#ch 16 still should have been called 'the father' change my mind

[leofrith]

the pedro stannies want to see din djarin with his helmet off because he's hot. i want to see din djarin with his helmet off because he's having a mental breakdown with his face covered in blood and tears and snot. we are not the same <3

[youbloodymadgenius]

Ivarello (Modern!Ivar x reader) Chapter 3

Moodboard by @quantumlocked310

Ivarello's masterpost here

A/N: This is my entry for @deans-ch-ch-cherrypie 500 Followers Fairy Tale Challenge. It's a retelling of Cinderella. Congrats again, darling 💖

A huge thank you to @mrsalwayswrite , who's a great beta reader and an even greater cheerleader 😂

A massive thank you to @quantumlocked310 , @vikingstrash and @serasvictoria . Thank you for agreeing to collaborate and for sharing your talent with me. Your moodboards are beyond amazing 🤩

In this story, Sigurd is alive. Ragnar and Aslaug are dead, but Lagertha didn't kill her. I took a lot of liberties with the show, I hope you won't mind.

Unlike the tale, there will be no magic involved. Not everything will be realistic, however. It's a fayritale, after all!

Let me know if you want to be tagged 😊

Summary: Orphaned five years ago, Ivar and his brothers have been living with Lagertha ever since. Now 16 years old, he wants to attend Harald's traditional Midsummer party, but obstacles stand in his way.

Warnings: description of car crash; orphaned kids; Sigurd being Sigurd; OOC characters.

Words: 3497 (oops 🙈)

Additional note: what you’re going to read is not realistic.

Enjoy 🙂

🛡⚔️🛡

With his stomach in knots and a frown on his face, Ivar watches closely his godfather, who enters the living-room, wheeling a large trolley case behind him.

"Hello, Ivar." Floki looks around, an eyebrow raised questioningly, "Lagertha isn't here?", before flopping down on the corner sofa.

"No," Ivar shakes his head, wheeling up next to him, "She's out on a date with this English guy... Hammond, Halmund or whatever his name is."

Scratching his ear, Floki tilts his head, "but she knows you're going, right?" He pulls the trolley case closer and then snorts, mumbling under his breath, "don't think I can't see you rolling your eyes!"

"What do you think? Of course, she knows. She said, and I quote," Ivar raises his hands to make air quotes, his voice tinged with obvious annoyance, "'Of course you can go, sweetie, you know I don't want to be the one holding you back. Call me if anything goes wrong. And don't forget to take your meds.'"

"She cares, Ivar." Floki's tone is soft as he places a hand on his godson's shoulder.

Ivar lowers his gaze. "You should have taken me in." His words are barely audible and suddenly he feels like he's eleven again and he has to swallow against the sudden dryness in his throat.

"You do know that back then I wasn't in a good place." Floki's sad sigh almost gets Ivar in tears as memories of his parents and Helga flood his mind. The pain in his heart becomes nearly unbearable but he fights it off with all his might. He never wants to feel broken and lost again.

Ivar lifts his head up and Floki can see the stubbornness in his eyes. "I could live with you now."

"No, you could not, and you know it!" Floki smiles and taps Ivar on the cheek. "Ivar, I live between two flights, today in Norway, yesterday in Iceland and after-tomorrow in Canada. What kind of life would this be for you, huh? And besides, living with Lagertha is not that bad."

But living with Sigurd is! Ivar wants to shout. He keeps quiet, though, shrugging before eventually mumbling. "Guess not..."

"So," Floki starts, eager to change the subject, "where are your brothers, by the way?"

"Where do you think they are, huh, you knock-kneed fool? They're already there." Ivar glances at his watch, furrowing his brow. "Harald's party started twenty minutes ago."

"We better hurry up, then!" Crouching down, Floki slowly opens the suitcase under Ivar's scrutinizing gaze.

"Quick!" Ivar commands, barely able to contain his impatience, his nervous fingers tapping his push rims. "What do you have for me, old man, huh?" He even contemplates climbing out of his chair to open it himself, but the fear of breaking a bone at the worst possible time is stronger than his eagerness.

