#capable of living independently but will make a fuss if you leave them for too long

[gomzdrawfr]

they're open for adoption

[rippleclan]

RippleClan: Moon 11

Parsley attends the Gathering (under Fennelspot’s observation).

[Image ID: Parsley and Fennelspot sit below a large brown stone, where Autumnstar, Mistlestar, Gorgestar, Sanderlingstar, and Downstar sit. Under Downstar, it says - CONDITION: RECOVERING FROM BIRTH. Oilstripe and Puddlespeckle are in the far back while Scrubmask is standing to the side. Parsley says “I’ll tell ya, Mr. Fennelspot… your Clans are strange.” Below her, it says + CONDITION UPGRADE: INFECTED.]

“You really take this walk every moon?” Parsley groaned as she walked alongside Fennelspot in the RippleClan line-up. Downstar, fully recovered from the strain of birth, led the small Gathering patrol along the border between SlugClan and WheatClan. The AshClan delegation, which had more cats than Parsley had ever seen in one place, wandered ahead. Its members occasionally glanced back at RippleClan’s smalls numbers; Downstar, Weedfoot, Fennelspot, Parsley, Scrubmask, Oilstripe, and Puddlespeckle. Many of those eyes focused on Parsley.

“Well, I walk the first portion on the half-moon before the Gathering,” Fennelspot explained. “I have to visit StarClan’s Shrine.”

“And does AshClan escort you there, too?” Parsley mumbled, glaring at the large ginger and white figure at the front of the giant group. His mangled tail bounced high above his flank. Parsley wasn’t convinced the “nine lives��� story was anything more than folklore to improve the leader’s image, but if leaders did get nine lives, judging by the scars covering Autumnstar’s body, he had most certainly lost a few by now.

“They used to,” Oilstripe chirped behind the pair. “Downstar got them to stop this moon.” She squeezed between Fennelspot and Parsley.

“Now I thought RippleClan was sovereign,” Parsley huffed. “Why did Autumnstar make such a fuss about us waiting at the border for AshClan?”

“It’s early RippleClan history!” Oilstripe explained. “When StarClan gave the Clans their blessing to form RippleClan, AshClan had to give up some of their land to us as payback for killing the Ashes in the Water, Weedfoot’s group of friends. Autumnstar only agreed to acknowledge RippleClan as a real Clan if they could escort us whenever we had to cross past their territory. It sucks, but it means they aren’t trying to kill us, so for now, we put up with it. They gotta escort us to Gatherings or Autumnstar said he’ll chase us out.”

“So much for independence,” Parsley huffed. “That’s just not right. I’m sure the other Clans don’t need a kitsitter.”

“We’re working on it,” Fennelspot groaned as the two Clans reached a harsh cliff face. A small path snaked up the side of a harsh wall of brown stone that stuck out of the sweeping, rugged hills that marked most of the area. Moss and leaves peeked out of the cracks and a small trickle of water flowed into a pool of clay to the side. Pawprints covered the clay deposit as memories of artisans harvesting clay for their terracotta. A narrow path wound its way up the slope. Voices chirped from somewhere up top. Autumnstar led AshClan up the cliff in two neat lines, but Downstar raised her tail and everyone in RippleClan stopped.

“Aren’t we going to join them?” Parsley huffed.

“RippleClan will make its own entrance,” Downstar explained. “Scrubmask, do you have our goods?” Scrubmask carried a basket filled with as many mussels as she and Carnationpaw could find. Parsley hadn’t realized cats were capable of crafting such things until her arrival over a moon prior. Scrubmask lifted the basket at her leader’s call. The mussel shells clattered together inside. Autumnstar yowled when he reached the top of the cliff and all the cats of AshClan launched up and out of sight.

“Stay together when we enter,” Weedfoot said, looking over her shoulder as Downstar flicked her tail and climbed the path up. 

“The Gathering can be really exciting,” Fennelspot explained as RippleClan followed Downstar, “but I want you to stay by me tonight, and let me know if your tail starts to hurt too much.” Parsley didn’t like lying, so she didn’t respond. Her tail burned and the exposed skin underneath her cobweb bandages stunk. Fennelspot said the wounds were infected and rarely left Parsley’s side. Even so, when RippleClan returned from the last Gathering, the way they spoke of the event pushed Parsley to ignore her pain and demand a place at the next one.

Since moving her tail too much made the burning worse, she couldn’t use it to balance along the narrow path. Fennelspot walked along the edge and kept her paws steady. Eventually, she made it to the top of the cliff, where Downstar and Weedfoot patiently waited for the rest of the Clanmates. They waited until every member of the patrol climbed onto the rich spring grass before they led RippleClan as a united group through a thick line of ferns and trees that concealed the Gathering Clearing.

Parsley thought AshClan was crowded, but the size of the crowd within the Gathering Clearing stole her breath. Never, in over a hundred moons of living, had she seen so many cats. There was a chance that there were more cats in this one clearing than Parsley had ever met. Every color pelt was on display, sitting on stones and hard ground ripping out of the grass, as cats from four different Clans gathered around a giant rock. It was a bulky, golden-brown structure as tall as two humans. Three cats stood on flat platforms scattered around the stone. Autumnstar climbed up the stone onto the highest platform. Downstar approached the rock and hopped onto the lowest platform. 

“You’ll be able to interact with the other Clans once the leaders make their announcements,” Fennelspot whispered. “For now, stay here.”

“Well, you’ll need to tell me who is who,” Parsley whispered back. “And will you please throw in a few pronouns? I can’t understand why you Clan cats always assume things.”

“Parsley, you’re a Clan cat now,” Scrubmask reminded her. 

“Greetings, everyone!” Autumnstar yowled from on top of the Leader’s Stone. “Welcome to the second Gathering of the new year. AshClan will start this moon’s announcements, as we have much to be proud of.”

“Is he always like this?” Parsley asked. She must have said that a bit too loud, as Autumnstar’s huge yellow eyes locked onto her. His frost-bite scars looked like open blisters in the light of the small fire lit in front of the Leader’s Stone. Parsley would have tucked her tail if she could have moved it.

“I am excited to announce,” Autumnstar continued, looking back over the crowd, “that some of my grandchildren have finished their apprenticeships and now stand before you as adults, capable of handling any threat that comes their way. Tonight, please give warm praises to Burningpath, Nettlestep, and Crimsonrun, the newest artisans and codekeepers of AshClan!” The Clans chanted the three names as three cats, each with ginger pelts, stood with their chins and tails high. Even RippleClan chanted the new names, so Parsley joined along. She kept going a bit too long after everyone’s excitement faded.

“Beyond that joyous occasion,” Autumnstar said, “we must mention that a black bear has come out of hibernation near the land of the Clans and crossed the Great Northern River into our territory. It took the life of one of our strongest caretakers, Sundream, while on patrol. The bear has crossed the river once more, but be on the lookout, for it may continue wandering the Clans. The rest of this moon has been typical for us. Mistlestar, would you like to go next?” Autumnstar nodded to a dark red cat on the second highest platform.

“Mistlestar is LynxClan’s leader,” Fennelspot explained quickly. “They’re neither a tom nor a molly. They keep their announcements short.”

“LynxClan is strong,” Mistlestar huffed. “No new kits, apprentices, or graduates, although Whitestripe expects her kits before the next Gathering. An uneventful moon for us.” They sat and wrapped their tail over their paws. They glanced down at the two leaders who shared the second lowest platform. One had long, dark fur, and sat with their back legs splayed out. The other was white with a pale brown back and a round figure. They muttered to one another, trying to decide who would make announcements first.

“So these two lead SlugClan and WheatClan?” Parsley asked.

“Gorgestar is SlugClan’s leader,” Fennelspot sighed, pointing his tail at the long-furred cat. “He’s a good leader. I did my best after his fall, but I couldn’t restore his back legs.” Fennelspot’s tone dropped as he said that. “The other cat is Sanderlingstar, from WheatClan. She’s been a leader the longest, even though Autumnstar is older.”

“SlugClan has received a blessing from StarClan this moon,” Gorgestar suddenly said, startling a few cats in the crowd. “On the night of the half-moon, just as Bubblemoon returned from StarClan’s Shrine, Scaleshine and Leafear had a litter of nine kits. A quarter moon has passed, and all nine have survived so far. They’ve each been given wonderful names and are growing well.” Cheers and excitement rose in the crowd. 

“Are they well-fed?” Mistlestar asked.

“Bubblemoon is making sure every kit has their chance to eat and Scaleshine is not exhausted,” Gorgestar explained. “However, he needs to stay at her call to ensure her good health. SlugClan may call upon one of our neighbors for a spare cleric, should the need arise.”

“LynxClan has three to spare,” Mistlestar said with a nod. “We will help.”

“Thank you, Mistlestar,” Gorgestar purred. “That’s all for SlugClan. Sanderlingstar?” Sanderlingstar groaned and stretched, licking her lips as she looked over the crowd.

“WheatClan welcomes a new cleric apprentice by the name of Thistlepaw,” Sanderlingstar sighed. “She joins the apprentice’s den with her littermate, Fogpaw, who trains as a mediator.” The crowd cheered the names of the new apprentices. This time, Parsley made sure to stop chanting sooner rather than later. “Meanwhile, our oldest elder, Rockback, peacefully joined StarClan this moon. His last words, as he wanted everyone to know, were ‘It’s about time.’” WheatClan chuckled and various cats gave a bit of polite laughter, but AshClan was the loudest, fully giving into the dark humor. “WheatClan has fully embraced the spring growth and has new goods to trade, if any mediators or artisans want to visit our borders. Now I’m curious as to what our youngest Clan has been up to.” Sanderlingstar draped her paws over the edge of the platform as all the leaders looked down upon Downstar.

“It’s been quiet in RippleClan,” Downstar admitted. “My apprentice, Carnationpaw, has helped us collect some seaside goods for trade. We’ve brought some mussels with us for the communal soup, but they can be eaten raw as well.” Scrubmask stood on a rock so everyone could see her basket. “Beyond that, our kits are healthy and our camp is secure.”

“Well, that’s not really everything,” Sanderlingstar pointed out. “You’ve brought that loner you found with you tonight!” A hundred pairs of eyes fell on Parsley. Her fur bristled. She wasn’t doing anything wrong by being here!

“We told the Clans about Parsley last moon,” Downstar reminded the Gathering, blissfully pulling some eyes away from Parsley. “She’s a part of RippleClan now, and she is allowed to join us at Gatherings.”

“She’s caused trouble around AshClan in the past,” Autumnstar growled. His brutal eyes once again tore into Parsley. “I didn’t recognize her at first, but I remember reports of a self-righteous loner with a single white paw berating our patrols for doing their jobs.”

“And I remember a bunch of dim-witted killers screaming at me whenever I got within sight of them,” Parsley snapped. “I never crossed your borders but your warriors always harassed me. Of course, your Clan seems built on harassing others, isn’t it?” The crowd gasped and oooed at Parsley’s words while Autumnstar hissed. Oilstripe and Weedfoot cheered her on. 

“Enough, everyone,” Mistlestar huffed before the Clans got too rowdy. “Is that all, Downstar?” Downstar nodded, defiantly staring up at Autumnstar.

“Your new Warrior is a troublemaker, Downstar,” Autumnstar grumbled. “Let the Gathering begin!” The five Clans swarmed one another. Old friends touched noses and the scent of each group overwhelmed Parsley’s nose. Oilstripe and Puddlespeckle vanished into the crowd. Scrubmask approached a large oven with her basket of mussels. Weedfoot joined Downstar by the Leader’s Stone. 

“Well, what now then?” Parsley asked, eyes darting around the chaos.

“We socialize for a while until our Clan decides to leave,” Fennelspot explained, glancing between Parsley and Autumnstar. “Oilstripe will likely stay longer, though. There’s something called an Aftergathering once the leaders take their Clans home. It’s more relaxed than a regular Gathering.”

“This is already rather relaxed, don’tcha think?” Parsley chuckled. She groaned and stared at the huge crowd around her. “I’ll tell ya, Mr. Fennelspot… your Clans are strange.”

“You were so brave back there!” A young voice gasped. A murky gray kitten with a swirling pelt danced in front of Parsley. “You really showed AshClan up! I hope I can be like you when I graduate! I’m Fogpaw!” Fogpaw touched their nose to Parsley’s. Parsley stared for a few moments, unsure what to do next.

“Well, hi there,” she gulped. “She and her for me, please.”

“Why specify that when your scent matches?” Fogpaw asked, cocking their head. “Then again, maybe that makes sense, I mean, I’ll be telling everyone I use they and them my whole life, so I know some cats have to specify, but cats won’t really mess up for you. What was life like as a loner?” Huh. So this was a Gathering. Parsley could handle it.

“I’ve got a few stories if you’ve got time to hear them,” Parsley purred. Fogpaw nodded so hard, it looked like their head would come off. Parsley settled beside the young apprentice and did her best to enjoy her first Gathering.

(Parsley: 105, female, warrior, righteous, good speaker)

(Fennelspot: 68, male, cleric, insecure, valuable insight, incredible runner)

(Oilstripe: 15, female, historian, charismatic, ghost sight)

(Downstar: 70, female, leader, adventurous, trusted advisor, very clever)

(Weedfoot: 60, female, deputy, charismatic, very clever, formidable fighter)

(Scrubmask: 28, female, warrior, gloomy, fast runner, good hunter)

(Autumnstar: 115, male, leader, fierce, great hunter)

(Mistlestar: 78, agender (they/them), leader, cold, steady paws, excellent fire-starter)

(Gorgestar: 89, male, leader, sincere, excellent teacher)

(Sanderlingstar: 100, female, leader, childish, skilled toolsmith)

(Fogpaw: 6, non-binary (they/them), mediator apprentice, oblivious, interested in oddities)

[rcksmith]

The Agreement part.2 — Kaz Brekker

Resume/Masterlist

Couple: Kaz Brekker/ Fem!Reader.

Warnings of series: Convenience/arranged marriage, swearing, mention of fight, mention of death, mention of desire, fluff, sensual, mention of post-traumatic stress.

Warnings of chapter: swearing.

Word count: 4k

A/N: I hope you guys like.💖

English is not my first language, so I so sorry if have a mistake.

Requests are closet. Love you ❤️

— — — —

“What?!” Your exclamation came out louder than intended, and perhaps sharper than expected.

The salty sea breeze came through the window once more. The smell of salt and ocean invaded the room and for a second it felt like being in a ship's cabin at sea.

Kaz looked at you as if you were some child. Or someone deaf. But if he was swimming in acidic thoughts, he didn't say them.

"Think carefully." His voice was firm and explicit, the ones men use to convince women of something. “You want freedom, don't you? Live your life without having to fulfill a man's whims or your father's expectations. You wants to be able to snow on a ship without having a date to go back and make your own destiny. You want just needing to care what new adventure knocks on your door and what promise of wonders life awaits. It is not?"

How did he figure it out so well in such a short time? Was he too shrewd or were you too transparent?

You nodded, unable to say anything. Perhaps out of perplexity at how Kaz read you so easily. Or maybe the way he looked like an overpoweringly beautiful fallen angel in the moonlight.

“And the only way to do that is to get married.”

You frowned. “As I recall, Brekker, I came here just so I wouldn't have to get married.”

“And it's a stupid plan.” God, you wanted to kill him. “You asked me to have the Dregs take you to the harbor without your father's spies noticing. But it turns out your father's spies already know you're here.”

Your breath was lost somewhere between lungs and nose.

“Since you arrived, the noise from the Crow Club downstairs has become less shrill. And this is not typical criminal behavior. Either they have adopted good manners or someone they know they should fear has joined the Club.” Kaz sat more relaxed in the armchair behind his desk, his dark blue eyes locked on you. “I would bet on the second option.”

“So I came here for nothing?” You were starting to get angry at his beating around the bush. Because you knew it was manipulation. Brekker was laying the groundwork and you understood that.

“I did not say that. Turns out you can never get rid of your father. Not when he's a man with the purchasing power able to buy an entire country. There will always be someone who will recognize you, someone who will find you. And for the right price, the whole world is capable of being bribed. You would run away only to be chased by other spies, other people wanting the reward your father will give to whoever brings you back home.”

Very early on, you realized that Kaz Brekker was capable of crushing dreams as easily as crushing an insect. His destructive power was colossal and you saw all of your desires floating under his palm. Waiting just for him to brutally clench his fist and crush them.

But that's not what he did.

“You'll only get what you want if you follow his orders.” The breeze came through the window once more, ruffling her charcoal hair. “But if you can't defeat your enemies, change the rules of the game.”

“And is that where marriage to you comes in?”

“See it.” His body leaned very gently across the table towards you, it was a millimeter and ridiculous gesture, but it felt like him standing a breath away from you. “What you need is to get married. But marrying someone who doesn't give a damn about what you're going to do, and don’t have expectations of you. Someone who is not interested in home life, family life or Any other things you can offer other than money.”

Any other things you can offer. The night breeze this time was accompanied by an impure, almost obscene scene of the fallen angel in front of you on a bed of black duvets and caustic weather. A moment when the ends of his black hair brushed your forehead and your nose, moving back and forth as followed the rhythm of his hips and…

The sea breeze was gone, taking the obscene image with it and bringing back your common sense. For a second you wondered where that came from! You hadn't been in his presence for more than two hours and the entire compilation of what it was like Kaz Brekker, so far, had frightened you and attracted you in an absurdly dangerous way.

"And are that you came, I suppose." You hoped your voice couldn't give away your impure thoughts from seconds ago. “Do you want us to form an alliance where you receive my dowry and in return I am free from my father's demands and can do as I please with my freedom?"

“Alliance is a very strong term for what we are doing here.” He was succinct, “I would tell you to look at this as a business transaction. A marriage document is still just a piece of paper. And nothing else. Don't get carried away by sentimentalism. Things only have feelings if you want them to.”

Kaz was right, you knew that. For all your belief in true love and the many books romance novels you devoured, you still understood that a marriage could very well be seen as a business translation. It are a sad, cold way to see something so beautiful, but it still true.

“I have no interest in anything other than your dowry and you have no interest other than freedom. So what I'm proposing is something very sensible and objective. When we get married, your father will set you free, and you won't have any husband to please or any other crap. I don't want and don't expect anything from you, I don't care if you're sailing to Ravka or venturing on The Fold.”

“Do you want the money out of greed or despair?”

Kaz took a second to get a better look at you after that sneaky question. You had asked the correct question amid so many banalities and he realized that you were more cunning than you looked.

If he wanted to know your secrets, you also wanted to know his.

“A bit of both.” He was sincere.

“And what do you intend to do with my father's industries? Because you would win them too. And any misdirection could end up reducing my father's empire to nothing, and I don't want him to see the thing he loves most in ruins.”

Brekker heard the feelings in your voice. There was a hidden pang of hurt, but a lot of determination and honesty. You loved your father and understood him, even if you didn't agree with his principles. You had a fair and upright nature and were able to move mountains to get things done the way you thought was right. That was a red flag for Kaz. You were a good person. And he not.

He could never promise you things that go back to a good guy. But he could promise you honesty and justice. Kaz Brekker would never take something from someone the way it was taken from him so many years ago. He was a monster. But never in the same category as Pekka.

“I have no interest in having an empire doomed to fail.” His eyes were serious. “My motivation has always been greed. Why would I sink the company that is capable of making me such a rich man?”

He would have to be an idiot to let such a lucrative business go. And Kaz Brekker was anything but an idiot.

“Would you let me do anything I want?”

“I have no interest in what you don't or do.”

You hesitated for a second, as if remembering another detail. “My father doesn't believe in divorce, and even if he did, I would be pressured to remarry. Do you understand that we couldn't divorce?”

“I have no desire to marry again. And you might as well get other men you want without making a fuss, without your father finding out.” Always rational and objective. Without any inclination to the heart's desires. “There is no room in this world for feelings. Much less in this agreement. If you fall in love with someone you will have to be content with just relating to them, not getting married. And it seems like a small price to pay for so many benefits.”

It was the perfect plan. Did you know that. It was rational, objective and cunning. Something advantageous for both without costing too much. But why did you feel that something could go very wrong? You were a romantic person and you knew you could see things where they didn't exist. The truth was, you would have to leave your heart completely out of the picture.

Just a business transaction.

Brekker seemed to see a hint of hesitation in your eyes.

“It's very simple, Ms. Y/L/N.” That voice that gave you goose bumps hovered in front of you. “You marry me and you still have your freedom, because I don't give a damn about what you do after.”

“20 million from Kruges. Rich.” his eyes gleamed with a deep glow.

“And how do I know this isn't a trick?”

“I don't promise lies.” His firm face was serious “I won't give you happiness, Y/n. Much less love. Love doesn't exist in Kerch. But I will give you freedom, independence, a comfortable life that you are accustomed. And it seems to be much more than you have now.”

You knew you could be making a deal with the devil. Selling your soul to that man with the face of a fallen angel and the aura of Lucifer. But what choice did you have?

You couldn't go back if you sealed that deal. That man would be bound whit you, even by a piece of paper, for a lifetime. Was it worth the price? You didn't care for your father's press to want to be in the management and you had a lot more money than twenty million Kruges. What would you be missing? Your chance to marry one day whit someone you came to love? But if you came home without someone one day from now your father would marry you to a gargoyle. And the way out to flee no longer seemed a viable option.

Yes, it was worth it.

Seeming to see from the glint in your eyes that you've made a decision, Kaz Brekker, Bastard of the Barrel, reached out a leather-gloved hand toward you. His eyes sparkled with a mysterious spark, the scent of male cologne with a hint of danger lurking around the room. And for a moment, you felt a shiver go up your spine and the feeling that your life had just begun.

“Agree to marry me?” He said.

The feeling was that you were about to embark on the greatest adventure of your life. You didn't know what that little stunt with Kaz Brekker awaited you. But you would find out.

“Yes.” You took his hand in a firm, intense handshake that held a million secrets.

A satisfied, victorious smile came to his lips. And whenever Kaz gave him that expression, it felt like seeing the fallen angel that was the reason so many humans sinned. The clouds in the sky shifted, moving out of the moon's path and making the distilled rays of light shimmer more brightly. His black hair and white skin were graced with those bundles, and for a second his beauty was overwhelming.

You held your breath.

Brekker continued to say something, but you couldn't pay attention. Your heart began to race, the moonlight following in his footsteps as Kaz got up from his chair and went to fetch some papers from across the room. You couldn't tear your eyes away from him. His body was taller and thinner than you deduced when he was sitting down. Kaz had long, slender legs beneath black straight-cut pants, his chest was broad and his waist was narrow. For a second, you felt like running your hand over the contours of his body.

You shifted your attention forward abruptly. Focusing eyes on something else.

That was the curse of handsome men. They fooled women and made them daydream. With his underworld god beauty and mysterious aura with a touch of danger, Kaz Brekker was overwhelmingly attractive. And your blood reacted to that. Any woman would have reacted the same way.

