he?

I sighed. “Let’s get somewhere where there won’t be any eyes watching us.” I gripped his arm back, and pulled him away from all those people.

When we were alone, I turned to him and glared. “What was the idea with making a scene? Was it really that surprising to see me?”

He cowered away from me. Nesri must have been right about my scowl intimidating people. “I’m sorry. I just am happy that you got on safely.”

I sighed. He could be useful, though. “Do you know where the captured tributes are staying? I need to know where their rooms are.”

Alastair nodded and headed off wordlessly. Shit. I didn’t mean to intimidate him that much. He turned back to me. “Lynn and Laurel’s rooms are on the other side of the yacht. But here are where Poli, Ev, and my rooms are.” He pointed out each of the rooms, and I nodded. Alastair still looked nervous. “I think something is not right, though. It was my fault. I must have been too obvious when I got the special tickets. I’m sorry. The Capitol seems to expect that you’ll come and try to rescue them. They’re on high alert now.”

I tensed as Lynne’s door opened, and she walked out. She looked surprised, but in an angry way. I frowned.

She looked away from us, tears welling up in her eyes. “Why are you wearing Peacekeeper uniforms?”

I frowned even more. “What—?”

She flinched and started walking off. “I’m sorry. The Capitol is doing this to you because of me. And now they’re teasing me with you. We can’t be seen together, or they’ll hurt you worse.” She wiped her eyes and kept walking. I frowned and exchanged a glance with Alastair. What was the Capitol doing? And how were they doing it?

Triel

I looked on from under my hat as I sat at the bar with other rich snobs. I was waiting for President Snow. I had to see if I could rope him into meeting with me later. He hadn’t actually been seen by anyone yet, but he had to show his stupid face sometime soon.

Everyone who came to this party had no idea what pirates actually wore. They were mostly just wearing things that one would wear on a cruise. How boring.

Alastair seemed to be on edge when he showed up, but I didn’t try to get close when other people swarmed around him. I just smiled and sipped my drink.

At least until Snow finally showed up. I stood up, downed my drink, and walked over to him, exaggerating my strut. The Peacekeepers around him eyed me suspiciously, but they didn’t try to stop me from approaching him.

I grinned. “Ah, the man himself! President Coriolanus Snow.” I held out my hand, even though I knew he wouldn’t shake it and flashed my fake ticket with my fake name on it with the other hand. “Theria Stane. You should have heard of me. I have been reporting on this year’s Hunger Games. I’ve had interviews with all of the stylists, some of the mentors, and I have tried to have an interview with you, the orchestrator of the Games. Unfortunately, I have not been able to get in touch with you yet. Your guards are certainly diligent.” I winked at one of the guards, but he just scowled back at me.

Snow gave me a fake smile but ignored my hand. “Yes, your interviews with the stylists were illuminating. Thank you for your contribution to this year’s Hunger Games.”

Yes, that was what I had been doing the past few weeks (even before the Hunger Games finished). I had become someone else so I could move around and learn more about what was going on in the Capitol. And good thing too. I could pretend to be Theria Stane during this party. Alastair was being a little too obvious about how nervous he was. He must not have been used to heists.

I kept smiling. “Now, President Snow, I must have an interview with you!” I pulled out a pad of paper and a pen. “Could I please have a moment of your time?”

He shook his head still with that fake smile. “I’m sorry, my dear, but I am busy at the moment.”

“Then later!” I cut in. “Sometime tonight. You have to have some time for an interview, right? How about, say around 10?”

He sighed. He saw how futile it was to ignore me. “Yes, my dear, I’ll find you at 10 tonight.”

I grinned. “Thank you so much! You won’t regret this!” I walked away and ordered another drink. I smirked as I sipped it. I would need to find Elvira and tell her that I could possibly have a time when we could throw the dear president overboard.

Nesri

The first gang member I found was Cirrus. He was standing by himself, looking around near the dance floor, so I just pushed through the crowds until I was standing right in front of him.

I wasn’t going to take up much of his time. There were more people I needed to tell. I leaned close to whisper to him, just in case anyone else could hear me if I talked normally. “I found an old friend, and he has invited us to meet the captain. He says they will help us out. And he’s a horrible liar, so I trust him.”

Cirrus nodded. “Good.” He glanced around and sipped his drink. “I might have talked one of the avoxes into helping us too.”

I grinned. “That’s wonderful! The more the merrier! Did you find any other info? I saw you snooping around the corridors early on.”

He sighed dramatically. “Not as much as I would like. Nothing seems weird, and no one I talked to seemed to know anything besides trends.”

I laughed. “I bet those trends were horrendous too.” I paused and squeezed his hand. “Well, I’ve gotta move on. I want to let everyone else know so we can meet this captain soon.”

But before I could leave, a woman in a bikini approached us, holding a glass probably filled with alcohol. She grinned at us. “You two are the most adorable couple I’ve ever seen!” Couple? I gasped and started coughing instead of allowing myself to laugh. “You two simply must dance!” Dance? My face grew hot as I tried not to laugh. “It will be so aesthetically pleasing!”

Cirrus’s confusion was even more beautiful. I doubled over, trying to pretend like I wasn’t trying to laugh. He blinked. “Couple?”

The woman giggled, her drink sloshing onto the deck. “No need to be shy about it! You have matching outfits and everything!” Other people started noticing and crowding around.

Cirrus froze, looking like he was trying to figure out what to say, but he just turned to me. “Nesri?”

This was the best. My face was still flushed from trying not to laugh as I looked over at him. People were chanting for us to dance now. I cocked an eyebrow at him and smirked. “Well, you heard the woman.”

“Of course.” He did a mini bow and held out a hand. “Shall we?”

Oh, this was an opportunity I couldn’t pass up. We started dancing to the slow song, and his hands were so gentle. I wiggled my eyebrows at him. “You’re still cute when you’re flustered.”

He rolled his eyes. “I’m just not used to it, that’s all.”

I glanced at the people watching and cheering for us. “I wouldn’t have wanted this to be our first dance, with Capitol idiots insisting on it, but—” I turned back to him with a smirk. “I couldn’t have asked for a more handsome partner.”

He shrugged along with the dance. “I mean, my mother did say I was vain. Guess it paid off.” He grinned and raised his eyebrows. Damn. He was handsome. “At least none of them are probably going to throw food at us unlike some people.”

I gasped in fake indignation. “I would never! I can’t imagine anyone would do something so horrendous.” I grinned, but before I could say anything else, something caught my eye. I looked over his shoulder and stiffened. Churi was here, and he was staring right at me. My blood ran cold, and I ducked my head behind Cirrus. “Shit. Churi is here.”

“What?” He glanced over his shoulder for a second. “Damn it, of course he’s here. Would he recognize you?”

I nodded. “He would recognize me. He’s staring right at us. Shit.” What could I do to stop him? Would he target anyone else to get to me? Did I need to make sure that didn’t happen?

“I saw a door with a lock down the hall,” Cirrus said quietly. “Looked like a bathroom maybe but it might work.”

I glanced back at Churi, but he had disappeared. I smiled at Cirrus, shoving back my fear and forcing myself to relax. He was gone. Hopefully, he wouldn’t bother anyone else, just me. If that meant I had to confront him myself later to keep him from bothering anyone else, I would. But no need to worry Cirrus about that. “Nah. He’s gone. It’s fine. He’s the kind that won’t alert the Peacekeepers because he’s planning on a confrontation of his own, so if I avoid him, we’ll be fine.” Or if I confronted him and kept his attention away from anyone else, we’d be fine. I glanced around to make sure he had really disappeared, and people were still watching us with anticipation. I laughed. “I think they’re expecting a kiss at the end of this song.”

Cirrus looked surprised, but he glanced at the watching crowd and nodded. “Better they remember a show than strange people sneaking around the ship, right?” The music slowed down, and he dipped me and kissed me passionately. I melted, partly genuinely and partly to make sure Cirrus wasn’t worried about me. I kissed him back and ran my hands through his hair. Everything was fine. I’d make sure of it.

The crowd cheered and finally turned their attention to other things. We kissed a little longer, and when we broke apart, my expression grew serious. “Please don’t tell anyone about Churi being here. I don’t want to make them more worried. He’s probably only here for me. So, I’m the only one who needs to worry.”

“Fine.” Cirrus held me for a little longer before bringing me out of the dip. “But that doesn’t stop me from worrying.” He thought for a moment. “You said he isn’t physical but may I remind you Asher is trained as an exorcist? I won’t tell him anything, but you’re not here alone, Nesri.”

I smiled. “The Shades aren’t really so much spirits as different species from us. I don’t know if he’s able to help. But thanks.” I hugged him lightly and walked off to tell others about the captain. He shouldn’t worry. This was my burden to bear.

[recurring-polynya]

a little in love now and then, part 2/? | ao3 | ff.net |

Summary: Abarai Renji doesn’t have a fortune, but he does appear to be in want of a wife, at least in Lady Kuchiki’s opinion. Fortunately, Lady Kuchiki also has a sister, and a woefully eligible one, at that. (itty bitty Hisana Lived! AU)

Rating: T, for minor cussing

This time: Hisana informs Rukia about their dinner guest

Older parts: | part 1 |

“I don’t like that green,” Hisana declared. “What about your blue kimono, the one with the white bellflowers? It makes your eyes look so pretty.”

Rukia narrowed her insufficiently pretty blue eyes. “Who is coming to dinner, Sister?” she growled.

“Someone handsome,” Hisana singsonged.

Rukia’s shoulders slumped. “Sister, please don’t.”

“Don’t do what?” Hisana sniffed. “Out of the peonies, Touma!” She turned back to her sister, who was only marginally less troublesome than her son. “Don’t invite handsome young men to dinner? You ask too much, Rukia.”

“Why are you doing this?” Rukia complained. “First, it was tea with Lady Nishiwaki and her son just happened to be there--”

“I didn’t care for him, he was too cheeky,” Hisana pronounced.

“--and then you told me you needed me to be your tennis partner at the Miura’s party, but then you pretended to get overheated when it turned out that there were an excess of young men who needed partners.”

“I have a delicate constitution,” Hisana sniffed.

“I’ve never been overheated in my life and neither have you,” Rukia muttered grimly.

Hisana fanned herself innocently. “I just think you should meet more people, that’s all.”

“You’re angry that I got stuck in the Living World for two months and now you’re trying to marry me off to keep me out of trouble,” Rukia guessed.

Hisana’s eyes widened. “No! No.” She folded her fan, and tucked it in her lap. “Rukia, do you know how hard I’ve had to work for the last forty years to keep you from getting married off?”

Rukia wrinkled her nose. “Who would want to marry me?” she grunted.

Hisana’s face went hard. “Everyone who wanted didn’t believe I’d ever be able to produce an heir and saw you as the back-up plan.”

Rukia’s mouth opened and then closed again. For so long, Hisana’s infertility had been an elephant in the room. Hisana hadn’t even been expected to live more than a few years at the time she married Byakuya, and if there was one thing Byakuya and Rukia had in common, it was that they were too happy to have Hisana in their lives to bother giving a single shit about stuff like that. Hisana gave a shit, though, and so did the rest of Byakuya’s stupid, asshole family. The fact that Hisana had been staving off stupid family schemes for her at the same time…

“It never occurred to me,” Hisana said slowly, “that we had been keeping you away from everything. Sheltering you. I think you made more friends in the World of the Living than in all your years as a Kuchiki.”

“Sister, it’s fine,” Rukia assured her. “I have my job, and I have you, and it sounds like the family isn’t interested in marrying me off anymore, so everything’s fine.”

