#but like. Richard. is right there. hes right there.

[celticjade13]

Always make sure you're informed rather than reblogging the headline only, but especially now with Biden's actions. He knows what Trump wants to do, we all know what Trump wants to do. Biden's last days in government are going to be as much about protecting people & the government from Trump as they are finalizing his legacy. Even Jack Smith withdrawing from the prosecution of Trump was about protecting him & his team and making sure they can charge Trump again after his administration.

(Justice Dept policy is sitting Presidents can't be indicted, which is one of the reasons Trump likes being President, although that "policy" was a result of Richard Nixon & Spiro Agnew that was drafted by some Justice Dept lackeys at like 3 AM and is riddled with typos and errors. But the Justice Dept has elevated it to a golden rule, even though the US is kind of built on the idea that it shouldn't be a rule.)

Biden did a lot of good in his administration, he's not going to just unwind that because he feels like it. He's going to make a number of shrewd and calculated political moves that Trump won't understand and will probably see as spite, but that will try to minimize the damage the Trump administration can do. Biden is very, very good at being a politician, even when you don't see results right away.

WHAT???? Fuck him

[brandyllyn]

Frostbite

Max Phillips x f!reader

Summary: By all that was holy in the world, you were going to slap the ever-loving shit out of this man. Words: 1.9k

For the #pedrostoriesgift24 Holiday Gift Exchange. @almostfoxglove asked for:

* max gets reader/character for their office's secret santa (or vice versa) * office christmas party

And y'all know I can't resist Max.

My Masterlist <- So much more Max stuff here y'all. I've missed him.

Rated: Teen Warnings: This is romantic and sweet and I make no apologies for that. Max being Max, however.

If you had to listen to George Michael complain one more time about what happened last Christmas, you were going to cause a scene.

Looking around the room, you took some small solace that no one else seemed to be having a good time either. Derek had taken up a post near the exit, obviously waiting until just enough time had passed that he could make a break for it. Malika was on her third hard cider - if she wasn’t careful she’d be the Monday morning gossip.

And the very next day, you gave it away…

You slip your phone from your pocket as surreptitiously as possible, checking the clock. Not even 6:30, there was still the speech from the CEO, the sales award, and of course the office secret Santa to get through before you could make your escape. They always saved secret Santa for last - everyone marching one by one to open their gift from the table in the center of the room. Showing everyone the mug they had been given.

It was always a mug.

The table looked extra sad this year - filled almost entirely with bags, half of which didn’t even have a festive spray of tissue. It was the laziest possible wrapping job. Nothing more clearly said ‘I put no thought into this’ than a dollar store bag, taped shut.

You had wrapped your gift. An oblong box with a festive red bow. Inside was a designer tie - one you had been lucky to find at a local thrift store. You had no idea if your giftee would like it, he ran so hot and cold you never could tell if he even liked you. Or anybody for that matter.

“Hey there sweet cheeks, looking for me?”

Speak of the devil.

“Never.”

He sidles up next to you, all long limbs and expensive cologne. His suit is perfect; crisp navy blue with a sparkly snowflake tie. As usual he stands too close, forcing you to shift slightly sideways to avoid brushing against him.

“You tease,” he pouts with a puffed out lower lip. “You’re gonna break my heart.”

Max Phillips, rising star of the sales department. Arrogant, conceited asshole and inveterate flirt. He was handsome too, which was honestly just annoying. If someone was going to be that obnoxious, they should at least look like half a roasted ham.

“I have it on good authority you don’t have one,” you point out.

He pats his chest for a moment, giving you a wounded look. “Stacey tell you that? Don’t be jealous, baby.”

“Miranda.”

He has the decency to hesitate, eyes darting across the room before back to you. “Well, someone had to be my shoulder to cry on.” You snort at that and he grins, shifting closer again and almost backing you to the wall. “And don’t worry about them, that’s business.”

You were pretty sure whatever that was you had walked in on in the copy room hadn’t been ‘business’ but you don’t point it out. Miranda hadn’t been the same, something viscerally off about her, ever since.

“You,” he leaned into you and you felt a cubicle wall at your back, “you would be nothing but pleasure wouldn’t you?”

“We are at work.”

“Most couples meet at work.”

“We’re not a couple.”

“We’re not a couple, yet.” He takes a deep breath and frowned. “You don’t take good care of yourself.”

“Excuse you?”

It came out close to a shriek, several heads turning your direction. Max gave them a dazzlingly wide smile and as one they smiled back. Even Richard, the grumpiest at the best of times, blushed. He blushed.

“You’re not eating right.”

By all that was holy in the world, you were going to slap the ever-loving shit out of this man. He wasn’t even looking at you, eyes scanning the room while he talked out of the corner of his mouth. “Dave is doing his speech,” you try to point out but Max gives you his attention long enough to roll his eyes.

“Don’t change the subject, babydoll.”

“What subject?”

Max takes the proverbial shovel you offer. “You’re gaunt. You’re not getting the right vitamins.”

“From the man who has an ‘allergy’ to sunlight.”

The grin he gives you is wolfish. “That’s documented. I have a doctor’s note.” You can’t help the small smile and of course he notices. “There now, was that so hard? I’m being charming all over the place here.”

“Why?”

The word is a hiss of air and he blinks at you, confused. “What do you mean, why?”

“You’ve fucked half the office.” You try very hard to keep your tone too low for anyone else to hear. “Am I keeping you from bingo or something?”

Another one of those deep breaths and he leans in to you, so close you think he might actually nuzzle you. “I like you.”

You snort, turning away.

“I do.” He scans the room again before he turns, blocking your view with his wide shoulders. “Look at me.”

“No.”

“Look at me.”

“I said no.”

There’s silence for several heartbeats before he admits, “You intrigue me.”

“You’re a liar.”

“All the time,” he concedes. “But not right now. There’s something for my people, a knowing of sorts…”

He trails off and you can’t help but ask, “Your people? Wasps?”

“Something like that.”

“Max Phillips!” The call of his name comes from out of the blue.

“Gotta run, sugar tits, duty calls.”

Of course he’s won the sales award. He shakes the CEO’s hand while accepting the plaque, turning and smiling - not pausing for even a moment when he realizes no one is going to take his photo. It doesn’t stop him from playing mayor of the cubicle farm, waving at a few people before stepping to the side. You notice him looking at you and studiously avoid meeting his eyes.

The secret Santa starts and you take a quick tally of how many people participated this year. Even if half the people make a fuss about it, you should be able to leave in fifteen minutes - twenty tops.

Since Max won the award he gets to go first, picking up the box you had carefully wrapped and tearing into it with the gusto of a toddler. He fingers the silk and you swear his eyes dart to where you’re standing. 

There is no way he could know you’d bought it for him. No way.

“Looks like we may have a tie for best present.”

People laugh at his terrible joke and he steps to the side, letting the next person fetch their mug. You try to be surreptitious as you gauge his reaction. Does he like it? Does he think it’s tacky? With one hand he pulls off the one he’s wearing and loops the length of red silk around his collar, deftly tying a full Windsor.

It looks good on him.

Dammit.

Your name is called and you shake yourself out of your stupor, avoiding looking to the side. The present is in a bright orange bag - not even a holiday color - and stapled closed. You reach in and pull out the small bottle.

“Iron supplements.”

There’s a small scattering of applause and you stare at the offending object for so long the new HR lady has to gently move you aside. 

Iron supplements.

Your secret Santa got you fucking iron supplements.

“You don’t look happy.”

The tie you so carefully picked out mocks you. You put thought into his present - and your Santa did what? Clean out their medicine cabinet? You wouldn’t be surprised if the bottle was already open.

No, you were not happy. You were fuming.

“You look pale.”

“Shut up.”

“And you’ve been having headaches lately.”

“How would you know?”

“I told you, you intrigue me.”

Something clicks and you finally look up at him, bottle clenched in your fist. “This was you?”

“You’re anemic.”

He sounds so absurdly reasonable you barely resist the urge to kick him. “You are not my doctor.”

“Do you have a doctor?”

You don’t, not that he needs to know that.

“If you did they might tell you your iron count is dangerously low. You should get checked for an autoimmune disease.”

“I do not have an autoimmune disease.” Derek shoots you a surprised look and you give him a wide smile before jerking Max’s arm and pulling him into a supply closet. “This is not appropriate. On like a hundred levels.”

“Why aren’t you taking care of yourself?”

“It’s none of your business.”

“Tell me.”

“Don’t take that tone with me.” You shove a finger into his chest. “You may get other people to leap to your bidding but I’m not one of them.”

“I know,” he grins, “it’s fantastic.”

“Fantastic?” you repeat.

“Fantastic.” He’s faster that you expect, grabbing your wrist and flattening your palm to his chest. “Why aren’t you taking care of yourself?”

He sounds genuinely concerned and you deflate, giving in. “I don’t have the money for fresh food. I’m living off ramen at the moment, okay? I’ll probably develop scurvy soon.”

“We pay you a decent amount - not what you’re worth, of course - but market value.”

You don’t bother asking how he knows that. “My ex took a loan out in my name. I’ve been paying it off.”

“Why isn’t he paying it off?”

“Because he’s an asshole and I can’t make him do anything.”

“Want me to kill him for you?”

It’s said so casually you almost think he means it. “It’s fine. It’s only another year. I’ll be fine.”

“You’re going to get rickets.”

“Isn’t that what Tiny Tim had?”

He nods. “Yes, and you’ll be begging for a Christmas bonus just like he did, too.”

“I think that was his dad.”

“Which one did Kermit play?”

You scoff, trying to pull your hand away from him. “Have you only ever seen the Muppet version of a Christmas Carol?”

He doesn’t let you go. “It’s the only one worth seeing.”

“Max,” you say softly. “I’ll be fine. Thank you, for worrying about me. Even if this-” you hold up the supplements with your other hand “-is by far the worst gift I have ever gotten.”