“And we'll have to leave tomorrow morning…” he sat opposite you again.

“Sorry, what?”

You turned your attention to his words, not remembering half of what he said seconds ago. Kaz looked at you intently this time, squinting his eyes millimetrically, as if he was trying to guess which paths your mind had wandered in for the past two minutes.

“Your deadline is the day after tomorrow, isn't it?”

"Yes." You got back to the core of the problem once more. “The trip to my house takes a few hours. Half a day if it's raining.”

Kaz had his eyes on the papers in his hands, maybe they were maps or documents, but you didn't feel like craning your neck to see what it was. Leaning over to view the papers meant getting closer to Brekker, and two hours in his presence was enough for you to understand that nothing good would happen if you got any closer. Or maybe you didn't trust your own feelings and emotions.

“This will have to be done very discreetly.” He didn't look up from his papers. “If any rumors about our deal reach the wrong people, your father will hear about our plan. And that meant you will being forced to marry someone else, and me without my money. Does anyone know you're here because you planned to run away?”

You shook your head. “No. I didn't get to tell my friends. But now that the plan is different, I intend to tell a friend that…”

“You can't tell anyone.” Kaz lifted ocean blue eyes to you in an electrifying look that made you shiver.

“And what is supposed to say to my friends?” You felt a pang of indignation.

“That we are in love.”

This time, your breath was gone. The phrase was like pouring gasoline on an old, flammable woodpile. And you were afraid of what might be the match that would set off a fire.

Kaz noticed your reaction and was amused by it. “Just say some nonsense about falling in love with a criminal. It wouldn't be the first time a rich little girl has fallen in love with the bad guy, and I guarantee it won't be the last.”

“And you won't tell anyone about the truth too?” You wanted to change the focus you.

“I don't have to answer to anyone.”

This time you gave a smug smile and crossed your arms in an insolent gesture. “So everyone will think the infamous Kaz Brekker, Dirty Handes and Ketterdam's most dangerous gangster is in love with a rich little girl?”

Kaz narrowed his eyes at your teasing.

“It won't be the first time that the man with a bad temper and dangerous soul falls in love with the little girl. And I'm sure it won't be the last.” You said.

You were provocative, witty and stubborn. You would always hit at the same height and loved to show people that could very well play their game. Brekker unraveled this perfectly. You weren't the kind of woman who would be peaceful, serene, and calm. You wouldn't be like Inej. You would not take his orders and his taunts in silent, contained rage. You were intense. And that was a danger.

Why did he get the feeling you were so much more than he imagined?

“Let's go to your house tomorrow morning. Nine in the morning.” He changed the subject. “I'll go with you and we'll get married.”

"My father must be preparing everything by now." You sighed. “He takes his promises very seriously and I have no doubt that, when I returns, the ceremony scene will be set in the party garden.”

Partly you were relieved about it now. Planning a ceremony are intense and personal. You never really thought about getting married, but you always imagined that if one day it happened it would be the man of your dreams. And you didn't know if you would want to organize a fake wedding. There were certain things that were inevitable to keep the heart from breaking.

“Better yet, the faster the better.”

The two of you discussed some more details of the plan in the next few hours. It was agreed that Kaz would pick you up at nine from your hotel tomorrow, in an elegant hired carriage (which you obviously would be paying for) and the two of you would go to your house in Kerch. For all intents and for all people, the truth would be that the two of you were in love. It was such a typical cliché that it wouldn't be the least bit hard to believe.

And after a while, you two could already show yourself to the world as a couple who barely saw each other. Rich society was full of them: marriage with coldness and distance, where the man has his bets and lovers and the woman her travels and her jewelry. Your father would surely understand and leave you alone. After all, he had gotten a son-in-law to inherit his empire. A young son-in-law with blood for business who would make your father extremely satisfied. However, now the two of you had to look like a couple in love. And the reality of the situation was a secret that only the two of you would take with you to the tomb.

But, that night it was difficult for you to sleep. Anxiety, restlessness and fear gnawed at you like cunning mice, rolling you from side to side in bed, whispering in your ears millions of futures where everything could go wrong. Where not even Kaz Brekker's plans could free you from the clutches of one of your father's suitors.

When the clock struck seven in the morning, you jumped out of bed with unsettling, restless energy. You didn't like feeling helpless and waiting for Brekker to show up was exactly the definition of a princess in trouble. You had to do something.

- -

“What do you mean to get married?!” Jesper choked on his breakfast, and Nina nearly spit out all her orange juice.

Kaz rolled his eyes and continued sorting through the documents on the large round table. He was going to be gone for a few days at most and needed the people he trusted most to take care of business while he was gone. There were a lot of robberies to do and Kaz spent the night crafting and modifying plans for options where he wasn't involved. He had made a list of what needed to be checked at ports and what needed to be resupplied at Crow clube.

The plan was to marry you when they arrived in Kerch and return to Crow Club the next day. Kaz knew he would have to bring you, the two of you would have to stay together until your dowry was delivered to him. After that you could go on any adventure you wanted.

But dealing with the Crows was being more exasperating than Kaz could have expected.

"I didn't even know you had a girlfriend!" Wylan was in shock.

"Nobody knew!" Nina and Inej had their chins on the floor. Matthias was the only one who didn't seem to care so much.

"I didn't know the affairs of my private life were your business." Kaz didn't look up from the papers he kept in folders for the stupid ones.

"But you never said anything." Inej said.

"It was the intention."

"It's with Y/n, isn't it?" Jesper had bright eyes and a gleeful gambling smile stretched across his lips.

Kaz looked up at the boy with chocolate creamy skin, and his eyes narrowed slightly.

“She spent hours in yours office last night.”

"Oh my Santis!" Inej, Nina and Wylan exclaimed at once, eyes wide.

"The daughter of the richest man in Kerch." Wylan said.

"YOUR DOG!" Jesper clapped Kaz on the shoulder with an open palm, a loud laugh echoing and joy filling his voice.

Kaz suppressed the urge to look at the spot where Jesper had touched him. It had been years since he'd gotten over the most brutal aversion to touch, when the mere thought of getting close to someone made him tingle and dizzy with imminent fainting. At 28 years old, Kaz Brekker had proven to be greater than the demons and weaknesses that haunted him, wanting to see his downfall. A man who wanted to defeat Pekka could have no weaknesses. And he prided himself on almost have none of them.

However, offhand gestures made him look at the spot where he had been touched. The sensation brought was not unbearable or nauseating, but strange. And when the situation was skin to skin in a touch that caught him off guard, the feeling was unpleasant. Like a splinter under the skin.

It was easier with people Kaz felt comfortable with, but it wasn't something he cared about. He forced himself to overcome the most brutal aversion just to be a man without weaknesses, no chance of being defeated in a torture, no chance of being defeated by a faint. No for to touch someon.

“I thought you didn't know her in person when I warned you yesterday.” Inej tried to contain her little smile.

“It was the intention. You guys forgot the definition of secret…”

"Boss." One of the employees had entered that exclusive room. "There's someone here wanting to talk to you, Sir." He looked apprehensive.

Kaz frowned. The crow club had no movement at eight in the morning.

"Who is?"

"I think…"

"Will you please let me through!" The female voice sounded outside the room.

Jesper and the rest of the gang were wide-eyed, mouths opening in amusement and bewilderment. Kaz was catatonic. What the fucking hell were you doing there?!

"What do you mean I can't talk to your boss?!" And you continued. “I spoke to him yesterday...Don't give me these arguments, my dad tells his employees to tell people exactly that...I swear if you touch out about me again I will...”

"Fucking hell!" Kaz came out from behind the counter, crossing the living room and opening the door.

He came face to with that scene. A short girl who argued with a bouncer who was triple her height and size. Kaz knew the man was arrogant and macho, and had probably nudged your temper. He would have been amused by the scene if he wasn't abgry that you didn't follow his explicit rules.

“Ray.” Kaz glanced at the bouncer, a steady gaze that made the brute immediately back away from you.

You even gave the man an angry look before heading towards Kaz.

"What are you doing here?!" He whispered angrily.

"I couldn't wait." You wiggled your fingers, a tic of anxiety. “I could barely sleep. It was lucky I didn't show up at six in the morning.”

“That's not excuses. We have a schedule!"

“But I couldn't wait!" You whispered too. “It's visseral. I can't just sit there and wait!”

What an insufferable creature!

"Well, you'll have to learn because…!"

"What are you two whispering back there? “ Jesper's voice interrupted the discussion in whispers.

The two of you turned to the troupe standing in the doorway of the Crow room. Playful, mischievous smiles were plastered across their faces, and you felt your cheeks blush. Kaz and you looked at each other, and in that second of silent complicity, the two of you finally stepped into the roles of partners in crime.

Tagged: @aleksanderwh0r3 @thedelusionreaderbitch @hi-there-x @mell-bell @glowingatdawn @subjecta13-thefangirl @itsnotquimey @thatchampagnebitch @lamoursansfin @lostysworld @s3xymoonman @is-it-really-a-secret

[thewayshedreamed]

19- What do they fight about? What are their arguments like? How do they make up?

For elorcan (my death threat for the ask you sent me still stands. It hurts me)

I'm only a little sorry for the ask I sent you, Cass. I have no doubt it'll hurt my feelings, so you'll get me back. I'm sure of it.

Now, for our Elorcan babies-- warning, angst ahead (but lots of cute fluff, too)

• When they first arrive in Perranth, their fighting is minimal. They're riding the post-war high, and they're happy newlyweds.

• They fight over who spoils who more, who should be the one to turn off the lamp after they've spent hours worshipping each other in bed, who will wash whose hair first when they bathe together.

• When they actually do disagree, initially it's little things. Elide opening the windows wide first thing in the morning. Lorcan claims he's been blinded every time.

• Lorcan fusses at Elide when she overextends herself and winds up in pain. He pulls her ankles into his lap to massage the day's tension away, but he gives her a gentle lecture about knowing her limits the entire time. She scowls, but eventually, she can't help but relax under the pressure of his fingers.

• It annoys Elide to varying degrees when Lorcan takes advantage of her short stature. Some days he holds things just out of her reach, so she laughs him off and offers a vulgar gesture. Other days he puts their favorite snacks on the highest shelf in their pantry, and she goes red in the face. The latter only makes Lorcan laugh, but he does a decent job of hiding it after he suffered the consequences that first time.

• Lorcan is the first to fuss when he sees her climbing on cabinets and other furniture when she needs something out of reach. "Love, why didn't you call me in here?" "I'm perfectly capable. What do you think I did before you met me?" He always rolls his eyes affectionately. Depending on how close she is, he does one of two things. He lets her grab whatever she needs, then grips her around the waist to lower her safely to the ground and kisses her forehead. If she still has a good way to go, he plucks the item off whatever shelf and hushes her when she complains. He still kisses her on the forehead before he leaves.

• They typically make up quickly, fighting forbidden smiles and laughing through tightly sealed lips. Elide favors poking Lorcan's sides despite it driving him mad, but his solution is always to haul her over his shoulder and deposit her roughly on any soft, nearby surface. His favorite is when she blows her hair from her face and glares at him for doing it. She's so beautiful that his heart clenches, and he immediately drops the charade in favor of making things up to her. Even if he wasn't at fault.

• In later years, their arguments intensify. Elide bucks Lorcan anytime he advises her to take it easy, claiming he's being overbearing and protective. He tells her its because it hurts him to see her in pain, but she eventually tells him her independence means the world to her. Lorcan feels ashamed for trying to take it from her, even though he didn't mean it.

• Lorcan is a nightmare when Elide is sick. He dotes on her and cares for her as he always would, but he's grouchy and insufferable to anyone else. His tolerance for seeing her ill is glaringly low, and Elide gets annoyed quickly at having to placate anyone who crosses him once she's better.

• Eventually, she calls him on it. He shares with her that her-- their-- mortality haunts him at time. It's not that he regrets binding their lives together; quite the opposite, actually. He just knows there's much more Elide wants to do in the world, and sometimes he feels the ticking of the clock on her behalf.

• Elide, surprisingly, escalates at his vulnerability. She tells him to stop taking fate into his hands, to stop worrying about things he cannot control. Lorcan snaps that she has no idea how short her life will be in comparison to his existence, and where she sees years ahead for them, he sees only seconds.

• She softens then, realizing the constant pressure her husband is putting himself under to give her a full life before their time in the physical world expires.

• They usually wind up curled around each other, Elide running her hands up and down his back to soothe his worries. She massages the furrow from his brow, kisses the frown from his mouth. She plays dirty and tells him she aims to see as many of his smiles as possible before they go, and he laughs at the ridiculousness of it. Elide doesn't care because it worked.

• They have 3 kids, and they fight the typical parental fights. They also fight over who they inherited their bad habits from, but Lorcan knows that the majority of them come from himself.

• When they age, Elide weakens with each passing year. They fight about it until they don't, and something in Lorcan crumbles when she relents and allows him to care for her.

• They live a long life together, weathering every storm as partners and celebrating every joy fully. Elide is a few months beyond her 98th birthday when her breathing becomes labored. Lorcan can sense the slowing of her heartbeat, the way her blood pressure weakens almost by the hour.

• Eventually, he resigns himself to holding her. Their final fight is light-hearted and short since Elide gets winded quickly. They fight over who loved the other first, the longest. They fight over who was the better spouse to the other, tears in their eyes as Elide manages a weak poke to Lorcan's ribs.

• He holds her tightly to him, her cheek cupped in his massive hand as her eyes grow heavy for the last time. Just before they close fully, Anneith waiting to greet her on the other side, she rasps one request.

• "I want to see you smile. Just one more time."

• He honors her wish, smiling a watery smile down at her as he clutches her frail frame to him.

• Lorcan has time for one more whispered thought before her final heartbeat brings them to what lies beyond.

• "Thank you for being my home."

[anoseforrottenapples]

♡ + Rose x Troy, Mary W x Thomas, Mrs. Marple x Devon Miles

SEND ME ♡ + A SHIP AND I’LL TELL YOU…

feel free to elaborate as much as possible !

 Jane/Devon

Who is the most affectionate?

Devon and Jane are equally affectionate, in a sweet, understated way. Neither of them go wildly over-the-top in displays of affection but they certainly do show their fondness for each other on a regular basis.

Who initiates the handholding?

Normally it’s Devon, but it usually starts out as him offering her a gentlemanly arm. Then sometimes it turns into handholding as they walk along.

Who worries more for the other?

Jane worries for Devon more—working for FLAG makes him a bigger target for trouble then being a gentlewoman from a sleepy English village. Devon worries about her a fair bit though too because, for being a gentlewoman from a sleepy English village, Jane seems to find herself in a grand bit of trouble on a very regular basis.

Who is more likely to ask for help?

They are both willing to ask for help when they need it. Jane and Devon are old enough now to recognize when they cannot keep going alone, and they need assistance…  and then they are humble enough to actually get that assistance and listen to the people helping them. Age does have some perks, it seems.

Who is the one always losing the keys?

Neither of them are prone to losing their things—they’re both too sharp for that. The biggest  thing Devon has to worry about is Michael intentionally moving his things as a prank… but even that is generally sorted fairly quickly.

Who lives little love notes for the other?

They both do, in places the other one will find. Notes appear in suit coat pockets, or knitting bags, in favorite teacups, and next to hairbrushes. Some of them are sweet little notes—but often both of them enjoy leaving notes with their favorite lines from poems or Shakespeare plays. They believe in old fashioned romancing of each other.

Who can’t sleep unless the other is there?

They have been separated for so long that this is not an issue for either of them. They are very independent people by now, so if one is not there, it is not a crisis for the other one.

Who is more likely to propose to the other?

Devon! And it’s a proper proposal… but since he had proposed to her before he left for WWII, he also suggests that they should finish the plans they had already started all those years ago.

Who introduced the other to their family first?

Back in the day, Devon met Jane’s family first, and her mother did not approve of him at all. When they reunite, Jane meets Devon’s new family first—his little collection of FLAG agents and one talking car. She loves all of them.

Who is more likely to play with the other’s hair?

Since Devon wears his hair short and Jane usually wears hers up, neither of them play with the other’s hair much. However, Jane fusses over Devon’s appearance, and makes sure his suits are hanging properly, his pocket handkerchief is in place, and all the little details are just right.

Who makes sure the other has meals/stays hydrated?

Jane mostly, though Devon will prompt her if she has not eaten much during the day. While Jane may not have much appetite by dinner (a hidden cost of getting older) she can always be counted on for a cup of tea, or something a little stronger to steady the nerves should it be needed.

Who is more likely to stand up to anyone for the other?

Devon and Jane are both perfectly capable for standing up for the other one… and would prefer to do so rather then let Michael and his extreme American-ness handle the problems for them. Both Devon and Jane are quite good at talking down to scumbags, though Devon is more willing to punch people then Jane is. Jane has never punched a person in her life, and has no intention of starting now that she’s nearly seventy.

Who is the most likely to prepare a surprise for the other?

Jane is practical and doesn’t think about surprises much in general. Devon likes arranging nice little ones for Jane—flowers to be delivered and things like that. Sometimes he takes her on a surprise weekend trip somewhere warm and sunny, when they both need a break from the winter weather too.

Who makes the other pinky promise not to do certain things?

Pinky promises are for the young. Jane and Devon like to sit down, outline boundaries, and discuss behaviors that they consider to be worrying… and then they discuss ways of resolving these differences without harming either the relationship or their individual lives. Devon rather hopes Michael and Bonnie take notes, so they can settle things between them before the situation between them turns explosive.

Who puts a blanket over the other when they fall asleep on the couch?

Both of them will do it but, more likely, they will wake their sleeping partner up and urge them to go to bed instead. Sleeping in their bed is much more comfortable then in a desk chair or on the couch.

[jostepherjoestar]

I remember someone suggesting about the La Squadra child being Abbacchio or Mista’s nephew/niece and I was wondering if it’s ok to ask how would (I’m gonna go with Abbacchio) react to that?. Maybe before joining the kid was just a above average intelligent child but was still normal and now Abbacchio is confused as to why their stoic, cold and with a group of assassins.

La Squadra Kid backstory and relation to Abbacchio + general HC’s

Thank you so much for asking this, I’ve been meaning to summarise their backstory and how they ended up with La Squadra! This will be kind of emotional since it’s bit tragic imo. There’s also going to be some HC’s about our little bud so you can all get a feel at how I see them 😊

Long post!

CW: heavier subjects such as trauma, not fun situations for a kid to be in and usual gang related violence, mentions of abortion and mental illness

General HC’s

I’ve always imagined them to be around 7 to 8 years old, but unfortunately due to all that’s happened, their mind has been forced to mature a lot faster. Of course they should have never had to go through that but life isn’t that simple, especially for them.

Their name is Pomo, like an apple or a pommel :) thought it was a fitting and cute name! I’ll still refer to them as La Squadra Kid in titles but opt for Pomo while writing.

Pomo is not that tall for their age, just cute lil bean with puffy cheeks! I’ve decided to keep Pomo’s pronouns neutral, it just seemed to click more.

As far as their personality goes it’s been fun discovering them through your asks! Pomo is a quiet and stoic kid, they don’t smile that often but that doesn’t mean they’re not enjoying themselves.

They love drawing things as a way to express their feelings or the things they like. It’s a lot easier than verbally communicating for them. They’ll say what they need with the least amount of words necessary.

They’ve developed a weird sense of humour, very dry I’d say lol, also thinks it’s funny to scare Ghiaccio, who they know secretly likes them.

Pomo is quite independent and goes out by themselves, their stand is very powerful and kinda scary, even to their colleagues so they can handle any trouble coming their way. Pomo is slowly learning that they don’t need to do everything alone (i.e. asking for company after nightmares)

Though going out alone can result in people turning Pomo away in shops, that’s why Melone is their choice to bring along so it’s not weird a kid is just out alone spending money.

They’re also very glad to do tasks or things the others ask of them, they crave harmony and peace at home so Pomo will try to help achieve that in any way possible (unfortunately this is a result of trauma).

Pomo really likes La Squadra and sees them as their family now, knowing what member is better at offering different types of things and who to turn to for specific needs.

Their stand’s is named My Way (マイウェイ) after the Frank Sinatra song. It fits quite nicely imo, a force to be reckoned with doing it on their own terms.

And lastly, they do not like hugs or being touched that much. They’ll allow hand holding but only if they’re in a good mood, quick head pats are also ok. It really is touch and go with them, Pomo will let you know when they don’t like something.

Backstory and relation to Abbacchio

The world moved in a blur, the two lines on every single pregnancy test strewn out before her like nails getting hammered into her coffin. Suffocating while it was lowered into the ground, scratching and screaming for air, nails bloodied and raw as the reality set in that she was unmistakably pregnant. The panic followed, clenching her chest like a vice, threatening to shatter her heart and lungs in the process, gasping for air and wishing any other truth than this one. Abbacchio’s older sister wept for days, dark circles alternating with red swollen puffiness as the life she’d just started on her own already began to crumble.

The father of her child taking his exit as soon as she confessed her situation, knowing before she’d even tell him that he’d swiftly let her suffer in the mess. The thought of looking a doctor in the eyes, the cruel conversations she would have to endure before they’d let her suffer in uncertainty of the fate of her unborn child, making her choose to just endure it instead. Not that the choice would offer a softer outcome, it was her burden to bare, she thought. Whatever horrible things she’s done to receive such heartless judgement never occurred to her. The only thing the young woman was convinced of, is that she whole heartedly deserved it.

Her younger brother, growing up to be an impressionable adolescent, unsure how to care for his beloved sibling. His eyes always so full of innocent wonderment at his older sister, wanting to become as brave and independent as her. Living alone, working strenuous hours as if only this would make him worthy of the meagre salary of a rookie police officer. Slowly but surely he saw the woman he so admired creep away as her belly grew larger each month. Coming by often to check up on her wellbeing after school, spending nights or even weeks so he’d be by her side. All the while finishing up in high school. As his sister’s expression grew darker, the smiles fading and her laughter but a distant memory Leone Abbacchio could do nothing but stand by and let her lean on him.

The meagre support their parents could offer did little too ease her mind, the reality of becoming a mother and having nothing but emptiness to offer her child digging her ever deeper into the darkness that consumed her. She sobbed the day her child was born, little Pomo’s big eyes asking her if she was even worthy to hold the small babe. Every look at the child reminding her she had already failed, not even able to comfort their cries before feedings. Incapable of shushing them and finding the strength to coo at those tiny hands that ached to play and accept the warm touch of a caregiver. The young mother did what she needed, feeding the child and changing diapers. The depth of her troubles never easing as she had to go back to work, two different jobs needed to support herself and Pomo.