“I just want you to be happy, Rukia,” Hisana persisted. “I’m not even the one who brought up marriage, you were.” She paused to bask for an entire second from the tenuous perch on the moral high ground. Rukia abruptly stopped feeling guilty in anticipation of what was coming next. “But now that you mention it, now would be the perfect time for you to marry for love. You never know when the aunts will get some new idea in their head, and the best way to avoid getting married off is to marry yourself off first.”

“I don’t want to get married,” Rukia pointed out. “I want to be a shinigami.”

“These things are not mutually exclusive. Byakuya manages quite well.”

“Byakuya has a million servants and a lieutenant to do stuff for him,” Rukia grumbled.

Hisana’s eyes glinted in a way Rukia didn’t like. “He does have a lieutenant! Have you met Abarai? Oh, right, he saved your life once, I was given to understand.”

Rukia’s stomach dropped. She had honestly been thinking of Lieutenant Shirogane when she said that. Intellectually, she knew that he had retired, but that piece of information lived in the morass of Things That Had Happened While She Was Gone, and she still wasn’t used to the idea that of all the idiots in the world Brother could have hired-- wait. No. Hisana wouldn’t.

“Hisana,” Rukia intoned as her sister hauled Touma out of the peonies for the third time. “Did you invite Brother’s new adjutant over for dinner?”

“Touma is very fond of Lieutenant Abarai, aren’t you, sweetness?”

Touma blew a raspberry. Hisana put him down, and he scampered off, in the direction of the butterfly bushes this time.

“Hisana, why?" Rukia wailed. "Why him, of all people?”

Hisana looked up quizzically. “What does that mean? ‘Him of all people’?”

Rukia dug her fingernails into the palms of her hands and bit down on her tongue. She loved her sister. She loved her sister more than anyone, but there were certain things they didn’t talk about, and one of those things was Inuzuri. In her early days as a Kuchiki, Hisana had attempted to explain-- to apologize-- for the circumstances that had driven her to leave Rukia behind. Rukia knew well about circumstances. She bore no grudge toward her sister for having been placed in an impossible situation and doing what she had to do to survive. It was clear that Hisana had tortured herself over the decision for years, and Rukia didn’t see any sense in adding to her pain by reminiscing. Her own days in South 78 were only relevant to her and some guy whom, the last she heard, had been off adding to his black eye collection at the Eleventh, of all places.

That was, until that guy showed up to arrest her, in the middle of a mission gone utterly pear-shaped.   Byakuya had decided to name that guy his second, apparently knowing nothing of their history, he just liked the cut of Renji’s jib, or some Byakuya-horseshit like that.

It’s not that Rukia hadn’t considered coming clean to Hisana earlier. She had. She actually kinda-sorta wanted to see Renji again. She’d been pretty awful to him when she was in jail, and she’d never properly thanked him for rescuing her, and also she wanted to know how he was and maybe knock him about the head and shoulders a little, the Eleventh, really?

But over the last few weeks, she hadn’t managed to come up with a smooth way of saying, “Hey, uh, that guy Brother just hired? I lived with him for ten years. He taught me to read and I taught him to pick pockets and we were each other’s first kiss. I've got at least three scars that are completely his fault, although in one case, if it weren't for him, I wouldn't have a scar, I'd just be dead. He was a part of me, like an arm or a kidney, and I walked away from him without even saying goodbye like a huge dick to come join this family, and no, I’ve never mentioned him, why do you ask?”

Apparently, being confronted about it a scant hour before the man himself showed up on her doorstep was not particularly helpful in jumpstarting her brain. “Touma is eating a worm,” she informed her sister, by way of a distraction.

“Oh. Oh, dear.” She wrinkled her nose. “I’m sure it won’t hurt him, but don’t tell Byakuya this happened. Stop that, baby! Give it to Mama!”

“MINE!” Touma retorted. It was one of about six words he knew.

“Anyway, there’s no way the family-- Brother included-- would find him suitable,” Rukia pointed out, having finally latched onto a good argument. “Have you seen his tattoos?”

Hisana flung the worm back into the garden and arched an eyebrow at Rukia. “I have. I happened to be visiting the Sixth one afternoon while Lieutenant Abarai was sparring with his officers, and it was quite warm that day--”

“Sister, stop,” Rukia begged, squeezing her eyes shut again. “Forget I said anything!”

“He does have a lot of them, doesn’t he?” Hisana mused, a wistful expression on her face. “You probably didn’t have much a of a chance to talk to him, while he was carrying you around the Seireitei in his well-toned arms--”

“How did you hear about that?” Rukia howled.

“--but he’s very friendly and funny and he doesn’t take any shit from those sniveling brown-nosers at Squad Six.” Not taking shit was one of Hisana’s favorite personality characteristics.

“He’s from the Eleventh. At best, he probably has a few bits of gravel where his brain used to be,” Rukia waved a hand, dismissively.

“Intelligence in men is overrated. Oh, it’s just dinner, Rukia, and maybe a little walk around the gardens, after. I think you’ll really like him.”

“Well, I very much doubt that I will,” Rukia grumped. “And even if I did, who’s to say he would take a liking to me?”

“That,” Hisana pointed out, “is why you should go put on that blue kimono.”

Notes:  For any name nerds out there like me, Touma's name is spelled 桃真. Like all Kuchiki, I wanted him to have a color-word as part of his name. I wanted to use pink, both because Byakuya loves pink and for red (Hisana) + white (Byakuya) but there doesn't seem to be a character for pink, so I used 桃, which is "peach" and is the first character in the word pink. The second character means "true" and is also the second character of Hisana's name, which is half Byakuya being a wife-guy and half Byakuya giving a middle-finger to all his family members who have trash-talked Hisana over the years. Thanks to japanese-names.info, which is always a big help with this kinda stuff.

[treatian]

The Chronicles of the Dark One:  The Dark Curse

Chapter 133:  The Right Plan

"Jack and Jill went up a hill to fetch a pail of water, Jack fell down and broke his crown and Jill came tumbling after…"

He'd been hearing that singsong rhyme in his head all night; almost as soon as he'd decided to summon his mother and ask her about the Curse. The rhyme sounded like something a child might sing, but it was known by adults and children alike throughout the land where the pair had once reigned. A stupid couple, really. Jack had been the bastard son of a King. He took a woman named Jill for a wife. In his youth, Jack's thieving brother had risen to the throne, and Jill had convinced Jack that he would make a better king. He'd managed to gather some followers, risen against the King, his brother, and then, because it really had been a stupid path to follow, his brother had crushed the rebellion. Anyone else would have probably made sure Jack and Jill were both killed, but being that special kind of evil, his brother had a different idea in mind. He'd killed every last supporter his brother had, man, woman, and child. Meanwhile, Jack and Jill were permitted to be released back to their farm, to "live with" what their actions had brought. It was the King himself who had come up with the song to commemorate their terrible failure. Now it haunted them just as much as the silence from their friendless life. For the King's lesson was well remembered with the people. No one dared to make Jack and Jill their friends after what had happened. The King had made it so that exiling them would have been a far kinder fate.

And why was he so suddenly consumed with thoughts of this pair? Of their children's riddle?

Because a few months ago, Jill had given birth to a baby boy named Gideon. She'd done it on her own with only coaching from Jack because no mid-wife would work with her. And if no mid-wife was willing to bring the boy into this world, he assumed that if the boy went missing, no one would care to help the pair or listen to their cries of remorse.

It killed him to do something like this. All around, there was an element of darkness to his current plan that he'd never sensed or felt before. He hated to take a child from his parents, if only temporarily, he hated to use Belle in the way he was going to, but most of all he hated to summon his mother into this world for any amount of time.

However, close as he was to getting his son back, he felt certain that he had no choice. "Gideon"…it was one of the names that the Seer had placed in his head when he'd first taken on the power. He was now convinced this was why. He was meant to take the child, to use him, to speak with the Black Fairy. It was imperative for moving forward, for planning the Curse, for finding his son! He'd come this far; he couldn't risk something going wrong now. So, he'd searched his books for the summoning spell that was necessary to get his mother to the Enchanted Forest. It wasn't as simple as raising a dagger and calling her forth from wherever she was. She was in another realm, and that meant that she required a special summoning.

For one, she required bait. Summoning someone from another land had to have heart to it. There had to be a connection of some kind. He needed a child, that was where Gideon came in. If his childhood had taught him anything about the Black Fairy, it was that she was always happy to come and take away children from those that didn't want them. Gideon was hardly an unwanted child, a few hours of watching him with his parents told him that, but he was hoping that the Black Fairy wouldn't sense that.

He took Gideon one afternoon while he was napping, leaving behind a note for his parents that so long as they were silent and didn't alert authorities, the child would be returned to them within a fortnight. It was his hope that he'd have him back sooner than that, but he didn't want to make promises he couldn't keep.

The child secure, he had to make sure the next part of his plan was in place. He'd looked and looked and looked for one that he could translate…but sadly, all he ever found was in a fairy language he couldn't read. Even the Dark Ones were suspiciously silent when it came to translating it. However, he had seen this language before, just once, he'd seen these characters on a book that was sitting on a nightstand of a certain princess whose mind he'd saved.

Belle had an affinity for languages. He'd known she was intelligent before she arrived, but now that she'd been here for months on end, he knew that she enjoyed translating languages. She stood a higher chance of translating the spell than he did. But he couldn't just ask her. She'd ask too many questions if he asked her. He had to have a plan. And the moment he brought Gideon into the castle, his plan was in place…even if it did make his stomach churn.

"Rumpelstiltskin, you're back!" she exclaimed almost cheerfully as he strode into the room just before tea time. She was happy to see him; she almost seemed excited about it. After skulking around his tower for these last few days, ignoring her, skipping meals, he almost understood it. He tried to maintain a confident gate, to keep his heart steely in her presence, to tell himself that he didn't care, but he couldn't help but wonder what kind of relationship they'd have after all this was possible, after he locked her in his tower and took the child home. Would she trust that was what happened? Or would she think he'd sold the child to his mother?

It didn't matter. She was nothing to him, and as soon as he realized the real reason the Seer wanted her he'd send her away and prove that.

"I uh…I did the wash, and I polished the silver, like you asked."

"Good. Now you can take care of this."

Without looking at her, he dropped the basket with Gideon in it onto the table. Immediately, the jostling woke the sleeping child. Every instinct he had inside of him as a father demanded he move forward, lift the baby into his arms, and comfort him back to sleep. Instead, he walked away and left Belle to explore what he'd left her.

"A baby?!" she shrieked, looking into the basket at him.

"But where-where did it come from? What…" she stuttered, looking about as if it had appeared out of thin air. "Where are it's parents?"

"They no longer matter," he dismissed as he forced his eyes down onto some books he'd purposefully left out before his departure. He'd hoped that by leaving them there, Belle might be intrigued and tempted to look through them, but they appeared to be in the exact same place he'd left them. That was fine. It only meant that he'd have to try and make her temptation to look irresistible. He had to do this just right. He couldn't let himself be absorbed by her or the child's cries. "The child's mine now."

"Y-yours?" she blanched. "What you…you stole him?!"

"Yes. Scandalous, isn't it?"

He glanced up just long enough to see her face morph. Shock. Horror. Dread. Disbelief.

Disappointment.

He could tell that she was working up to say something, opening her mouth to scream at him, to give him a piece of her mind, which in this case he would have happily admitted he deserved, but before she could Gideon let out another shriek.

"Shh," she hushed, finally pulling the child into her arms and bouncing him up and down like an expert.

Belle with a baby in her arms.

The flash he'd had the day he caught her forced its way into his mind's eye, but he quickly pushed it out.