He gifts you with that wide, easy smile of his. “Let me buy you dinner, to make up for it.”

“Sure you don’t already have a date?”

“I’d cancel any plans for you.” If you didn’t know better you���d say he was serious.

“Big words, don’t make promises you don’t intend to keep.”

“I never make a promise I can’t keep.”

He’s standing close, so close your chest brushes his when you take a breath. “Max…”

Tingles shoot to your fingertips as his lips capture yours. A rush of heat floods through you and you can’t help but moan when he sinks his fingers into the back of your neck. The sound he makes is close to a growl, his mouth opening and his tongue is suddenly there, licking at the seam of your lips.

Would it be wrong to climb him like a tree in the supply closet?

He apparently has the same idea, lifting you from underneath your ass with an ease that takes your breath away. Your back is pressed to the wire shelves and his hips settle between your thighs as though he’s always belonged there. Your neck arches into the palm of his hand and he nuzzles beneath your ear.

“Take your damn iron pills.”

“What?”

“Your iron,” his teeth scrape along your jaw, “and maybe a multi-vitamin too.”

You were going to slap him. Just soon as your head stopped spinning from his kiss.

For updates on stories please follow and turn on notifications for @brandyllyn-writes

Tagging in @almostfoxglove once more. Hope you liked your Max.

[ozuuoou]

☆ Jealousy at the Gala ft. Richard Grayson

Just another Wayne gala. It comes as no surprise that you're Richard Grayson's plus one. But what is surprising is the gall of the men who came beelining to you right when he left to get the both of you a glass of Dom Pérignon. What's even more ghastly is that you're letting them. You're even looking back at him with that gleam he knows all too well—the same one he sees when he's chasing you down from one rooftop to another.

He's jealous. Maybe you're all the same. After all, he wasn't showing any signs of resistance when women were practically pouncing on him from all corners of the function. Now, he just feels like you're goading him—which you are, and he knows it.

Without wasting a nanosecond, he materialized at your side, his arm already snaking down your hip. The attention shifted from your Saint Laurent cowl-neck evening dress to the ever-clingy hand of your partner resting on your hip. Seeing this, those rich, unknowing men hesitated. Noticing the glare in Richard's eye, they quickly retracted their invitations with murmurs of, "Next time. I forgot my colleague is waiting for me." They slowly melted into the crowd, cold sweats staining their shivering bespoke suits.

Seeing this, you almost laughed. You looked up at him, only to be met with a sassy downward glance. He was already demanding to talk without opening his mouth. Noticing this, you took his hand and followed him to a less crowded balcony.

Once there, you both burst out laughing. "Fuck, you were seriously talking to those guys?" he said, hands spread wide and face smug, crinkling his perfectly ironed Zegna.

When it comes to love and territory, Richard Grayson doesn’t share the spotlight—especially not with cold sweats in bespoke suits. It wasn’t the men or their charm that faltered; it was the shadow of Richard Grayson that ended the game.

[magnoliasandarson]

please don't call

Dick Grayson was a lover; it was in his bones, festering in his marrow. In another life, he has a picket fence house by thirty- complete with golden retriever dogs and rescues chasing around a small army of kids. In that life, he tacks crayon-drawn masterpieces to the walls of his office and brags about cooking his partner a perfect meal. He decorates the lawn with massive inflatable snowmen and referees snowball fights.

In that beautiful dream, he sleeps peacefully.

Dick Grayson was molded into a fighter. He hadn't been a violent child; he rescued baby birds from the circus tents and cried when Zitka the elephant got sick. He was a sweet boy, and somewhere in the mires of pain and vengeance that was all corrupted, he became someone people feared. In this life, Dick Grayson has been shot, stabbed, and burned. In this life, he has his fucked up family of fighters.

In this nightmare, he lays awake- tortured by the memories of cruelty.

The holidays had once been beautiful for Dick. He'd never really cared about the religious aspect of it all- had been too caught up in the joy of light and love. Before his life blew up for the first time, he'd reveled in the melting pot of tradition and affection at Haly's. It had been a whirl of smiles and bright colors, it had been everything he could ever want. Now...

Wayne Manor isn't meant for him. He knew it when he was eighteen, and he ran off with a bruised jaw and ego to be with the Titans. He knows it now, sitting at a table of pained half smiles, feeling entirely out of place in his vibrant (and hideous) sweater. He tried, he really did; he showed up to the manor the day prior in his shitty truck, carrying armloads of gifts. He hummed carols and hung dollar-store tinsel from the banisters, covering up Alfie's tastefully boring decorations. He ignored the comments from his siblings and blocked out Bruce's silent judgment.

The table is laden with a true feast. He can't touch any of it. The air is so fucking tense. Bruce made an offhand comment about Jason picking a fight with Falcone almost immediately, and no matter how quickly Dick asked Damian about his art show, the fight had to happen. He tried, he really did, he interjected to tell Bruce to shut up and try to calm down Jason, but when the glass in his brother's hand shattered- it was all over. Jason's eyes shimmered as he looked down at the blood starting to leave his hand, and as Dick reached for him, he launched up from his chair.

Jason practically ran out, Bruce staring after him with some odd sort of look that Dick didn't like at all, "Are you happy now, Bruce?" Dick could feel his back teeth grind as he glared.

Damian's green eyes flicked back over, "Father isn't to blame, Richard,"

"Dames, shut up," Dick was tired of coaching his family to be a family, "Bruce knew exactly what he was doing provoking Jason like that." Bruce didn't back down from the Dick's glare, meeting accusing eyes with blankness. It made Dick even more angry.

Stephanie snorts her agreement from the end of the table, tossing her fork down on her plate and hopping up, "B doesn't give a shit if he runs off the disappointments," she nods her head to the door, signaling Cass to follow, which of course she does, silent disapproval written across her face, "We'll be at the Clocktower, don't bother us."

Duke, poor, sweet Duke, catches Dick's eye and maybe sort of smiles but gets up and leaves too, muttering a quiet, "Merry Christmas, Dick," as he passes through the door.

Dick looks down at his untouched plate and feels the blood roaring in his ears. Tim abandons the table, but Dick doesn't even glance up to watch him go. All he wanted was a nice meal with his family. He knew they would fight, because of course they would, he knew that the holiday wouldn't be painless, but fuck why did it have to be like this? Oh right, it didn't have to be like this.

This whole stupid property was haunted, and it was Bruce's fault. Rage was bubbling in Dick's gut, hot and violent. Jason had loved the holidays back then, Tim used to be excited to exchange presents, Steph always stayed to sneak leftover desserts, Cass wanted nothing more than her family, Damian was never happier than when he could watch his family react to his art, and Duke- all he wanted was to feel loved. Every single Wayne kid had shown up optimistic for the holiday.

Dick's knuckles popped as he gripped the armrests of his chair, he tried. He was cheerful, he was kind, he showed up-

"I'll call later, once he's had a chance to cool down-"

"Don't you fucking dare," Dick snapped, cutting Bruce off as he stood, slamming his chair back a few feet, "Leave them all alone."

Dick turned to Damian, offering the tween an out with his eyes, but Damian's face steeled as he turned back to Bruce. Fine. Dick rolled his shoulders and strode out, calling behind him, "Don't call me either."

He had wrapped presents, dammit, and he would give them to his siblings. Whether they wanted them or not.

[alchemistc]

#7 for the microfic

7. silent fury

It surprises Tommy, sometimes, what Evan holds to his chest. He's an expressive son of a bitch, never seems to let a stray thought settle before he's letting everyone know how he feels.

Richard Kinard excuses himself to grab a cup of crappy hospital coffee and Evan vibrates right out of his chair, an hour of tension and biting his tongue slamming into Tommy like a cresting wave. Evan paces, opens his mouth. Shuts it and clams back up.

Tommy hates that the monitor keeping track of his heart rate catches even minute changes. Hates that Evan is quite so tuned in with the noise, background though it may be after six days stuck in this fucking bed.

The pacing pauses and the tight clench of Evan's jaw relaxes. "I could kill him, if you want," Evan says, like he's offering to pay for a dinner he knows Tommy won't let him.

The drugs he's on don't allow for a lot of emotional regulation. When he laughs, reaching for Evan, Evan doesn't mention exactly how wet his eyes are, just unfurls a tight fist into Tommy's palm and smiles back.

send me a prompt!

[marimayscarlett]

Hi I’m back back, back again! With more questions!

The fandom calls Paul and Richard guitars husbands right? But to help a relationship status to married you have to gradually progress through the stages of like: pining, mutual pining, dating, boyfriends and then finally married.

I was wondering what pictures or gifs/videos represent those stages for our dearest guitarists?

If I forgot one feel free to add one or remove one if it doesn’t have any fitting content! 😌 🖤

Hello dear, and thank you for your ask! 😊

I have to admit, though, I found this ask a bit tricky to answer at first. I kept going back and forth, trying to establish a clear timeline for Paul and Richard’s, let’s call it loosely, “relationship.” In some ways, that’s possible. At the start of the band’s history, we have a popular example of looks exchanged that could definitely be interpreted as “pining” or “longing”:

(GIFs by @ukulelette)

Later on, there were repeated moments on stage where they looked for closeness or looked out for each other:

Nowadays, there are wonderful moments on stage filled with cheekiness, emotions, joy, and surely also some kind of love between two people who’ve worked together for 30 years, experienced so many life situations together, endured a lot in the band's life and in general..:

(first gif by @sechsherzen)

And yet... the story between Paul and Richard always seems incredibly dynamic to me. They started out as young musicians who discovered a lot of common ground in their musical visions (I think I recall Richard saying something along the lines of “he completes me”). At the same time, they were also musical rivals in some ways, given they played the same instrument. Two people with strong opinions and firm points of views in things, who sometimes wouldn’t accept any other viewpoint but their own. They are so similar, yet have their struggles, especially to see that they're so similar it seems.