Abbacchio offered what he could, often babysitting and spending weekends at his sister’s cramped apartment. A child taking care of an even smaller one. The hope he held that his sister would regain her previous lust for life faltered. It only seemed to worsen as Pomo grew. The child never overtly fussed or cried, sleeping soundly and cooing gently whenever hungry. Those big eyes always seeming to bore straight through whoever leaned over the basinet to admire them. The child’s mother wished for it all to end, every night she’d pray to any god who would hear her desperate calls. But as she did only further hurting herself, her pleading like whips claiming penitence on her heavy shoulders.

She begged her younger brother to go out and make his dreams come true. “Never let your resolve falter Leone. Ever.” The voice that brought him courage, the broken woman’s words reminding him of the image he so admired once. But in pursuing his career as an officer it would mean less and less time to care for his dwindling sister and her child.

The night she told him the sisters of their local convent would relieve her of her child, the young officer held his sister for hours. The tears they cried filling an endless well of sorrow. It hadn’t brought the relief she thought she would feel, not a feather lighter as her child would be in more capable hands. Caregivers who weren’t afraid to look the toddler in the eyes as they searched your very soul for meaning. At merely four years old dear Pomo lay gently asleep in a different cot, in a stony building smelling of earth, heated by creaky copper pipes while sisters prayed in unison with beaded necklaces intertwining their palms. Praying for deliverance.

Abbacchio came by whenever he could, becoming more and more weary of his actions and the people he swore to protect as his career started to lack the fervour it had when he started out. Seeing Pomo grow into a silent and demure child, laconically learning to read and write, quietly pleading the sisters not to let their touch on their skin linger. Every stroke burning with an unknown memory that someone once held them, just once and decided to never do it again. Their very skin warding off any unwanted contact without even knowing why. A locked memory with a firm grasp on their being.

“Never let your resolve falter, Pomo. Ever.” The last words spoken to the small child before leaving. The lonely child left in the suffocating confines of the convent. Their uncle wouldn’t return for a long time, days spent hoping to see a sliver of his stark hair and bright eyes that had seemed to dull over time. But the child would never forget those words. Not even as the head sister punished them for not answering when spoken to, not when she would order them to remain on the prayer bench for hours as punishment, knees aching to settle as they were forced to remain. Their eyes boring through the other sisters as they came and joined them at their usual hours of worship.

Restraining the stand they were born with from acting out, self control being trained as they kept going, determined to let their uncle’s last words not be wasted on them. In the free time Pomo was allowed, they’d test out whatever the ghostly figure could, standing taller than them with thick black fog-like tentacles resting behind their back. Whatever those touched seemed to shrivel up like roses in wintertime. Pomo was intelligent, interested in more subjects than just his schooling that only seemed to bore them. The ease of the material offering no challenge as they completed tests with full marks, only making the head sister grow suspicious of them and unleashing more punishment.

Men in extravagant suits would visit the convent every so often, hushed whispers as they walked by the child who’d stoically stare as they passed. They’d always ignore them, scared of the glare and aura the child had started emitting. Many of the sisters had rejected the offer to tutor them when the previous one excused herself, feeling too uneasy by Pomo’s being. It didn’t hurt them, they just kept on doing what the sisters asked of them. Stay tidy, study and don’t get in their way. They had accepted their silence and aversion to touch, growing scared to try anything after the entire courtyard greenery was found shrivelled and dead mid spring. Every freshly planted flower grey and sad, the grass as crunchy as if it had just been burned to ashes. Pomo was sat comfortably on the stone bench that was placed there to admire the garden’s beauty. It wasn’t that they wanted it to happen. Someone just came too close and made them panic, not that it was clear to the sister that accidentally grabbed their shoulders while moving past them, the child remained calm, instead letting their stand take care of the burning sensation that crept over their body.

It was one of those days where a well dressed man would come by and whisper secretively with the sisters as they strode towards a private room and remained there until it was time to leave in an equal hurry. But this time a relaxed gentleman stepped out of the room with a large huff, stretching his neck and groaning loudly as he did. The taps of his heeled shiny shoes echoed through the stony arches of the hallway that led to the courtyard where Pomo had been toying a blade of grass between their fingers. Intensely staring at the green colour that stained his pads while their stand loomed over them freely. As the steps drew nearer, the child paid them no mind, instead grabbing a new blade and continuing the process all over. Soft padded steps made their way over casually until a large shadow covered Pomo. Hands rested in his pocked while his arms pushed back the sides of the loose suit jacket. The cigarette dangling from his lips bobbing after he took another intoxicating drag, puffing out the air harshly while peering at the kid.

“And who might you two be?” The man sunk down to a crouch, inspecting a small daisy that stuck out between the sea of green blades. “Pomo.” The child stopped rolling the tuft of grass as they processed his words. Two. Never had they met another who could see the figure that was their only friend. Unsure if the man posed a threat, he exuded a certain cocky confidence they weren’t sure they liked. “Nice to meet you Pomo. That other one looks a bit scary, don’t you think? But then again, you must be too. D’you mind showing me what they can do?” Offering a gentle chuckle as he gently pried, curious to see what this lonesome child could do, never having witnessed someone so young possessing a stand. It sure peaked the man’s interest as he twirled the daisy between his digits.

The amount of precision they possessed shocked him as the daisy was shot with a quick tap of a foggy black tentacle. It crumbled under his pads as he pressed it, letting it fall back onto the earth. Impressed by the ability and thoroughly interested in what it could do for him, the man proceeded. “Have you even killed someone with that?” There was no need to beat around the bush, that much was obvious when the child never seemed to have moved from their position, merely staring at the ground before them. A slow methodical dark tendril crept towards the man, stopping an inch before his polished shoe. Pomo turned their gaze upwards now, offering a look so unreadably neutral it made the man’s heart beat faster in fear, his many years in Passione not having prepared him to face another that lacked fear as much as the child in front of him. “Do you like it here, Pomo?”

A proposal started taking form in the man’s head, one he’d have to discus with his boss before acting on it. “No.” Clear as a bell their voice made a sinister hope grow, a hope that it would only take as little as just asking them to join up with Passione to get his desired answer. As an Advisor he’d have little hurdles in his way before bringing up the idea to his boss, being one of the only few allowed to even directly communicate with the mysterious man. “You seem fearless, to an unsettling degree, kid. If I asked you to kill a guy, would you?” Somehow the direct communication had been the most pleasant conversation Pomo has had in a few years, be it of a morally ambiguous subject, but refreshing to have another respect their space and not be afraid to ask what they desired of them.

“Are they bad?” The amount of troubling honesty behind the child’s harsh gaze making the man believe he’d met his fate, it had been like Pomo was asking if he deserved to live another moment, their stand still remaining at the tip of his shoe. “Not in their own opinion.” Clearing his throat to regain any sort of confidence, the kid’s eyes skipping through the pages of his soul, weighing his sins and good deeds. In reality they were doing no such thing, only weighing their options, grown tired of the convent and its inhabitants, aching to find any sort of family or support without even knowing it. “Ok.” As they gave their answer they chose to retract their stand, ending the conversation without another word. The Advisor’s sigh of relief deeper than any he had before, glad to be able to continue living.

The Boss was feeling generous, letting his Advisor know that placing the child amongst the men of La Squadra Esecuzioni could serve them well, perhaps make them regain any semblance of respect in the organisation. Opting out of putting their deadly stand in his personal Unità Speciale, fearing the effects of Cioccolata or Secco would build a threat larger than himself. Pomo agreed immediately, knowing it would be best to leave the sisters behind to pray for the child’s deliverance. Making their own money, be it a scanty salary, living with a group of other misfits and taking care of jobs here and there did not sound like the worst future for them. The sisters, terrified at the transfer, having no clue what the mafia would even want with the child, did not let the only person on the outside that cared for them know about the move. Too afraid of the consequences.

But after joining with Bucciarati, Abbacchio held great shame, afraid to face his sister’s child with those eyes that understood too much at such a young age. Fearing any visit would involve them with the tricky business he got entangled in, the little one becoming a distant and painful memory. If only he knew.

Further events take place after part 5 where everyone survives and La Squadra works under Don Giovanna. At Risotto’s request Pomo was left out of the fights regarding Trish and the Bucci gang.

While out with Melone to buy some more markers, Abbacchio felt like he’d seen a ghost. The familiar figure of his sister’s child standing next to a Passione assassin Bruno had fought not that long ago while he excitedly pointed out stuffed animals through the toyshop’s window. “Pomo?” Abbacchio had crept closer, carefully assessing if it were smart to approach. Melone had turned before Pomo could, eyeing the familiar gangster before him. “What do you need with Pomo?” Melone’s features hardened into a scowl while searching for their hand. All Pomo could do was stare up at their uncle they hadn’t seen in what felt like forever.

“What’s going on, is everything alright Pomo?” That deep voice reminding them of when he last visited, the voice that told them to never let their resolve falter, ever. “First of all, answer my question. What do you want with them?” Melone stepped forward, never one to initiate conflicts but needing an explanation as to why Leone Abbacchio knew their teammate that had explicitly never been in contact with his side of Passione. “That’s my sister’s kid. Step down you idiot. I’m not here to start shit. Now answer me; what are they doing with you?” Abbacchio growled back at the lithe man, searching Pomo’s eyes for an answer. “Pomo is part of our team. Been so for almost a year now.” He calmed down as he remembered all the fond memories they’d made together, even after the horrible fights with the other gangster’s team.

The amount of shock and confusion Abbacchio felt was immeasurable. After many “what”’s and “how”’s Melone calmly explained that Pomo had quite the powerful stand and still wanted to be part of their squad. “We ask every once in a while if they still want this. Never said no so far.” Melone practically beamed, the other man still trying to process the explanation. Pomo quickly understood their uncle’s position as well, clearly another member of Passione as they connected the dots. That small kid has never hurt anyone -that he knew of- and now they’re an assassin already in possession of a stand? What the actual fuck. His knees began to feel weak, looking for support as he slid down the toyshop’s windowsill. “I’m sorry.” Hands scrambling at his scalp while he stared at the ground, despair filling every inch of his being. Another person he cared about thrown into the complicated landscape of Passione.

The little one reached out their hand at the man that had meant so much to them, one of the only ones to ever offer the child any semblance of a connection. Until Pomo met their new family. A soft pat on the uncle’s platinum strands, grazing the man’s overworked hands. Melone felt his intrusion, staring off into the crowd as he kept some distance, sure to be within ample reach; should anything happen.

Abbacchio had grown so much, learned that his life was worth living. Following his sisters’s advice to strengthen his resolve and to never let it falter like he did before joining Passione. But this one memory, this one being of the past had made its way back. The child he so lovingly took care of and the pain he felt to have left them behind crashing through him as he sat there. Remembering his capo’s words, his kindness and that look of care and understanding making him reach up to the little hand. Memories of them fussing over touches reminding him a hug wasn’t possible. As his eyes met Pomo’s, the ones that always understood the ones they looked in but never let you know what was being kept behind their own. “I’m sorry for leaving you.” He uttered, the small hand getting enveloped in his bigger ones, begging them for forgiveness. “I’ve missed you.” the child spoke, their expression ever unchanging as Abbacchio felt tears flood his eyes and spill onto his cheeks. The purple haired man that had been following along from a distance couldn’t help but blink away his feelings, pitying the small one.

“Never let your resolve falter.” Pomo repeated. The words they’d clung to, any semblance of purpose all pinned on the only advice they’ve ever received. “Ever.” Abbacchio replied, squeezing the small hand between his before wiping away the tears, his actions were forgiven but not forgotten. “Are you ready, kid?” Melone stepped back into reach, offering a hand to the man he’d called an enemy not too long ago, helping him up. A quick nod from the child, a sliver of relief finally being felt, their uncle was still safe and alive. “You know where to find us. Don’t hesitate to come.” Waving goodbye as they entered the store, Melone offering as much assurance he could muster for his now-colleague. But mostly in awe of the child’s strength, they really were something else, huh.

[normieexclusive]

How My MC wins the boys over:

Ah, um, this really went off from the original story line. This was also supposed to be a short simple thing but then I started thinking and two hours later Im left with a bunch of messy notes and thoughts

The first to fall victim is:

Mammon turns out to be easy, literally MC just shows him an ounce of kindness and he takes it and runs. 

Unconsciously MC gets much softer around him then the others (A combination of total trust in him and wanting to show how much love he deserves despite his brothers treating him harshly) 

 hes the one that gets the most kisses, the most hugs, and its great for them at first because they get to make fun of the dumb ass second born getting doted on but some silly little human and (while denying it constantly) loving it. 

But then the others start to actually like MC and Mammon can nearly feel the six pairs of eyes glaring him down as his Human showers him with all the affection before going about their day. 

(There’s one moment where, while Mammons sitting on the floor and MC is on the bed and he's making fun of one of his brothers that MC just grabs him by the back of his shirt collar- with only a finger- pulls him in between her legs (So his back is to her) and gives him a kiss on the top of his head as she coos "Mammon, be nice to your brothers" and he shuts down for the rest of the day) 

Second, but the bestest of friends!:

With Levi its by being a grade A nerd and overthinking.

 She reads all of TSL for their big quiz, and watches the movies with Beel and mammon, but on top of that the nerd goes back to the books and starts to annotate everything. 

She starts digging for any bit of subtext she can find and jotting down notes in the margins, in her notebook, on sticky notes. 

It becomes enough of an issue that she has to buy a new set because the first (Old and used) ones she got off of akuzon are ruined with her messy scrawling.

 During the quiz they are evenly matched (if only because shes given such easy questions. Shes pissed but at the same time oh gosh she is really not up to Levis level) and somewhere along the way she just... Goes off about this theory of hers and reading the subtext because she needs to get this out and it seems like Levis the only one that can really keep up with her 

(She tried to talk to Mammon and Beel but, honestly, they're as helpful as you'd think)

 She forgets about the whole quiz and yanks out her vandalized book in order to debate with Levi about a part. Levi is horrified at the state of her TSL book and nearly goes apeshit right there, but then she shows just how much of a nerd she truly is by showing him the much nicer version she brought along

("And its even signed! Can you believe that! I didn't order a signed one cause they were too expensive but somehow the boxes must have gotten switched up! Ah! Levi! You have a shrine in you're room for them right! You should have these copies, I think you'll take more care of them then I can!")

Whenever they have a conversation its gibberish to everyone around them but they get it and that’s what matters.

(They spend nights just in his room and no one knows what they're doing so they assume the worst. The others always send Levi dirty looks when it happens, and Levi always looks a little more refreshed after every one.

They're having anime/gaming/TSL marathons but Levi lives for the jealousy that rolls off his brothers so hes not telling them anytime soon)

Somewhere starting after her pact with Levi and after the Lucifer/Satan Body switch:

The whole fiasco with Levi actually leads to Satan warming up to her!

 He had initially brushed her off as a soon to be Lucifer Lapdog (and also kind of dumb) but now he's interested. 

Someone whos capable of dissecting a book like that has to at least have some ability to reason, he just cant figure out if that moment was a fluke or if shes actually smart. 

He refuses to start a conversation with her like a normal person and instead resorts to pranking her at every opportunity hoping to see if she’ll think her way out of it (He does leave some hints for when ones about to happen, but gets frustrated when she walks right past them)

 It backfires on him tremendously because, somehow, they never seem to work! it goes to the point where it becomes rube goldberg levels of pranks that are always almost-but-not-quite misses because she bent down at just the right time to pick up a shiny rock. 

Satan is at his wits end and ready to rip someone apart

 his pranks start to extend to the others, it’s only after mammon mentions such that it finally clicks in her...

That same day she willingly walks into a pie in the face and Satan nearly cries. 

After he starts to rile her up more often with words. He learns very quickly that she is a fantastic debate partner and, if he can find the right button to push, he’ll get her going for hours as they go back and forth

(And!! Even better!! Not only does she listen to everything he says and waits her turn! But Shes willing to change her opinion when she thinks he has a better point. When she loses She’ll come back hours later to drag more information out of him.

That’s usually not the case though, because Satan finds way too much enjoyment out of playing devils advocate and will simply choose whatever is opposition her POV. 

He tried to argue about how she couldn't possibly like a flavor of candy she was eating because he didn't like it and nearly gave her an aneurysm)

(To his complete embarrassment, though, he has gotten hard during one of their debates and nearly lost because she looked fucking amazing as she shouted at him)

A bond that starts right at their first meeting and grows throughout her entire time there:

Beel is scary at first, and Lucifer- for some forsaken reason- made it her job to make sure Beel doesn't clean out the fridge every single day.

Shes scared of the man that seemed more then willing to eat her, but shes more scared of whatever punishment Lucifer would deal if she didn't at least try.

 So she goes

 It only takes her one run in with Beel and his puppy dog eyes (Because how could she just stop him like that!! How awful of her!!) for her to figure out that

 A: this man is harmless and...

B:she knows what hunger pains feel like and the guilt wells up

Still she knows she can let him go so she spends her grimm allowance on buying ingredients to cook with and makes him huge meals as "offerings"

 It doesn't always��stop him from eating half the fridge, but sometimes it seems like he's willing to actually savor what she makes. 

It gives her enough time to save the ingredients for dinner that night. (and If Beel sometimes wanders over to the kitchen while shes watching so shell make something for him, well there’s no harm done

The bastard pavlov dogged her and shes none the wiser) 

Slow and steady, the pieces fall into place naturally:

Asmo turns out to be another easy one, to her shock.

Even with MCs jealousy over how stunning Amso looks and how easy it is for him... they just seem to drift to each other

Starts with a comment on Asmos sharp eyeliner one day, and Asmo asking MC what shampoo she uses. 

Then the next day the same brand shampoo (And conditioner) will be left outside his door. And after MC will walk into the bathroom first thing in the morning only to wonder whom the fuck applied eyeliner to her in her sleep

It starts with days where they greet each other in the morning, to Stopping to chat for a few moments before heading on with their morning routine, to them walking down together, to Asmo fussing over her disheveled look after just waking up ‘-seriously Asmo not everyone can just roll out of bed like some Demons and look stunning’ - to ‘MC move over a scooch I need more room’ ‘Asmodeus this is my bed’ ‘Well how are we both supposed to fit when its so small!’, to weekly spa days and Gossiping about the others.

Its such an smooth transition that they both feel like it had always been as it was- two friends whispering secrets to each other late at night, pinky promises made over arbitrary things, laying so close that they can feel the others breathing. If maybe he leaned in a little closer they would--

--Oh... She fell asleep again. 

And he curls up next to her, blanket wrapped around both of them (That is, until Asmo hogs it later) and sleeps peacefully

A build up of trust, and a moment of venerability that finally knocks down his walls:

Swallows her pride for Lucifer

Its hard to explain in words for her, but she tells him of her family.

A family that is good but dosnt care, that used to leave her alone for hours on end when she was far too young. She says it with a smile too, admits that it helped her become as independent as she was, that she could cook for herself before she was 10.

She tells him of her younger brother. Someone she tried her best to love as much as she could only for him to, one day, just stop talking to her. Years trying to build back an abruptly cut connection only for him to snap one day and change his tune to something much worse. A family that watched as he screamed at her, berated her and never did anything. How she still stood tall, how she swallowed back every tear and tried to talk to him with a steady voice- only for him to become angrier.

How, when he did try to snap at other members, she was always there to stand between them. How she was the one to chase him off or take the yelling despite her family never doing the same for her. How she was the stable rock of the family where no one was for her.

Physical violence was only once, but it was enough for her to know things would never change.

She was like him in a way, same but different.

and She cant bear to see the same thing happen to him.

She wants to help, she knows shes just a little, useless human but please she needs to help. She cant bare leaving another broken family behind without helping. Her life had been stagnate before them, unbearably lonely, and she just wants them to be happy, even if that means without her

 even if it means she has to shove her nose where it doesn't belong

So... please... Please... Talk to Belphie. Please. He said he just wants to tal--

(She had earned Lucifer's respect not too long ago, and - to everyone's shock- the revel of what she came upon does not bring upon Lucifer's fury. Instead, he feels a deep understanding that he’ll never say aloud

Shes still going to get lectured, though. But he is too.) 

It takes time:

Spends what probably amounted to most of her time in Devildom with that little fu--

(No, No. Belphie needs help, she needs to reel it in for now.)

She gets what it means to be lonely. Despite her distrust of the man who caged up in a place where the bad people are, you know, supposed to be caged up and tutored feels like she needs to do something- if only to make sure he doesn't lose his mind from the isolation.  

(Rethinks a lot of her life and how she spent just hiding away from everything. How she would lock her door and never come out unless the sounds of another fight reached her. Thought about how it probably messed her up more then shes willing to admit and refuses to let the same thing happen to him

Oh sweet summer child)

Less trusting of him when its reviled that hes the seventh born, but more willing to help. If only for Beels sake

Brings stuff up to his room, a toy, a fluffy blanket, food that she snagged last minute. He complains hes cold one day and she yanks off her own sweater for him

(It all gets flushed down the toilet when she leaves, he scrubs his skin raw thinking about how his room smells disgustingly like that fucking human now) 

And then, one day, it just... changes: 

A human stands between him and the fucker that locked him up in there, his brothers that never knew he was there. All of them watching him with such pity in their eyes and he didnt want it- he didnt want their p-

The door was unlocked.

He was free.

Just like that.

it made no sense. He learns that they-- She-- spent hours dancing around Diavolo, deals were made. A room where it was just her and The Prince of Hell, promises not even Lucifer knew (And some part of Belphie relished in the fact that it was eating away at the fucker) 

("All those hours shouting at each other paid off” She looks to Satan with a smile. A joke he was not privy to. Lucifer huffed but said nothing. 

How much had changed since he was locked up?) 

A slow, downward spiral 

They're never alone, someone is always with her or with him (Beel sticks to his side like glue. after so long he finally gets to sleep next to his brother again) 

He finds food in the fridge with the words “For Beel <3″ in this awful chicken scratch handwriting. Mammon’s screaming interrupts his naps one day and he wakes up to see her smothering the second born in kisses. Her shouting wakes him up as her and Satan pass, her voice becoming high pitched as they argue about... the number of toes humans are supposed to have???? (she sits down next to him and rips off her shoes in a fit of rage, demanding that Belphie count with her because what the fuck-

Satan sneers at her feet and tells the only actual toes are her two big ones, the rest are just digits.)

There’s traces of her everywhere. Layers of clothing haphazardly thrown about after a day at RAD and then neatly placed away. A mention of her name at the dinner table before shes there. Not even his and beels room is safe from her- he can smell her scent on Beels pillow. Faint, but a awful reminder of the human down the hall. 

He hates it, he wants to throw it all away. He wants to erase her memory from his home, he wants to ripe her apa--

A blanket is draped over him one day, and he cant bring himself to open his eyes to see who did it...

She talks to him, Or more like at him. The longer he stays freed the harder is it to hide his distaste towards Humanity and- especially- to her. He thinks shes dense, because he knows his brothers sense there’s something wrong (Levis tail wraps around her when hes too close, Lucifer stands between them, Amso pulls her by the waist. Close to him, further from belphie) But she doesn't. She pushes closer. She asks him questions.