"It's okay. Shh. Oh, shh…" she cooed, bringing him back into reality. It wasn't a vision. Merely a fantasy, male hormones running wild! Besides, this didn't fit that fantasy, the room was a lot darker in that fantasy, clearly at night. This was mid-afternoon. It was only further proof that it meant nothing. Surely it was just some embarrassing evolutionary habit of seeing attractive women with babies.

"What kind of beast steals a child from its parents?" she questioned with fire in her voice. "I mean…what happened to you that made you like this?"

Well that was the thing, wasn't it. He didn't know. But maybe, just maybe, if things went according to plan, he might find out. If he had a little bit of extra time after he'd asked the necessary questions, of course. His questions. Not hers.

"You'd do best to stop asking so many questions," he responded coldly before plucking the scroll with the summoning free from the books. "Ahh, there it is!" His pronouncement drew her quizzical gaze. She was intrigued. Good. Now he just needed to get her to translate it for him. "I have work to do. I'm not to be disturbed."

"Well, at least tell me his name so I can soothe him! Or did you not even bother to find out!"

Give her his name? No. Everyone knew the second someone or something had a name, there was an attachment formed. This child wasn't staying. It was his hope that in twenty-four hours, he'd have him back home with his family. She didn't need to know a name. She just had to look after him for a few hours. And want to protect him. Yes. He smiled as a new plan formed in his head. She hadn't done any translating when she'd put the scroll right in front of her, but if she knew he was going to use it against the child…that might be what he needed to get her to do the translation.

Of course…if he just told her about Baelfire, if he told her what he needed, she might also do what he wanted. She might even take his side.

No. The last time he'd told anyone about his son was Cora. He wasn't about to repeat those mistakes again.

"Why would I?" he giggled aloud. "A name's a special thing. You don't waste it on something you've no intention of becoming…a-attached to."

That was good. He'd done well up until that last little stutter. He nearly believed it himself. But more importantly, the suspicious look in her eyes told him that she believed him, and that was enough.

"What do you mean? What do you plan on doing with this child?!" she demanded frantically.

"I shall be back at sundown," he instructed strictly. "Don't think about trying to hide it. I'll find out."

"You-"

"Ah-ah-ah!" he hissed at her. He'd given her a timeline, he'd given her a child to protect, he'd made a show of taking something important that she knew to be crucial to the child's fate. Now he just had to give her the opportunity to rescue him.

And so without an explanation, he left her standing there with the baby in her arms.

[hillnerd]

You have written so many beautiful AU Romione headcanons. Please, can I ask you one more? How do you think Ron and Hermione will get together if we have pureblood Grangers and muggle Weasleys with Ron and Ginny being magical.

Thank you! I’m glad you’ve liked them! :D

This one is a doozy because it dramatically changes plot points in certain ways. It ended up becoming quite quite long! D: This dynamic would change Ron’s perspective the most, I feel. Well, here it goes:

The Weasleys lead a simple life. They had a quaint little country house with a lot of property around it where they would pick apples, milk their one cow, tend to chickens, and do all the various property maintenance things one had to do. They had seven children, so it was easy enough to take care of the property without help. Chores and a touch of isolation came with living on a property like this, but it was too beautiful a place for them to think of moving closer to town. It was a long drive to school every morning, since they were further out from the local schools than most of the other children, but there was always a brother or two available to do the drive if Mum was unavailable. His Mum was a stay at home mum, and Dad was a government historical archivist. He loved to fill his shed with various medieval and historical junk. (Basically lots of swords and crossbows to hide from the twins.)

Ron had never felt all that special growing up. He was the sixth boy in a family of seven, they weren’t well off, and he always seemed to get lost in the mix. His oldest brother was handsome, head boy at his school, went on to be financeer- he was always travelling to globe and having wild adventures and mountain climbing. No adventure was as wild as his second brother Charlie’s- he was an amazing footballer and went on to be a zoologist/safari guide. Percy was a brainiac, the twins were funny and athletic. Ginny was the girl. So that left Ron. He was alright at football, great at chess, and that was about it. That, and odd things seemed to happen around him.

Once the twins wouldn’t let him play ball, then all their footballs went completely flat at the same time- only to inflate when Ron was able to play with them. He would go into the yard and find little bugs no one else could see, except Ginny- she said they looked like fairies- but Ron knew fairies weren’t real, so that couldn’t be it. He could just wish to have something in his hand, and half the time it’d be there.

Ginny too seemed to have odd things happen. After watching Peter Pan he and Ginny thought happy thoughts and were able to float a bit. At least he thought he remembered that. It must have been a dream or something- because no one saw and they dismissed it as two children with imaginations gone wild when he and Ginny swore they’d flown.

One time the twins had locked him in a cage at Charlie’s work filled with giant spiders- and he was so scared he must have passed out- because next thing he knew he was on top of the icey cart 100 meters away and being yelled at for climbing there. He couldn’t remember doing it, though!

On his eleventh birthday he got home from school to find a large owl sitting in his open window. The owl blinked at him, then flew right at Ron. He gave a help and dived away, but the owl just perched next to Ron and gave a almost angry hoot. Clutched in its talons were two envelopes. It dropped them at his feet and flew out the window. Ron nervously opened them- one inviting him to ‘Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry’- the other a short note from a person named Minerva McGonagall saying she would be visiting his house at twelve past six to explain everything to him and his parents.

Was this one of the twin’s pranks? The whole thing felt too strange and whimsical to be anything close to true. He went downstairs, envelopes in hand- expecting the twins to be eagerly watching him with those grins they couldn’t conceal when they were about to pull one on him- but neither were paying him any mind as they gathered ingredients from under the sink to try and make homemade napalm again. He tried to ask his mum about the school and the lady saying she’d come to their house- but she was too distracted with dinner and gave a quick ‘that’s nice dear’ as he mentioned the odd list of school supplies he’d received. Ginny was the only one who listened and read over the list.

She smiled ‘could magic really be real? Do you think I could go with you to the school?’

‘I dunno,’ Ron replied, not sure what to make of it. Magic couldn’t be real! Could it?

His dad came home from work and they all sat down to dinner. At 6:12 on the dot there was a knock on the door. Ron and Ginny ran to the door and answered it with eager curiosity.

“I assume you are Ronald Weasley, and that is your sister Ginevra” the tall severe woman said.

His Mum came in to see who it was and was surprised to find a grown adult with a tall pointed witchy hat on her head.

“I’ve come to speak to you about your youngest children. They are very gifted and each have been invited to a special school to teach them magic.”

Their Mum immediately thought it was a twin prank of some sort- but after the lady turned into a cat- the whole family believed her very quickly that this wasn’t a prank.

Ron was a magical wizard- and Ginny a witch. She would have to wait a year to follow- but the two of them were quite different from the rest of the family. Their Mum seemed horrified, and their Dad was almost giddy with excitement. A whole new culture to explore!

Ron, for one, felt something he’d never felt before in his life: special.

It took next to no convincing for their Dad to be onboard, and a good two days for their Mum to agree to it all- but Ron was going to get to go to a different school- where no one knew his brothers, where he would be able to go his own path, and learn magic!

---

Later that year Hermione Granger bounced out of bed before the sun was up- because it was September 1st!

They had known she was magic from a young age, and frequently told her how precocious she was at it. She’d shown accidental magic when she was just three months old. By four she already had memorized many of the spells her mother and father used around the house, and she knew Hogwarts: A History backwards and forwards. She had a rather lonely childhood, with both her parents being Healers and board directors at St Mungos- so spent most of her time with their House-elf Snoozy. She knew other children of course- almost all pureblood, but she’d been tutored at home and hadn’t ever gotten to go to a real school before.

Her favorite tutor, Mr Lupin, had been half-blood and he had taught her a lot about muggle culture when she asked. He would get her books on it, and her parents indulged her interest in Muggle things well enough. Her parents also were rather nice about werewolves- they were a rather ‘forward thinking’ family when it came to this and had started a program at St Mungos for it. Some called them Blood traitors, but who cared what supposed followers of You-Know-Who thought. Her family was still part of the Sacred 28, and so was considered respectable enough.

She had gotten her letter for Hogwarts the day she turned eleven, but her birthday was in September- so she had to wait almost a whole year to attend Hogwarts- (A TRAGEDY!) but finally september 1st was here!

She had her robes cleanly pressed and they went to the train station with plenty of time to spare. That’s when she and her mother spotted a redheaded family (with a single trunk) looking about at the numbers with perplexed looks on their faces.

“Which wall are you supposed to run at?” a plump mother asked her children looking about.

“Nine and Three Quarters,” the tiny little girl piped up.

Seeing they were struggling Hermione and her mother helped the family out- showing how to run at the wall. Unfortunately his Muggle relatives would have to be left on the other side of the barrier. His mother gave him a huge hug, as did his three older brothers, and crying little sister- and he went through with the Grangers. Another little boy with black hair followed their lead as well.

Her mother volunteered Hermione as a guide for Ron, and the little boy with glasses watching them, but Hermione didn’t mind. She liked helping people and informing them of things. Plus, she’d never met a real Muggleborn before! She was fascinated to know everything in the world about him and immediately began asking him questions.

---

Ron had never met a more talkative girl in his life. She was helpful, but a bit of a nosy snob. Like if you mixed Percy with reporter. She poked and prodded Ron like he was an alien and he felt overwhelmed by her enthusiasm. Well, she was enthusiastic until she heard the name of the boy who was following them onto the train. Harry Potter!

She started spewing forth information about him, and then acted like Ron was a fool for not knowing anything about him.

‘How would I have? I’m Muggleborn!’

‘Well, if I were Muggleborn I would have read every book I could before I came. Aren’t you afraid you’ll be awfully behind us all?’

That was it- Ron didn’t like her. He decided to get him and Harry (who looked equally nonplussed by her behavior) to their own compartment. He and Harry quickly became best of friends, sharing their strange accidental magic stories, how they both didn’t have much money (well, Harry hadn’t until last month), how scared but excited they were for the magical world! She came back a few times helping some boy named Neville find his pet rat, but they did their best to keep their distance from her.

They ended up sorted into Gryffindor- same as Granger who they did their best to avoid-but the gabby girl kept following them around, and bossing them. Ron finally lost his temper with her in charms when she told him to pronounce things ‘LeviOHsa! Not LevioSAH!’ He complained to Harry about the annoying friendless girl, which lead to her crying in a bathroom- which lead to taking down a troll- that somehow lead to them all three being best friends.

---

the next year Ron and his brothers had to drive their father’s car for hours and hours to save Harry from his relatives. Ron’s parents wanted to report them to protective services, but Dumbledore intervened and said he’d stop this sort of thing from happening again.

Later that year they were all at Diagon Alley- Ron’s dad having the time of his life at the bookstore- when a pureblood said some horrid things about the Grangers associated with ‘Mudbloods’- a word he was not familiar with. The Grangers knew this world, and it nearly came to blows when the Malfoys said such horrible things to Ron and Ginny.

Draco was picking on Ron for his blood status a lot that year- which was hard- but not nearly as hard as when Ginny started withdrawing from Ron. He had been excited to have his little sister join him at Hogwarts- have her look up to him more than his other brothers for once, and have him help her out.

She was very taken with Harry, but got sadder and sadder as the year went on- and kids like them kept getting petrified. Ron and his friends started working to solve the mystery at hand and  ended up going into the forest to follow a bunch of spiders. Ron’s wand got broken as a Centaur saved them. Not a few weeks later Ginny nearly died- Hermione Ron and Harry figured it all out though and were able to save her (Hermione and Ron trapped on one side of the rock wall with Lockhart, who got hurt by his own spell with Ron’s wand.) The school pitched in, due to Ron’s bravery, and helped him buy a new wand.