But they always manage to come back together, no matter how difficult working together might be - even going as far as seeking help for their communication (Olsen Involtini apparently played a big role in ensuring that harmony was quickly restored, as mentioned here). They maybe do it simply because they see the bigger picture. They see that enduring personal differences is worth it for the good of the band. They share the same drive to make things happen and, over the years, have learned to listen to one another and give each other space to express themselves.

If we indulge in the “Paulchard” fantasy, we can find moments of connection (body contact or just looking out for each other) at various points in the band’s history. It’s difficult for me to identify a clear chronology here - whether it’s the 90s, the challenging Mutter era, or the MiG tour...:

Of course, their warmth towards each other has exponentially increased in recent years! Longing, hugs, kisses, comforting each other, or just being there for one another.... And sometimes really taking their time with each other during these interactions, like in Frankfurt for the plane watching 🥹.

It feels like they can express these things more freely now, in their more mature years, after all their shared experiences - or at least it appears that way. And for that, I’m very happy.

(first gif by @mrsfitzgerald)

So, yes. Paulchard interactions are varied, dynamic, and ever-changing, just as most likely a relationship between people is. 🤍

And for people who like to see the Paulchard wedding with their own two eyes, there's always lovely edits 😄

(some more picture sources: x x)

[yawping-poets-society]

been Thinking about richard cameron again...

and i think the thing that people don't always see when discussing his character is that we the viewers can and should have a different interpretation of his character than the poets do

i get why charlie punched him. fine, i'll say it, i even think it's justifiable (stay with me here)

charlie was a seventeen year old who had just lost his best friend, and had always been predisposed to dislike cameron. why? because charlie only ever saw cameron as a rule follower, a brownoser, a teacher's pet. when cameron talks to nolan, charlie sees it as a betrayal but not a surprise because to him, this is classic cameron behavior. in his mind, obviously cameron would choose authority over his friends and the one teacher who fought the limits that welton set for them. charlie doesn't ever think about what position cameron was in.

and i get it! again! charlie is a teenager who is experiencing probably the most emotional time of his life. same goes for the rest of the poets. they all feel betrayed. and frankly, cameron's dialogue in the scene where charlie punches him is cruel, and a blatant misunderstanding of who neil was, and what keating was trying to do (as todd points out). he says a lot of shit, and none of it makes you want to like him. he wasn't winning any sympathy points from the poets or from the audience.

it’s easy to watch that scene back and say, “cameron behaved horribly here, therefore he is a horrible person with no redeeming qualities.” but when we're actually analyzing the movie? i think we have a responsibility to really consider cameron's motivations.

for starters, he was always the odd one out among the poets. charlie picked on him constantly, and no one ever stood up for him, except maybe neil. and not only does cameron hang out with the poets, he's charlie's roommate. he probably never caught a break from hearing how poorly charlie thought of him.

more than that, though, he has a clear and consistent need to follow authority. on keating's very first day, cameron is one of the first students to stand up and follow him out of the classroom. he does it hesitantly, sure, but we can tell what he's thinking: when a teacher tells you what to do, you do it. this pattern continues all the way into the aforementioned scene with charlie when cameron says: "in case you hadn't heard, dalton, there's something called an honor code at this school, alright? if a teacher asks you a question, you tell the truth, or you're expelled." true, yes, cameron's saving his own ass. but what choice does he have? in his mind, none. this is how the world works. you keep your head down, you do what you're told, or you get punished.

do i think it was the right thing to do? maybe not. do i think the poets are entitled to their anger towards him? yeah, i do. but i understand why cameron did it. he was a scared kid, who, when caught between a rock and a hard place, fell back on what he'd been taught his whole life.

so, to wrap all this up: no, cameron's not unequivocally good. he hurt his friends, and they have a right to be upset with him. but he didn't set out with bad intentions. he was just a kid, and what he did doesn't make him evil, it makes him complex. he has a right to be treated as such.

[paladin-of-nerd-fandom65]

AU/Elseworlds Idea: Dick wakes up from what seems like a normal sleep only to find his bed seemingly more sturdy than usual, a blanket draped over his face, some sort of string hanging of his big toe while both of his feet being bare, left out of said blanket and what's more peculiar, he can't move any of body.

His memories a bit cloudy from last night, all he can remember was there was massive break out from Blackgate, he was sure fire exhausted so much when he got back to his apartment that it was a miracle he was able to switch to a t shirt and sweats for bed in spite of what felt like some chest pain before finally shutting his eyes.

Sure enough, he feels someone tug lightly on that string on his toe, turns out there's a cardboard ID tag hanging on it. "Hey", he mumbles weakly, "cut that out...I'm sensitive" "Richard..you are awake?" he recognizes that voice, it's Kory. He tries asking her what happened loudly before she lightly covers his mouth to ensure no one hears them. She explains to him in simple yet hopefully nice enough words: Basically to paraphrase ‘Dick you're supposed to be dead. That tag on your foot says you expired from exhaustion induced cardiac arrest and you're actually right now at the Bludhaven General Hospital's morgue.’

Kory peels off the blanket off Dick's face and quickly realizes why then he's awake. She takes out a small mirror so Dick can see himself: his usual fair toned skin had turned into a ghastly grey with blue glowing veins while opening his eyes reveals instead of crystal blue, they are now a shining gold. However, whatever's bringing him back is apparently incomplete since his body entered rigor mortis which is why he can't move.

Kory covers him back and says she will tell Bruce and Alfred to see if they can arrange his 'funeral' so that by then this process will be complete and they'll know what to do from there.

“In the meantime friend,” she says, “ I suppose you should just 'play dead' then yes?"

Thoughts on this Idea?

I know a little morbid for Christmas but frankly I couldn’t resist revisiting it lol

[tagsecretsanta]

From @tikatu

From @tikatu to @dragonoffantasyandreality

November, 2018

“Dad?”

Grant Tracy finished pouring out a cup of herbal tea from the thermos. He handed it to the dark-haired nine-year-old. “What’s up, Champ?”

Jeff sat up from his prone position on the old quilt, accepting the cup, sipping it.

It was late autumn; the sun set early, so a night of father-son bonding wouldn’t mean a late bedtime. (But caffeine just might—hence the tea.) Since Grant’s wife, Ellie, was off at her weekly bowling, the house behind them was dark. Little light pollution from the surrounding farms made this a good night to indulge his son’s budding love of astronomy.

Jeff pointed up at the night sky.

“Is that the Milky Way?”

Grant took a thoughtful sip from a steaming, refilled cup. “Yep. The Star Bridge is what I call it.”

Jeff cocked his head at his father, a puzzled frown on his face. “Star Bridge?”

“Uh huh.” A nod accompanied the sound. “There are places a lot darker than this at night where you can see it arcing overhead, like a giant bridge connecting us to the rest of the galaxy.” He glanced at his son. “What do you think?”

Jeff gulped the last of his cooling tea and laid back on the quilt, hands behind his head. “I think I like that.”

January, 2039

“Wow!” Major Alison Richards, first woman on the Moon, breathed. Eyes only for the rising Earth, she flailed an arm out for her partner, Colonel Jeff Tracy.  She made contact with his suited shoulder. “Isn’t it beautiful?”

Jeff paused what he was doing and followed her pointing finger. Taking in a deep breath, he let it out slowly, a sudden pang of homesickness stabbing through his heart. “A sight for sore eyes,” he replied, at last. 

They were part of the World Space Authority’s F. L.O. mission, scouting out a site on the lunar surface for the world’s first moon base. Their current target was near the northern polar region, where water, in the form of ice, had been discovered.

“Hey! You want to see something else beautiful?” He tilted his head upwards—not easy to do in the bulky spacesuit—and pointed. Look up!”

Alison leaned back to better see the sky above her. “Oh! It’s the Milky Way!” She straightened up, glancing toward him. “So clear from here! Though, in my opinion, Mother Earth looks prettier.”

Jeff chuckled. “I won’t argue the point.” He paused, thoughtful. “Y’know what my Pa calls the Milky Way? The Star Bridge.”

“Why does he call it that?” Allison turned back to gaze at the Earth again.

“Hm. Let’s see if I can get this right. He says it’s like a giant bridge that connects us to the rest of the galaxy.”

She tore her eyes away from the mother planet. Smiling, she replied, “Your dad has a great imagination.”

“I reckon he does at that.”

March, 2048

“Damn!”

Scott wrestled a suddenly non-compliant SUV to the narrow shoulder of the desert highway. He brought it safely to a stop with a scattering of gravel.

“Wha’ happen’d?” A drowsy Virgil levered himself into a sitting position, blinking heavily.

“Blowout,” John replied as he hit the button to activate the hazard lights.

Scott clambered out, muttering curses under his breath. He was soon joined by his brothers, staring at the ruined rear tire.

“Do we have a spare?”

Virgil stretched both arms up, folding them over his head. “Should be one. Jack and tire iron, too.”

John opened the SUV’s hatch. “I’ll check.” He started hauling luggage out to access the spare’s storage.

Scott leaned on the vehicle’s side, arms folded. “This shouldn’t take long. At least you won’t miss your campus tour. We built in plenty of time for this road trip.”

“I really appreciate you guys giving up your spring break to drive out to Denver with me.” Virgil’s hands were curled up deep in his pockets. A slight breeze brought goosebumps to his skin.

“Heh.” Scott huffed. “If you hadn’t taken that gap year, we wouldn’t have been able to get the same week of break. The stars really aligned this time.”

John’s arm stuck out from behind them, an automatic jack in hand. “Here, Scott. Make yourself useful. Virg? I can’t get a good grip on this spare. Can you pull it out?”

“Sure.”

They exchanged places. John brought with him the tire iron and a lantern. The jack, plugged into the car’s electrical system, raised one corner. Scott took the tire iron and set about loosening the lug nuts. The spare tire bounced once on the macadam as Virgil freed it. He rolled it over to his brothers.

John rubbed his upper arms. “Getting a mite chilly.”