She never touches him, one small blessing in Hell. 

Beel believes him when he bashfully admits one night that he may start to enjoy his time spent with human. And for a moment he feels guilty about the lie but its all for a greater goal

When its just the three of them, Beel leaves for a moment too long. To get snacks, to grab something from another room, it doesn't matter. This was the moment he waited for. 

She smiles at him, all kind and gentle (And the words that leave her lips are unheard through the blood rushing through his ears) and leans forward

He puts his hands around her neck

She goes limp.

He-

He needed to-

He couldn’t squeeze.

Beel comes back with the biggest grin on his face, arms full of snacks (”Here MC I got your favorite”) He sits on the opposite side of Belphie, leaning into him with enough weight that his own shoulder presses against MCs, mushing her against the wall. 

Despite her smile he can feel her shaking.

[thezodiaczone]

Cancer Compatibility

CANCER + ARIES (MARCH 21 - APRIL 19) Aries is the zodiac's baby (its first sign); Cancer is its matriarch, ruling the fourth house of motherhood, home and family. Is this relationship doomed to be an Oedipal cliche? Not if you temper these traits through steady, conscious self-development. Otherwise, you easily lapse into automatic roles that polarize you into a parent-child (or master-and-servant) dynamic. Aries can be selfish—not maliciously, but in a crude, clueless style that leaves Cancer resentful and dismayed at the Ram's lack of nuance. Cancer knows how to play the nurturing giver, but this delicate sign needs room to be vulnerable, too. Aries loves to be coddled, but Cancer's maternal indulgences will create a spoiled brat or a demanding diva. Besides, while the Crab may have a tough outer shell, the true warrior is Aries, ruled by aggressive Mars. Your differences are many: Aries is a diehard independent and Cancer is a family guy; Aries needs freedom, the Crab's possessive grip clings tight. You'll need to compromise, or else the relationship can turn into a competitive, jealous hotbed. You can both brood with the best of them, and your dark days eclipse even the tiniest sliver of hope. Talk about depressing. Swear off the silent treatment and learn to communicate as two adult equals.

CANCER + TAURUS (APRIL 20 - MAY 20) ♥♥♥♥ Buy those twin rocking chairs and install them on the porch: You're an old-fashioned throwback, high school sweethearts at any age. No two signs are more traditional, sentimental or family-oriented than yours. Although the sweetness can be cloying, you're a love story for the ages. In fact, you may emulate your own parents (or compensate for their shortcomings), since you share a rather conventional moral compass. Affectionate and nurturing, you crave lifelong security and a comfortable home, and you'll squirrel away a sizeable nest egg together. Not that you don't indulge. Your signs both appreciate art, culture, decorating, music and gourmet food. As parents, you're protective but firm, Taurus doling out tough love in your children's best interest, nurturing Cancer kisses every boo-boo. Framed family pictures creep like urban sprawl through your home. At times, Taurus' booming voice and blunt remarks wound the Crab's tender feelings. Like a bull in a Bernardaud shop, Taurus doesn't realize his own size, strength and intensity. Taurus will need to dial down the volcanic energy—intuitive Cancer doesn't need every point driven home. At the same time, Cancer must overcome insecurities and toughen up, since Taurus doesn't mince words or tiptoe through the tulips for anyone. Sure, there will be tears and misunderstandings, but there's nothing that any recipe calling for heavy cream can't solve. You both love pampering and feasts, and if your waistlines expand along with your joy, c'est la vie.

CANCER + GEMINI (MAY 21 - JUNE 20) Cancer is an emotional Water sign who loves to nest and bond; Gemini is a restless Air sign who prefers intellect over sentiment. You have similar interests, different temperaments. In many cases, this works out anyway. You both adore culture, the more obscure the better. You love to discover new bands, read novels by controversial authors, gorge yourselves at the jewel of a restaurant tucked into an undiscovered neighborhood. You bond over TV shows and bargain-hunting for treasures (you both have a thrifty streak). No flea market, tag sale or eBay store is safe from your scouring, and your home can resemble a bizarre gallery of antiques and modern gadgetry. The tricky part is when you lapse into astrological auto-pilot. Cancer is the zodiac's mother, who heaps on affection, nurturing and well-intended care. To Gemini, this can feel like clinginess and smothering. Gemini is the zodiac's fickle tween, waffling between bouts of dependence and asserting autonomy. There will be moments when Gemini greedily laps up Cancer's doting, and others when mama bird is roughly pushed away with a sarcastic, heart-piercing insult. Cancer must work hard not to take these moments personally—otherwise, the Crab lashes back with a below-the-belt barb, and it turns ugly. Remember, Crabcake: it's not you that Gemini is rejecting, it's your overprotection. Get a pet to dote on instead. Gemini needs space, Cancer needs reassurance. Memorize this formula.

CANCER + CANCER (JUNE 21 - JULY 22) To respin the old joke: What do two Cancers bring on a second date? Answer: a U-Haul. Cancer is the zodiac's nester, and you'll quickly set up a home with a fully-stocked kitchen, cozy furniture, a hand-wired sound system and eclectic art. This is a Water sign match that can work out swimmingly. You're both sensitive and nurturing, and you feel safe in each other's thoughtful care. With your love of culture, you may need a separate room for your collection of books, music and film. While you'll create a trove of sentimental memories and a lovely little family, you can become too insular together. Push yourselves to leave the comfy Crabshell and take more risks. You make fine travel companions, especially on trips involving water: surfing in Maui, an Alaskan cruise or skiing in Aspen. Cancer is ruled by the changeable moon, and at times, your fluctuating moods can clash. On bad days, all that emotion under one roof means slammed doors, screamed insults and hours of sulking. Problems also start when you take everything personally, or let your insecurities paralyze you. We know of one Cancer-Cancer couple where the woman proposed to her fiancé—got down on bended knee when she had the flu!—because she got tired of waiting for him to pop the question. Turns out, he had a ring stashed in his sock drawer, but was scared she would say no. Oh brother. Crabs, grow a pair—don't let this happen to you.

CANCER + LEO (JULY 23 - AUGUST 22) Can you say drama? Between Cancer's moods and Leo's ego, you're a camera crew away from being a reality show—the kind that makes you want to change the channel, only you can't leave the crash scene. Harsh but true. Your signs are both needy and bossy, but in different ways. Cancer is insecure and possessive, and this sign's sensitive Water element can quench Fire-sign Leo's excitement. Leo rules the zodiac's fifth house of drama, and suffers from a terminal case of what relationship expert Alison Armstrong calls "center of the universe disease." Cancer is ruled by the fluctuating moon, Leo by the sun. You literally can be as different as night and day. However, your knee-jerk reactions and hair trigger tempers cause the same amount of destruction. So what works about this match? It's packed with passion and romance, something you both adore. Cancer and Leo are heart-driven signs, and emotional highs are your breath of life. For all the crashes, meltdowns and train wrecks this causes, you remain fiercely, enigmatically loyal. Self-awareness is crucial to this relationship's survival. You both need to take responsibility for the drama you're capable of stirring up. In the best cases, you'll meet after you've learned to temper your emotions, or even better, logged a few dedicated years of therapy.

CANCER + VIRGO (AUGUST 23 - SEPTEMBER 22) ♥♥♥♥ This is a couple that can outlast the ages, since you're fast friends and seamless companions. Virgo is the zodiac's helper and Cancer is its nurturer. Your emotional connection is instant, and you're thrilled to meet a kindred soul who knows how to give, not just take. It's a refreshing break from the usual energy vampires you both attract! Your relationship is sweet and storybook-innocent: lots of handholding, sentimental cards, and anniversary baubles. Yet, you're practical, too, stowing away college funds for your yet-to-be-born children, earning advanced degrees, taking out a mortgage. Security is something you both cherish. In a way, you're like parents and partners to one another: you both express love by nagging, fussing and feeding. And it works. A pair of self-professed nerds, you love to cook, decorate, read novels and learn. No matter how much money you earn, you both remain thrifty, too. (Scoring a high-end treasure at a tag sale or an eBay auction is orgasmic.) Your signs are both family oriented, and you make sweet but strict parents who live for your children. Generally, you're close to your own relatives, and you enjoy spending time at family events or hosting holiday gatherings. Keeping the sexy charge alive will take a little effort, though, since you both love to stay home rather than dress up or hit the town. Push yourselves to leave the nest, and socialize with other couples more often.

CANCER + LIBRA (SEPTEMBER 23 - OCTOBER 22) You're a sweet, romantic couple, but not always a perfect match. On the upside, Cancer is ruled by the caring Moon and Libra by romantic Venus, casting a tender glow on this love affair. With your flair for color, style and objets d'art, you could open an interior design business (your home may in fact resemble an Architectural Digest spread). Now, the challenge: Cancer is a deeply emotional Water sign whose moods fluctuate like the tides. Libra is a social Air sign who prefers to happy-dance through the daisies. Between the Crab's fatalism and Libra's denial, nobody has a strong grip on reality. Better keep a few grounded Earth sign friends on speed dial when you lose perspective. Failing that, you'll need to adapt to each other's opposing natures. Like a stone skipping across the water's surface, Libra averts the plunging depths of Cancer's inconsolable undertows and cloying neediness. Yet, avoidance is futile, since it only upsets the Crab to be ignored. Libra should learn that a hug, flowers and an apology (however undeserved) pave the quickest path to peace. Not that Libra doesn't have his own powerful undercurrent: when those scales tips out of balance, he can escalate a minor breakdown into a Code Orange catastrophe. Admit it: you're both big babies at times. For long-term success, find activities you both enjoy: travel, language classes, dancing, dinner parties. You're gracious hosts and culturally literate people with lots to talk about. Get out and savor life together.

CANCER + SCORPIO (OCTOBER 23 - NOVEMBER 21) You're an ideal match, twin Water signs with deeply complementary natures. Highly suspicious and protective of your privacy, neither of you trusts easily. As a result, you intuitively trust each other. The good news is, you've bet on a winning sea-horse. These two signs can mate for life, and the emotional facets of your relationship deepen into an intimacy few couples reach. Romantic and sentimental occasions never go uncelebrated: birthdays, Valentine's Day, the five-month anniversary of the first time you said "I love you." Sex is a sacred, erotic act that can transport you on a one-way trip to Tantra-ville. You feel safe enough together to try anything. The challenge will be breaking the ice, since you both tend to clam up in a red-faced fluster or any icy aloofness around a new love interest. It helps to talk about music, books, films—anything but your feelings. Once you get past the awkward phase, it's smooth sailing. You genuinely enjoy each other's company, and like to do almost everything together. As parents, you're incredibly nurturing and hands-on, and may struggle to cut the cord when your kids reach adolescence. In fact, control is the big challenge for your signs. Jealous and possessive, you know how to avoid your mate's hot buttons—or to push them when you're feeling spiteful. (The Crab pinches and the Scorpion stings; both can wound the relationship fatally.) At times, Cancer's sulking seems childish to Scorpio, and Scorpio's sharp edges can maim the Crab's tender feelings. Fortunately, you know how to win your way back into each other's good graces once the moody spells pass.

CANCER + SAGITTARIUS (NOVEMBER 22 - DECEMBER 21) You're cut from entirely different cloths and patterns. Sagittarius is neon polka-dot on stretch Lycra; Cancer is Burberry plaid on Swiss wool. You'll never be a match that makes sense to observers—which is why Cancer Tom Cruise and Sagittarius Katie Holmes are such a tabloid target. Is it true love, a train wreck, or a little bit of both? Let's examine. Domestic Cancer rules home, heart and family, and holds his loved ones in his vest pocket. Sagittarius is the restless world traveler who craves freedom and adventure. Sag can either feel smothered or totally nurtured by Cancer. The Crab loves to provide every security for his sweetie, and it's a relief to the Archer to come home to a hot meal, a drawn bath, an adoringly attentive partner. The trouble starts when Sagittarius stops coming home. Sagittarius needs sunlight, air and wide open spaces. Cancer keeps the shades drawn and burrows into his metaphorical Crab shell. When Sagittarius neglects Cancer's need for togetherness, starts hanging out with a rowdy crew of rebels, or traipses the globe alone, Cancer's insecurities are rankled. You have fierce tempers, and the combustion of Cancer's moodiness and Sag's anger can be downright destructive. What the Crab must realize is that a pretty bird in a cage will soon fly the coop—at least, if the bird is a Sag. He must open the windows and trust Sagittarius to come back to the nest, a real act of faith. Your strong sexual chemistry sweetens the pot, but you'll need to adapt to each other's rhythms through hard work and keen listening.

CANCER + CAPRICORN (DECEMBER 22 - JANUARY 19) ♥♥♥♥ Paging June and Ward Cleaver! Cancer is astrology's mother and Capricorn is its patriarch. You're opposite signs that might very well polarize into these retro roles. On the zodiac wheel, Cancer rules the fourth house of home, family and femininity. Capricorn governs its tenth house of fatherhood, authority, masculinity and ambition. In many ways, it's nice to have a mate who happily redresses your shortcomings. Yet, it can also be off-putting. Cancer longs for touch and affection, misty-eyed Hallmark moments and emotionally naked conversations. Stoic Capricorn can be stiff and formal, a closet neurotic who pooh-poohs Cancer's feelings as overblown melodramas. In truth, Capricorn just internalizes his feelings, then falls into depressions or flogs himself mercilessly. You must learn the other's "love language" to succeed as a couple. Cancer shows caring through sentimental gestures, food, togetherness and well-intended nagging. Capricorn's expression is through duty—bringing home a steady paycheck, showing up on time, holding it together when everyone else falls apart. Capricorn must learn to honor Cancer's feelings and intuition; the Crab must develop gratitude for Capricorn's loyalty and quiet wisdom. Parenting is where you really shine as a team. Raising children is the ultimate honor for your signs, as well as a creative challenge. You're both loyal to your families, no matter how much they drive you crazy. This is a quality you respect in each other. At the end of the day, you share enough common values to make a solid, lifelong match.

CANCER + AQUARIUS (JANUARY 20 - FEBRUARY 18) This oddball match is as fascinating and perplexing as a Proenza Schouler pump—and like the highbrow fashion house, few understand its power. Here we have Cancer, sentimental and family-oriented, possessive, anchored by deep roots and tradition. Mix in Aquarius, the sci-fi nomad, a butterfly escaping the net of convention, laughing with you and at you all at once. How on earth…? This is a coupling that doesn't happen often, and for good reason. Cool Aquarius doesn't need much affection, and Cancer withers without physical touch. The Crab clutches his loved ones in powerful pincers, and scuttles after Aquarius, practically begging for love. Naturally, free-spirited Aquarius feels smothered and trapped by these demands for intimacy, and constructs little trap doors everywhere—a basketball team, a drama class, a post on city council. Yet, when wounded Cancer withdraws into his shell, Aquarius is suddenly intrigued. Where did my lifeline go? What Aquarius takes for granted is Cancer's loyalty, which can resemble a mother's love for her troubled teen. The Crab can see the vulnerable child underneath the surly bravado. Beyond that, you owe each other a karmic debt so profound, you can't even articulate it. Explains one Aquarius, who's been with her Cancer mate for 35 years: "I've learned that sometimes you have to do what the other person likes, even if you don't like it." In other words, if you want to stay together, eat your broccoli. You'll certainly grow in spirit and character. Sometimes, your soul needs a challenge more than a smoothly-paved road.

CANCER + PISCES (FEBRUARY 19 - MARCH 20) ♥♥♥♥ You're a pair of softies underneath it all, even if the world sees a hard Crab shell or a tough, scaly Fish. Alone with each other, your compatible Water signs are as tender as can be. You're both compassionate and nurturing, soothing each other with sustenance and sensitivity. There's nothing a stick of butter, cookies made from scratch, or a nice after-dinner cordial by the fire can't solve. Romantic and sensual, you love to pipe classical music through the sound system, light the candelabras and whip up a gourmet feast side-by-side. Hours of kissing and foreplay will follow. Though your relationship is a refuge, it can also become a fishbowl that limits your growth. You absorb each other's fluctuating moods like a sponge, so get out of the aquarium-for-two. With your refined sensibilities, you're excellent patrons of the arts, so head to museums, gallery openings, concerts, and dance performances. Fling open your doors for dinner parties that toast an artistic friend, an esteemed poet, or a relative's good news. This satisfies your nurturing instincts, and invites new energy into your space. You must both learn when to let go of grudges, since you can be passive-aggressive and play the victim when your feelings are hurt. Slammed doors, sulking and brooding must stop. Don't excuse bad behavior with psychobabble, either (e.g., "When you said that, it reminded me of how my mother couldn't love"). Grow up, will you? If you've been cruel, simply say "I'm sorry" and offer a long hug. The power of touch can heal anything between you, too.

[its-flicked-switch]

All The Things She Said

5k | MSR | Post-MS4 

Mulder takes Scully home following their conversation on the dock.

:

—

"Words are like eggs dropped from great heights; you can no more call them back than ignore the mess they leave when they fall."

― Jodi Picoult, Salem Falls

—

MULDER

She stirs when the car hits the rough gravel drive. He can sense her initial unease and subsequent relief as she shakes off the reminisce of sleep and orients herself. Normally, he would tease her about drooling on the upholstery or complain about his inability to hear the NPR due to her obnoxiously loud snoring, but tonight he says nothing as he eases the mustang up to their front porch. Shutting off the ignition, he reaches for her hand, bringing it to the center console and giving it a light squeeze — a silent request for her to stay put until he comes around to open her door. It's not something that he normally insists on doing, nor is it something that she would regularly allow, but tonight calls for chivalry. Tonight, he knows that she will not object.

Scully has always been fiercely independent. In the early stages of their relationship, she resisted being waited on, fussed over, or coddled, often doing so with a single, pointed glance that required little to no interpretation. All these years later, her eyes still hold the same fire and intensity they did when they first met, but tonight, as he opens her door and takes her hand, all he sees is resignation. She's exhausted. They both are.

No words are exchanged as they make their way into the house. They move in a silent rhythm that comes from years of intimacy: every look, touch, and gesture relaying meaning and underlying conversation. Words come secondary because, after all this time, they are often unnecessary.

They pause briefly in the entryway to unload their pockets, ridding themselves of their phones, keys, credentials, and weapons. Slowing his movement, Mulder angles himself to watch Scully as he places his keys next to hers. Her tailored coat is still damp from the rain, making it difficult to remove, but her efforts cease, and her body relaxes when his hands come to rest on her shoulders. He says nothing as he removes it, but he can't help but be troubled by her silence. The last time he can remember her being this quiet was when they were on the run… a time when she had given up everything to be with him, including their son.

As he turns to hang her coat on the wall, he checks the thermostat and bumps the temperature up a few degrees.

He turns to find her standing in a daze in the middle of the living room with her arms crossed over her chest as if she doesn't know where to go or what to do. As he moves to stand directly behind her, he sees a shiver move through her body. Even after two hours in the car with heated seats and all the vents angled in her direction, her clothes still aren't completely dry. While he's not shocked that she stood out in the rain to observe the diving teams, he is surprised that she remained out there as long as she did in her current condition without an umbrella.

After 25 years, one would think that he would have a handle on all things involving and encompassing that which makes Scully, Scully — but he doesn't. She's always been a puzzle. While at times it's aggravating beyond measure, her ability to still surprise him is one of many things that draws him to her.

Looking at her now, Mulder is torn. He wants to talk to her and comfort her, but he's also not sure how. If there is anything that his relationship with her has taught him, it's patience. Scully is a lot like a turtle; she's cautious and moves at her own pace. Any attempt to draw her out before she's ready often results in her closing shop or snapping, which is why even with all of the questions burning in his mind, he has remained silent.

Placing his hands lightly on her shoulders, he angles his head to speak softly in her ear.

"You need to get out of these damp clothes, Scully," he whispers. "Go jump in the shower. I'll make you some soup."

She turns to face him, dropping her hands to her side.

"I'm not hungry Mulder; there's no need to —"

But he doesn't let her finish.

"It's not just for you."

The bomb she dropped on him earlier is far from forgotten. While he's respecting her silence and her need to process everything that has happened, he can't allow her to go to bed without eating. Not now.

He can tell by the look on her face that she wants to protest. Normally what she says goes, but not tonight. She searches his face for a moment, processing his gaze and expression before averting her eyes to stare down at their joined hands.

"Mulder, I…"

Squeezing her hands lightly, he silently interrupts her, directing her eyes back up to his. As soon as she raises her head, his lips catch hers, lingering only for a moment before raising them to the tip of her nose, and then her forehead. His fingers weave themselves into her hair and caress her lower back as he pulls her body tightly against his own.

"We don't have to talk about this now, Scully," he whispers into her hair. "Not if you aren't ready."

Surrendering into his embrace, she burrows her head into his chest and breathes deeply.

Despite the day they've had, he can still smell the remnants of the hair products she uses. Taking in her scent as he kisses the top of her head, Mulder is desperate to comfort her. He wants to promise her that it's going to be okay… that he will never again abandon her and that this time will be different. But Mulder says nothing. Instead, he remains silent. Not because he fears commitment but because he knows he's powerless to make such promises. History has taught him that much.

He can feel the current of emotion running through her as his hands roam the expanse of her back. After speaking briefly to Skinner and learning of her pregnancy, her words on the dock and behavior over the course of the past several weeks makes more sense. Her words and actions were provoked… guided by a madman, pregnancy hormones, and fear.

Giving her a gentle squeeze, he releases her and turns her towards the base of the stairs.

"Go shower. Your soup will be ready when you get out."

She's halfway up when she stops.

"Mulder?"

"Yes?"

"I want chicken noodle."

"Chicken noodle, it is then."

He waits until she disappears at the top of the stairs before retreating into the kitchen. As he gathers the ingredients for the soup, he can hear her moving around in their bedroom and the sound of the water running in the master bathroom. While he desperately yearns for answers that only she can provide, he is also grateful to have some time to himself. Odds are, she is too.

He and Scully have always known that there was more to William's conception, but knowing something and having it slap you in the face are two entirely different things. Having now seen what William is capable of, the gravity of what has been done to them and to their son hits him with full force.

In the years following William's adoption, all they could do was hope that the magnetite injection had been successful in silencing the alien sequences of William's DNA, rendering him useless to the evil forces who had invested interests in him. Now, Mulder wonders if the opposite were true. Had the magnetite somehow enhanced William's abilities, eliminating all the weaknesses observed in the alien-human hybrids that preceded him? Had Jeffrey Spender actually made William more powerful? And if so, had it been intentional or incidental?

Mulder's faith in anyone carrying the name Spender borders on nonexistent, but after what he witnessed tonight, he's inclined to believe that his half brother's attempt to save his nephew was genuine, even if it was for all the wrong reasons.

When Mulder appeared behind the Smoking Man after he shot William, the confusion and shock that crossed his features was genuine, giving rise to something Mulder had not previously considered.