-- Third year Neville won a prize from the paper that summer from the paper and he and his fat old Rat Trevor were featured in an article. Then Sirius Black escaped from azkaban. Dementors around the school made it a terrible year for Harry, and Hermione bought a terrible cat that was terrorizing poor Neville’s rat- but what could they do about it, really?

Ron and Ginny decide to go out as beaters for the quidditch team. He and Gin were a good team and he was glad to have something to get her excited about school again. They both eventually wanted different positions on the team, but it was a good start.

Fast forward to the end of the year. Shrieking shack ended up having 5 kids, as Ginny was so close with the trio, and Neville was chasing down his rat when a dog drags him and the rat into the whoping willow.  Hermione already knew Lupin from when he had been her tutor as a younger child, so when he showed up she already knew he was a werewolf and trusted him more- so there was less need for explanations (able to get it all out of the way with before Snape ruined everything)- Sirius gets freed as they were able to shut Lupin into the whomping willow before he turned- and they had enough spare wands to keep Peter in custody. Snape still outs Lupin, sadly.

Sirius got pardoned (acknowledge both in wizard and muggle) and promptly got himself a flat big enough for Harry and other guests. Harry had to continue living with the Dursleys for a reason Dumbledore wouldn’t fully explain- but Sirius was happy to be able to spoil Harry and show up at their doorstep on his motorcycle to intimidate Dursleys into compliance until Harry could come stay with him.

The summer before their fourth year Hermione and Harry were invited to stay at Ron’s house before going on the the World Cup- Sirius had bought them all tickets and was loving that he could spoil them like this. Hermione was able to come a few weeks before Harry and Sirius would join them.

The anticipation had Ron in knots. Ron wasn’t so worried about Harry- he’d grown up Muggle and wouldn’t be all that phased by a rather cramped country house- but Hermione? She grew up in a mansion! A magical one too! His family was one generation out from farmers- something quite quaint to a posh girl like Hermione.

But when she got to his place she didn’t look down on any of it as stupid or odd- she found it all fascinating. The tv was a shock for her. She’d read about them in her Muggle Studies of course, but she had no idea it could be ‘so magical!’ She thought video tapes were about the neatest thing she’d ever seen, and was absolutely taken with glitchy used nintendo they had- the twins Bill and Charlie (the oldest two visiting them for the first time in a few years) had a blast showing her how to use the videogame system and she seemed to enjoy watching them play games both on the tv, and seeing them play football outside.

Ron’s dad and Percy got Hermione talking politics, and she had a whole lot to say. Since Lupin got outed as a werewolf Hermione had been going off about werewolf rights quite a lot. She hadn’t realized how bad things were and that they weren’t treated as equals in society because they weren’t considered human. Dad found it fascinating, of course.

She followed his mum around the kitchen as closely as she did a professor at school. She wasn’t familiar with kitchens much as they had a house elf who did all the cooking at their home.

They all were fascinated to hear more about magical elves that cleaned houses. As she described house elfs in more detail to the family, dad looked at her with concern and started asking about slavery. Hermione was shocked.

‘They’re! Snoozy is NOT a-- a slave!’

‘So you pay her a wage, then?’

‘Well.. n-no….’ Hermione squeaked out. Ron didn’t know what to do, because his dad was right- but he also didn’t like seeing Hermione upset like this.

They had a good sit down just the two of them later that night. Ron quite liked it when it was just him and Hermione like this. They tended to do this when one of them was upset. They just knew to stay by the fireplace long enough, and then they’d have a moment and get to talking about everything bothering them.

“Alright?” Ron asked sitting down. “By the way, sorry about Dad… He doesn’t quite know what to make of wizard stuff sometimes- and I know he didn’t mean to offend you or anything.”

The political awakening of Hermione’s went a bit sour when it’d been pointed out she had a house slave at her own disposal that she didn’t treat as an equal. Ron got a long lecture about the history of elves and traditions he was ignorant of- but she finally talked herself around and realized she had to consider her own actions and lifestyle in contrast to her political ideals. She almost went and freed her elf immediately- but Ron pointed out not every elf was like Dobby- she might end up hurting the elf’s feelings.

The next day Snoozy the elf was quite shocked when ‘Miss Granger’ summoned her to The Burrow, asking the elf OPINION about the state of elfhood in their society, and what elves lives should be like. Snoozy decided she didn’t want to be ‘free’ per se, but that she did like having more personal freedoms and decisions.

Ron was quite proud of Hermione for coming round the way she did. Of course he was always proud of Hermione. She was so smart, and pretty afterall.

(4th year went down the same only Ron and Harry never had their falling out. Harry ended up going to the Yule Ball with Ginny (Again they’re closer than in original series.) but Hermione already had a date. Yule Brawl was still a thing (only Ron’s robes were nicer since Molly didn't have to get dress robes for twins as well.) Weasleys still very protective and invite Harry and Hermione to their place in devon every summer.))

End of fourth year had Ron sitting and pondering things more than usual.

Magic was an odd sort of thing. At times it was amazing. Ron especially loved flying. He wasn’t as good as Harry, but he wasn’t that bad either! He had never been all that fond of school- so essays and the like still were the bane of his existence, but the practical stuff he was learning at Hogwarts was cool. Everything from the sweets to the sports to the music was different from home- so when he came home with adventures even better than Charlie’s or Bill’s- it was a wonderful feeling. And he was the one brother at Hogwarts Ginny had to look up to, making them closer, and making Ron feel needed in a way he hadn’t before Hogwarts.

Ron was usually quite honest with his parents about what went on at the school, and what was going on with the wizarding world. Well, he was honest with his dad. With his Mum he had to couch things a certain way so she wouldn’t lose it. She didn’t quite know that Ron and his friends had nearly died a few times over the years. He’d hoped to keep it that way...

But after what happened with Harry with the third task… Ron wasn’t sure what he was supposed to do.

Sirius had smuggled some of the Weasleys over to watch Harry, even though it wasn’t technically legal- but they counted as family, yeah? It was nice to finally get to show his parents and brothers magic, even though it was a day about Harry- it felt nice to get them to see the magical world. Well, it was until the third task ended with a teenage boy dead, and Harry shaking and bleeding and crying.

Everyone was upset about Cedric’s death, and the rumor mills about Voldemort’s return had started churning. Ginny looked particularly pale and worried, but Ron had comforted pretty well- trying to stay positive. But once everyone had gone on to bed, he stayed by the fireplace feeling sick to his stomach. It was well past midnight when he heard Hermione’s voice from the girl’s staircase.

“What are you doing up?”

He can’t even think about sleeping he’s so worried. She comes to sit beside him and asks if he’s alright.

“There’s going to be a war...” he lets out.

“It’s going to be ok. We won a war before, and we can win one again.”

“Yeah but… what’ll happen to me and Ginny until then?”

“You’ll go to school same as always.” Hermione said with certainty.

“No,” Ron says very bluntly. “Voldemort’s back. He almost killed my sister, almost killed by best friend, and now he’s back and I don’t know how I’m supposed to protect everyone.”

“You don’t have to. You’re just a kid. You go to school, and let the adults handle it.”

“Hermione, I don’t have wizard adults to take care of it at home. I only have me. How’s my Mum or Dad supposed to stand up to a Death Eater? How am I supposed to protect my little sister when I can’t legally do magic for another two years? I couldn’t even protect her when we both were in school together and she was being soulsucked by a bleedin’ book.”

“Dumbledore won’t let--”

“He has a bit more important people than me and my sister on his list to protect.”

“You’re very important!”

Ron made a face at this.

“I’m probably the least important person in this school. I’m a poor nobody from nowhere muggleborn. So’s my sister.  There’s not going to be resources for us.”

“Then I’ll have to protect you!” Hermione proclaimed.

He had to smile at that- Hermione was a fierce little thing. She was a special one. She always was so certain of who she was, and ready to argue about everything. She was completely naive about what all of this would mean for him and Ginny, but she meant well. She’d never faced a problem she couldn’t conquer- half the time it was because she was so smart and brave- and half because she was rich and pureblood. She didn’t quite get the advantages she had. She tried, bless her. She really tried. She would get all angry and decide to get political about things- like werewolf rights this year- but she couldn’t ever completely get it. He put his hand on hers and gave it a squeeze.

Even if she’d never fully understand, he was glad to have her on his side.

---

Ron gave Hermione a sad kind of smile- like he thought she was foolish- and perhaps she was.

She had to do something to protect people like Ron and Ginny. She had to do something to help protect great teachers like Professor Lupin. She had been so proud of herself for being so very open-eyed and vocal. But now? With Voldemort back, she was feeling quite afraid and useless. What could ONE teenage girl do to help real people. It wasn’t just some political movement of ideals- real people she knew were going to be facing more and more danger. Harry was still in the hospital wing, shaking and barely able to talk to them. And Ron’s eyes were looking uncertain and humorless.

The few days later she and Ron went to hospital wing to visit Harry, and Sirius was back from whatever he’d been doing of ‘getting the old gang together’ for Dumbledore. Harry cut their visit rather short, looking tired and not in any mood to see anyone- that’s when it occurred to Hermione she knew an adult who would be able to help her with Ron!

She pulled Sirius aside- imploring him for any advice. He’d been a pureblood wanting to make a difference in the last war! He was a trusted associate of Dumbledore! And he knew and valued Ron!

“We have to protect Ron and Ginny and their family somehow!”

Sirius agreed, said it was important now more than ever for her to be vocal in her support of Harry and Muggleborns, and for them to all prepare with spells and such in case the war came faster than before. He said he’d do everything he could to protect the Weasleys- he knew how much they meant to Harry and he was grateful- he’d put up some wards perhaps- see if he could get the Order to help. She’d never heard of an ‘Order of the Phoenix’ before. As he explained it to her, Hermione got excited.

“My family. We can do something to help! I know it! My parents will!”

“That’s… that’s a nice thought- but I’m not so sure they will want to sign up for that-”

It was just a matter of convincing her parents. She’d always been so proud of them- Healers who were so kind and benevolent. She knew they’d help!

She got home and immediately felt strange with them. They comfortably went about their lives without taking any risks or making any waves- they were privileged bystanders who did nothing to affect change. It was one thing to stand idly by when no one was in ‘real’ danger- but now, with a war coming- she needed to ask more of them- and for the first time in her life she was uncertain if her parents were as great as she had thought they were.

She mentioned the Weasley family and how to protect them- and her parents didn’t seem to see the threat facing them.

“They’re muggles, so they will be well outside of danger in all this, Hermione,” her father days.

“Not with Ron and Ginny there!”

“Well… Maybe we can invite them over during the summer?” her mother offers.

“What about the other muggleborns? We have to do something!”

“Well we can’t have all of them at our house.”

“What about joining the Order? We can help the Order and really do something to help people.”

“With our schedules…”

Hermione was devastated. They had to know how bad things would get! They had to! They’d lived through it! Comfortably… lived through it… She made up her mind that she would not be a privileged bystander, no matter what her parents did.

She immediately walked into a room full of old heirlooms her parents wouldn’t miss and gathered them into a pile to sell to raise funds. Ron had said there wouldn’t be resources for people like him, and she was right. She needed to make some resources for the Order- and the only way she could think to do it was with money. She emptied her room of anything with worth she didn’t care for and added it to the pile. She Floos over the Sirius Black’s place in Hogsmeade. Lupin and someone named Tonks are there- and are surprised to see her empty an extended carpet bag full of silver and other priceless artifacts on a rug in the living room.

“I want to join the Order!”