“I hear that happens in the desert at night,” Scott said, grunting. “Especially if the night is clear.”

“And, man, is it ever clear.” The hushed, awed tone made both Scott and John glance at their brother. He was staring up at the sky, turning around slowly as he took in the wonders above him.

John followed his gaze, smiling fondly. “Gorgeous, isn’t it? No real light pollution out here to spoil the view.” A small frown creased his brow. “Hey, didn’t Gramps have a name for the Milky Way?”

Scott paused, taking his hands off the tire. “Yeah. It was star… star something…” He snapped his dirty fingers. “Star Bridge! That’s what he called it!”

John nodded. “Yeah, that’s right. Star Bridge.”

Virgil glanced from brother to brother. “Why did he call it that? And how come I’ve never heard this before?”

“Something about how it bridges the gap between worlds and stars; connects us to the rest of the galaxy.” Scott pulled the tire from the hub. “Give me a hand here, will you?”

“Oh, sure.” Virgil moved in, rolling the spare to Scott. John dragged the flat away to put it in storage.

“Couldn’t tell you why you hadn’t heard it before.” They lifted the spare to the hub together. “Dad told me on that trip to the Great Basin National Park.”

“How old was I? Because I don’t remember that at all!”

Scott picked up a lug nut and screwed it onto the bub. “Five, maybe? If Johnny here hadn’t been such an overachiever…”

“Don’t call me Johnny.” John poked his head around the corner. “I heard the term from Grandpa himself one night when I stayed over at the farm. He said he’d shown Dad the Star Bridge because he was interested in astronomy and he wanted to show me, too.” He disappeared for a moment. His brothers could hear the thump of suitcases returning to the cargo space.

He returned to say something else. “Do you know that the latest recon team for the Mars colony has video of the Star Bridge taken on Mars? It’s pretty impressive.”

“Virg? Can you check that I’ve got these lug nuts on tight enough?”

“Yeah. Let me get in there.”

The spare settled, equipment put away, and the hatch closed, Scott joined John in leaning up beside the SUV. Virgil had stepped away from them a little; he moved his phone slowly from one end of the Bridge to the other, trying to capture the view.

“So,” John asked, nudging Scott, “who’s gonna tell Gords and Alan?”

November, 2070

“G’anpa?”

Jeff stopped rubbing his brow. He looked across the room to the grillwork door separating the lounge from the rest of the house. A little girl stood on the other side, dressed in a cotton nightshirt. She was barefoot, her long dark hair tousled as it cascaded past her shoulders. One hand clutched a stuffed cat; the other rubbed an eye with a fist.

He glanced toward the portraits on the wall, then back at the little girl. With a stifled sigh, he got up and approached her.

“What are you doing up, Sami?” Opening the door, he swept her up into his arms and headed back to his desk.

She wrapped her arms around his neck, thumping him in the back with the cat, and laid her head on his shoulder. “I miss Daddy.”

Jeff swallowed. The mission to Mars wasn’t the longest space rescue they’d ever done but it had the highest stakes. The colony—established over a decade ago and still expanding—had fallen victim to a microbe which had decimated their food reserves and crops. Not only was Thunderbird Three, with Alan, John, and Brains aboard, racing to bring food to the colony, Brains was working feverishly en route to come up with a countermeasure. Gordon manned Thunderbird Five, an unusual post for him, while Scott and Virgil remained on Earth to attend to any rescues planetside.

“I miss him, too, little butterfly,” he murmured.  “And your uncles as well.” He carried her over to the windows overlooking the pool. Looking out at the darkness, he had an idea.

“Come with me, sweetheart. I want to teach you about the Star Bridge.”

[shiratamahatsumiyo]

Twst with Nicole Watterson! Yuu

Requested by: Anonymous

Warnings: Corporate Slavery

Nicole Watterson is a character from the cartoon, The Amazing World of Gumball. She is the wife of Richard and the mother of Gumball, Darwin, and Anais. She is an overworked office worker and a tired mother who takes care of her chaotic family. She is also feared by her husband and children and even some citizens of Elmore.

I'll be picturing the reader here as slightly older, to the time they're old enough to get married and have a job but still don't have any children yet.

.

.

.

"Sigh... One more week... Just. One. More. Week."

• You sighed heavily as you parked in front of your neighbors' car, arriving late again at night due to working overtime. Fighting the urge to demolish your own car out of frustration was difficult. You long awaited that two day holiday that the company you worked in at least offered to its slaves employees.

"Hopefully Richard-- WOAHH!!!"

{Living Room}

• Not even five seconds after opening the door, you slipped onto something lumpy and moist. You got up to rub your head, that headache that was ringing then is ringing harder now. Looking at your feet it seems that you slipped on... A burger? Now that you looked further there's a trail of them on the floor and their grease is all over the couch.

"What the?!........ RICHAAARD!!!"

• Your husband crawled downstairs with a bloated stomach and stained clothes, you could only guess that he was eating loads of fastfood. His eyes don't dare meet your wrathful glare and only stared at the floor with shame, awaiting your scolding.

"Uhh... Welcome home, honey?"

"Don't welcome home, honey me! What is this?!"

"U-um... Joyful Burger patties?"

• You repeatedly pointed at the amount of junk food lying around to force an explanation from Richard to which the man nervously gave, his sweaty hands fiddled with fear and his voice became smaller compared to your loud one.

"And what did we say about this many food?!"

"I-i can't eat this much a-and... And that it worsens our current financial state?"

"I thought you knew that already! We can't keep living like thi--"

• Cue a tub full of fastfood falling from the ceiling before setting on fire. You inhaled sharply, close your eyes, and massage your temples. You are already too tired to deal with this. If your back wasn't aching right now you would've screamed your head off at Richard.

"......."

"............"

"This... this surely can't get any worse..."

*Knock* *Knock *Knock*

• There's sometimes these moments where you wish that Richard offered a different explanation. At this point desperation can be heard from your voice. Practically in denial that things can get any worse than this.

"Please, please, tell me... this can't be any..."

"Well... I might have... uh... had a fight with the uh...."

"RICHARD WATTERSON! THIS IS THE ELMORE POLICE DEPARTMENT! YOU ARE UNDER ARREST FOR ASSAULTING AN ESTABLISHMENT WORKER! PLEASE COME OUT WITH YOUR HANDS UP!"

• That familiar sound of a megaphone from a certain donut shaped cop is coming right outside of your doorstep accompanied by the sounds of police alarms. The TV flickered abruptly to a news channel displaying an injured Larry.

"...Richard."

"H-h-honey, I can explain...!"

"Good evening, Elmore. This is Elmore News and we interrupt this program for tonight we bring you shocking news. At Joyful Burger at 8:43 PM, a man is seen assaulting an employee with more than fifty sets of joyful meal toys and then proceeded to run from the scene. Witnesses say that the man was visibly upset that the employee did not include the additional discount fries and soda, leading to an argument and eventually an assault."

"..................................."

"..........................................."

"........................................................"

"............... I'm sorry...?"

"RICHARD WATTERSON, STEP OUT OF THE HOUSE! DO NOT RESIST ARREST--"

"ALRIGHT WE GET IT!!!!!!"

.

.

.

• You DID NOT hope that this evening would turn out like this. You wanted a night with enough rest to go back to work in the next three hours but no, instead your husband decided to be manchild. Now he's arrested by the police and is under custody. You still remember him clinging to you before being dragged away by the police, they actually had a hard time trying to pry him off of you but nonetheless succeeded with your help.

• You couldn't ignore or say an excuse to this matter because Larry's injuries were that bad. Turns out this isn't the first time Richard's acted this way, so a few nights in jail was overdue.

• You lie down on your shared bed, the right side of it is cold and empty. You find the lack of weight and warmth unusual and just stared blankly at the ceiling... You are so tired... Maybe calling in sick might not sound so bad. Besides, you have to fix the living room and the bathroom.

• You yawned in what felt like the millionth time and blinked your bloodshot eyes slowly, slowly until they finally close.

• And as you fall asleep, the sounds of hooves clacking can be heard from a distance. A silhouette of a hand reaching out to you appeared in a dream....

.

.

.

".....Fnyagh...! Gotta.... Uniform....... Fast!...."

"Mmnnh.... Huh? Huh? Wh-wha.... Mnnh... Ow!!"

• You wake up feeling a bit too warm... OUCH! Okay, too hot, too hot, too hot! In a panic, you accidentally bumped your head into the flat surface of the coffin- wait, coffin?! What the what?!

• You started to hear a muffled voice outside of the coffin and feel like you're about to get literally cooked. Your drowsiness is replaced by your fight or flight mode and you swiftly kicked the coffin's lid off, jumping out of the coffin to beat whoever the hell thought was a good idea to bury and burn you while you're asleep.

"Fnyagh! How are you awake-- GAH!"

• You grabbed the flaming cat by the neck and interrogate him with threatening eyes. You stopped half sentence after noticing the unfamiliar surroundings you are in. The floating coffins and sudden wardrobe change made you wipe your eyes to check if what you're seeing is real. The cat could do nothing but struggle against your unflinching iron grip.

"Look, I don't have enough sleep or even have enough consciousness to deal with what your problem is... Whyy..... Where in the world am I?"

"Fnyaagh? W-what the heck are ya talkin' abou--fnyahh! L-let go! Let go!"

"I asked you a question first so answer me. Where am I? And who sent you?"

"Fnyagh?! No one orders the Great Grim to do anything! N-now put me down!"

"Who?"

"Me! I'm-ack! I'm the Great Grim! Now lemme go before I roast ya!"

"Sigh... Fine."

• You thought that nothing will be the outcome if you're just going to bicker back and forth with this thing, so you let him go with a warning. Since this looks like hallway you'll just ask a stranger if they know where this place is. You ignoring the flaming cat may not be a good idea as he is now pursuing you in a chase with fire.

• You were puzzled on why there's not a single person that can be seen despite the building being very spacious. So you assumed that you are alone and decided to fight back against Grim without worrying about risks.