Having spent his entire career being lied to, manipulated, and mislead, Mulder had always assumed that the devil holding the candle knew the end game, but perhaps that was the greatest misdirection of all. What transpired on the docks has made one thing abundantly clear to Mulder.

They don't know.

The forces responsible for William's bioengineered DNA have no idea what they have created.

And suddenly, a great deal of what he and Scully have experienced over the course of the past two decades makes sense to him… even William's birth. The super soldiers who gathered to witness his birth left disinterested and disappointed. While he's not sure what they were told or what they were expecting, it's now more clear to him than ever that William has never been what was expected. How much Jeffery and the Smoking Man knew and from who is still unclear, but the more Mulder thinks about it, the more he suspects that even those behind the curtain are at a loss to explain William.

William is powerful. Far more powerful and gifted than his creators anticipated him to be.

He's a train off the tracks, and they don't possess the manpower or the technology to stop him.

With this in mind, Mulder has little doubt that Scully is right. William is alive. After what he witnessed in that hotel room, he doubts very seriously that a single bullet would be capable of killing him, and that is assuming that the bullet even struck him, to begin with. As for the Smoking Man, he should hope to be dead. If he's not, he will be soon enough.

Now that he's had some time to ponder William's actions and replay their conversation, Mulder is left with far more questions than answers. William clearly didn't need his protection and knew Mulder was being followed, so why didn't he just run or hide in plain sight as he had done previously? Was he simply curious to meet his father? Or was there something more sinister at play?

In the short time they had together, William had only asked Mulder one question, and Mulder got the distinct impression that he already knew the answer. Mulder and Scully possess the same amount of alien DNA. The markers they each possess have slightly different variations, but the percentages are the same, leading him to believe that William's ability to communicate with Scully and not him has more to do with the chip implanted into the base of Scully's skull than it does their shared alien DNA. The only way to be certain would be to remove the chip, and that's not an option. With this in mind, he's not sure why William asked him about the visions. Was he trying to tell him something? Take a stab at his paternity? Or was it some sort of test to determine how much or how little he knew? If this were any other case or any other person, Mulder would be inclined to dismiss it, but he can't suppress the nagging feeling that William had asked him that question for a reason.

Mulder's interaction with William had also awakened something inside of him that he hadn't anticipated.

Fear.

Rather than avoiding his pursuers, William had opted to kill them in a violent display of power that was not of this world. Mulder has seen and experienced a lot of weird and terrifying things over the years, but nothing, not even his abduction, death, and subsequent resurrection could compare to what he witnessed in that hotel room.

He was in awe, yet he was terrified.

How could something he and Scully created all those years ago grow to be something so viciously violent?

The conclusion he has come to is one of purpose.

Extinguishing the threat in the manner that he did was a message, not only to Mulder but to all the others who pursue him. It was a warning laced with a promise. William is not to be captured, controlled, or contained.

Monica Reyes had called to warn them.

Whoever controls your son controls the future.

Twenty-four hours ago, that warning had sent him on a mission to find his son and to be his protector. What a joke that had been.

To those still pursuing William now, all Mulder can say is — good fucking luck.

Sounds associated with a stovetop disaster snap him back into action. He's been so deeply lost in thought that he's nearly let the soup boil over. When he turns off the burner and shifts the pot over to the other side of the stove, the room quiets, drawing attention to the fact that the water upstairs is no longer running. Cursing under his breath, he wonders how long Scully has been out of the shower. Not hearing her hair dryer or any movement coming from upstairs, he begins to wonder if she has already crawled into bed when a chair is pulled out from underneath the table behind him.

Her sudden appearance startles him enough that he lets go of the soup ladle, letting it drop into the depths of the soup as he turns to face her.

A look of apology crosses her face as she sits. The past twenty-four hours have left them both a little on edge.

"The plan was to bring this up to you so that you didn't have to come back down," he says, eyeing her curiously.

She nods her head from side to side, dismissing the sentiment as she begins to unload the tray he had been preparing to take upstairs.

"You need to eat too."

Mulder isn't hungry, but he knows he can't tell her that, so instead of arguing with her, he grabs another bowl, fills it, and places it on the table across from hers and joins her.

He can tell that she recognizes her mother's recipe by the small smile that plays on her lips as she picks up her spoon and stirs. She doesn't vocalize it, but he can tell that she is touched by his gesture.

Taking in her appearance, he's surprised to see that her hair is still damp. She normally dries it immediately after she gets out of the shower, but tonight it possesses the wildness of quick towel dry. Her silk pajama bottoms and fuzzy socks explain her stealthy entry.

He's briefly curious as to where she found the socks because he's never seen them before. The long-sleeved Oxford tee she is wearing, however, is familiar — because it's his.

"I owe you an apology, Mulder," she says quietly, breaking their silence.

"For?"

"I shouldn't have said the things I said earlier. Not without explanation," she says, her eyes retreating into the depths of her soup. "William is our son… a DNA test confirmed that 18 years ago, but it also confirmed that it was more complicated than that."

"Is it?"

His question earns him a look, but she takes his point, quieting as she stares back down into her soup. He would say more if he didn't sense she was working up to something… something that he suspects has been weighing on her for some time now.

"He's…"

She doesn't finish her statement because she doesn't have to. William was never truly theirs, at least not in the way they wanted him to be.

"To think that I abandoned him all those years ago… dumping him off on an unsuspecting family, who couldn't have possibly had any idea of what they were signing up for… I can imagine how they must have felt the first time they saw him move an object across the room with his mind because I certainly remember how I felt." She pauses again, this time making eye contact. "And that was with the added benefit of knowing where it came from."

The hand not stirring is now resting on her forehead, her fingers entangling themselves into her damp hair as she continues.

"The magnetite injection Jeffrey gave him worked, at least initially. He stopped moving his mobile, and Jeffrey assured me that results were permanent. For years, I convinced myself that giving him up was my only option, but we both know that isn't true. I could have run. The gunmen created false identities for all of us, not just you, but instead of running, I signed our rights away. I abandoned him."

At this point, Mulder interjects because she knows better, and they've had this discussion before.

"Scully, you did the only thing you could to protect him. Running wouldn't have been the right choice for him, and you know that… you, of all people, know what life on the run entails, and it's no life for a child. The knowledge that he was with you would have always given them a starting point. Putting him up for adoption gave him anonymity. You didn't abandon him, Scully… you saved him."

He can tell she is on the verge of interrupting him, so he raises his hand to silence her because he's not done. He's not even close to being done.

"No. We don't know what it was like for him or his adoptive family to go through that process blindly, but I think it's safe to say that choice you made bought him time that he otherwise wouldn't have had. When he was born, they didn't take him from us because he wasn't what they were expecting, but that doesn't mean that they weren't watching."

The cameras in their apartments had only been the tip of the iceberg. The syndicate and their associates had been tapping their phones and tracking their vehicles for years, using the intel they gathered to manipulate them further. Instead of shutting them down, the syndicate had used them to their advantage. Mulder knows that Scully knows this just as well as he does, but he continues to press in order to make his point.

"Once they learned of his abilities, they would have taken him from us, and we wouldn't have been able to stop them. But now… Scully… what he was able to do… adoption was the greatest gift you could have given him. It gave him the time in the dark he needed in order to be able to protect himself. The monsters who helped to create him can't touch him now. The power he possesses is beyond their reach."

"Mulder we helped to create him. You and me. We knew… we knew of his abilities… his alien DNA. Doesn't that make us just as culpable as they are?"

"Scully, what happened to you outside of your consent…"

"He didn't force me to get into the car Mulder! I packed a bag. Hell, I drove the car! We may never know exactly what he did or how he did it but —"

"You agreed to accepting the cure for cancer, not to being impregnated with science."

She looks surprised by his choice of words, so Mulder elaborates.

"Skinner told me what Spender said."

While this gives her pause, she still doesn't let it go.

"It doesn't change anything. The point is still the same, Mulder. We knew —"

"Did we really? You and I both have alien DNA, and neither of us can change what the mind perceives."

"Mulder…"

"No. Listen to me. We knew that he possessed alien DNA and that he could move his mobile, but we couldn't have possibly foreseen this. They certainly didn't."

"Mulder, what are you… ?"

"When the Smoking Man shot William, he had no idea he was shooting William. He thought he was shooting me. Don't you see? They don't know, Scully. They have no idea what he is and what he is capable of… so how in the world can you blame yourself for not seeing it? What happened to his adoptive family isn't your fault. There is no way you could have known."

He knows that the guilt Scully carries isn't just about William. She feels responsible for the Van De Kamps' death. Raising and protecting their son had cost them their lives.

Tears are forming in her eyes, but he presses on because he has a point to make, and she needs to let this go.

"What else could you have possibly done? Abort him?"

Her head jerks up. The fire in her eyes a warning that he's hit a nerve.

"No. I would have never —"

"Exactly. The only thing you are guilty of is wanting him and loving him. None of this is your fault. Not a damn bit of it."

A single tear threads down her cheek as she releases her grip on the spoon she's been holding, letting it settle down into the bottom of the bowl.

"Do you think he knows?"

She says it so quietly that he almost doesn't hear her.

"Do you think he has any idea how much we wanted him? Prayed for him?"

"I think… I think it's safe to say that he knows that the circumstances of his adoption weren't typical."

Despite the seriousness of the conversation, she snorts.

"He's bright, Scully. How could he not be? He's an uber-Scully."

And that does it: she smiles.

Her smile calms him. Looking deeply into her eyes, he does everything in his power to portray the calmness and security that he knows she needs. There are a lot of difficult conversations that lie ahead, but they don't all have to come tonight.

Taking his cue, she retorts back.

"Oh, I don't know, Mulder. I think we can both agree that he's a little bit spooky."

"Just a little?"

Her soft laugh fills the kitchen.

There's a pause. It's not awkward, but it is pointed, a sign that she's about to shift the conversation.

"Speaking of spooky uber-Scullies…"

As relieved as Mulder is that she's bringing up the baby, he's not really sure where to start or what to say. Dozens of questions and comments immediately come to mind, but, ultimately, he decides to start with the basics.

"How long have you known?"

Her hesitation confirms what he already suspected. She's known ever since he found her sobbing in the shower last week.

"A little over a week," she says as she takes a weighted breath. "I'm sorry that I didn't tell you sooner… that I've kept this from you. I wanted to tell you so badly, but —"

"Were you afraid that I wouldn't want it?" he asks, unable to hide the emotion creeping into his voice.

"No… no… I knew you would never… Mulder, I'm 54 years old. We've never… why now? After all that we've been through and everything we've tried? Why now? I just… I had to be sure. I already took one child away from you. I couldn't do that to you again. I had to make absolutely sure."

"So you would have —"

"NO. I'm not saying that… I just… Crystal had a close friend of hers run some tests … off the books. And then I ran them again myself. I wanted answers. I wanted to understand. If this was something other than a miracle, I had to know. I couldn't give you hope only to take it away."

Reaching his hand across the table, he places it on top of hers, encouraging her to hold his gaze.

"No matter what you've found, I want it, and I want to know everything. No more secrets. Not anymore."

Scully's eyes start to water, and her voice cracks as she struggles to control her emotions.

"The last time we went through this, I never got to tell you. By the time I figured it out, you were gone, and when you came back, I was already so far along that I didn't have to tell you."

Her tears are falling freely now, and he can't stand it. Within seconds he has her in his arms, cradling her as she sobs.

"I'm scared, Mulder. I'm so scared."

She doesn't have to say what she is scared of because her fears match his own.

"What if —"

But he interrupts her because he doesn't want her to go there. He doesn't want her thinking about the long list of medical complications, chip activation, or alien DNA.

"Scully, you can't go there. You'll drive yourself crazy if you do. And unless there is something else you haven't told me, neither of us have taken any field trips with members of the underworld lately, which can only mean…"

She snorts, lightly smacking at his chest.

"I just don't understand it, Mulder. Why now? After all of this time… we never exactly —"

"I know."

They had never used any form of birth control. Not even after William. Each of them secretly hoping for a second miracle, never dreaming in a million years that it would come nearly two decades later.

Although Scully's tears have subsided, neither of them moves.

Mulder hates to break the moment, but he also doesn't want her to overthink anything. It's late, and she really needs to eat something. Neither of them has eaten in over 12 hours. Dissecting the mystery of miracle baby number two can wait until tomorrow. Right now, his primary concern is feeding her and putting her to bed.

"You're letting your soup get cold."

The feel of her mouth curling up into a smile against his shirt warms him more than a hot bowl of soup ever could.

"Oh, and yours is staying warm," she asks, pulling away just enough to look up into his face.

"My soup — is special," he tells her.

To this, she smiles and shakes her head, her expression turning more serious as she stills.

Gazing up into his eyes, she whispers, "I love you."

The intensity of her gaze puts butterflies in his stomach and makes his hands shake. The fact that she can still do this to him twenty-five years later never fails to amaze him.

He knows that she loves him. He can see it in her eyes every time she looks at him, but hearing her say it has always stirred something deep inside of him. Something that he doesn't have the words to describe.

Unable to respond with words, he lowers his head to hers, capturing her lips and running his hands through her hair and along her side. Halting his hand to stop just under the swell of her breast, he kisses her with everything he has, and she kisses him back without hesitation, pulling his body more tightly against her own as she encourages him to deepen the kiss.

With all of the storms that lie between them, this aspect of their relationship has never been a source of contention.

As much as Mulder would love for this to continue and progress into something far more intimate, he knows that now is not the appropriate time. Breaking the kiss, he places smaller kisses along the sides of her face and forehead before gazing into her eyes.

"Let's eat," he tells her softly.

Nodding, she runs her hands down his chest and raises up onto the tips of her toes to place a soft kiss on his lips before returning to the table.

After they finish eating, he encourages her to head upstairs while he cleans up the kitchen and turns off the lights.

When he enters their bedroom, he finds her in the bathroom, drying her hair. Taking a moment to appreciate her, he stands and watches her until their eyes meet in the mirror. Moving to stand behind her, he rests his hands on her hips and kisses the top of her head before turning and stripping to get in the shower.

Of all of the things currently unknown, there is one truth that he does know with absolute certainty. She is his everything, and he's going to spend the rest of his life making sure that she never regrets coming home.

When he gets out of the shower, the lights in their bedroom are off. Although it's dark, he can still make out the silhouette of her small frame curled up in the center of their queen-sized bed and wastes no time joining her. As he pulls back the covers, she relaxes and shifts her weight to encourage him to pull her into his embrace. Burrowing his nose in her hair, Mulder says the words that were caught in his throat earlier.

"I love you too, Scully. More than anything."

"I know," she replies, her voice thick with emotion.

Bring his hand up to her lips, she kisses his fingers lightly, before moving them down to splay over her stomach, resting them protectively over the life currently growing inside of her — a life they had created together.

AN: This story is a chapter from a larger work that is currently in progress. For those of you who are interested in delving further into the conspiracy, want an actual conclusion to the William arc, and are curious about the ins and outs of being pregnant at 54, the full work can be found here. 

And, as always, a HUGE thank you to my betas @kikocrystalball​, @admiralty-xfd​, and @suilven19​ for their edits and encouragement... because nobody gets there alone ;)

[feynavaley]

Hetalia Fanfiction – Beyond the Breaking Point Ch 1

Summary: Caught between a rebellious teen fighting for his independence and an older brother struggling to be a parent, Matthew somatizes. Not drawing attention to his fake ailments seems the best way not to further stress the already precarious situation – but when Matthew takes his resolution a bit too far, all their lives are sent into a tailspin. (Human AU; ACE Family)

This story is the long-promised sequel of Arthur Kirkland’s Guide to Being a Big Brother [x] that I finally got around to writing, but it could be easily read as a stand-alone (plot-wise, the two stories aren’t related, they merely happen within the same universe). I hope you’ll like it, and any kind of feedback is greatly appreciated! (Full chapter under the cut, use your phone browser if you can’t see it from the app.)

AO3 | FFN | Next | List

———

Chapter One

On Friday morning, Matthew woke up to muffled yells coming from downstairs. He groaned, burrowing himself deeper under the blankets as if they could somehow block out the sound. The only accomplishment that came out of the movement was to increase the dull pain pulsing in his lower abdomen.

Matthew would have liked to call himself surprised, or even concerned, but there was no fooling himself. Over the previous months, the scenario he was facing had become a familiar companion to his days. Whimpering when his shifting once again made the pain flare up, Matthew turned to the side table and paddled for the phone before lifting it in front of his face. It was early, there was no need to get up yet – but Matthew knew that he wasn’t going to be able to fall asleep again, between the screaming in the background and the throbbing in his belly. He closed his eyes for a moment and took a deep breath, trying to gather the strength to face the day. Matthew was expecting it to be hard.

What he wasn’t expecting was the searing agony that pierced his lower abdomen as he sat up, making him double over with a small cry. White swallowed his vision, the acrid taste of bile singed his throat.

Matthew swallowed down and forced himself to take a deep breath before he attempted straightening up again – slowly, this time, and with his hands firmly pressed against his stomach. His body didn’t like it, once again rebelling with an intense burst of pain. Matthew frowned and looked down at his feet, nibbling on his lower lip.

In truth, he wasn’t new to random pains. He had started feeling ill and shaky the previous morning, with a dull pain pulsing around his navel that had ended up growing more and more intense over the course of the day. He had never imagined it could turn so bad, however.

How typical. Life’s always full of surprises, isn’t it? I don’t know how I could have forgotten this.

A couple of experimental shuffled steps told Matthew that standing straight was almost impossible, the pain intensifying with sharp stabs at each movement. He clenched his fists and took a deep breath, trying to collect himself. If his features showed any sign of discomfort, Arthur was going to notice. Not only he was going to keep Matthew home from school when he had already missed more days than it would be wise (his perfect grades weren’t suffering from it, yet, but for how long would he be able to keep it up?), Arthur was also going to worry to no end without ever finding a solution. Given his past history with illnesses, Matthew couldn’t blame his brother – and that was why avoiding the scenario altogether was imperative. Which was completely up to Matthew.

Trying to collect himself, he took his sweet time to prepare for the day. Half an hour later, he was cleaned up and dressed – presentable, in spite of the grey pallor that donated an unflattering ill hue to his already too pasty skin. Matthew elected to ignore it, just like he was desperately trying to keep his mind off the agonizing throbbing inside his abdomen, that hadn’t diminished.

I have had worse, and I was only a child. I can handle this.

Matthew kept repeating the words like a mantra, but once he got out of the room, his distress only intensified. That time, the pain only played a minor part in it – the ongoing argument was just too loud for him to push it to a remote corner of his mind.

“Just a stupid letter, Arthur!” Alfred was yelling, his voice heavy with all the disdain he was capable of. “What does it even matter? I cannot believe you’re making such a fuss over this!”

Matthew flattened himself against the wall as he shuffled to the kitchen, hoping not to be noticed and dragged into the discussion. He shouldn’t have worried about that, nobody had the time to pay attention to him.

Arthur’s voice joined Alfred, trembling with rage.

“Only a letter? Let alone the fact that this is hardly your first failing mark, which is an issue itself, why did I have to learn it by going through your graded essays? You should have told me as soon as you got home! Instead I—”

Matthew had reached the kitchen. He closed the door to muffle the sounds and let himself double over, clutching his abdomen. The pain had intensified in agony during the short trek, it felt like a knife twisting into his intestines. Matthew was perfectly aware of the cause.

In the living room, Alfred resumed yelling.

Matthew resolutely turned a deaf ear to the sounds, focusing on the array of cereals into the cupboard and pretending not to hear the hurtful words Alfred and Arthur were spewing against each other. In truth, Matthew didn’t even need to hear anything to know what was being said. He could have recited the entire argument by heart: the words might change from time to time, but the meaning was always the same.

Matthew’s stomach made a summersault that brought bile to the back of his throat.

Breakfast was out of the question. The previous day, Matthew had skipped lunch and his dinner had ended up making acquaintance with the toilet not long after having been ingested. With the pain plaguing his abdomen, that morning wasn’t shaping up to be anything better.

Out of habit, Matthew cast a furtive glance behind his shoulders. He shouldn’t have worried, Arthur was still yelling at Alfred in the living room. He was at the ‘wasted potential’ part of the lecture – Matthew didn’t want to hear it. He methodically took out a bowl, poured just some drops of milk into it, and smeared them over the surface to give the impression of an eaten breakfast. A pang of guilt flared up in his stomach at the thought of wasting food, but it was still better than making Arthur realize he hadn’t eaten. Trying to drown the sound of the discussion, Matthew took to methodically washing all the bowls already inside the sink. He turned off the water just in time to hear the door slam closed with a thud that made the house tremble and Matthew’s stomach coil in discomfort, increasing the pain in his abdomen. He had to bite his lower lip to restrain a moan, willpower alone prevented him from doubling over.

Just a moment later, dragged footsteps announced Arthur’s entrance into the kitchen.

“Oh, Matthew! Good morning. Have you already had your breakfast?”

The forced colloquiality of the words couldn’t hide the slight tremble in Arthur’s voice. When he turned, Matthew’s gaze was immediately captured by the violet shadows that were painfully evident on the tight skin under his brother’s eyes. Another intense spike of pain stabbed his stomach, accompanying the clenching of his chest. Matthew stubbornly refused to double over.

“Mmh…” he muttered in assent, doing his best to offer Arthur a reassuring smile.

There was no way he was going to trouble his older brother over something as trivial as a bad – no matter how excruciating – stomach-ache. Arthur certainly didn’t need another concern added to his plate – even less if it was nothing more than a product of Matthew’s too anxious mind.

Arthur reciprocated with a tired smile of his own and a small nod.

“Good. I trust you’ve taken your antibiotic, haven’t you?”

A lump surged in Matthew’s throat. He nodded, using all his willpower not to let the smile slip from his face. Not only he hadn’t taken the antibiotic that morning – he was feeling too nauseous for it, he knew he wasn’t going to keep it down – the dose from the previous evening had joined the rest of the meal down the toilet drain. Arthur didn’t know. He was imperative that he didn’t become aware of that second instance, either.

The young man’s exhaustion was written as clear as daylight in his slumped posture and drawn features. On the top of the already taxing concerns of a twenty-year-old having to deal with running a family, the constant fights with Alfred were draining Arthur to the point that Matthew was surprised he hadn’t collapsed yet. And how could Matthew add another weight to Arthur’s shoulders? The mere thought made his lungs tighten so much that he could hardly draw a single breath.

Moreover, it had been more than six years since Matthew’s spleen had been removed. Other two, and he would finally live like a normal person and be free to stop taking his prophylactic antibiotic. Missing two doses wouldn’t cause any harm, no matter how much Matthew’s skin crawled with uneasiness at the thought of disobeying his doctor’s orders.

Any doubt evaporated in front of the tired yet unmistakably earnest smile that blossomed on Arthur’s lips.

“You’re such a good boy…” he exhaled, “I know I can always count on you.”

Shame crawled up Matthew’s stomach.