“Hermione, you’re only fifteen…” Lupin lets out. It takes a lot of convincing, but she finally relents. Until she’s 17 she can’t be a member, and with great reluctance they allow her funds to go in to help with resources to protect the Weasleys and others. She asks that they not tell Ron (he’s always been proud, and a bit insecure about money) so they agree. First priority would be security measures put in place for the Weasleys.

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

Summer went by quickly, despite all the things that had happened. Harry nearly got expelled for casting a Patronus, they spent a long time cleaning up the Order headquarters, and Ron found that Hermione was looking prettier than she had just a month before he’d seen her again.

By fifth year Ron and Hermione have had some ups and downs (the main issues being when he and Harry ignored her for a few months over Harry broom, and he and Hermione’s falling out at the Yule Ball), but they got on rather splendidly by his reckoning. He’d been made prefect (finally something his mother could understand!) so part of his summer hadn’t been all that bad. He was looking forward to spending prefect rounds with Hermione that year. Harry looked a bit down when they had to do prefect stuff without him- but Harry had Ginny and Neville to hang out with- so it wasn’t so bad.

The thing is, there’s a war coming, and Ron realizes how woefully unprepared he is if something happens as he sits in Umbridge’s useless class. He needs to concentrate on learning as much DADA as he can. He almost quits quidditch, but Hermione of all people convinces him not to, saying how it’s one of the few things she’d seen making him smile since Voldemort came back. He wasn’t that miserable was he? Well… maybe he was… He just didn’t know what to do to protect everyone! Hermione comes up with, what becomes, the D.A.

Later that year Sirius was attacked by a snake at the ministry- Harry had seen the vision of it himself and warned the Order in time to get help to him. As they waited at the Order headquarters, Harry was being held by Ginny, who he’d been getting closer and closer with that year. Hermione floos over as well, holding Ron’s hand as they wait to hear if Sirius had recovered. He miraculously was going to be ok!

As the year progresses, Ron and Hermione flirt more and more, and he’s having a harder time convincing himself to not all out say how much he’s beginning to fancy her. He tried a girly gift of perfume- but nothing much comes of it. They even go to Hogsmeade on Valentine’s day- but it wasn’t romantic- they were there with Luna Lovegood, Ginny, Neville and Rita Skeeter so Harry could give an interview…

At the end of the year Harry has another vision - this time of Ron’s parents being held by Voldemort. Ron and Ginny are apoplectic with fear and rage- and so the trio, neville, ginny and luna rush to contact the Order- and are successful. The vision was a fake- the Weasleys are fine. The Order sets up a trap at the ministry- and are even able to take down some death eaters while still revealing voldemort is indeed back. Everyone seems relieved, but Ron isn’t. He’s even more terrified than he was the year before.

“They know about my family…” Ron moans to himself late at night by the fire just as he’d been the year before. Hermione seems to have a sixth sense for Ron’s low moods, because she’s at his side again. She listens as he tells her about his worries again.

“I think I need to drop out of Hogwarts. I can be at home protecting them, then. I know enough now to do it.”

“And if you cast one spell they might break your wand in two and you won’t be able to protect them at all, or have a future in the wizarding world.”

“What future can I have right now, anyways?” he says, a bit unsurely. He’s not certain the world will be all that friendly to him when it comes to employment.

She assures him that Ron is a very talented wizard, who could have any future he wants, and that she knows he can be an Auror if he just stays with school long enough. She knows that her assurances won’t mean much unless she can back it up with something so Ron knows his family is safe. She confesses what she did the last summer to make sure his family would have security, even if it was just hired security. That’s how the Order knew immediately that Voldemort couldn’t have had his parents. She’s dreading that he’ll be mad at her for going behind his back and spending lots of money on him, but he starts to smile at her.

“You really tried to join the Order last summer for my family?”

“Well, I mean, I care about all of you Weasleys of course, but really… I think I would do just about anything to keep you safe...”

He gives her a smile.

“I feel the same way.”

It would have been a perfect moment to kiss or be romantic, but at that moment it wasn’t about that at all. It was just two people loving the company of one another, trusting one another, and leaning on each other after a hard day. It wasn’t long after that night that Ron and Hermione ended up finding their hands interwoven more often, their glances warmer and more loving each day.

That summer he had her to the burrow again, and he took her out in their small ATV to give her a tour of the property he hadn’t been able to before. Just the two of them. He enjoyed having her arms wrapped around his middle as he drove her round to the apple orchard he’d spent so much of his youth in.

She was shocked he knew how to drive. “How would you have had the time to learn something so complicated!” They’d all been driving from their Dad’s lap since they were four or so, as they were out in the country- so as long as you could reach the pedals you could drive in the Weasley household.

They picniced together, then laid back on a blacket to cloud watch. Hermione had never cloud watched. This was actually her first time laying on the ground like this, which Ron found bizarre but lovable.

“You’re a real city mouse,” he said with a smirk. She’d never heard of the term before, and he liked being able to teach her something she didn’t know.

“So you’re a country mouse, and I’m a city mouse?” she laughed. He nodded pushing a curl behind her ear, enjoying having her cuddle against him. Despite being summer, there was a bit of a breeze, and he welcomed her presence.  “I suppose we really are from different worlds, aren’t we?”

“Maybe… But I like to think we’ll find a way to make it work wherever we are. You all posh and magical, me all yokel and muggleborn… We can find a place for the two of us.”

The thought of carving out some sort of place the two of them could be together made Hermione warm all over, and she couldn’t stop herself from sitting up to stare into his blue eyes.

Nothing was said, nothing could really capture what they were thinking- but somehow it all clicked, and they found themselves sharing a sweet first kiss on a blanket in the countryside.

They would have so many differences to conquer, and plans to make- but the two of them would fiercely be there and make a place for just the two of them somewhere at sometime.

(The Grangers finally join the Order after Voldemort is ‘officially back’, Bill and Fleur met at the third task, and end up getting together still,  and much else goes different for the rest of the ‘books’- but that’s a headcanon for another day.)

[justalonleynerd]

Crossover - Reddie/Mileven AU

Summary: This is just your basic Reddie Fanfic... plus a shit load of Mileven and  fighting interdimensional demons. Besides that it’s perfectly normal.

Word Count: 2,249

A/N - @whatsyourfavoriteegg helped me write a lot of this so go give her some love <3

I also know nothing about this website.

If I make any grammar or spelling mistakes HMU because sometimes I don’t catch them.

Chapter I "Language!"

[Councilor’s Office 1990, one month before summer]

"Mr. Tozier I need you to listen to me."

"Mmmhh... and I need you to shut the fuck up."

Mrs. Tior let out a surprised streak, really the combination of a gasp and a scream. Riche laughed and then proceeded to put his feet up on the brown couch he was sitting at and pretend to be focused on his shoes.

"Mr. Tozier! What have I said about your language?" Mrs. Tior said, while her prim blue glasses almost bounced off of her face.

She was fuming and Richie was loving it. Mrs. Tior's eye's were a dark brown color and her hair was kept up so that she looked (and sounded) like Rita Skeeter from the Harry Potter books. She sure had a nack for annoying students and just so happened to be the worst councilor Derry High School had ever seen.

"I don't need a shrink" Richie responded, rolling his eyes, "I don't know what my parents told you but I'm not mentally ill"

He said that last few words in a mocking tone and Mrs. Tior was considering throwing him out the window.

"You did not answer my question, Mr. Tozier" Mrs. Tior said almost calmly, folding her hands in her lap.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah... I'm not supposed to cuss n' shit" Richie responded, his voice at a monotone.

"That is IT!" Mrs. Tior yelled, leaping from her chair.

Richie laughed while Mrs. Tior's hands were balled in fists.

"I am at my very last straw!" She yelled, smoke coming out of her ears. "You have some nerve coming into my office and treating me like this!" She screamed, mad with rage and emotion.

"Like what? Shit?" Richie asked raising his eyebrows.

"How dare you-" She was cut off quickly as Richie continued to speak.

"I am treating you how you treat me Sharon,"

"Oh that is it young man." Mrs. Tior responded grinding her teeth. "You do not talk to your superior in that manner! A young man like you should know better. You are not four!" She lectured.

"Are you listening to me?" She yelled the words so loud that Richie was sure half the school could hear.

"Oh yeah, I'm totally listening." Riche said as he sat up.

"Blah blah blah don't cuss... blah blah blah I'm going crazy... blah blah blah I'm being an ass hole," He barely said the last words when he was grabbed by the collar of his shirt and thrown out of Mrs. Tior's office.

Her office just so happened to lead into the the main office, so all of the office assistants and workers could see, hear, and witness the scolding of Richie Tozier. And to add to Richie's torment the short, freshmen, muslim girl who Richie thought was cute was acting as office assistant at that very moment.

"I just can't catch a break," Richie said to her.

The girl raised an eyebrow and gave a half smile as Mrs. Tior brought Richie's attention back to herself.

"Out of the office. Now."

Mrs. Toir used the last of her composure to usher Richie out of the head office into the front of the school yard.

Mrs. Toir glared at him. "I hope I never see you again Mr. Tozier,"

"Love you too!" Richie shouted as she stomped away.

"Where the fuck is Richie?" Eddie said, raising his hands up above his head, then bringing them back down on his legs, creating a clap sound.

"He's in the counselor's office." Stan yelled, laying down on a bench a few yards away.

"I know that dumb ass." Eddie snapped.

Everyone looked taken aback by the statement.

"J-Jesus Eddie!" Bill said, with a mix of confusion and worry.

"I've had a bad day, okay." Eddie said crossing his arms and slightly rubbing his cast.

Suddenly Richie Tozier popped up next to Eddie and was wearing the widest grin a person had ever seen.

"Aww, Eddie Spaghetti missed me!" Richie said, grabbing at Eddie's cheeks while he tried to get away.

"Fuck off Richie!" Eddie yelled as he wiggled free of Richie's grasp.

Richie grinned and messed up Eddies hair. "Aww, you love me, Kaspbrak!"

"Have you forgotten my name or something?" He shot back, carefully fixing his hair.

"Not at all, Eds." Richie said as he pushed up his thick glasses and sat down next to Stan, motioning for him to stop lying down and move over.

A heavy silence filled air like a thick fog, but it only lasted for a moment.

Richie quickly got up and sat down on the opposite bench with Eddie.

"You know the stars are beautiful tonight." He said with his head tilted towards the sky.

Eddie sighed. "What the actual fuck, it's bright as hell, dipshit."

"Language!" Richie shouted.

"D-Did anyone acknowledge the fact that R-Richie just said language?" Bill grinned.

"You know what else is beautiful, Eds?" Richie smirked.

Eddie glared. "I swear to god, if I say my mo-"

"Your mom!" Richie burst out laughing, which was abruptly stopped by Eddies cast flying toward his nose.

"Damn, Eds!" He said, rubbing his nose.

"Can you two stop flirting for like, three seconds?" Stan said as he loudly sipped on a clearly empty juice box.

"You about done with that, Stanley?" Mike said, riding up to the Losers and parking his bike next to the bench.

Stan shrugged and continued sipping loudly.

Mike sat down next Stan. "You're back early from the counselor, Rich." He stated.

Richie sighed heavily. "That bitch kicked me out again."

"I feel like that will be similar to your future relationships, Richie." Eddie teased, rolling his eyes.

"Challenge accepted, Eddie-o spaghetti-o." Richie laughed.

"I swear to god.." Stan said under his breath.

Léala adjusted her hijab and sat back down in her chair. Mrs. Tior looked at her in a condescending manner.

"Working hard or hardly working, Ms. Heedad?"

"Its pronounced Hih-Dehd." Léala murmured.

"I'm sure it is." Mrs. Tior said, turning around.