"Fnyahahahah! Cornered are ya? You can run but ya can't escape the Great Grim's nose! Now gimme those robes-- MEYOUCH!!!"

"Stop right there, monster! Cease your erratic behavior at once!"

"What the..."

• Like some kind of plot convenience, a man wearing a crow mask restrained the cat with a leash.

"Fnyagh! What's with this rope?! It won't break!"

"This is not just rope, mind you! This is the Lash of Love! You there, beastman! Are you the last student? Quite an impatient one, aren't you?"

• Beastman? Does he mean you? I mean, he did stop this maniacal cat from burning you alive so could he be trusted? Nah, who on earth would trust a man wearing a mask with formal attire and calling people weird names?

"Uhhh....."

"What are you looking around for? Obviously, I'm talking to you!"

"Me?"

"Yes, you."

"Okaaay then. Do you happen to know where I am or what this place is?"

"What do you mean? Do you not remember? My, it seems that the teleportation spell might've jumbled up your brain a bit. But you do who I am, yes?"

"Uh no, I'm sorr- oh wait, you're the... No, no, that guy was in a commercial... Wait, you could be... Nope.... Hmmmm, no, I'm sorry. I really don't know you."

"Oh, is that so? Then allow me to explain in great detail while we head to the Ceremony, I'm sure your familiar will be tame through it. You should train him better."

"Ceremony? Familiar?"

"I ain't this guy's familiar!"

"Yes, yes. That's what they all say when there's trouble. Come! We must make haste, the others are waiting!"

.

.

.

• You walked alongside the strange man as he explains something about you being in a college for young wizards. Grim was not struggling anymore and is now silently listening in.

"You, my dear student, are in Night Raven College! One of the most prestigious educational institutions of Twisted Wonderland dedicated to train young mages with great potential in the magical arts. To help hone and nurture their skills to their greatest potential in hopes of becoming great mages like the Great Seven--"

"Pfft- AHAHAHAHAHAHA! Hahahaha!"

"Well, I beg your pardon! I do find it quite rude to laugh when someone is speaking."

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry- oh my gosh! AHAHAHAHAHAHA! I've- ahaha! Oh, I cant-i can't breathe-! You've gotta be kidding me! Ahahaha! Ohh, alright, hah... You can drop the act now, I'm not buying this. Great acting though. Although it could use a bit more naturalness. I can tell that it's pretty much practiced."

• What kind of reaction they were expecting when they spout nonsense at someone? Of course, whoever kidnapped you were expecting you to act confused and panic! But you've faced a lot worse than this and laughed it off. The man is now scowling but coughed into his hand to change the subject. It's like he wants you to play along.

"Practiced?! I am offended! ... Ahem, I didn't think anyone would notice.... This is no laughing matter. For now I will let this slide since we are late for the ceremony. I expect that in the future you would fix your attitude around your seniors during your stay here."

"Ohoh? I'm so sorry for breaking character, Mr... Uh..."

"Breaking in character? I'm afraid I don't know what you mean by that... And it's not Mister! It's headmaster Crowley, Dire Crowley. I am the director of this school and you are a student here."

"But I'm not? It's all a mistake. I was just in my house and then the next thing I knew, I woke up inside a coffin-"

"Then that means you are chosen by the Ebony Carriage to be here. You should be glad that you are enrolled."

"What the? Being sent here without my consent is kidnapping! And I didn't even asked to be enrolled here! How am I supposed to be glad knowing that some crazy wizard-wannabe guy in mask put me in a coffin?! And even if I am a student, who the heck would use coffins as a form of transportation?!"

"Oh... um... W-We... uh..."

"Oh nevermind that, let's just go!"

• This man is certainly not helping and you're running out of patience to humor him. You eventually reached a pair of giant doors and opened them, revealing a room full of people with robes the same design as yours. You quickly closed the doors to face Crowley.

"Inhale......... I thought this is a school?"

"I-it is a school."

"Then why does it look like everyone is prepared to summon some demonic entity from the underworld?"

"It's a traditional orientation procedure."

"Exhale..... You know what at this point I don't care anymore."

• You opened the doors with a loud bang causing everyone to flinch and snap their heads to look at you.

"Alright. Sorry to interrupt. Which way is the exit?"

"Hold it right there! What do you think you're doing?"

"I-it's that way..."

"Thank you."

"Al-Asim!"

"Yeah? Wait, was I not supposed to tell?"

"Please stop!"

"At least someone answered what I'd like... To... Hear.....?"

• You head straight toward the exit but stopped at scene before you. It was still nighttime, the sky is still dark and... People are flying on brooms? What? You are in complete disbelief. The headmage just dragged you back to the room.

".... Wha- how- Th-this can't be. I-I'm not dreaming am I?"

"Oh no, this is definitely very real, I assure you. Now please move forward to the Dark Mirror, they will sort you to a dorm. We don't have all night!"

.

.

.

{Night Raven College – Mirror Chamber}

• Are you even in Elmore? If that guy says that everything is real, then how far away are you from home? What about your job? What about your husband?

"State thy name."

"H-huh?"

• You are brought back from your thoughts by a voice in front of you. You yelped when a face appeared in the mirror. You looked at Crowley for directions but all he said is that you must interact with the mirror. Hesitantly, you gave it your name.

"Just say your name!"

"Ugh, this is ridiculous. Can't I have a panic attack in peace? I'm not giving away my name-"

"Talk now, panic later! Just say it already!"

"Sigh, Nicole! Yuu Watterson. There, I said it."

"Nicole! Yuu Watterson..."

• The mirror proceeded to squint at you with disdain evident on its face. For a while the expression prolonged until its eyes widened in shock. You took that as offense.

"Yeah, I know that I'm not much of a looker but let's be honest here, you're not one yourself-"

"Thy soul is empty."

"Wow. Offended much?"

• The crowd of students gasped and whispered among themselves after hearing the mirror's response. The headmaster has become even more dramatic.

"What?! But how?! How can this be?! In all my one hundred years of teaching, the carriage can't possibly escort someone with no magic?!"

"This one's soul is... very much empty. It is struggling to maintain its shape and color. It has strained itself for so long. However... Albeit not possessing magic, they do possess a powerful and otherworldly strength. Like a bright flame igniting once every fleeting moment..."

"I... I don't understand! Otherworldly? Are you saying that this beastman... Is not from Twisted Wonderland?"

"Beastman this, beastman that. What's with your name-calling? I just gave you my name. Start using it."

"A-ahem! My apologies. Let us discuss this later, Watterso--"

"FNYAGH! If that guy doesn't have magic, then take me instead! I have magic to prove it! I'll show ya how strong it is, just watch me!"

"Halt, monster!"

"I ain't just no regular weak monster! I'm the Great Grim!"

"...!.... EVERYONE, GET DOWN!!"

• All of you were so busy chatting that the monster freed itself from its restraints and started blowing fire everywhere. The students shielded themselves before the flames hit thanks to your warning... Well, most of them.

"AAAAHHHH! SOMEONE PLEASE HELP ME!!! MY BUTT IS ON FIRE!!!!"

"Why don't you just hunt that thing? Doesn't it look like a nice plump snack?"

"Why don't you do it yourself?"

"SOMEBODY CAPTURE THAT MONSTER AT ONCE!"

"I'll capture it, headmage. I'm afraid there's no one here who has the heart to hurt the poor thing."

"Aaand there's classic Azul. Not wasting a single moment to show off and rewards."

"Whoever brought that cat here has broken a rule! Cats are not allowed to attend--"

"GREAT SEVENS, WHY IS NOBODY CAPTURING IT?!"

"UH HELLO? MY BUTT'S STILL ON FIRE! CAN SOMEONE PLEASE PUT IT OUT!"

"OH FORGET IT I'LL DO IT MYSELF!!!!"

• Having enough of the creature wreaking havoc, you immediately took the headmaster's cane and lobbed it like a spear toward Grim. It landed on the wall next to the creature, startling him off guard. You then take the Lash of Love and lassoed it around Grim.

"WHAT ARE YOU IDIOTS WAITING FOR?! GRAB HIM!!"

"R-right!"

"OFF WITH YOUR HEAD!"

• A heavy red-gold collar appeared around the cat's neck. It stopped its rampage to focus solely on getting rid of the new restraints.

"F-Fnaygh? Ugh! What's with this collar?! I can't use my magic?!"

"This is no ordinary collar, this my unique magic. It can restrain anyone's magic. Without magic, you are no more than a measly cat until I take it off."

"Hey! The Great Grim ain't a pet! Take it off!"

"Don't worry, I'd never want a pet like you. You have broken a rule and even attacked us. You've brought this upon yourself."

"Splendid job as always, Riddle! That unique magic of yours is quite useful in situations like these... I want it. No, I don't want that to work on me... "

"Nicole! Yuu Watterson! How many times do I have to tell you to properly tame your beast?"

"AND HAVE MANY TIMES DO I HAVE TO TELL YOU THAT HE'S NOT MINE?!"

"E-eh? Not yours? I thought-"

"You keep cutting me off before I could say anything! That stupid carriage you talk about took me here by mistake!"

"A-apologies. Students, take him away!"

"Fnyaagh?! OWW! NOOO! Let go! I don't wanna!! Get your hands off me! NOOOO!!! I SWEAR! I'LL BECOME THE GREATEST MAGE!! YOU'LL ALL SEE!!!"

• The headmaster ordered two students to drag Grim out of the room. You kind of feel bad for the little guy but just a tiny bit. As always, no one thanks you for sparing them the trouble. Your efforts instantly forgotten like they weren't in the risk of having their skin scorched.

"Ahem! Now that the problem is settled, students, please proceed to your dormitories accordingly... hmm, I don't see the dorm leader of Diasomnia anywhere? Didn't anyone invite him?"

"He's too unapproachable for me to invite..."

"Invite him? That guy's a total recluse."