“I have to go, I’ll miss the bus,” he muttered, ducking behind Arthur to rush out of the kitchen and ignoring the painful jolts in his lower abdomen.

He couldn’t stop himself from noticing how a bit of tension seemed to leave Arthur’s shoulders, allowing him to stand straighter. Matthew felt sick at the thought.

A good child? This couldn’t be further from the truth. I’m just an anxious, selfish wreck.

If Matthew were a good child, he would fully understand that Arthur just had more vital concerns than constantly paying attention to him – it just wasn’t possible, in their situation. If Matthew had truly managed to convince himself of that, his body wouldn’t rebel that way in order to be noticed, making Arthur waste precious energy over silly concerns. Matthew was aware of that. And, at the same time, dwelling over it wasn’t going to help.

With a tired sigh, Matthew hauled up his school bags and headed out of the door after saying goodbye to Arthur. The cold wind that bit his cheeks made him shiver, bothering him far more than it should have. On the flip side, the combination of cold and heavy bags allowed Matthew to walk slightly hunched over without anybody questioning it. It was a small blessing, the jolts of pain in his lower abdomen were getting more and more intense and harder to hide. Matthew would have been ready to drop to the ground and cry in pain.

Instead, he gritted his teeth and trudged on to the bus stop. By the time he reached it, he was dizzy and out of breath, the throbbing in his guts so intense that he feared he would pass out. Matthew let himself slump on the bench and hugged his knees in front of his chest, trying to find a position that would give him some relief from the pain.

“Woah, you look miserable. Did Art yell at you, too?”

Matthew started at his brother’s voice. He hadn’t realized that Alfred was still at the bus stop as well, sitting at the other end of the bench with his legs spread open and his hands folded inside the pockets of his bomber jacket. He would’ve been the picture of carelessness, if not for the thin lines of anger still creasing his forehead and the barely repressed fury darkening his eyes. Matthew missed their limpid blue. Every time he looked at that foreign rage burning behind them, he felt like he was being kicked in the chest.

He shook his head.

“Arthur didn’t do anything, I’m just tired. And…” The hesitation lasted only a fraction of a second. Matthew couldn’t bear his family arguing any longer. “You know, he wouldn’t yell at you, either, if you just talked to him instead of just him having to find out everything on his own.”

Alfred snorted and gave an exaggerated eye-roll.

“Who, Arthur? Don’t make me laugh, Arthur doesn’t do ‘talking’. He just decides what’s the best for us and demands us to follow through it. He has already made up his mind, there’s no way to make him reconsider. Hell, it’s not even about getting him to change his mind – he doesn’t even get to the ‘listening’ part!”

Another sharp burst of pain squeezed Matthew’s intestines. He hugged his knees closer to his chest, trying to breathe through the agony.

“But… he does have a point, Al. I mean… not with everything, but… you’re really smart, if you just… studied a little… You’d have better grades, and it wouldn’t even be so much of an effort… You really are kind of throwing away this opportunity…”

Matthew’s voice trailed off in a whimper, his chest tightening at the recognition of the fury that warped his brother’s features.

“Of course,” Alfred spat out, gritting his teeth. His hands clenched into fists as his entire body tensed. “Of. Fucking. Course. I don’t even know what I was expecting from you. Always Arthur’s little bitch, aren’t you? For fuck’s sake, Matthew! Can’t you see he doesn’t care for you in the slightest? All that that matters to him is appearance – to be seen as the perfectly proper big brother who takes perfect care of his equally perfectly proper and boring younger brothers. There’s nothing deeper behind it! Why are you still snivelling at his feet? It won’t change anything. Arthur won’t magically start caring for you just because you’re an obedient little goody-two-shoes! You’ll always be invisible to him, always a second thought!” Alfred gave a violent shake of his head. “By now, you should know that I’m the only one who truly cares for you. Why are you still siding with him?”

Matthew couldn’t breathe, Alfred’s word pressed against his chest with the weight of a stone. With his head swimming and his racing heartbeat pounding in his ears, Matthew could only look at the utter disgust spelt out in his brother’s features.

“And you know what? I’m sick and tired of getting blamed for everything as I wait for you to finally develop some critical thinking skills. You’re no better than Arthur, at this point. Don’t fucking talk to me until you’ve got some sense back!”

Alfred jerked up from the bench and walked in swift strides to the road, just in time for the bus to appear from the corner. He got into it without sparing a glance at Matthew, the tight fists around his backpack’s strings quivering in rage.

Matthew was paralyzed. Only when the bus driver cast him a questioning glance, he was reminded that he had to get in. He got up on shaky legs and automatically walked to the bus. Somehow, he managed to ignore both the agony raging in his lower abdomen and the tears scorching against his eyelids and offer the driver a shaky smile.

Without meeting anybody’s eyes, Matthew found a spare seat and curled into it as he tried to compose himself. No matter how much he forced himself to even out his breathing, however, he couldn’t soothe the ache in his chest or in his abdomen. He let his head rest against the window, savouring the feeling of the cool surface against his clammy skin.

When did everything start going so wrong?

In truth, Matthew had a quite precise answer: the downfall had waltzed into their life in worn-out and faded tennis shoes along with Allen and Allyson Jones. Alfred had always had a rebellious streak, but hanging around those twins he had bonded with because they shared the same surname had turned it into a meaner, uncontrolled force that had slowly taken over their lives. Well-meaning and trusting as ever, Alfred hadn’t been able to recognize the real malice hiding behind the façade of innocent, misguided teens with a rough past. When Arthur had urged him to be cautious, he had retorted that Allyson and Allen deserved a chance like anybody else. When Matthew had reported that they were vandalising the school properties, scaring and bullying younger teens and smoking weed, Alfred had laughed and told him he shouldn’t listen to every rumour that went around, that they were nothing but stereotypes.

The Jones twins must have seen something special in Alfred, something that could be useful to them. They had initially acted tamer around him, only to slowly lead Alfred into the mindset that society and norms were oppressive, that going against them was the only way to truly help people. They had taught him that school didn’t matter and that the rules Arthur put in place were only meant to hinder Alfred from letting his true potential shine. And Alfred had swallowed everything, changing bit by bit until he was just a shadow of Matthew’s brother.

Eventually, something had happened that had opened Alfred’s eyes. Matthew wasn’t aware of what had transpired, his brother hadn’t confided in him in a long time; all he knew was that Alfred had abruptly cut his ties with Allyson and Allen and hadn’t regretted their departure at the end of the summer. For a couple of weeks, Alfred had even been nicer to Matthew, almost back to his old overprotective yet well-meaning personality. Allen and Allyson Jones, however, had left a strong, dark impression that had seeped into Alfred’s mind and planted its dark root into his heart. The fights with Arthur had started to burst out again, more violent and frequent than ever.

Now, Matthew considered himself a quite forgiving person. Before casting any judgement, he always did his best to look into other people’s motives and try to understand their perspective. He would be able to say without hesitation, however, that he hated Allen and Allyson Jones. The mere recollection of those malicious smirks and those eyes, of such an intense warm shade of brown that they almost looked red, made hot fury surge inside Matthew’s chest. Allen and Allyson Jones had ruined his family and his life.

But, more than anything, Matthew was tired of getting caught into the crossfire. He was so tired that his body had started faking illnesses and pains in response. “There’s nothing wrong with him. It’s psychosomatic,” the doctor had said when Arthur had rushed Matthew to an appointment after four days of unexplained slight fever and stomach-ache (Matthew had tried to hide it from Arthur. He had done his best, but he hadn’t been expert enough to completely cover the signs of his too frequent vomiting and the weakness that accompanied it).

At that time, Matthew hadn’t known what the word meant, but he could perfectly recall how shame had crawled up his stomach as he lay on the cold bed, under the doctor's unforgiving stare. Later, he had realized why the doctor was judging him so badly: ‘psychosomatic’ meant ‘not real’. It was just Matthew’s body being whiny and claiming the attention its owner was so desperately trying not to ask for, knowing just how many more pressing issues Arthur had in his hands. Selfish. That was what Matthew’s illnesses meant.

Matthew gritted his teeth against another spasm of pain that was shortly followed by a wave of nausea. He refused to let even a moan go past his lips. In spite of the embarrassing display his body was giving, there was still one thing he had control over: his reaction. No matter how bad the pain might get, he wasn’t going to add other fuel to the fire.

Matthew’s resolve was thoroughly tested during the following hours. Normally, he would feel a bit better once he had left home, but that day, the pain wasn’t giving him a single moment of respite. If anything, it seemed to be growing worse. By midday, Matthew could no longer stand straight. He felt like a scorching knifes were embedded into his lower abdomen, twisting at every movement.

Matthew had never blessed so much his being unremarkable, he probably wouldn’t have been able to hide his discomfort from anybody truly noticing him. Fortunately, he didn’t share any class with Michelle or Emil that day, and Carlos was in Cuba visiting his grandparents. His luck extended to the fact that there wasn’t any test, but that was also where it stopped.

Matthew spent the entire lunch break curled up in a bathroom’s cubicle, getting rid of bile and doing his best not to bawl from the pain. He was quite sure he had never experienced something like that – and probably, the intense hockey practice he would have to face in the afternoon had something to do with it.

In theory, hockey practice should have been suspended as the coach wouldn’t be able to attend, but there was going to be an important match the following week; the team couldn’t afford to miss any training. Because of that, Ivan had elected to ignore the rules and follow with the practice even if there wasn’t any supervisor. The thought made Matthew’s chest tighten. He was uncomfortable with going against the rules, but he had already agreed to it, he couldn’t take it back.

‘You’re really trying to give up on me, aren’t you?’ he scolded his body, but he didn’t even have the energy to be truly angry anymore. He was just tired.

As he willed his churning stomach to settle down, Matthew let his head rest against the wall. The ceramic tiles felt icy under his skin. Matthew wouldn’t have been surprised to find a fever accompanying the general feeling of illness, it wasn’t unusual – but there was nothing he could do about it.

Somehow, Matthew found the strength to climb to his feet at the end of the break. With his head swimming and his abdomen screaming in agony, he dragged himself to his afternoon classes.

The following periods passed by in a daze. Matthew was hardly aware of his teacher talking, all he could think about was the pain consuming him. He mentally pleaded for it to stop, tried all the calming techniques he had even vaguely heard of, but to no avail. By the time the bell rang, the agony had only worsened.

Matthew wanted to curl up into a foetal position and sob out all the pain he was feeling. But that meant attracting the attention of the teacher. And feeling sick at school meant being sent to the infirmary. Then, the nurse would have to call Arthur, who would worry to no end. Matthew couldn’t forget how exhausted his older brother had looked that morning. He couldn’t do that to him, not over a fake ailment that shouldn’t have been happening in the first place. Matthew just couldn’t.

Mindful of that, he gritted his teeth, forced his body to straighten up ignoring the excruciating stabs of pain and walked with single-minded determination towards the changing room, trying not to pay attention to the way the floor seemed to tilt under his feet.

Fortunately, everybody seemed to be too concerned with the imminent practice to pay attention to the way Matthew wobbled into the changing room, and they were used to him changing inside the bathroom. Matthew didn’t like to think about the thin scar marring the left side of his abdomen, nor did he fancy the idea of other people seeing it – mostly, because it meant questions that would make his mind linger on something he only wanted to forget – but, for the first time, he was grateful for its presence.

Matthew had forgotten how many movements were required for an act as simple as changing his trousers, but he almost teared up several times when the agony raging in his lower abdomen increased to the point that it turned his vision grey. None of his teammates was there to witness that, nor did they see the several minutes Matthew needed to rest before he could even attempt straightening up from his crouched position, or how the searing pain when he finally accomplished the task distorted his features in a grimace.

By the time Matthew got out of the bathroom, everybody was already on the move.

“Come on, Matt!” called Mikkel, “On the ice! We need all the training we can get!”

In spite of knowing how important the upcoming match – and, consequently, training for it – was, Matthew found himself mourning the lost opportunity of a missed practice. Writhing in pain on his bed seemed a lot more appealing than a hockey match. At least, skating while slightly doubled over didn’t raise any question, and the headgear prevented his teammates from spotting Matthew’s pained expression, but that was about where anything positive stopped.

With each movement of his legs, Matthew drove a knife deeper into his abdomen. The searing pain was engulfing all his senses and narrowing his vision, it was all Matthew could think about. Not the game, the puck or the other players. There was only the fire eating him from inside.

Matthew was suddenly torn out of his stupor by a voice that rose above the general buzzing, calling his name in a panicked intonation. He raised his head to see Ivan coming at him at full speed, horror shining in his eyes.

There was no time to move away. Matthew barely managed to duck to his right. For a moment, he thought he had avoided Ivan – then, the end of the stick caught his left side at full force.

An agonizing fire exploded in Matthew’s lower abdomen. This time, the boy couldn’t restrain the raw scream that was torn from the depths his throat. He had no more control of any of his limbs, he couldn’t feel his legs or arms – all he could feel was the agony tearing his gut in half. Perhaps, that was exactly what had happened.

Mercifully, Matthew’s senses soon vanished in the black that swallowed his vision.

(word count: 4,299)

———

Notes:

Hetalia Human Names [x]

Allen and Allyson Jones are 2P America and 2P Nyo America (they won’t make any other appearance, they just belong to some key-elements of the backstory)

For people who hadn’t read the previous instalment – Matthew got his spleen removed after a car crash, when it was punctured by a broken rib.

Please keep in mind that the story is filtered through Matthew’s POV, and he has quite a skewed view of what ‘psychosomatic’ truly means.

English isn’t my first language. If you noticed any mistake, feel free to point it out!

Tagging: @ono-its-ryane (thanks a lot for asking me this, it’s really flattering!); @notice-me-hetasenpai; @aph-fanficchallenges (thanks a lot to you, too)

[livingcorner]

Fruit Bat: Facts & How to Get Rid of Them – Pest Wiki

Fruit bat identification

This fruit bat comes in the category of the Megabats which are also referred as the Flying Fox. They are of different sizes and shapes, and their habits depend on the location where they exist.

Appearance and size

There are a variety of bats which are different in sizes and shapes. Research has shown that there are about 900 bat species available from the Malayan flying fox to megabats. The fruit bats are a bit different from the usual bats found because of their long nose and pointed ears. Their big eyes are big as compared to other bats. These bats are mostly found in Africa, Asia, and Middle East areas. They grow up to the size of 5.7 to 9 inches in length. While flying, they can extend their wings and look large. They have an unyielding and sturdy pair of feet. These feet help them to hang upside down on a tree. In the dark, they can locate their prey more accurately as compared to the day time.  If they are surrounded by so many people, they get a sense f security from the objects around them.

You're reading: Fruit Bat: Facts & How to Get Rid of Them – Pest Wiki

【Read more about Bats】

Food and eating habits

The diet of fruit bat is very different from other mammals.  The fruit bats are fond of eating every kind of fresh fruit. They love eating bananas, dates, and avocados. They also like the slurp of the nectar found in different fruits.  A bunch of banana is said to be the best meal for them. They love sitting on tree top where fresh fruits are there.  When bats are finished eating the sticky yellowish grains are stuck with their furs.  They are also known as nectar-eating bats. These bats are carnivorous and feed on small insects. They keep consuming different insects due to which the environment remains clean. They can easily spot insects and rodents from a great height in no time. They crush their food with the help of their sharp teeth. They live the nectar which is inside the fruits.  They like spending their time either searching for food or sleeping all day long.  They like a clean environment; they are mostly seen grooming their long furs.

Read more: How to Keep Pigeons Away from My House | Fantastic Pest Control

Habitat and distribution

The fruit bats are available in different kinds of habitat. They usually prefer living in the habitat which is humid as well as tropical. They like the habitat which is adapted to drier places. They also sometimes live in dense foliage and caves.  Fruit bats are highly tailored to their environment. Their habitat keeps changing according to the seasons. They rest during the day time and go for at night. These mammals can sense their prey from a long distance. They also travel very long distances in search of food. However, after feeding they come back to their place.

Lifecycle

Bats have the capability to fly about 30 miles in one hour. When they are younger, their mother looks after them. They depend on their mother unless they have not learned to fly and search for their food. Mostly you will found fruit bat in brown or black color, but there are some white fruit bats as well. Approximately a bat can live up to 35 years or less. This living span is the highest in all members. It is also said that they live in large colonies where there are eight females and one male bat. They create very strong bonds. Even while eating fruits if they get sticky, they wash their furs.

Relationship with humans

Bats usually don’t interact with humans too much. They often live in places which have no direct contact with humans. However, bats can enter the houses of human through roofs and chimney. They often tend to destroy the structure of the house. They are often the reason to block water pumps and the stagnant water. They make a sound of chirp which is heard by young people.  Along with the chirping noise, they also make rustling noises. The thing that annoys the human most about these bats is that they deposit their urine and dropping where ever they are flying. In some parts of the world, their dropping is used as fertilizers.  The health threat related with this mammal is called rabies. They also carry disease along with them.  They directly don’t harm humans. They usually fly into their houses through opens doors and windows. They do not harm people but often bite them if they get scared.

Fun facts

Here are some fun facts about Fruit Bats:

It is a studied fact that without pollinator services of these fruit bats the economic conditions can likely take a serious hit. They play an essential role in the process of pollination.

The mothers carry their babies along with them. As they have a habit of traveling from one camp to another, they do not build their permanent nest. Unless the young one does not become independent, they keep clinging to their mother’s belly.

The younger ones feel more heat as compared to the elder fruit bats. To beat the heat the keep fanning them while resting. If this does not work, they find a cool and shady place for them and lick themselves to keep cool.

Many bats are well known for the high emitting sound frequency. The advantage of this is that they can easily stalk their prey. These are the only mammals who are active at night.

There are some fruit bats which are just 2.5 pounds in weight, just the size of a pineapple. They can live for 35 years. This life span is the longest among all the flying creatures.

They carry Rabies because of which their bite can be potentially dangerous.

Bats have the ability to eat almost 1200 mosquitoes in just one hour. They help to keep the bug population in check.

Fruit bats travel to the south in the winter seasons, and some fruit bats hibernate in winters. They have the capability to survive in cold temperatures.

The mother bats can the ability to look for their babies among several of other bats. They can do this with the help of their scents and crispy voices.

Bats usually produce one pup in one year. The development of this pup is vulnerable to extinction.

The largest fruit bat is the flying fox. It can spread its wings up to feet.

They can smell the type of fruit they want and look for it. They do not depend on echolocation to communicate to locate food.

Fruit bat control

There are many exclusive methods to get rid of fruit bats.  Bats are present almost all around the world. They usually prefer night and quite places to survive. They have an acute hearing sense which helps them to make placed in attics. These controls have proved to be very effective.  Following are some DIY and Green solution for the Fruit Bats:

Annoying objects

First look for the place where the bats are getting in and out. Once you get to know about the space where the bats are coming and going, you are all done?  If you find a fruit fall on the ground inspects for the place. Look at the fallen fruit, does it have marks of sharp teeth.  Try to pick the fruits a bit early when they become ripen. You can also use bird netting.  The other way to get rid of these fruit bats is that you can place some strange and unusual looking objects near your garden. You can use objects that continuously move and make annoying noise to irritate these fruit birds. These objects can be a strip of aluminum foil, CDs that shine in sunlight, wind chimes or wind socks. All these objects are very effective.

Read more: Slaters (Woodlice) – Control of Slaters in Gardens.

Netting is extremely an effective method to get rid of bats

By using the netting, you can protect a large area from the destruction of bats. Select the size of net accordingly to see effective results. The nets which are available in the market are well constructed and help to protect the area against. A strong and powerful net can prevent tearing. They have long lasting effects and good results.

Ultrasonic bat repellents devices

You can also use transonic pro bat repellents. It is best for indoor protection. They are extremely silent for the humans; however, they emit such frequencies which navigate with the echolocation of the bats.  This device does not physically harm the bats, but it just annoys and irritates them.  These devices make such noises which encourage them to leave and look for a much quieter place. These devices are very easy and simple to use. They help you to get rid of bats very easily and without working out. This device I also well received by the satisfied customer all around the world. They do not make any fuss, and it is best among the fruit bat control.