Mrs. Tior walked curtly back to her office and slammed the door shut. Léala swore that she could hear a faint screaming sound coming from that area. Richie was annoying as fuck but he sure made things fun.

"I wonder how she's still a Mrs." She said and adjusted her stack of papers.

After a few minutes, the bell rang to dismiss any after school activities. Léala stayed in her spot and continued working as if nothing happened. The door to Mrs. Tior's office slammed open.

"What are you doing? It's a Friday, children like you should be at home." Mrs. Tior glared.

"Well, I'm perfectly fine here. Just getting my work finished, unlike some people." Léala shot back.

"Don't sass me, kid." She responded sharply.

"Too late." Léala mouthed as she turned around to face her papers.

Long after Mrs. Tior left, the air in the room felt stuffy. The empty office felt confining and her legs started to ache.

"I could go for a short stretch," Léala said, talking to herself.

She stood up and walked to the front entrance, making sure to leave a crack in the door so she could get back in.

Léala took a deep breath and felt her energy slowly start to come back. She heard faint laughing and looked across the street at the local park. She grinned and noticed the boy from earlier, the one who was always kicked out of Mrs. Tior's office.

Richie looked up from the groups absentminded chatting and saw the girl from the office. He grinned.

"Later losers, I got some hot chicks to chat up." Richie grinned and sauntered towards Léala.

He walked without paying attention and nearly look out a biker but it didn't matter in the least to Richie.

"Hey, office girl!" He grinned as he walked up and nudged her shoulder.

"Troubled boy." She smirked and nudged him back.

"Ouch. Why the hurtful nickname?" He rubbed his shoulder, pretending to be hurt from the nudge.

"I just meant that you go to Mrs. Tior so often.. Are you two having an affair or something? Covering it up with a 'mutual hatred'?" She laughed at her own joke.

"You've thought about this a lot, kid." He smirked and Léala could see light sparking in his eyes.

"Nope, came up with it on the spot." She said without skipping a beat.

"So what is your name, Office Girl? I seemed to have forgot." He said in an awful British accent.

"I do believe that it's Léala. Léala Hided." She smiled and mocked his accent.

"And I'm Richie. Richie Toizer." He smiled and put his hand out. She took his hand and shook it firmly.

Richie noticed Léala looking at something behind him. He also felt a short presence looming in the background.

"Heya, Rich. Watcha doin'?" Eddie said, trying his best not to make the situation awkward.

"Eds, since when do you care what the fuck I'm doing?" Richie turned around to face him.

"No reason, just the 'dudes' talking about boring stuff.. like smoking and dumb accents." Eddie said uncomfortably, trying to lure Richie back to the group.

"What's up with your weird way of talking, Kapsbrak?" Richie grinned. "You're freaking me out. It's not like you."  He added with fake concern.

"Dayum, jealous!" Léala shook her head, trying not to laugh.

"Shut it." Eddie said harshly.

"Whoa, Eddie Spaghetti, chill out." Richie said, taking a step back.

"Well, maybe you should chill, Richie!" Eddie shouted at him as he started to go back to the park. Richie couldn't help but notice the group watching the whole conversation.

Richie Tozier lay on his twin bed facing towards the ceiling. It was around 4:00pm but he had nothing better to do but sit in bed and think.

He had biked home from the school only minutes after the conversation with Léala had ended. Eddie had walked with him back to the group and he had started to say something but Richie didn't hear. His mind was going numb. So, he just simply hopped on his bike and left without saying a word to any of the Losers. He spent his whole ride home feeling like he wanted to cry.

After what happened two summers ago, Richie hadn't been the same. He cried almost every night and he had started to not feel things any more. A hole had opened up inside of him and he couldn't find a productive way to fill it. So, he started doing a lot of stupid shit. He flirted with every girl he saw and he had taken on the habit of smoking. His sister seemed to be like even more of a bitch than usual and his parents weren't much help either.

After the summer, THE summer, Richie had told them about what he was feeling. He told them about how scared he was to sleep because he kept seeing the clown. It wouldn't go away. He told them about how his friends had started to say "beep beep Richie" to make him shut up almost instantly. Every time they said that to him it was just another reminder of that stupid clown and what it did to him. His mother's grand idea was to set him up with the 'best' councilor in Derry so he could get the 'proper help'.

His life was complete and utter shit.

He didn't want to do any of this school work and he didn't even feel like being around his friends. The clown was following him everywhere he went and he couldn't seem to shake the uneasy feeling. He spent almost a whole year completely alone.

Richie thought a lot.

His feelings weren't very complicated. They never had been. If Richie Tozier didn't like you he would say it right to your face. His brain had always been good at getting to the point. So, after coming home everyday and sitting alone with his thoughts and the silence he realized things about himself.

That was the year that Richie Tozier realized he was gay.

He didn't tell a soul. Richie started flirting with more girls to make up for the fact that he didn't feel normal at all. His own skin seemed uncomfortable on him and he just couldn't get rid of the clown.

Thats when the shit really hit the fan.

Richie didn't want to live anymore. He was tired of going though everyday pretending like he was happy. He was scared to death that his friends would leave him if he told them anything about who he was. They already had an idea in a way. One day Richie decided that it would be a good idea to cut his wrist. He knew it was a stupid thought, he knew that he shouldn't. But he just had too. Richie hadn't been thinking clearly for almost a year so even the most dangerous thoughts seemed fine if they weren't fuzzy.

It had been another lonely Saturday night. The 'perfect' Saturday night when it happened.

Richie didn't want to think about the gory details. He never wanted to think about it again. He had to look at his wrist every day and see the scars. There was no reason to ponder why they were there.

So, there Richie was, sitting on a shitty twin bed thinking about his shitty life.

"Don't touch the other boys Richie"

I won't.

"Don't or they'll know your secret"

[michaelsongrace]

How Do You Pronounce Reiki In English Stupefying Useful Tips

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What Is Reiki Healing In Hindi

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[b-does-the-write-thing]

Will you write a follow up to the The Heart of Avonlea?

Well, this spiraled into a thing….Read The Heart of Avonlea first!

When stories end with happily ever after, it means that is not truly the end. After all, few happily ever afters end in death, so particular story must continue on even if the narrator does not. A certain part of their story may be closed, but there are numerous other stories waiting to unfold, and any narrator that says ‘and they lived happily ever after’ is one that is tired and wants to go home to their bed and worry about their own life and if they’ll ever get their happily ever after.

Which means the stories people love to hear about good triumphing over evil, love conquering  all, and tales of morality are not over just because someone says they lived happily ever after. It just means that they didn’t die, they’re together, or they learned a very necessary lesson (like not to wash reds and whites together).

However, no one really wants to hear about the brave knight’s struggle to find a new purpose after the wicked dragon is slain, or how true love does not mean the happy couple never argue or that just because slow and steady won a race once does not mean that it did not work out for the tortoise when attempting to elude an ornery manticore.

–

In Avonlea, there lived a lady and a lord, most beloved and renowned across the countryside for their wise and fair rule. Lady Belle was as fair as her name, trained in combat, needlery, diplomacy and an avid reader, she could carry on a conversation with kings from across the waters or the smallest peasant child.

Her husband, Lord Rumplestiltskin, more often referred to as His Lordship, as it was much easier to pronounce, was a plain man with silver hair and crow feet around his eyes. However, there was a sense of coiled power in him, and no one was very comfortable in his presence except his wife. He was just and fair, though he had little interest in small talk and his stare could make even the most confident men shake in their boots.

The only man who sought out His Lordship was King Jefferson himself, who thoroughly enjoyed the once dark sorcerer’s acidic wit, and treasure trove of tales stretching back for generations. Avonlea and the Kingdom at large grew and prospered under HIs Lordship’s expertise and Lady Belle’s tempering hand. Far and wide, the tale of the Heart of Avonlea spread but this is not that tale.

This story is about small moments in true love and while not particularly fascinating as the story of how they came to fall in love, perhaps it will suffice.

-

The room was quiet, and they were alone after the long festivities of the day. Rumplestiltskin, previously the Dark One but now a man once more, was utterly still. Belle began to feel slightly silly, dressed in her virginal white and anticipation tingling up and down her bare arms like magic.

Despite the fire roaring in the bridal suite, shadows still hung heavy around them. Belle took a step towards her new husband, and his hands closed around her waist as he drew her closer still.

The scent of pine and snow lingered on his skin, as soft now as her own, and she watched his eyes as they skirted over her upturned face as if searching for something.  “Is this…is this real?” he finally asked as his fingers began to play with the ribbons upon her chest. The reverent touch ghosted over her chest and Belle found she had quite forgotten how to breath.

“I’m as real as you,” Belle replied as he started to slowly unravel the bow to reveal her pale skin below. An overwhelming need to be closer to him filled Belle’s every sense and though she did not know the reasons why her body was behaving so wantonly, she planned to find out. “Husband,” Belle said, and her voice was oddly breathless though she stood still. “Take me to bed.”

He did not have to be told twice.

-

While he was not entirely sure what had started the fight, Rumplestiltskin did know it was not his fault. Across the royal ballroom, deep in conversation with the King’s consort, Victor, Belle pointedly ignored him.

Though he wanted nothing more than to be left alone with his thoughts, that was not to be. The King materialized beside him with a rueful chuckle. My, my. What have you done now?”

“Nothing,” Rumplestiltskin grumbled.  Belle laughed at something Victor had said, and Rumplestiltskin’s gut clenched unhappily. They had their spats, as everyone did, but she had barely spoken a word to him all evening.

“Doesn’t look like nothing,” Jefferson said as Belle took Victor’s arm to join the dancers. “Why, I haven’t seen her in such rare form since her suitors showed up at Avonlea all chomping at the bit.”

They had been out on their morning ride, as usual when staying at the Royal Palace, discussing small matters at home when Belle had gone cold and trotted away on her horse. At a loss for her behavior, which was growing increasingly testy these days, Rumplestiltskin had turned his own mount around believing it would be best for them to have some time apart. This, he now knew, had been a terrible idea.

“Is everything going well at home?” Jefferson pressed, utterly imperceptible to the Dark One glower that typically got Rumplestiltskin out of most uncomfortable conversations. The King gave Rumpelstiltskin a once over. “Nothing out of place?”

Rumplestiltskin’s fingers itched at his sides. “Jefferson, get your nose out of my business or I’ll remove it from your face.”

The King merely laughed, startling a group passing nearby. “Tell me, Rumple old boy, have you been minding your husbandly duties?” King or no king, Rumplestiltskin was going to kill him. Jefferson held up a hand. “Anything…different?”

“Of course not,” Rumplestiltskin snapped. “What would be-”

He fell silent as a few differences did occur to him. “I took over Lord Maurice’s council,” he said and it occurred to him he had never asked Belle how she had felt about that. The council took most of his time, from daily issues such as sheet disputes to the more pressing diplomatic relations with other kingdom trade relations.

“The one she’s been going to since she was a child?” Jefferson said with a low whistle. “The one she’s been training to take over her whole life?”

Now that he thought about it, every one of Belle’s odd cold spells had been when he had been lamenting about the annoyances of the court. Years of watching the world from on high gave him little patience for the squabbles and spats people brought to Avonlea, and he had been dismissive of everything, seeking solace by venting to his wife.

Rumplestiltskin eyes Jefferson. “Did she say something to you?” he demanded and righteous fury lent a chilling tone to his voice.

The King rolled his eyes. ���Hardly. It doesn’t take a genius to see she doesn’t want to upset you or make you feel unneeded in Avonlea, but the Queen of the Southern Isles wrote me just last week that you threatened to build your own armada and seize her island if she didn’t bend to your trade demands.”

He had done that. It had seemed…prudent at the time.