• Just like before, the crowd of students begin to erupt with whispers but this time there's a hint of fear in them. Looks like this Diasomnia dorm leader is some kind of big shot. A short man hanging upside down appeared out of thin air and nearly gave you a heart attack.

"Good evening, headmage."

"WAAHH!"

"Great Sevens, Mr. Vanrouge!"

"Ahahahaha! My apologies. I'm afraid to inform you that Malleus Draconia has forgotten to attend the ceremony. I'd like to be the one to lead the new students in his place."

"Is that so? Very well then. Please inform him when there's an important occassion next time."

"I will, headmaster... I hope this doesn't leave him in a sour mood..."

"Nicole! Yuu Watterson, may I have a word with you?"

"After what just happened? Sure."

.

.

.

{Night Raven College – Library}

• After learning that you are not supposed to be student here, Crowley dismissed all the students to focus on escorting you back home using the Dark Mirror, but failed. You followed him to the library to find more information.

"I don't understand. I don't understand at all! Are you certain this Elmore is a place? Are you not lying to me perhaps?"

"Why would I lie right now? I need to get back home!"

"Do you have anything that is from your home? A phone, wallet, or a name on a shoe? Nothing at all?"

"No, I don't think so..."

"Hmmm... this could possibly mean that you could either be from another planet or from another dimension."

"Is this world still Earth?"

"Earth? This is Twisted Wonderland. I don't know this Earth you speak of."

".......... I wish I'm still dreaming."

• You lost how many times you facepalmed yourself because of Crowley, possibly enough to make sure that you're wide awake and not hallucinating due to lack of sleep. In the end, there were no texts in the library leading to your hometown. Luckily, Crowley was gracious to lend you shelter in an unused dormitory.

.

.

.

{Ramshackle Dorm}

"WHAT THE WHAT?! CROWLEY, WHAT THE HECK IS ALL THIS?!"

"U-umm... shelter for you-"

"HOW AM I GOING TO LIVE IN THIS DORM WITHOUT NEEDING SEVERAL TETANUS SHOTS?! ANYONE CAN TELL THAT WITH ONE LOOK AT THIS-THIS DILAPIDATED BUILDING THEY KNOW THAT IT HAS MAGGOTS THRIVING INSIDE ITS WALLS!"

"It's not that bad! It has a certain charm of its own, with a few maintenances that is... although, there are no other residents here considering it is haunted by ghosts but I'm sure you'll survive--"

"HAUNTED?! MY GOSH, NOT ONLY DOES THIS ROTTEN DORM REEK OF MOLD AND PLAGUE, IT'S ALSO HAUNTED BY GHOSTS?! JUST HOW DO YOU EXPECT ME TO SURVIVE A MINUTE HERE?! CROWLEY?! CROWLEY, WHERE ARE YOU GOING?! I'M TALKING TO YOU--"

"I-I'm going to bring you food now...uh... I think this is what teenagers these days call hangry? I'll be right back, yes, for I am gracious!"

"CROWLEY!!"

• You don't even bother following after him anymore, you decided to wait. Unfortunately, there are not a single clean chair that you can sit on, so you roll up your sleeves and search for cleaning tools. You underestimated how old this dorm is for every step you take, you could feel the floor creak beneath you. Heavy rain started to pour, making the walls moist. The stairs were not in safe circumstances to climb over.

{Ramshackle Dorm – Lounge}

"ACHOO! Fnyaaagh! My ears! Darn rain...!"

• An annoying voice that you wish you aren't familiar with reached your ears after you found cleaning materials. Grim noticed you approaching him and he quickly had his guard up. You don't want to fight him right now, you got some cleaning to do.

"Eek!... Y-y-ya got guts to face the Great Grim like this!"

"You're the one trespassing."

"That doesn't matter! I'm staying here whether ya like it or not!"

"Suit yourself. Pick up this bucket and clean."

"Who do ya think ya are to boss me around?! You do it-- ACK!!"

"IF YOU WANT TO STAY HERE, YOU GOT TO EARN YOUR KEEP. NOW CLEAN OR I'LL KICK YOU OUT."

".... F-f-fnyagh.... Y-yes, I'll do it..."

• The cat shut its mouth after getting humbled by you. Your glare is colder than the downpour outside, your grip on his collar still strong despite being so tired. You continued to stare at him silently.

"...o....o.....oooo..........."

"H-Hey, did you hear th-that...?"

"......Oooooo.....ooooooo........"

"E-eek! G-g-ghosts!"

• Grim started to feel a breeze brushing through the atmosphere, and three white figures circling you both. They are ghosts! If there are ghosts here then this dorm is haunted!

"Fnyagh! There's ghosts in this place! We need to get outta here!"

"Where are you goin'? We just wanna have some fun!"

"Hey beastman, look over here!"

"Hehehe! Yeah, this place became sooo boring. It's been a while since residents-- g-guh!"

• You suddenly dropped Grim and looked at the ghosts with eyes full of rage it looked like the ghosts were looking at Hell. The ghosts stuttered and shivered back in fear, thinking that Hell is where they'll end up if they disturb you any further.

"H-h-hey now... there's no need t-to look so... so..."

"U-um... Y'know what... W-we won't d-disturb you anymore.... We're just g-gonna..."

"L-l-leave!"

"WHERE DO YOU THINK YOU'RE GOING?"

"WAAAHHH! W-we're sorry! We're s-sorry! W-we're s-so sorry! P-p-please spare us! S-spare us!"

"H-have m-m-mercy!"

"W-we promise t-to never return h-h-here again...!"

• Grim watched as you grabbed the apparitions by their faded tails with no difficulty. He was dumbfounded... he thought you had no magic! Grim looked away when you lift your hand toward one of the ghosts, awaiting the violence, but you stopped when Crowley bursted through the door. The now weeping ghosts were still pleading for mercy like they're chanting.

"I-i hope you're not angry anymore and calmed down! ... Here, I've brought you clothes and din...ner..."

"Fnyagh...."

"Pleasespareuspleasespareuspleasespareuspleasespareusplease..."

"Finally..."

"....... M-Mind telling me what's happening here?"

.

.

.

{Ramshackle Dorm – Bedroom}

• Last night concluded in Crowley calling you a beast tamer and letting Grim stay in order to let you enroll. However, you'll be doing odd jobs for him in exchange for shelter and money. You can only hope that these odd jobs are not difficult to handle like you're old one. But at least you get some rest away from your toxic workplace.

"Wake up, Nicole! Yuu, Grim! Your first day begins now!"

"...ughh?...mnn... Grim, get up..."

"Fnyagh, nooo... I wanna sleep some more..."

"Oh? Then you won't mind me kicking you out."

"Fnyagh! Okay, okay, I'm up! I'm awake!"

• Grim is unexpectedly more tolerable than your husband. Sure he's lazy and needs to be bribed by food to do something but at least he has common sense. But you sort of miss Richard very much.

.

.

.

{Ramshackle Dorm – Entry Hall}

"Henchman! Hurry it up! I want my first stride of becoming a mage look cool!"

"Grim, for the last time, I'm not your henchman."

"Glad to see that you both are excited for today. Before I forget, the library is now accessable to you anytime when you need clues for going home."

"Thank you... Headmage."

"Hmm? What was that? I can't hear you."

"Thank. You. Head. Mage."

"My, you actually called me Headmage for the first time."

"Don't push it."

"Come on! Let's go!"

• You start the day early with a nervous step. Hopefully, the individuals here are not as problematic as the ones in Elmore.... Right?

{NRC Campus – Front Gate}

"Woah~ The campus is so big!"

"Ah, not bad. Not too shabby."

"Welcome to Night Raven College!"

[evans23]

Daughter of mine V

Pairing : Judge Turpin x Daughter OC

Summary : Richard's daughter fell ill just before Christmas and he can only pray for a miracle.

Tag(s)/Warning(s) : A bit of angst. Mention of prostitution and death. Awkward father. If I forget something, please mention it to me !

A/N: Hello dear 😁 Merry Christmas to all of you !

Part I - Part II - Part III - Part IV

Also read on AO3 - Wattpad

It had not taken more than one day for Catherine to fall ill after having spent the whole day outside, playing in the snow. Not a small cough or a low fever. No. A severe pneumonia.

Richard, beside himself, had threatened to fire the governess for having let his daughter rolling in the snow like a dog. Snow angels ! Only uneducated children enjoyed making snow angels. Not his daughter who had then stayed out the whole day with her damp clothes until his return.

If it hadn't been for the intervention of Anne and the butler, Richard would have fired her immediately.

"My lord, think with care how much Catherine likes her. it would break her heart to know that because of her and her illness, her governess was fired," Anne said, among a hundred other pleas that had had no effect on Richard decision.

This one, however had shaken him a little bit. Enough to make him change his mind. He didn't want to upset his daughter, not at a time when she didn't even have the strength to hold a glass of water in her hands.

It had started with a slight cough at the end of supper, a cough that had turned into an interminable coughing fit before bedtime. By the time it was time to go to bed, Catherine was burning with fever and Turpin had ordered for his doctor to be fetch urgently. The man had arrived in a hurry and had ordered that Catherine stay in bed until further notice.

"If she doesn't feel better in the morning, send someone to fetch me," he told Richard.

In the morning, Catherine was shivering, her fever had not gone down and she couldn't even stand the light of the day as her eyes made her suffer.

"Dad, it hurts everywhere in my body. Make the pain ebb away, dad," she begged Richard.

He had pretended to be indifferent to his daughter's plea in front of the servants, but as soon as he had reached his office in the Courthouse, his usual mask of coldness and stoicism had fallen, letting the worry etched on his features.

A servant had come during the day to tell him what the doctor had said. What should have just been a cold had evolved in less than one night into pneumonia. The child had to stay in bed and drink as much fluids as possible. She also had to eat a little, even if it was painful for her sore throat. It was the only way for her to keep her strength and recover.