【Read more about Bat Control】

Source: https://livingcorner.com.au Category: Garden

source https://livingcorner.com.au/fruit-bat-facts-how-to-get-rid-of-them-pest-wiki/

[allbaseballmom]

How to juggle a toddler and a newborn - https://allbaseballmom.com/blog/how-to-juggle-a-toodler-and-a-newborn How to juggle a toddler and a newborn It’s early days with your newborn baby, the ultimate time-waster, you could spend all day staring and cuddling. But wait, what’s that noise in your ear? Oh that’s right, you have a toddler you need to love, feed, clean and play with too! Having a newborn and a toddler is a completely mind-blowing experience in every way, a once fairly easy day is blown apart and the family dynamic that you knew is completely changed. Not necessarily in a bad way, though. The lack of spare hands, free time and visible bench space can be a blessing in disguise. You suddenly realize there’s two little people who love you so much they just want to be in your face all day long, so you may as well slow down, sit down and get amongst it. If you did nothing all day but change nappies, play and make sure everyone was fed for the first four weeks, I’d say you’d be doing fine. As it is, we always think we need to be doing so much more. I found that the best way to adjust to the upheaval of my days and nights and push away the guilt of not doing ‘enough’ was to break it down to what was really necessary: to eat, sleep, clean, bathe, love, and play. 1. Hunting and Gathering Via blush.com.pk You need to feed yourself and your children. Maybe your partner too, this is optional, though, sometimes they just have to fend for themselves at this stage. In order to continue this eating ritual, you may need to shop. Bravo if you have family or friends that you’ve roped into doing the groceries for you or if you’re in town, you can enjoy the option of home delivery from your supermarket. I was lucky enough to be able to take advantage of my kind, loving parents living right next door, so it wasn’t until cabin fever set in that I sucked up the courage to grocery shop with two small children. Turns out, it wasn’t too bad! 2. The Logistics I made sure I timed it so that everyone was fed before we left, then fed our toddler more food on our 20 minutes of driving into town, then gave him a punnet of cherry tomatoes to consume in the trolley. Snacks are my best friend when shopping. I have a baby carrier, so I was able to breastfeed all around the supermarket (one hand holding up a heavy breast, one hand steering the trolley) so we didn’t have to stop. Once we got to the car, I put our toddler in his seat to watch a DVD, changed baby’s nappy (and toddler at that time if needed) then baby in seat, groceries in car and back home. Phew. Relief, I tell you! 3. Location, Location I love Aldi. No doubt about it, it’s my grocery destination, but I did tend to shop somewhere that had a parent’s room pretty close by for a little while until I found my feet with juggling a newbie and toddler. I have a change station set up in the back of the car, but it’s just easier if one of your tiny friends has a poop explosion and you need to do some serious cleaning up. It’s nice to then sit, feed bub, let your big kiddo watch some telly and just have a chill out before venturing out to finish up. Once you get it home, the pantry shopping may sit on the floor in front of said pantry for a few days until finally, you stop eating straight from the shopping bag and have time to unpack properly. This is normal. 4. The Menu Toddlers have a built-in hunger alarm that goes off the very moment you get comfy feeding your new baby. I mean every single time. Make an easy-to-reach shelf in your fridge for bottles of water and the same in your cupboard for snacks that your toddler can reach and bring to you to share. It will save you having to get up while feeding. Simplify your meals so that you’re not hovering over a hot stove in the afternoon, it’s a much better time for some outside playtime to use up stored energy in your big kid! Most toddlers will be thrilled with easy to eat things like ham, tomatoes, cheese, toasted sandwiches, sausages, spaghetti (yes, we use the tinned sort too) and pretty much any form of chicken whether it is a ball, nugget or stick. Try not to stress over their every meal, look at their intake over the week. If the fruit and vegetables are running out and the fish fingers are full, you’re winning. If the broccoli is wilting and the nuggets are empty, you’ve had a normal newborn/toddler week. via giphy.com 5. Sleeping Beauties How you get two children to sleep at the same time had me absolutely mystified. I had to do one at a time. Breastfeeding my toddler and baby overlapped for eight weeks, so while they were both happy to feed to sleep, I used that as much as I could as it was quick and easy for day sleeps. Until that one day, of course, that no one seemed to settle well and we all ended up in the same bed together, trying to get a baby to sleep while I rubbed a toddler-sized back at the same time! Mostly, settling your newborn first is the way to go. It gives you more time to spend reading a story or having a cuddle with your toddler and helping them get to sleep, rather than rushing off to calm the cries of a baby who realises you’re not within reach. Some lucky parents have kids who they can just pop into their beds and they happily have a little chat to themselves before they drift off blissfully to sleep. I’ve seen these kids riding unicorns in a fairy forest not far from here. Ok, ok, they do exist, but their parents and I aren’t friends. 6. Your chance for you. Getting kids to have enough sleep is really important, not just for their temperament, but for their learning and growth. You getting enough sleep is equally as important. When both children are resting soundly, it can be so tempting to jump up, do some washing, clean the kitchen and fuss around like back in the days when you actually had time to spend on fussing. It’s nice to have a clean home, but it’s also very nice to take some time for you. Be ‘selfish’, and leave the dishes, make a sandwich and eat it with two hands or have a steaming mug of tea. There’s also the option of quality TV catch up time or lay down and go to sleep too! The kids will let you know when it’s time to wake up, that’s for sure. 7. A happy mess! When it comes to cleaning the house you need to remember back to the early days of your first newborn, when you learnt to drop your household hygiene standards down a peg, well, now you need to go back there and drop them a few more pegs. Just for a while anyway, until about when the kids move out, by then, you’re probably going to be well past caring. Look at what is absolutely necessary, stack the dishwasher, disinfect the loo, pop on some washing. A very smart midwife told me, ‘If it’s not done by lunchtime, it’s not getting done’. I like to live by that still! It gets a bit depressing for you if you constantly pick up toys all day and toddlers get absolutely miffed that you’re undoing all their hard work, best just do one pick up at night after everyone is in bed. If you pass-out putting them to bed, the mess will dutifully be waiting there tomorrow, don’t stress. 8. Bath time Most people find using a baby bath for their tiny infant works best for a while, I’d agree with that for us, though some might just go straight to bathing both (or all) kids together. If you have a little dirt-loving adventurer toddler like us, bathing them separate until bub is a bit bigger might be wise. Once we did start using the big bath, it was a lot of fun and less time consuming, the same for showering all together, we just made sure we set up properly first. A baby bouncer has always been a friend of mine in the bathroom, even if it was just somewhere to put bub down safely so he could see me while I brushed my teeth. If all was going well, I would get really busy with a hairbrush and moisturiser too! 9. Yes, shower everyone together! For showers, the little one can be wrapped up nice and warm laying in the bouncer, ready for when you have had a minute or two in the shower to wash you and your toddler. Then, get your little one and give them some time under the warm shower while they cuddle into your chest. The soft water is like a gentle massage on their back. Make sure your water is, of course, a safe temperature and that the pressure isn’t hard. Once you’re all done, wrap the newbie warmly again, pop them down in the bouncer and dry yourself and your toddler (who has been playing happily in the shower at your feet the whole time) then scoop up bub and dress them also. Our newbie found it a bit fascinating watching us do things while he happily waited for his turn, he even fell asleep on me in the shower and then on the change table a couple of times! If you have everything ready to go, it’s not stressful at all. 10. Feel the love! All the questions and fears that you had about whether or not you could ever love another child as much as you do your first are put to rest. Yes, you’re absolutely capable of that much love. Probably more, because all of your first round of baby memories come flooding back and suddenly you’re crying, your boobs are leaking and your husband starts nervously asking ‘Are you ok?’ Blubbering out a response of ‘I’m just so happy, I love them so much’ will leave him confused, but that’s ok, what’s new? You will naturally want to spend time with each child separately. This might not always be easy. Be secure in the knowledge that neither of the kids will ‘miss out’ on any of your love, time or energy because of the other. It may just be a little different than what you’re used to and what you imagined it might be like. You can still read a story while nursing a baby, share a plate of fruit, go for walks or watch a show together. It’s a time that your toddler learns a little independence and quiet play time, if they haven’t already, which is very normal and very important. This video will guide you the crucial emotional bridge needed to help you and toddler to communicate better. Spending time thinking of your love for your children will help keep you focused, present and mindful of them and what’s really important during the times when you’re really tired and not feeling up for outside pressures. Their needs, your needs and your special bonding time as a family must come before any of the mundane chores or the outside world’s wants. Take your time to hibernate! 11.Game On! Via akronohiosmoms.com Playtime is an essential part of a child’s day. Children learn through play and they learn even more when playing with a focused care-giver. That’s you. It’s ok that you have to bring a friend (who is probably attached to your chest) to the lego town event of the day, this new kid will have to be incorporated eventually to the game, so why not get your toddler used to their presence now? Lots of games, puzzles, building and drawing will keep your mind off the house and help your toddler adjust and cope with the new addition. Get out of the house to the backyard in the morning or afternoon and make a huge sand castle with your toddler while your bub sleeps in a bouncer or rocker. Strap on a carrier or pad out a pram and go for a stroll, the exercise will give you a nice endorphin boost, not to mention a change from the four walls! Tiny bodies of all ages get so much from fresh air and the great outdoors, including the need for a good night’s sleep, a benefit to everyone! 12. When you struggle to juggle… This parenting gig is tough and sometimes a happy, messy, content home isn’t always what your day dishes out. There are reality check days when your newbie is a squealing, kicking little ball of gas that just won’t feed, settle, burp or fart and your toddler is fancying mirroring that behaviour because it seems to be getting lots of attention from Mummy. via giphy.com 13. Breathe deep, get your brave on and ask for help. There were lots of offers for that help before and after your baby arrived and it would be just rude not to accept. People love to be needed. I know love to be needed and have my help asked for, who doesn’t? You will not be seen as a failure or that you can’t cope, on the contrary, it’s a responsible move. Someone to help hang out a load of washing, unpack the dishwasher or just hold the baby for a while or play with your toddler so you can wash your hair can make such a lot of difference to your mood. 14. Free your hands. The mantra ‘This too shall pass’ saved me from a negative downward spiral more than once. You know what else did? A baby carrying device! Not all babies are in love with them but thank goodness, mine were! The ring sling and sleepy-wrap turned my wriggling squishy into a calm, suckling snuggle-puggle every single time and it instantly freed my hands up to care for my toddler or make dinner or whatever else I needed to do. I’m not giving it up anytime soon. 15. You are not alone. If you find yourself in a situation where you don’t feel you have anyone to ask for help, rest assured there are avenues of assistance available in the community at all times.  You can contact your hospital Midwives, Child Health Nurse, Australian Breastfeeding Association group (whether you breastfeed or bottle feed, they don’t mind!) or Playgroup to name a few. Meeting other parents, giving your children something different to do and just having a cuppa with another adult can give you a normality fix and it’s likely all the other parents will be there doing pretty much the same thing! Please also remember that if you really aren’t coping well or feel like you are just going to snap, make sure your baby and toddler are in a safe place in the house, pick up the phone and call Lifeline on 13 11 14. They are always there to help. Have you got any great tips for juggling a toddler and a newborn? Tips for your kids to be happy and better wellness is here  My gratitude to the author of this article: stayathomemum.com.au

[ramajmedia]

Edith Crawley's 10 Best Quotes On Downton Abbey, Ranked

Poor Edith. For six seasons on Downton Abbey things never seemed to go her way. Ever the middle child, not as sought after as Mary, nor as adventurous as Sybil, her life for the first three seasons is a series of failures. She was pitiable, but, as she’s often her own worst enemy (and Mary’s too) she was hard to root for.

RELATED: Mr. Carson's 10 Best Quotes on Downton Abbey, Ranked

But it’s not much of a story if she never grows or learns, and Edith did both in spades. She fell in love, became a magazine owner and editor, had a baby out of wedlock, and ended up with her happily ever after. And in that time, had some great lines.

10  "Something happening in this house is actually about me."

Edith’s first inkling that she might get her happily ever after is when she earns the attentions of Sir Anthony Strallan. A friend of her father’s, and easily 25 years her senior, he was a widower with an injured arm. Still, he’s kind to her and genuinely prefers her to Mary which was new for Edith. And while Mary initially sabotages their relationship, they reunite after the war and become engaged.

RELATED: Downton Abbey: The 10 Most Shocking Twists 

On the day of her wedding, Edith is overjoyed that for once all the fuss happening in the house is about her. Little was she to know that she was hours away from being jilted at the altar.

9 "How comforting it is that there really are a few good people left in the world."

When she discovered she was pregnant, Edith resigned herself to giving her child away and never seeing her again. It wasn’t possible for someone of her station in 1920s England to keep an illegitimate child and still have a chance at marriage and a reputable life. However, despite the logic of her head, her heart couldn’t leave behind her child.

She arranged with Mr. Drewe, one of the tenant farmers, to take in her child and raise it on the estate. He agreed, and let her know that not only would he allow her to “take an interest” in the child, but he knew the truth of the situation. And he also promised to keep it between them. Edith hadn’t been shown a lot of kindness until that point, but he did prove good people still existed.

8 “Did you ever think we’d get here?”

At the end of everything (at least until the upcoming movie), Edith got her happily ever after. She met an estate agent who was a cousin to the Marquess who owned the estate and fell in love. He loved her as well, and it seemed they were bound for a happy, if low-key, life together.

However, Bertie Pelham was not only the cousin, but the sole heir to the Marquess, and when he died Bertie became the 7th Marquess of Hexham and heir to a grand estate. After some difficulties once again caused by Mary, the two were engaged and got married, giving Edith her happily ever after. (And making her the ranking member of nobility in their family.)

7  “Well, we're together, darling. And I know it's not ideal, but it's such an improvement on being apart that I think we should celebrate.”

Edith tried her hardest to keep Marigold at a respectable distance. To be merely a benefactor and someone who would visit occasionally. But the more time she spent with her, the more it became impossible for her to be separated from her daughter. Unfortunately, Mrs. Drewe had also fallen in love with the little girl, and separating her from Marigold became a trial unto itself.

But she finally took her daughter back, determined to start life anew in London as Marigold’s mother. In the end, her mother, grandmother and aunt came up with a more feasible solution to keep Marigold in her care. But when Edith finally got Marigold back, it was a cause for celebration.

6  “You’re a grandmother. And I know you’re going to be a wonderful one.”

Except towards Mary, Edith is a well-intentioned, kind woman. When Sybil died, her first concern was for the well-being of her niece and brother-in-law. She cares deeply for both of her parents and her grandmother.

RELATED: Downton Abbey: 5 Best Couples (& 5 Pairings Fans Hated)

And when Matthew died, she made sure to visit his mother Isobel, to make sure she was okay. When Isobel laments that she doesn’t know who she is or what to do as without Matthew she’s no longer a mother, Edith reminds her that she still has a very important person in her life in Baby George. And it helps Isobel begin to move past her grief.

5  “I want your forgiveness, Papa. Am I allowed to say that still?”

Edith was terrified of what her father’s reaction would be to finding out that Marigold was her child. In the end it turned out she had nothing to be afraid of. While he may have been slightly disappointed, his main concern was about her future. He assured her that he knew she didn’t enter into a physical relationship with Michael Gregson lightly. He also knew that had Gregson lived, he would have married her and it wouldn’t have been an issue.

Still Edith wanted his forgiveness. And her father let her know there was nothing to forgive. Edith may have sometimes felt like the family’s black sheep, but she could never doubt after that how loved she was.

4 “The fact is, I’d like a life.”

Edith flourished once she moved to London. She had been pigeon-holed at Downton, forever the maiden daughter, doomed to spinsterhood for the rest of time. In London, she had an exciting group of friends, she dined at fine restaurants and owned a magazine.

RELATED: Downton Abbey: 10 Best Costumes On The Show, Ranked

She was an independent woman whose words held weight and who had a good life. When discussing her desire to move to London full time with her aunt Rosamond, she voiced her simple desire to have her own life. One where she wasn’t a fallen woman or the failed Crawley sister, but the smart, capable woman that she’d become.

3 “I know now I need a purpose.”

It might seem like the lap of luxury the Crawley family lives in should fulfill any desire. But each of them in their own way chafed at being idle. Sybil became a nurse. Cora joined the hospital board. Mary became co-agent of the estate with Tom. And Edith ran a magazine. But when she fired her editor for disrespecting her repeatedly, she found herself having to edit an edition with a looming deadline.

She loved the challenge and the rewarding feeling of a job well done. As she told Bertie after he helped her get the edition out, she doesn’t want to lead a purposeless life.

2 “Who do you think you're talking to?! Mama?! Your maid?! I know you! I know you to be a nasty, jealous, scheming b****!”

The culmination of six seasons of bitterness between the sisters resulted in an explosive fight. Edith had not yet told Bertie the truth about Marigold, and Mary had recently weaseled the truth out of Tom herself. Feeling sore that Edith was about to surpass her, and that she couldn’t negotiate her own feelings for Henry, Mary spilled the beans about Marigold’s mother. Bertie was understandably upset, not that Edith was a mother but that she had lied, and called off the engagement.

When Mary tried to deflect her actions by saying she didn’t know Bertie wasn’t informed, Edith let her have it. The poisonous vitriol that bubbled under the surface of their whole relationship spilled over and it seemed like nothing would be able to repair it.

1 “Because in the end, you’re my sister. And one day only we will remember Sybil...Until at last our shared memories will mean more than our mutual dislike.”

After their blowout fight, it seemed like nothing could restore Edith and Mary’s relationship. They had been at odds too long, and there was too much nastiness on both sides. So, no one was more surprised than Mary when Edith arrived for Mary’s wedding to Henry Talbot.

Mary apologized profusely to Edith, but still expressed surprise at Edith’s willingness to give her another chance. But as Edith tells Mary, even after everything that’s happened, they’re still sisters. And their mutual loves of their family and friends will overcome their dislike of each other.

NEXT: Downton Abbey: 10 Most Tear Jerking Moments

source https://screenrant.com/downton-abbey-edith-crawley-quotes/

[shadowyin-yang]

Fenders, Anders is seriously injured and needs help getting around.

Send Me Prompts!

Cue my usual: “idk if this is what you’re looking for but…” > ~

Misc. Notes: Hawke/Isabela mentions, pre-fenders to fenders, trauma/attack(s) implications but nothing described in detail, feelings of insecurity/self-hatred; also using game-mechanics to explain…you’ll see.

Link to Ao3 Chapter: here.

“This is simple. So simple. Why-oh why isn’t it working?! Why can’tI heal? Why can’t I do ANYTHING right?! I’m so weak and pathetic I can’t evendo the one thing I boast about being good at! Why can’t I heal?! Why am I souseless?! Why, why, why…it’s so dark…”

Anders gasped and his eyes snapped open. His gaze immediately went to theonly source of light he could find. There was a brightly lit fireplace on the right side of the room. Fromthere he slowly took in his surroundings: cobwebs, dust, a relatively comfybed…

Anders lookedbeside him and at the covers. It was a rather large bed. This wasn’t the AmellEstate though. Leandra and Bodahn would never let things get this bad. But the only otherbuilding Hightown he could have access to was…

He swallowed.Flashes of lyrium rushed by his memories. Templars.Or was it…Fenris? With a groan he rubbed his head, trying to remember the details, only then realizing hispounding headache. It didn’t stop him from trying to remember. He recalled they were in a cave. There was either a cave-in or an attack. He recalled using magic and feeling lyrium. Was there something that got burned? He kept pondering as he tried to heal away his headache. As he did, the door to the room opened up. Fenris stood there for a moment,noting Anders looking back, before coming in with the large bowl in hishands. “You areawake.”

“Evidently…”Anders mumbled before ceasing the spell. He groaned before attempting to pushhimself into a sitting position. 

“Don’t!” Fenrislooked ready to drop the item in his hands as he immediately quickened hispace. Pain shot through Anders’s arm the moment he put weight on. It led to himfalling back on the pillows and wailing from the unexpected pain.

“Calm yourself,Mage.” Anders felt Fenris’s hands gently pressing down on the man’s upperarm to keep Anders from moving it. “You are injured. Do not pushyourself.”

Anders hissed, trying to still himself as he listened to the rather calming toneFenris was using. He looked down to his right arm and saw it thicker thanan arm should be and covered with a bag of - Anders guessed was -ice. “Wha…”

After Anders stopped attempted to move again, Fenris removed his touch. “Ah…Hawkethought ice would help. I do not know if they are correct but…none of us arereally knowledgeable in this area. I actually came to switch out the ice.” 

While Fenris poke, Anders looked to the bowl on the stand beside the bed to see that it indeed held a block of ice. 

“Your arm is broken. We…tried placing a caston it.” Fenris removed fabric to show the arm sloppily wrappedwith sticks and cloth. 

“…I’ll um, I’ll fix it later.” Anders said, his tone coming off as if it was just like the time some of the children knock off some organized plants in his clinic. It was rather touching that his friends tried. As Anders stared at it, the more the reality slowly started to sink in: Hisarm was broken. Anders attempted to reach over without rolling onto hisinjury. His hand glowed and ran it over his arm. The magic stopped as Anderslaid flat on his back again with a huff. “Get Hawke!” He growled infrustration as he pressed his free hand to his face, trying to calm himself enough so that he doesn’t accidentally start tearing up. “Please.” He added,hoping it was enough for Fenris to listen to him without argument. 

Fenris wasswift in leaving and retrieving the Champion. It gave Anders little time tocalm himself of the frustration but he tried to maintain his composure. 

“Hey, how areyou feeling?” Hawke asked as they approached the bed.

“Peachy. Pleasetell me you were taught how to use Cleansing Aura.” 

“…What?” theblank look on Hawke’s face gave away the answer but Anders still had to doublecheck. Maybe it was under a different name. Surely Malcolm would’ve taught animportant skill to his children. Assuming Malcolm even knew it to begin with…

“Can you healbones?” Anders asked instead.

“Uh…I can try?I mean, I did try but it wasn’tcoming together. And we figured we should get you safety first and foremost. Ican try again though if you can guide me though-”

Andersimmediately put his hand up when Hawke got closer. “No! Don’t attempt! If you don’t know how,don’t even try. You could make it worse.” 

“Oh…Sorry.” Hawke immediately back away. “Can you…heal yourself then?”

Anders shook his head in frustration. “I would if I could.” He let out asigh. Silence fell in the room. The uncomfortable level started torise. “What happened?” 

“Uh…stuff…” 

Fenris steppedin front of Hawke, shushing him. “We do not need to discuss that. Youshould focus on resting and recovering. I can help you fix the cast if you needto.” 

Anders mutteredto himself before looking up to his companions. “No, I’ll be fine. I needto help those at the clinic.” 

“You shouldtake it easy. I mean, can you even stand yet?” 

Fenris turned around to giveHawke a look. Anders saw Hawke give an inaudible ‘oh.’ 

“Why would youthink I can’t-” Anders didn’t finish his sentence when the aching in his legs, especially his right leg, became more obvious. After a moment’s pause he groaned. “…Is my anklesprained or broken?”

“I was hopingyou would know…” Hawke mumbled with regret, “We put a cast on that too though! Because we weren’t sure…”

Anders groanedeven louder.  

Anders was visibly upset. How does one even confront a manwhen he is driven by strong emotions (well, stronger emotions)? Fenris left it at “you don’t.” Thefoolish mage often refused help even when he needed it the most. Even thenFenris found it difficult to hold it against him. He knew the feeling of beingstripped of your independence and lack of choice in a situation. He wishedAnders wouldn’t be so damn stubborn, but…who washe to judge? 

He (and Hawke) had helped Anders make a better cast, only forhim to shoo them out right after to presumably sulk and adjust to his current dilemma. But that was hours ago. The mage surely mustbe hungry by now. If Fenris was lucky, maybe Anders was also calmer as well. Heentered the room with a small tray. Anders didn’t look to have changedpositions. He laid on his left, the ‘good,’ side, and faced away from the door.

“You should eat.” It was a recommendation, though he had afeeling Anders would not listen just out of spite.

“I’m not hungry.”

“You should still eat.” Fenris made obvious noise when he placedthe tray down on the side table drawer to indicate there was presence of food. 

“Why am I in your mansion?” Anders asked instead and without moving. 

“…we felt you would be safer here.” It wasn’t a complete lie.

“I see…what happened? I only remember…being in the cave…werethere Templars? I…can’t remember…”

“You do no need to.” Fenris admitted he may have spoken toohastily on that response.

“I feel like…you guys are hiding something.”

“There is nothing to hide. We can discuss it all you want as yourecover. Now, roll over so I can help you up. You need to eat.”

“I do not need your help.” Fenris had to resist rolling his eyesat the predictable response. He watched as Anders pushed himself on one arm, andused his one good leg to help him scoot until his back hit the headboard. “There,see? Perfectly capable!”

“I never said you weren’t.” Fenris stated as he pulled up achair to sit.

Anders mumbled something to himself and looked away awkwardly. The continued silence only increased the awkward feeling. When nothing else wassaid, Fenris passed over a plate from the tray. Just to avoid speaking, Anderspicked up the piece of bread.

“Do you wish to be left alone some more?”

“Yes!” Anders answered a bit too fast while chewing. “I mean uh…”he swallowed. “Yes…I would appreciate that.”

Fenris didn’t question it and stood up to leave. He could feelthe other eying him as he left.

Hawke came by the next day again. How was Anders doing, how ishe feeling, everything they knew the answer to but still felt the need to hearit.

“The mage was trying not to be angry at me as I helped him up.He does not like to be carried.” The morning was a fuss that Fenris wanted toforget.

“Really? I pegged him for the romantic type. Carried off by intothe sunset and all that!”