“Luckily, I received another letter the next day that your lady wife had written her an apology, and invited her to Avonlea to discuss new trade regulations and enjoy the countryside.” The King’s eyes were sparkling. “I hate to tell you this, old boy, but you are rubbish at diplomacy.”

Rumplestiltskin ignored him, too busy trying to figure out how he was going to apologize to Belle, hand over the council seat he hadn’t wanted in the first place, and make it up to her. He suspected it was going to involve a fair amount of groveling.

-

“Rumple, we talked about this,” Belle sighed. “You have to go.”

Half hidden by the tower turret, her husband sulked from he sat overlooking the courtyard. “I have no interest in such tomfoolery.”

Belle moved to sit down beside him and he took her hand to help her. Once settled, she leaned her head upon his shoulder and let silence fall between them. “The faery ball is a time honored tradition,” she said after a spell. “I understand how you feel about them, but if we don’t go…we risk a schism between Avonlea and the faeries. You know what happens to kingdoms who upset them.”

“If they try to curse any child of mine, I’ll rip their wings off their backs one by one,” he grumbled but his voice lacked real conviction. After all, the faeries were the most powerful beings in all the lands these days, and there was no love lost between their ruler and the once upon a time Dark One.

“Do you miss it?”

“Being the Dark One?” he asked. “No. Yes. Sometimes.”

She nodded and his arm wrapped around her stomach, the slight swell of life already starting to show. “I would give it up a thousand times and thousands more for the opportunity to sit here and grow old with you,” he said into her hair. “But it was who I was for years….and sometimes it is as if I am missing part of myself.”

Belle did not quite understand, but she closed her eyes and let him hold her.

–

“Careful, careful!” Rumplestiltskin chided but his father-in-law did not seem to hear him. Lord Maurice gazed down at the small bundle in his arms. From the birthing bed, Belle, tired and pale, smiled up at the men in her life and Rumplestiltskin sank down to sit beside her.

He had not known fear as the Dark One. He had been all powerful, with magic at his back and call and something as trivial as childbirth would have barely registered with him much less scared him witless.

However, he was a man now, and in all his struggles to remember how to live as a mere man, nothing had been such a test as Belle’s face twisted into agony as she brought forth a life into this world. He would have sold his very soul for her safety, but she had held his hand tight in her own the entire time, refusing to let him so much as move from the stool beside the bed.

“What’s his name?” Lord Maurice asked as the babe, still red and shriveled and utterly beautiful, yawned. His mother had to cover her own mouth with an answering yawn, and it struck him how truly wonderful women were.

“Gideon,” Belle replied as she leaned her head against Rumpelstiltskin’s shoulder. “HIs name is Gideon.”

Outside the bells began to toll to announce the lord heir had been born and the people of Avonlea rejoiced.

–

Belle had grown up beloved by both her parents, though as a lady of the great household, she had been seen to by governesses, tutored by scholars. As a very young child, her only real memories of her parents were at dinner and the hours following it. Her father had taught her to play chess in those early evening hours and her mother had read her stories.

So, now a mother with children of her own, and the Lady of Avonlea with responsibilities, Belle expected to follow the same upbringing. Rumplestiltskin, on the other hand, would not be separated from his children for a minute, much less the whole day.

Despite her heavy heart, the giggles from the nursery were infectious. At the sound of pure joy spreading out into the hallway, a single tear fell from her eye even as she smiled. Belle schooled her face into a mask before she entered the room.

The three inhabitants didn’t pause their game, with Alice on her father’s shoulders and Gideon prancing around them with a wooden sword.“Release the fair princess!” Gideon demanded as he swatted playfully at his father’s knees.

Rumplestiltskin growled in response in a fair imitation of a dragon. Alice squealed happily as her fingers tightened in her father’s shoulder length hair and Belle had to clear her throat for the party to realize she was there.

“Mama! Mama!” Gideon cried as he came racing over to her. “I’m rescuing Allie from the Dark Dragon!”

“That would be me,” Rumpelstiltskin said as he came to press a kiss to her cheek. “What news from the palace?”

Belle lifted Alice free from his shoulders and the toddler went happily to Belle’s arms, pressing up against the bump that would be her future sibling. “Jefferson sent word,” she said with a sigh. “There’s to be war.”

“Yahoo!” Gideon cried but his father put a hand on the young boy’s head, squashing his curls.

“War?” he repeated and his voice sounded hollow. “I thought negotiations were going well.”

Alice pulled Belle’s hair free from the elaborate coiffure under her diadem, and Belle’s grip tightened on her, prompting a squeal of displeasure. Rumplestiltskin plucked his daughter free. “Go see if the kitchens have any sweets, you two,” he said and at the magic words, both disappeared out the door their mother had just entered.

“They’ll never eat dinner,” Belle complained but her it was a half protest as her husband took her into his arms.

“Their presence will quell any rumors spreading,” Rumplestiltskin pointed out. “No one will have a chance to gossip with those two chatterboxes at their feet.”

“Oh, Rumple,” Belle sighed as she clutched his shirt front in her firsts. “Jefferson will call the banners…you’ll….you’ll have to go with the men.”

He shushed her as his arms tightened around her, but after ten years of marriage, Belle knew he was just hiding his face. She buried her own deeper into his chest, and let herself cry.

–

He had been a soldier once before.

Before him, the battle raged onwards. Banners fell, trumpets blew and the screams of the dying reached him even here on the hill. He had been a coward in a previous life, he had run from battle, thinking he had been right to avoid the nonsense of war.

Before him was death and destruction, and behind him was Avonlea. He had been gone for nearly two years now. That would have been a blink to him once before, but now it was an eternity. A letter was clutched in his hand, written in Belle’s own hand.

The letter told him Gideon grew wary of his studies, running off with local boys to spar in the woods, how Alice asked for him every night, but how the little girl was trying to be brave for her Papa, all about how his youngest, the one he had never met, Roseleen was teething and a holy terror and how Belle missed him so much she hurt all over.

She wrote him daily, though sometimes the letters did not arrive, or arrived late, or all together and opened by some spy who had hoped to learn something from the King’s right hand man. The letters had kept him steady, had kept him alive as he could trust that behind him, back home in Avonlea, his family was thriving even if it was without him.

In the distance, another cannon roared and his horse underneath him shifted nervously as the smell of blood drifted up to them on the wind.  “Why, Rumplestiltskin,” came the voice by his ear. “I didn’t believe it when they told me, but it is you.”

He resisted the urge to flick the fairy away from him, but only just. “Reul,” he greeted. “What news from the other side?”

The fairy drifted into view before him. “Your King has reached an accord with the Red Queen, but it may fall before the night is over. There is distrust on both sides.”

“Which is why I called for you,” the Lord of Avonlea said with a heavy sigh. “In the past…it has been my experience that a truly neutral party can broker peace far more effectively.”

The leader of the faeries hummed. “You’re asking me for help?” At his nod, her face broke out into a smug smile. “Hmm. How interesting..”

“I do not expect it your assistance comes cheap, what will it be?”

Reul cocked her head at him. “Did you know your heirs are the only noble children who have not been blessed by the fairies?” Rumplestiltskin harrumphed and Reul’s smile grew sly. “I’ll broke your peace treaty on the condition all three of your children are given a fairy godparent.”

He had to bite down on his tongue to avoid ruining his only chance of returning home. “Fine,” he said through gritted teeth. A fairy godparent was a rarity, even the King’s two children did not have a fairy godparent His children would be safe, cared for and watched over for the rest of their life, but his own actions would be reported back to Reul at every turn. Her bargain would not hurt his children, but it meant an end to his own freedom.

But it meant his people and others might live.

“We have a deal,” he said and he hoped he did not live to regret it.

–

Lord Maurice had lived until his seventy-fifth year but in the night after his day of birth, he slipped away from this world in his sleep. Avonlea was draped in black for the old lord, and everywhere Belle looked, she saw signs of him.

He had been slipping for years, too old and feeble to do much beside sit by the fire or let his grandchildren read to him. His son-in-law spent his evenings playing chess with him, though neither party ever won or lost, they just moved the pieces around and around until the old lord fell asleep.

“Sweetheart,” Rumple said as he took her hand in his own. “It’s time.”

The people of Avonlea had come from far and wide to honor the man who had brought peace and prosperity to the realm, the father of the Treasure of Avonlea, and the man who had let his daughter marry her heart’s desire instead of the wealthiest suitor.

Belle swallowed her tears as she turned to her children, and Gideon, a man now in his own right, held Rosie in his arms as Alice stood trembling beside him, already a beauty at fourteen. At their shoulders, their respective fairy godparents hovered in respect, though Reul had been smart enough to stay away.

Roderick, Gideon’s fairy godparent, grew to true size, and bowed loud. “My lady,” he said and though he was nearly two hundred years old, he looked no older than Gideon. “The faeries send their condolences for the loss of such a great man.”

Belle touched his face,and nodded, not quite trusting herself to speak. Roderick stepped backwards to stand besides Gideon, and it didn’t escape her when their hands clasped together. Rosie, only four, did not not understand what was going on, and her fairy companion, Tink, was blowing raspberries at her to make her giggle while Alice’s fairy, Nova, was sniffling openly while Alice tried her best to stem her own tears.

With everyone’s temper slightly frayed by grief and exhaustion, Belle’s own eyes began to fill up with tears again in sympathy with Nova’s own, which wouldn’t do at all for the procession to the mausoleum. She tried to bite back the tears but as always her husband noticed and tried to take charge of the situation. “Nova, kindly desist that noise before the procession starts,” Rumplestiltskin attempted and the little fairy squawked, still terrified of the once Dark One, and burst into even noisier tears.

“Oh, darling Nova,” Alice said as she scooped the fairy out of the air beside her. “Shush now, Papa, didn’t mean anything by it.” Alice looked up at her mother with her father’s eyes and tried to smile. “Oh, Mama, Grandpapa would not want us to be so sad…but I can’t help it.”

Tink, who to be fair was kind of an odd fairy in her own right, took this opportunity to play sneeze, shooting backwards out a open window to Rosie’s delight. The toddler began to clap happily and shriek in delight. Gideon and Roderick’s serious faces both cracked into answering grins as Rosie and Alice and Nova joined in, almost unsure of themselves but soon caught up in the toddler’s infectious delight.

Rumplestiltskin put his arm around her, and though he did not laugh, his eyes were soft as he watched his children’s find a moment of joy in the face of grief . Belle leaned her head against his shoulder, and closed her eyes in a small prayer for her father who in his kindness and in his wisdom, had allowed her this life, this love, and this moment.

–

“Papa,” sighed his eldest son and heir to Avonlea, “be reasonable.”

There were five people in the world who would dare say that to His Lordship, and four of them were in the room. HIs wife, perpetuator number one, put her hand on Rumplestiltskin’s arm as she expertly maneuvered herself between the two of them. There was always something utterly calming about her bright blue eyes, even if they were now lined with crows feet and her hair touched with silver at the temples.

It was only his wife’s calm demeanor that stopped him from losing his temper entirely. “Reasonable?” he demanded. “You want me to be reasonable about my-my son getting married on a whim in Agrabah of all places!”

“Not that we don’t love Roderick,” Belle hastened to add as the fairy in question colored under all this unwanted attention. Roderick had always been shy around Rumplestiltskin, no doubt cowed by the tales he had had known all his life. When he had been assigned to Gideon, no one had expected the two to grow close as thieves, encouraging each other to new adventures and unavoidably falling in love. “It’s just…we would have liked to be there.”

Rumplestiltskin crossed his arms over his chest as he continued to grumble under his breath. His son had a similar expression on his face, though Gideon’s lips were a thin white line while his father preferred to snarl.