That day, Richard had been more severe than usual, if it was possible. He had not temper justice with mercy at all. And if the man summoned to the bar had no good excuse for being sent to the Australian colonies, or better yet, hanged, he trusted The Beadle to make up an excuse so that he could administer the harshest sentences. However, for the first time, lashing out his anger in this way had done no good to him.

On his way home, he had stopped at the doctor's place to hear from him what he thought of Catherine's condition.

"Richard, she is frail, smaller than a child of her age should be and her constitution is much more fragile than normal," he had kindly answered.

"What does that mean ? She's not the first child with a weak constitution to fall ill. Many of them recover and reach adulthood. Look at that idiot of James, not only has he reached the more than respectable age of eighty years, but on top of that he has managed to reproduce himself and his son managed to do so after him, forcing me to have to put up with that bumbling of Matthew !" Turpin fumed.

It wasn't in his habits to let his emotions dominate him, but he knew that the doctor was right. Catherine was weaker than children of her age. No doubt it was due to the poor conditions in which she had grown up until she was seven, the lack of food that could have helped her grow and strengthen her immune system, the lack of time spent outdoors breathing fresh air and being in contact with other less serious diseases. Or maybe it was simply bad luck. After all, some children, even in the upper class, were born more delicate than others. At least in a rich family they were lucky enough to be treated by the best doctors and to have the best possible care. Catherine didn't sleep in a bed with rags for a blanket but in a big warm bed, in a room with a fireplace that her maid made sure to keep lit day and night. She would recover. She had to recover or Turpin wouldn't survive it, he knew it even though he tried so hard to lie to himself.

"The truth is, Richard, I cannot predict whether Catherine will recover or not. She is very young and the disease has spread in no time. It is one of the most severe pneumonias I have ever seen."

Richard looked at the doctor, disillusioned. The man had decades of experience, if he said that Catherine's condition was more than worrying, then he was telling the truth.

"But can she recover ?" Richard asked, his mask of stoicism still in place even if inside he was boiling with fear and rage.

"Of course. But I can't promise anything. Only time and the evolution of her condition will tell us if we can hope or not." the physician replied while handing over other bottles of a syrup that was supposed to help Catherine feel better.

Richard plunged his steely gaze into the doctor's ones, to probe his sincerity, but he saw no deception in them. When he returned that evening, Anne told him that the little girl's condition had deteriorated a little more and that she had swallowed nothing, neither water nor food, as her throat was causing her horribly pain.

Richard immediately went to her side, only to find that his laboured breathing and coughing were making it impossible for her to fall asleep.

"Da...dad," she spluttered.

"Catherine, you need to eat," Richard ordered as he saw an untouched plate on the nightstand.

"Not...not hungry," the sleepy child replied.

"My informants also told me that you have been refusing to drink. You will not recover if you do not hydrate yourself properly and regain your strength by eating."

With that, Richard took one of the toasts that rested on the plate and brought it to the child's mouth.

"No, daddy, please," she whined.

Helplessly, Richard put it down, but when he brought a glass of water to her mouth, he remained unyielding until she finished it. He then placed a hand on her forehead to see that it was burning, even more than in the morning. Her nightgown and sheets were soaked with sweat, so he ordered the servants to prepare a bath and change the bedding.

Catherine's maid took care of her in the bathroom, putting various essential oils including peppermint in the bath water to try to relieve the child's muscular aches and milder symptoms.

When she took her back to her bed, Richard was still there, a pitcher of water at his side. He was determined to see Catherine hydrate herself properly and eat a little. This took a great deal of patience, a patience he didn't know he had. He finally managed to coax her by promising to read for her if she ate half her toast, finished the whole pitcher of water by the end of the day, and took her medication without complain.

Later that evening, when she interrupted his reading to complain that her head was killing her, Richard rubbed diluted peppermint oil on her forehead and told her to sleep. Unfortunately, the poor child got no rest that night, the cough keeping her awake all night, making her vomit, and making the pain in her chest unbearable.

By the end of the week, Catherine's condition had not worsened, but it had not improved either. She was paler than the snow that had delighted her so much a week before, and her wheezing did not bode well.

The doctor was still unable to say whether Catherine would make it or not and could only give her the proper medication and ordering that she be kept in bed, kept warm, and forced to drink plenty of fluids and eat a little every day.

"Would a trip to the seaside do her any good ?" Richard asked.

He remembered his mother being sent to the coast when he was a child to recover from a similar pneumonia. But his mother was much better-built than Catherine and had a strong will.

"If it were summer, yes, but travelling in this changeable weather is not advisable. You might get stuck in the middle of the English countryside in the snow. Besides, the journey might be too tiring for her," the doctor had replied, "it would be best to keep her nice and warm here."

Two weeks later, Catherine was still not feeling better, and Richard was a bundle of nerves. Anything could send him into a fiery rage, even The Beadle had experienced it several times. At the manor, none of the servants dared to upset him. They scattered like mice as soon as they heard him arrive, only to disappear before suffering his wrath. To add to his bad mood, the festivities for the end of the year were beginning to be in full swing throughout London.

Richard had always hated Christmas. This holiday was linked to too many bad memories. Only bad memories. Despite Catherine's presence, it had not occurred to him to celebrate this cursed holiday or to decorate the house. He might have done so if she had asked him to, but she hadn't had the chance since she had fallen ill before. And now she might not even survive Christmas.

"My Lord, you need some rest," Anna said authoritatively.

Turpin gave her a dark look that didn't disturb him in the least.

"You will be of no use to anyone if you fall ill too. Catherine needs you by her side, in good health. Go and get some sleep, My Lord."

Richard told her coldly to mind her own business and the old maid left, but after she had gone he sighed heavily and listened to her. She was right, if he continued like this it was not one Turpin but two who would need to be taken care of and he couldn't afford to falter when his daughter needed him most.

Catherine would ask for him whenever he got home from the Courthouse. For the first time in years, Richard made a point of coming home before eight o'clock, his daughter's official bedtime, although she only slept fitfully now, when her persistent cough offered her some respite.

He would read her a few pages every night, put a few drops of peppermint on her forehead and a few drops of eucalyptus on her throat in the hope of helping her breathe to go better. He would kiss her on the forehead, wishing her some rest before retiring to his own rooms, where he would doze off like a log every night. Every morning, he would wake up hoping that she would be feeling a little better, but so far his hopes had always been dashed away.

However, there had been a glimmer of hope one morning, two weeks before Christmas, when her cheeks were slightly flushed and she seemed more awake than she had been before. She had eaten, not that much but at least three meals and had drunk water and tea with lemon and honey throughout the day, much to the relief of the household and her father who thought this was the beginning of her recovery.

That evening, when Richard had gone to join her to read her a few pages of a new book he had specially bought for her, she had talked to him about the hated holiday, as he had dreaded.

"Dad, when are we going to decorate the manor?" she had asked in a hoarse voice.

He hadn't answered. Instead he had asked her if she usually celebrated Christmas with her mother. She had answered that she had and that she had received gifts every year even though she knew that it was her mother who put them under the tree and that it was not much. A comb, an old second-hand book, a dress that her mother had taken up for her. Nevertheless, on Christmas Day, Elena didn't work and spent the whole day with her daughter making gingerbread cookies and reading her stories and that was all it took to make Catherine happy.

Because that day Catherine had been a little more lively and because she had worried about whether Christmas would take place or not, to her father's great disappointment, the whole Turpin manor had thought that the following days would see the child's recovery.

Unfortunately, the next day, her fever was higher than ever and she was coughing so much that she had ended up coughing up blood. The doctor had been called immediately and his diagnosis was not good.

"Richard, I don't want to be a bad omen, but you have to prepare for the worst..."

The doctor didn't have time to add anything before Richard's voice thundered throughout the manor as he ordered him to leave the premises immediately, which the man did but not before entrusting a list of medicines and herbs that should relieve the little girl to Anne.

Richard, who was drowning himself into his work to forget that his daughter was dying, hardly spent any time at the manor anymore. It was now Anne who took care of reading her stories and making her take her medicine. Catherine hardly ate anymore, and she, who was already not very thick, was now nothing more than a pile of flesh and bones. All the employees of the manor prayed to see the little girl recover while she did not stop asking for a father who didn't have the courage to see her waste away.

Colder and harsher than ever, Richard's judgments terrified even his colleagues, but not one of them would dare to make the slightest remark to him. Even The Beadle trembled when his boss called him into his office for fear of incurring unjustified wrath.

"You're an idiot," Anne told him one evening when he came home almost past midnight.

Richard had frozen, his eyes flashing. Anyone else would have shrunk in fear before him, but not the old woman who had seen far more worst.

"It's very cold outside and fresh snow will probably fall in a few days, it's to be feared, but trust me, I will have no mercy in throwing you out if you speak to me like that one more time," he had hissed coldly.

"I have no doubt. You have no heart, my lord. Only a heartless man would let his child call him in vain day and night."

And with these words being said, she had left him on the threshold of the still open door. Indeed, day and night, Catherine cried, screamed, begged for him to come and join her, but he couldn't bear to see her like this. He was going to lose her, he knew it and he cursed himself for having allowed himself to let her cross the walls he had erected all around him and the barrier of ice around his heart that had protected him all these years from the sorrow of life.

"Sir ?" said the butler's voice.

Richard, who was in his parlour, raised his head to acknowledge his presence. The butler brought him something to eat and a brandy, his favourite. He placed the tray and the bottle of alcohol on Richard's desk, but as he was about to take his leave, he hesitated, biting his lip.

"Something askew ?" asked Richard arching an eyebrow.

Upstairs, Catherine tossed and turned, her fever having soaked her sheets once again. She had vomited several times after having uncontrollable coughing fits and her fever was making her delirious. She had called her mother several times and had even mistaken her governess for the late woman several times, begging her to relieve her of her ordeal.

"Sir... I believe you must know something," the butler finally said in a cautious voice.

"And what ?" Richard thundered.