“Unfortunately for him there was no sunset. Just the bath.” 

“That sucks. Is he moping right now? Cuz you’re evidently notinviting me up there,” Hawke pointed up, as the two still stood by the frontdoor.

“…I do not think I make him comfortable here.”

“Well, we could always move-”

“How do you make him so comfortable?” Fenris cut in. He foldedhis arms and watched as Hawke looked back curiously, and trying to decipher theseriousness of the question.

“Uh…I guess be his friend? Be nice?”

“I think I have been more than accommodating.”

“Yeah, but you also bitch at him more than any of us. He’s injured,but he doesn’t have amnesia ya know.”

“I suppose that is a fair point…” Fenris looked down in thought.He looked back to Hawke before they decided to wander off to see Anders. “How easy is itfor you and Isabela to…talk?”

“I almost want to say we don’t but that I would be a lie. I don’tknow, Fenris. It’s…hard.” Hawke found themselves mimicking Fenris’s pose. “We both got some baggage in our lives. She probablyhas more honestly. And sometimes we make light of it to cope but ya know how it is…whenit comes to serious talks it still can be hard. You don’t want to be vulnerableor weak. In the back of my mind I know she wouldn’t see me that way but…you stillget scared. Long story short: It’s not easy. But…I’m going to try looking past the pride if it can help make us work.” 

Fenris nodded, seemingly understanding. 

“Something you want to tell me?” Hawke asked. They sounded like they were going to put up a mischievous grin but when Fenris looked, Hawke only looked concerned. 

“Perhaps later.” 

“Alright, but I’m holding you to that!”

What was there to say though? Fenris replayed his conversation with Hawke multiple times throughout the day, especially when Anders was acting rather impatient with him while refusing help (not that it stopped him from getting the help he needed). He and Anders had a few scuffles in recent years, in the sexual kind, but there wasn’t anything that needed to be said to each other that they couldn’t say in the public eye. At least that was the idea, and Fenris was fairly certain Anders felt the same way. And yet even now, as Fenris would help Anders out of bed or bring him necessities, neither wanted to say anything they didn’t have to. Except…Fenris was fairly certain there were many unspoken things that needed to be said and neither wanted to make that first jump. 

Fenris couldn’t help but feel that he was alone in that thought. Anders seemed persistent in keeping his thoughts to himself no matter how many not-so-secret glances they gave each other, or the lingering touches that long overstayed what a necessary touch should last. Fenris rather not make the first move but he knew Anders would never even dare to say a word about…more. 

Anders dragged himself (mostly his one leg) across the room. His leg wasn’t completely better but it could handle some of his weight now. Maker how long has he been rotting away in here? Fenris opened the door to see Anders using the wall to lean on as he moved towards him. “Heh, see! Totally can stand and go clean myself up without your help! I can be ready to go to the clinic in no time!” 

Fenris folded his arms over his chest and looked at him speculatively. “Mage, no one but your demon believes you are wasting time recovering. Stop pushing yourself and rest.” 

“Oh shut up! He’s a spirit for the last time!” Anders kept sliding his leg across the floor until he was at the doorframe. “Also! It’s not Justice nagging me. I want to go back! I hate being confined to a bed doing nothing while people are suffering out there. I feel so…so useless. And let me tell you, that is not a fun feeling to have!” 

Fenris didn’t respond and merely reached towards the mage’s chest to fix the sling that held his arm. “Why must you have such a martyr complex?”

“Call it what you want. You wouldn’t understand…” 

Fenris stopped messing with the sling and looked up. “I want to understand. You owe them nothing. You owe us nothing. You speak of nothing but the mistreatment you have received in your life. So you can turn your back to the world and no one would fault you. I would not fault you. And instead you place trust in strangers that could harm you or abuse the use of your clinic. It is not logical and yet you persist in this.” 

Anders looked away and eventually gave a light shrug. “What do you want me to say…? There is no…logic to it. It’s just…the right thing to do. I think about all the times people could’ve helped me and how it felt when no one was there. I don’t want others to feel that way when it can be avoided. And I don’t see how it’s wrong to be the one good thing in someone’s day or to help save someone’s life.”

No, there was nothing wrong with that. Fenris wondered if there would be anyone left in Darktown if it weren’t for Anders. But it came back to the obligation Anders didn’t need to give. However, he knew arguing for someone to stop helping people seemed to be a moot point. Fenris sighed. “If it means that much to you…I’ll discuss with the others to find a way to get the clinic up and running. However…” Ander’s face immediately dropped displeasure. “You are to remain here until you fully recover. I see you can stand and I can help you around the mansion; but unless there is an emergency in Darktown we all feel it is best for you to focus on your recovery.”

Anders let out a sigh in frustration. “You need magic to heal some injuries.”

“I think Hawke is rather capable of handling most that require a spell or two.” 

“There are potions and supplies and-”

“I am sure the witch can figure some of it out. And Isabela and Varric can surely find ways to cover your inventory.” 

“But you guys must have better things to do than to-”

“Than to what? Do the right thing?” Fenris threw the words back at Anders. 

Anders fell silent.

Fenris waited for a response but when none came he continued on. “You realize they are your friends? You will not owe them for their services and they would never expect it from you.”  

Anders only looked more defeated. 

Fenris sighed. “I am not trying to berate you, Ma-…Anders.”

Anders shrugged, but didn’t respond or look back. 

“…Let me ask you this then: Why do you think I offered to have you stay here?”

“You said…it was safer.”

“Yes. And?”

“I don’t know…? Did I save you back in that cave or something?” 

Fenris sighed, seeing that going around the issue wasn’t going to work. He raised his arm and held it there beside Anders. Fenris waited for Anders to stare it long enough to understand he wanted the man to take it. Eventually Anders holds onto Fenris and leans into him as the elf slowly guided them back to the bed. “To answer your question, you did save me back in the cave.” 

“Did I? Well you seem okay so I must’ve done an alright job!” 

Fenris laughed softly. “You really did.” 

“Well, if you can compliment me, then that certainly must’ve been something.” 

“It was…something. Something I rather not happen again.” Fenris swallowed, his memories showing him the panic in Anders’s eyes and the words he murmured to himself. The mere look Anders was given when he saw the lyrium on Fenris’s skin made the warrior feel a discomfort he didn’t know he could feel. Anders had looked at Fenris in many ways, but never was it out of conditioned fear. That was never what he wanted Anders to feel, not from himself especially. He knew Anders wasn’t in his right mindset, but it didn’t ease his worries. Did Hawke know? Did any of their friends know what to do if Anders were to fall into a panicked state again? 

When Anders looked at him with concern, Fenris realized his own tenseness. He shook the memory from his head and relaxed a bit before helping Anders down onto the bed. With a muttered consent from Anders, Fenris helped move the mage until his back was against the headboard and rested against the fluffy pillows. 

“You feeling alright?” Anders finally asked after Fenris released him. 

Sometimes Fenris hated hearing the seriousness in that question when it came from Anders. It gave the idea that Fenris needed help because he wasn’t alright at all. And it often came down to him not wanting Anders to be right so he would reject the genuine well-meaning question when they were asked. But maybe, sometimes, the mage was allowed to be right…because he often was…

“I am fine…” Fenris sat down on the bed. Anders only stared with concern and confusion, neither of them fully believing that answer. Finally, Fenris turned slightly to face Anders after a deep breah. “I know this is…probably the most inappropriate time…but I do not know when a good time would be anymore. So…” Another moment of silence passed as he took heavy breaths before continuing. “You are an insufferable mage sometimes.”

“Wow thanks for taking a minute to tell me that…”

“You are stubborn, idiotic, hypocritical at times, have terrible coping mechanism, and you hold unnecessarily long grudges.” Fenris watched Anders shake his head and looked away, seemingly heard all of this before. “But you are also kind, rather patient even, and an idealist to a fault. I know in doing so you bring people hope. You bring out the best in people that may lose that part of themselves for good. You believe in the good of people where no one would dare expect such a thing. Anyone who believes you are not worth the trouble to be with would be a fool. And so…I apologize for…all the times I have hurt you, even if I did not intend to. I know my own faults and I will do my best to work with you on them…if you would have me.” 

As another pause came between them. Fenris can now say he has bragging rights for being able to silence Anders for an extended period of time. Anders could only stare back, trying to take in what was said to him and waiting for this cruel joke to end. But it never did. 

“I…understand if you do not feel the same,” Fenris spoke again, knowing Anders was still having trouble sinking in the information out of pure disbelief, “I have already accepted that as a possibility. It…is ultimately selfish of me to do this to you. I just do not want you to believe that if you were to get hurt again, or worse, that you would think it would not matter. Because now…someone besides you will be hurt.” 

“Heh…yeah, that…that’s a tad selfish…I mean…now I have to be more careful or risk feeling guilty all the time.” Anders felt the guilt rising in him now as they spoke. 

“That is the plan.” Fenris kept the tone light, trying to coax Anders into lightening up if he could. 

“How awful of you…” Anders almost laughed to himself. This was ridiculous. This had to be a joke! No one could ever be romantically attracted to him, let alone someone like Fenris. Fenris, who deserved more, and deserved better. “You know that…I have nothing to offer you right? Look at me, Fenris. I can’t even do the one thing I’m good at. I have no money or luxuries and my life is never going to be safe or fulfilling…” 

“I am looking at you. I have looked at you for…longer than I originally believed. You offer more than you realize…” Fenris carefully reached up, and brushed aside the hair that Anders let loose to help hid his face the more he lowered his head. “As I have said…anyone who believes you are not worth the trouble to be with would be a fool.” As Fenris pulled his hand away, Anders’s reached up to grab ahold of it. He held on tightly, as if it’s a lifeline. His body tensed and he was unable to hold in the tears that finally spilled. Anders knew he couldn’t argue. How do you reject another’s view of yourself when the view isn’t your own? 

Anders’s response screamed ‘I don’t deserve this.’ Fenris knew he couldn’t change the other’s mind nor make Anders see himself the way Fenris did. The warrior held on tightly in return, determined. He’ll tell Anders how much he meant to him, to their friends, and the people of Darktown. He won’t let the mage go another day believing there wasn’t someone out there that cared about him, even if it meant reminding him every single day. 

[piratesandexplorers]

So at least some of you seemed vaguely interested in my headcanons. And I was going to write out all this stuff about where I like to imagine the kids’ futures going, but then I decided all my little stories deserve to be written as stories, so I’m going to save those.

Which just leaves some general sort of rambling on the personalities and relationships in the books themselves. More meta than headcanon really - if there are specific headcanons you’re interested in, though, always feel free to ask!

The rambling also got very long and I was still only on the first character, so I’ve decided to split them up into groups (I have a lot of strong feelings about Nancy Blackett, sorry :P). 

So I present to you first: The Amazon Pirates.

I’ve already written some stuff about Nancy and the Great Aunt here, including some general comments on the way I see Nancy’s character, so some of this is repetition, but I’m going to go into more detail here. 

Despite Nancy’s tendency to charge into things, she’s no bull in a china shop, nor is she thoughtless. Nancy’s always ten steps ahead of everyone, because she can see beneath the surface of people, she knows what makes them tick, she can predict what they’re going to think and do, and she’s ruthless (sorry, couldn’t resist it) enough at times to exploit that. But ultimately she’s also kind-hearted and affectionate, and we see her using her insights to be thoughtful and diplomatic as often as we see her using them to manipulate. 

Nancy’s not a leader because she bullies people, not really - she’s a leader because she sweeps people along with her. And what I see in Nancy is actually a carer (I say that as someone who’s worked closely with actual child carers). Her mother comes from a dysfunctional childhood - we don’t know what happened to Molly and Jim’s parents, but we know they were brought up by their aunt, who emotionally abused and neglected them to the point that Jim ran away as (it’s very much implied) not much more than a boy. Molly’s a wonderful person and a lovely mother who’s reacted to that childhood by being as caring and loving and understanding as she can, but she’s a very vulnerable person. And since Bob Blackett died, Nancy, with her big heart, her lack of fear, her natural quick empathy - Nancy’s stepped up and become the family carer and protector. It’s a mixture of natural instinct and stuff she learnt so young that it might as well be instinct now. (And part of Nancy’s frustration with her uncle (I think) lies in a sense that he ought to be some sort of family protector and really isn’t. Much as I love Captain Flint, and don’t think you can actually blame him, he continually runs off to do his own thing, or shuts himself away from everything, rather than being there for his family.)

But because of that experience, Nancy gets the things that really matter, she knows what they are and knows they’re worth fighting for, and because of that she also has a finely tuned bullshit detector. She has no tolerance for people fussing and fidgeting over things that are ultimately trivial - she’ll put up with it when it’s Susan, because she likes Susan and because she also has a strong streak of practicality, and she knows that what Susan says usually makes sense, even if it makes her impatient (and it often does). She’s honest enough to know and admit that she’s sometimes wrong, that she can be too intolerant and impatient. But her very intolerance comes from that place of honesty, because Nancy doesn’t care about all the frills and niceties and extra layers of the world she lives in - she only wants the real things.

But she also, like a lot of carers, tends to neglect herself. She’s very good at picking up on the emotions and thoughts of others, but (and now, okay, I’m straying out of the realm of observations based on canon fact and more into my own development of her character) she’s uncomfortable with getting too close to her own. She’s never really prioritised her own needs beyond her strong need to be in control of things (another sign of a kid who’s had a bit too much emotional responsibility a bit too young). She’ll stand up and take the emotional hits to protect other people from having to, but that leads to her brushing her own feelings aside too often. She believes that she’s strong, she can take whatever life throws at her, and she’s right, but to do that she’s had to close off some of the more vulnerable sides of herself. I think that part of her really growing up will involve her having to face that and deal with it.

I know this is already an essay and I’m only just coming to Peggy, but I’m going to keep her shorter. I feel a bit guilty about that because Peggy is always the more overlooked one, but I honestly find there’s less to say. She’s a much simpler person, and that’s partly the way she was written - she’s there to provide back-up for Nancy, and not really much else, until maybe Winter Holiday, but honestly even then all she does is try to imitate Nancy, rather than develop her own independent personality. I do find Peggy the least interesting of all of them, much less so than John and Susan even though they often seem to be seen as the boring ones. She’s cheerful, she’s friendly, she blows with the wind and goes along with whatever the prevailing opinion is, and she’s largely straightforward - what you see on the surface is what you get with Peggy. (Possibly controversial opinion: Peggy takes her after her mother in personality far more than Nancy does.)

But although I do think she’s underwritten, I don’t think what we see is too unrealistic, given her situation. She’s the younger sister of a very strong personality, and she’s always been pushed into the background. Compared to Nancy, Peggy’s the easy, well-behaved one - it’s Nancy who leads her astray. 

And yet in some ways, Peggy is the one with the least regard for rules. For the most part (accidental lateness due to shipwrecks or hound trails aside) Nancy misbehaves because she sees your rule, she assesses it, decides it’s unimportant in the grand scheme of things, and makes the choice to do her own thing. When it’s really important, Nancy keeps the rules (or at least she intends to). I’m not sure Peggy has the insight to tell the difference reliably between important and unimportant. She’s been half brought up by Nancy so she understands the idea that rules don’t really matter, but she’s always relied on Nancy to do the thinking for her - she doesn’t stop to asses the necessity or otherwise of a rule, she just shrugs and walks on by.

Some of the most interesting Peggy moments are when we see flashes of her disagreeing with Nancy. Then we realise that she’s not at all stupid or incapable of thought; she’s just got used to being somewhat passive and lazy in her thinking. She’s got a sense of humour, and she’s also extremely capable and competent at many things (nobody ever suggests that she’s anything but an excellent sailor, for example). Sometimes, Nancy’s too busy seeing the grand scheme and overlooks important details, and Peggy doesn’t hesitate to pick her up on them - she delivers some killer one-liners (none of Roger’s ‘secret cheekiness’ ever comes close to ‘when I pointed out she couldn’t drift against the wind’). 

Peggy’s stunted as a character by her need to be like Nancy. She’s not like Nancy - she’s scared of things, she doesn’t think quickly, she’s good at small practical stuff, not making big plans and taking charge. She’d probably be a lot happier and more confident if she could realise that it’s also okay to be like Peggy. I hope and believe that, as they got older and started to live less in each others’ pockets, she would blossom and find herself, and probably also start to recognise Nancy’s own limitations a bit more. I live for a Peggy who is just as exasperated by Nancy’s stubbornness and bravado as Nancy is by Peggy’s lack of analytical thought - in other words, sisters who can support each other and laugh at each other equally. 

[eviivescent]

Newtown Tragedy Sociology Paper

My full Sociology Paper on the Newtown Tragedy located below the read more. TW.

The Evil Behind The Newtown Tragedy

It was a cloudy morning in Newtown, Connecticut, as the young students of the Sandy Hook Elementary school gathered for class. However, “evil” was brewing as Adam Lanza, a 20 year old male, prepared for a day that would split the nation on what some would view as a simple topic. 9:41 am, Connecticut State 911 receives a call from Sandy Hook elementary stating that “multiple students were trapped in a classroom, possibly with a gunman” according to a source from the State Police. However, it wasn’t until emergency crews arrived that the sheer magnitude of the situation could be assessed. Adam Lanza, strapped up with a bullet proof vest, had “forced” his way into the school armed with two semi-automatic handguns - a Glock and a Sig Sauer - and a semi-automatic rifle. He proceeded to shoot and kill 26 people before killing himself. But the killing had not just happened at the school, Adam had shot his mother multiple times before taking her guns and leaving to shoot up the school that his mother had taught at; leaving the total dead at 27, 28 if you include Adam himself.

The nation was shocked. “Evil visited this community today,” Dan Malloy, Connecticut’s Democratic Governor, said at a news conference that evening. In fact, in the weeks following, “Evil” seemed to be largely at blame for this event. A writer at The American Spectator, a small conservative news magazine, went as far as saying that, “No… law can ever abolish evil. Indeed, evil can rise anywhere at anytime.” But what is this “evil” they speak of? Evil is defined by Merriam-Webster as “Profoundly immoral and malevolent” and by that definition, I guess you could say that Adam was evil. But do you not think that by classifying someone as evil, we dehumanize them and forget that anyone is capable of such things? Adam Lanza was a 20 year old male, only a year younger than myself. He was believed to suffer from some severe mental health disorders of which I can also relate. I do not see this idea of evil that everyone else sees. I see a young man who had been ostracized by his peers. A man who lashed out of his sub-social existence in order to make himself known. In sociology, this form of feeling detached from the dominate culture, of feeling isolated from society, an inability to comply to the social norms is called anomie and anomie can often result in backlashes from an individual. One is more likely to harm someone that they feel no relation to.

Liberals will have you believe that it is all the fault of the guns and conservatives are quick to blame video games or mental health but could it actually just be our fault? A columnist for the Economist, a large political magazine, wrote in a story titled Fake Tears that, “Those of us who view the events remotely… unless we start to evince a newfound appetite for gun-control measures to prevent future mass slayings, are doing little more than displaying and enjoying our own exalted strickenness. This is an activity at which we, as a culture, excel.” The columnist is basically saying that, as a culture, we do not actually care. We pretend to, sure, but a few weeks down the road it will all just be a sad memory. We can pat ourselves on the back because we mourned for the loss but nothing will have changed and another terrible act as such will probably just happen again. But wait, do not the same type of events already happen as a day to day worry?

What does it say about our nation when we grieve the loss of 20 young kids in a neighborhood that is predominantly suburban raised and white and yet when shootings and murders happen in inner city areas where most residents are either minority or poor, or both, we just shrug it off and say, “oh, well that is just the way it is”? Why does our culture view it as deviant to happen in “suburbia” but not in “inner city”? I am using the term “Deviant” in regards to social deviance, which, in sociological context, is used when describing actions or behaviours that violate cultural norms including that of formally-enacted rules. So why is it a cultural norm for shootings to happen in poor and/or minority predominant areas and yet when it happens in suburbia, we all freak out? Are we still so set in these ideas of poor and minority stereotypes that we focus on an ideal based in prejudice (defined as the holding of unfounded ideas about a group, ideas that are resistant to change as opposed to discrimination which focuses on the specific treatment of people based on differences) in which they are just more violent so it is not a tragedy when it happens in their neighborhoods? I ask these questions because I do not know the answers. As this nation’s youth, I feel inclined to ask the more knowledgeable members of my society to answer such questions and if you have not the answers then go ahead and ask the questions yourself.

We have become a nation in which half of us value our guns more than our children and the other half is too focused on being nice to do anything about it. Not long after the fuss of the shooting died down, an “independant truth seeker” (read as conspiracy theorist) posted an article and short film on how the Sandy Hook shooting was a hoax. He made a claim with his article that Sandy Hook was a plot by the government in order to push a gun control agenda in order to further control our citizens. I do not even feel the need to dispute such a claim and yet the internet and the youth of our nation were so ready to fall in line with this claim in order to protect our guns. But every once and awhile, we do get those gems in the rough.

A small solo journalist, who goes by the internet tag of justanothercommie, pointed out that, “Groups like the National Rifle Association and others will occasionally recognize the problem for what it really is – that dangerous weapons can too easily fall into the hands of the mentally unstable,” which is finally something we should be talking about. He goes on to point out that, “however they offer no solutions as a rational one would compromise their own position and standing among their supporters.  Rather, they aggressively fight any gun legislation which is not congruent with their interpretation of the Second Amendment.” Just like the situation I had mentioned above, groups like this frequently resort to the tactics of Reductio ad Hitlerum, in which they paint their opponent as a tyrant bent on destroying civil liberties as we know them. And it seems ironic to me that one of the groups (the NRA) that are more representative of the “Powers that be” are pulling a stance that resembles the conflict perspective, a theory in sociology that emphasize the social, political or material inequality of a social group, which in this case is gun owners/”true americans”.

So tell me, in this society that values human life and emphasizes equality, are either of those actually the case? Or are we just too busy pretending to care in order to climb the ladder even just one more rung to a sense of narcissistic ego boosts? We blame the gun or the man, the mental health status or video games, we are even willing to blame such a vague concept of “evil.” But could it really just be our fault? Our politicians bicker about our “right to bare arms” and yet we cannot even assist our “lesser” citizens in achieving a decent standard of living. What about their rights as human beings? Their rights to not starve? What about Adam’s right to get help with his mental health?

We can point fingers and pass the blame until we turn blue in the face but when you remove all the political rhetoric, all that is left is the facts. Adam Lanza was a 20 year old white young male with asperger’s syndrome. He was recorded to be socially withdrawn (as is a normality when one suffers from aspergers) and to be incredibly intelligent. He had a broken home and yet what appeared to be a caring family. He is recorded to have felt isolated from everyone and “alone.” On December 14th, he snapped. With access to his mothers legally owned guns, he was able to gun down 27 victims and then himself. I do not see evil, I just see questions. So I ask you, who’s fault is it? Who really killed those 28 victims on December 14th, 2012?