“Both of you are sulking,” Alice pointed out. “Gideon, I understand you were swept up in the moment, and Roderick, no one is blaming you at all. but Papa has a point. There’s certain things expected of a heir to Avonlea and running away to get married in secret is not one of them.”

Gideon raked a hand through his hair. “Which is why I told you all I don’t want the lordship,” he repeated and this started the whole argument up again. Rosie, nearly ten now, watched everything with her wide blue eyes, the only one of the three to get her mother’s eyes though she had her father’s crooked teeth to match. Quiet as always, her face was calm despite the heated voices.

“Enough,” Belle finally declared as she stood from her seat. “Gideon, if you truly do not want the lordship, and would prefer a life exploring the world with Roderick, then you have our blessing.” She shot Rumpelstiltskin a pointed look. “Isn’t that right, darling?”

“Yes,” he bit out and Gideon softened.

“Papa,” he said as he came to stand beside his chair. “I love you, I truly do, but I’m not happy here. This isn’t where I belong. You…you understand that, don’t you?”

Rumplestiltskin swallowed his words, knowing he’d regret them if he spoke in wounded anger now. “Think of your sisters,” he said softly, so only Gideon would hear. “If you step down as heir, it falls to Alice.”

Gideon looked to his younger sister with pride. “Alice is more of a leader than I have ever been,” he replied. “She will make a wonderful Lady of Avonlea.”

Alice came up to take Roderick’s other hand in her own and put on a brave smile. “Really, Papa, I don’t mind,” she assured him as the burden of being the heir of Avonlea now fell upon her delicate shoulders. Belle reached out to take his hand in her own, and they shared a private look.

“If…if this is what you want…both of you, then so be it. I…I just want you to be happy,” Rumpelstinkin finally said, “but…but I’ll miss you son.”

Gideon made a choked noise before falling upon his father in a hug. A moment later, Belle wrapped her arms around her two boys, before Alice and Rosie joined in as well. As Rumplestiltskin held his family in his arms, he tried to remember what life had been like before them, and found he could not.

–

Across the crowded ballroom, the heir of Avonlea was dancing cheek to cheek with the crown prince, both completely out of sync with the music playing and the others dancing around them as they swayed on the dancefloor. “My son wishes to marry your daughter,” Jefferson announced to no one’s surprise.

Belle sat beside her old friend, her joints throbbing painfully with the coming of the rain. Her husband had retired to be already,  and Rosie was off somewhere, no doubt getting in trouble. “They have our blessing,” Belle replied as she watched the two lost in their own world. “Though Rosie’s been dreading this since Jakon came to Avonlea last fall.”

“Not many youngest children inherit their parents titles,” Jefferson said with a shrug. “She’s four and ten now, is she not?”

“Nearly,” Belle said with a nod. Her youngest had shorn all her hair off when Alice had first begun to show interest in her childhood friend, Prince Jakon. Then, Rosie had taken to wearing baggy stable boy clothes and spending her time outside the castle walls. “Alice took after me,” Belle said as her middle child glowed bright with happiness.

Jefferson patted her hand. “She would have made a lovely lady of Avonlea, but she’ll make a remarkable Queen.”

“Rumple will be beside himself,” Belle laughed and Jefferson joined in. “At least this time, he’ll get his wedding.”

“If he doesn’t try and get rid of Jakon first,” Jefferson teased.

“Always a possibility,” Belle replied but her smile was gentle. “No, he’d never do anything to harm Alice even if it does mean his little girl is all grown up.”

A tinkling laugh between them signaled Alice’s godmother had appeared and sure enough, Nova was clapping her hands in delight at the scene below them. “Oh, how wonderful!” she sighed. “She must have finally told him how she feels!”

Jefferson caught Belle’s eyes over the fairy and rolled his eyes. Belle had to bite down on her laughter. “Nova, dear,” she said. “Is Tink off with Rosie?”

“Oh, those two,” Nova said with a bristle. “They tried to lock me in a teapot earlier, so no, I have no idea what they’re up to at the moment.”

In the distance, the music stopped and the crowd turned to clap in approval as the crown prince deposited a chaste kiss to his bride to be and in the moonlight outside, the youngest child of Belle and Rumplestiltskin listened in rapt attention to her fairy godmother as Tink taught her a simple spell.

–

There was dead silence in the room.

“What is the meaning of this?” Rumplestiltskin demanded in a voice like ice. Belle had her hands clasped to her mouth as they stared at their youngest child, heir of Avonlea, who had just been caught red handed.

“Meaning of what?” Rosaleen asked as if there was not a giant pumpkin behind her where her bed had once been. Her blue eyes were guileless as she held her father’s eyes. Of all the children, Rosaleen had inherited her mother’s stubbornness and her father’s refusal to bend, which was why they were here now in this fine mess.

“It’s my fault,” Tink croaked from where she hid under Rosaleen’s hair. “Rosie asked me to teach her a few spells…and I didn’t see the harm-”

“DIdn’t see the harm?” he repeated and Tink grew even smaller.

“Rosie,” Belle pleaded. “You know the risks…”

Rosaleen titled her chin up in defiance. “I have magic in my blood. Why not use it?”

“Because it’s not safe!”

“Says who?”

“Says your father!” he thundered back. He took a step forward, but Rosaleen did not so much as flinch. She marched up to him, eyes blazing and ready to battle when Belle slipped between them.

“Rosaleen,” his wife said in a firm voice. “Change your bed back this minute or sleep in the pumpkin, but you are not to leave these quarters.”

Rosie opened her mouth to argue, but Tink fell around to hold her lips forcibly shut. “Will do, milady,” Tink said with a worried look up at Rumplestiltskin.

“I trust you to ensure my will is followed,” Belle said in a pointed voice to Tink, whose wings quivered in embarrassment. With a small nod, the fairy agreed and Rosaleen bristled before marching off to where the pumpkin was still growing. “And you,” Belle said with a jab at his chest. “Outside. Now.”

He let her drag him out into the hallway and when they were safely down the hall, she spun around on her heel and pointed a finger straight at his nose. “You two are impossible! Peas in a pod!”

He opened his mouth to argue that his youngest was more like her than she thought but his wife did not give him the opportunity. “Gideon is off gallivanting the heavens knows where, Alice is expecting the heir to the kingdom proper, and our youngest daughter is practicing magic in her bedroom.” HIs wife’s jaw trembled as she fought back tears and his heart broke to look at her.

“Can’t say our family is boring,” he said. She swatted at him, but moved into his embrace. “Now, now, sweetheart,” he sighed as he kissed the crown of her head. “I overreacted…but…magic…”

“She’s your daughter,” Belle sniffled. “I’m not surprised one of them took it up.”

“Gideon married a fairy,” he snorted and Belle giggled into his chest. “Though, for a fairy, Roderick isn’t that bad.”

Belle pulled her head up to smile at him and he kissed her, long and deep. The years had been good to them, and under the lines and the white hair and the full cheeks, his wife still was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. His own body was wrinkled and heavy, white and grey grizzled hair past his shoulders and aches in places he didn’t even know he had, but he would not have traded a moment of his life for the internal life he had once enjoyed.  

‘We’ll have to get her a proper teacher,” he sighed. Tink may have helped raise Rosaleen but the fairy was a prankster at heart with a stubborn attitude that no doubt only enhanced Rosie’s own natural bullheadedness.

“The Lady of Avonlea a witch,” Belle said with a shake of her head. “Well, we won’t have to worry about being inundated with suitors again, my love.”

Well, that was one good thing, he supposed.

–

“Gideon,” Belle said as she stood to greet her son. He hurried into the room to clasp his mother in an embrace before turning towards the bed. Belle pushed his long hair out of his face, marveling at the man he had become as Roderick came in quietly behind him.

“Is he…” Gideon managed to ask and Belle shook her head.

“Just sleeping for now,” she said as Gideon joined her at Rumplestiltskin’s bedside. Her husband’s face was calm and smooth, there was no pain or worry there, but an acceptance. “He’s been waiting for you,” she said and Gideon’s face twisted in grief as he nodded in understanding.

Rosaleen stood in the corner, arms wrapped around herself, and quiet as the grave. Her blue eyes were shiny but not a single tear had dared fall. Gideon held his hand out and the young woman barrelled into him, burying her face into his chest. “Hey, it’s okay,” he murmured as Roderick put his hand on his husband’s shoulder. “It’s okay.”

Alice arrived in the doorway, her youngest strapped to her chest already fast asleep. “I heard you two had arrived,” she said as she came into the room to press a kiss to Roderick’s cheek. Rosaleen tried to wipe the tears away as two small children ran into the room, both halting at their grandmother’s expression.

“Grandmama?” the twins asked revrently. “Is Grandpapa really going to leave?”

“Yes,” came the croaking response from the bed. “But not before I get my kisses, little ones.”

Shy around the prone figure, the two princesses moved to deposit gentle busses upon his cheeks before withdrawing to their mother’s skits. The prince slept on, his bald head sticking out from Alice’s arms as she came to press a kiss to her father’s face. “Oh, Papa,” the Queen said. “Jefferson will be so cross you went first.”

Shocked, Rumplestiltskin laughed and Belle took his hand in her own. She had accepted this day was coming, but now that it was here, she wanted it to last forever. Her husband turned his head to the side to smile at her. “No tears,” he whispered as his hand moved to hold her face. “You promised.”

Belle inhaled deeply and Gideon, bless him, stepped to his father’s other side and sank down to his knees. Their eldest had inherited his grandfather’s height, and he towered over everyone in the room. “Papa,” he greeted. “I’m here.”

Rumpelstiltskin smiled. “I knew you would be, son,” he said and his other hand gripped Gideon’s tightly. “My boy,” he managed before a spasm of pain darted through him.

Gideon’s face cracked and Rosaleen hurried into the breach. With a wave of her hand, the pain washed away from Rumplestiltskin’s face. “Magic comes with a price,” he murmured to his youngest child. “Remember that.”

“I’ll pay the price,” Rosaleen assured him as she smiled down at him. “Anything for you, Papa.”

Rumpelstiltskin looked up at his three children and his three grandchildren and sighed in content. “It’s time,” he said and turned towards Belle. “My love?”

The children wiped the tears from their faces, and with one last kiss goodbye, they all filtered through the door. Rosaleen was the last, and with a touch to her mother’s shoulders, she whispered a small spell of grace.

When the door closed behind the now Lady of Avonlea, Belle kicked off her slippers and crawled into the large bed she had shared with her husband these past forty odd years. It had been the bed she had given birth to thrice, and now  it would be the bed  in which she would say goodbye to her true love.

She laid her head upon his chest, and his heart beat faintly under her cheek. His hand came up to stroke her hair, streaked with white and silver. “i’ll see you soon,” Belle promised him. She had no need to memorize the feeling of him, or his scent, she had committed it to memory long ago.

“Not too soon,” he sighed . “They need you still.”

Belle did not respond but her arms tightened on his frail frame. “I wish you wouldn’t go without me,” she whispered.

“I wish I could stay with you forever and a day,” he responded. “But death has waited for me long enough. It’s time.”

Belle tilted her head up to kiss him, once more, thinking of their years together and their joys and struggles, over their children and their children, and of Avonlea and its neighboring lands. If someone had told her as a young woman of nine and ten that her life would bring her here to this moment, she would have not believed them. And yet it was not so much a story as a life well lived.

She settled back down into his arms and they held each other tight. “Do you remember how we met?” Belle asked in the silence and his chuckle was so low she thought she may have imaged int.

“I do but tell it again,” he whispered and so, she did.

In the morning, the bells would toll, but they had one last evening in each other’s arms, and that plus the lifetime together,  was enough.