"You should ask Anne about that night in March when your mother asked to meet your Elena," and with that, the butler left without asking for more.

Surprised, his mouth hanging open, Richard remained unresponsive. The butler couldn't know about his past with Catherine's mother, since he didn't work for him yet. What on earth had Anne told him about ?

"You asked for me ?" asked the old maid he had immediately summoned.

"I don't know if I'm mad with rage or just disappointed. A bit of both, I guess," he hissed, his voice cold and sharp as a blade.

"What do you mean, my lord ?" asked the old woman, confused.

"What right do you have to talk about my private life with the employees ? You're not paid to spread gossip !"

Anne immediately understood what he was referring to.

"No one else knows except your butler. I told him because..."

She fell silent, hesitant, but Richard's look made her understand that she had no choice but to tell him the truth.

"He and I are having an affair. I know he can be trusted, and I confided to him because my heart ached for you, my lord, and for little Catherine," she said in one breath.

Richard, stunned by the news, might have been amused about the new of his head maid and his butler having an affair if his daughter were not struggling and losing the fight for her life upstairs.

"And what did he mean about that March night?"

"That night, my lord, I confess, I eavesdropped at the door..."

Richard was not ready to hear the maid's confidences. Because they called to question everything he had believed until now.

That March night, Richard's mother had had Elena brought by force to the manor where she lived with her husband near Windsor. There, she had threatened her on the purpose to force her to leave Richard. She, a girl of nothing, from a family of nothing, without a name, without a title, without money. Never could the Turpin name have been more sullied than with this whore who had given herself to their son without even being married. But the young woman, unyielding, had refused to accede to her mother's request. Elena had resisted, even when she had been threatened to be brought to Turpin's father, a violent man who would beat her until she listened to reason, or who would have killed her.

Seeing that nothing could convince Elena to give up Richard, her mother, perfidious, vile creature, had adopted another tactic. It was not Elena she was going to attack but her own son. She would have him disinherited, something she would have had no trouble to convince his father to do, she would have him disowned and he would lose everything. His title, his prestige, his job at the Court of London, his brand new wealth and his brand new manor whose he was so proud. If Elena refused to leave Richard, then she would destroy her son. And Elena, madly in love with Richard, had agreed to sacrifice her own happiness for the man she loved more than anything in the world. More than her own life.

"You know your parents would have done it without a regret," Anne said at the end of her story.

Oh yes, he knew it. His parents, those cold and distant beings who only lived for appearances would have had no regrets in throwing their one and only heir in poverty, only because he didn't meet the standard of his rank.

"Did she know ? About the child ?" Richard asked, his voice betraying his dismay.

"I do not know, my lord. No pregnancy was mentioned that night."

"Thank you Anne."

Without a glance at the maid, Richard, his gait stiff, left his property without even bothering to put on a coat as the wind whistled all its rage outside, making the windows of the manor shake.

Air, he needed air. Elena. His Elena. The one he had cursed every night since she had left him without a word, disappearing like a shadow in the night, his Elena had acted out of pure love for him, to protect him. And when he had the chance to help her, to bring her back on the right path, to give her a roof over her head and a decent life, that night when he had seen her in that brothel, he had preferred to look the other way and leave her for what he thought she was then : a common whore who deserved nothing better than the life of a slut she was leading.

Richard fell to his knees on the steps of St Paul's Cathedral.

"Oh, Elena ! What have I done !"

For the first time since he was eight, the age at which, after having been beaten to a pulp by his father for having stolen a cupcake from the kitchen, he had sworn he would never cry again, Richard began to sob.

His Elena had died because of her family. Because of him. And now his daughter was going to die. Turpin, that name was cursed ! It was cursed ! Everything that was beautiful and brought him a little joy and love was destined to wither and die at his side.

"Sir, are you all right ?"

Richard jumped. In front of him stood a priest.

"I... I..." he stammered.

It was the first time Richard was speechless. The man of God invited him to go inside the cathedral to get out of the rain.

"Do you want to talk ?" he offered.

"No. Not with you," Richard replied coldly.

"With him then ?" the priest offered, pointing to the cross of Christ.

He gently squeezed Richard's shoulder before leaving him alone with himself and his thoughts. Richard didn't know if he was a believer or not. He had been raised as an Anglican, but his profession had long since led him to believe that he himself was a god, with the power of life and death over those brought before him in the Courthouse.

No, Richard did not believe in any god. If there was a god, he would not let gentle women like Elena end up selling their bodies and dying in poverty. He would not let children be beaten for things they did not do, he would not let women be raped in the dark streets of London. He would not take his daughter from him. But just in case he was wrong and a higher power was there, ready to listen, he prayed for Catherine. Just in case.

He returned to the manor several hours later, soaking wet, and Anne immediately ordered a bath for their master while she brought him a hot drink and wrapped him in a thick bath towel.

"Anne, ask the servant to have the manor decorated," Richard asked, his voice less steady than usual;

"My lord?"

"Catherine asked me if the manor would be decorated for Christmas. It will be. Ask the servant to get to work on it tomorrow," he ordered before heading to the bathroom.

"Yes, my lord," the servant replied, amazed.

Never since she had worked for him had she seen the manor decorated for the holidays. Yet, the next evening, when Richard had returned from the Courthouse, the entire manor was breathing the festive spirit.

He had gone to his daughter's bedside, a plate of gingerbread cookies and a cup of warm milk in his hands. Too happy to see her father care about her, she had made the effort to eat a little and drink the whole cup, just to please Richard.

"You must try to sleep now," Richard told her, placing a kiss on her forehead.

He shivered as the fever that had been gone for the last two days and had now returned. During the night, a servant came to wake him to tell him that Catherine was vomiting blood and was barely breathing. The doctor had come as quickly as he could, but there was little more he could do.

"If she makes it through the night, then there's a chance she'll live," he had told Richard before leaving.

That night, Richard had returned to St. Paul's Cathedral. It was the day before Christmas Eve. Two days before that cursed day he hated more than anything in the world. His daughter, the apple of his eyes, could not die on the day she loved so much. She would not be one more bad memory to bear during this cursed holiday.

He came home late that night and went straight to her side to watch over her. Richard must have fallen asleep because the last thing he remembered was covering Catherine with an extra blanket after she complained about being cold, and now something was shaking him. He groaned in displeasure, cracking his eyes open to see what was disturbing his sleep.

"Catherine ?"

The little girl's eyes were wide open and the gray veil that had accompanied them for the last few weeks had faded. Beautiful colour had returned to her face and her fever had definitely broken.

"I'm hungry, dad," the little girl said hoarsely, her throat still scratchy from her days of coughing nonstop.

Richard laughed heartily, the joy invading him almost too much to bear. Food was immediately brought in and he watched her eat with gusto to his delight. The doctor had come once more, only to state that the worst was behind them.

"She must not go out. She must stay warm, but she can leave her bed. But no strenuous activities. And she must continue to take her medication until I say she can stop," he had ordered.

That afternoon, wrapped in a thick dressing gown and a woolen blanket, Richard had carried her around the manor to show her the decorations, Hector trotting happily beside them. The little dog had not left his little mistress's room during her bed rest and he seemed as happy as the rest of the household to see her recover.

Catherine's eyes lit up when she saw the many gifts waiting for her under the tree. She had never had so many presents just for her.

"But you can't open them until tomorrow," Richard reminded her kindly.

"Thanks, dad," she said, pressing her head against his neck.

Richard laughed, telling her to wait and see what the packages contained before thanking him. After all, she might be disappointed.

"No, I'll like them. I've never had anything new before."

Once again, Richard's heart sank at the child's words. He held her a little tighter, then carried her back to her bed. Early in the evening, she was again allowed to get up and accompany him to the parlour, where he made her comfortable on a sofa in front of the fire. He read her a Christmas Carol until she fell asleep.

When he had finished the book, he carefully lifted the frail, undersized body and carried his daughter back to her bed. He pulled the blanket up to her chin, making sure she was warm, Hector at the foot of the bed was watching over her. The fire crackled in the fireplace and fresh water had been brought along with more gingerbread cookies.

Richard stood for a moment watching his daughter sleep when the sound of bells startled him. He walked over to the window to watch London spread out before him, the moon reflected in the Thames, the church bells announcing Christmas. The bells of Christmas, which brought him good news with the unexpected recovery of his only child.

"I will take good care of her Elena," Turpin whispered into the night, "I have failed to be the husband you needed, but I will be the father Catherine needs. I will take good care of our daughter."

With that he turned, walked briskly to Catherine's bed and kissed her forehead. He blew out the many candles, leaving only one lit, and left the room, not without one last glance at the child's sleeping form.

"Merry Christmas, daughter of mine."

[skimblyshanks]

See the thing is King Richard should have kissed men.

[edorazzi]

Page 36 of my Miraculous Mentor AU comic A Matter of Trust! In which Chat Noir gets his kiss from Ladybug after all, but at what cost?! 💋💔

Index | Start | Prev | Next

Weekly updates each Sunday! You can also read ahead early on Patreon, and/or buy me a Ko-fi if you'd like to support my work! 💖

[astronomic-explorer]

god dc fanon is actually crazy. "dck was gonna put tim in arkham!" BITCH HE TOLD TIM TO GO TO THERAPY 😭

[fighting-naturalist]

Mother says not to cry.

[cabeswaterdrowned]

I don’t mourn Ronan pov chapters in TRB but I have to say I do a lil in BLLB. Am at the part where Ronan totally overhears a little of a Bluesey phone call and Gansey thinks Ronan will be so jealous which don’t get me wrong on some level he jealous of Blue rn I’m sure, but mostly since he’s just started to initiate his wooing Adam Parrish plans (the hand lotion) he’s predominately quite pleased that Gansey and Blue together takes out his competition in a clean sweep. Like 30% of his brain is jealous but the other 70% is ready to bake Bluesey a “thank you for dating each other and not Adam Parrish” cake.