"You're going to calm down, young Padawan." Floki quips, slowly moving his hand in front of Ivar with eyes full of mischief. Ivar immediately slaps his godfather's hand away, mumbling under his breath, "I'd rather be a Sith Lord." That earns him a loud, hysterical laugh from his godfather.

Ivar grunts, ready to protest, but all thoughts leave his mind as soon as he's able to see what is in the trolley case. The scowl on his face obvious, he doesn't even try to hide his disappointment as he utters, "you made me braces?"

He hates braces with a passion. Along with underarm crutches, he had some, as a child. They were bulky, stiff, painful and walking with them was tedious, agonizingly slow, and exhausting. Ragnar had been adamant that he wanted his youngest to walk, no matter the struggles, no matter the nearly unbearable pain. Ivar had settled his ass in a wheelchair the day of his father's funeral, getting rid of his braces shortly after, a decision he had never regretted. So no, such torture devices were not at all what he was hoping for.

"Have a little faith in me," Floki rolls his eyes. "These," he looks lovingly at the strange contraptions in his hands, "are not braces, Ivar. Have you and your crippled ass ever heard of exoskeleton?"

Ivar's eyes widen. "It's that thing used in rehab that allows paraplegics to walk, right?" As Floki nods, Ivar gives him a puzzled glance. "But, erm, you do know I don't have a spinal cord injury, don't you? Or are you suffering from memory loss? Maybe it's your age?"

Dismissing the remark with an exasperated wave of his hand, Floki hisses, "I'm well aware that you don't, godson dearest," before narrowing his eyes, his voice now serious, "you may have full sensation in both legs, yet they can't exactly support your weight and your lack of motor function can't be denied. Not really different from some paraplegic dudes, what do you think?"

Feeling a heavy lump in his throat, Ivar frowns, not pleased with the idea of him being like a paraplegic. Almost without thinking, he contracts his quads as best he can, as if he wants to make sure he's still able to do it.

Floki doesn't miss the barely-there movements in his thighs, though, and his voice softens. "Look Ivar, you're not a paraplegic, okay? But I used the exoskeleton technology. And since you're not paralyzed, I was able to make a smaller device that you can wear underneath your clothes, and you're going to walk. I mean, really walk, not just like those guys in rehab, between parallels bars and with a PT right behind them."

Ivar, his eyes bright, stares at his godfather, slack-jawed with amazement. "I'm..." He begins to sputter, voice filled with emotion, "I'm really going to walk?" Feeling like his heart is pounding out of his chest, he fails to contain his excitement, drumming the fingers of his right hand on his lap. He'd tap his feet if only he could.

"You are." Floki nods before taking out of the trolley case a pair of dress shoes. "I put dozens of sensors in the insole of these shoes, which will enable the exoskeleton to correct your stance practically every second. Therefore, you won't need crutches, although I would say it's safer for you to use this." Reaching down, he grabs a black derby-style cane, simple and sleek in design. "You know," he shrugs, "just for extra support. Better safe than sorry, hmh?"

Ivar, who doesn't even flinch when he sees the walking stick, just reaches out, his hand grazing the carbon fiber exoskeleton. "Is it really for me?" His eyes filled with wonder, his voice trembling, his lips stretch across his face as his godfather nods. "And you made this in what?... four, five days?"

Letting out his signature giggle, Floki waggles his fingers in front of his face. "Even I couldn't make this in such a short time. No, the truth is, I've been working on it for a while. Let's say your phone call just sped things up. Though I must say, this marvel of technology is not flawless... It has a really low battery life, like four hours of autonomy at best. If I had more time, I certainly could have done better, but for now, it is what it is and you'll have to make do with what you've got." Pursing his lips, he glances at his watch, "So, just so you know, if you put this on now, you'll have to come back around midnight if you don't want to have to crawl around. And if you hear a beep, you'd better hurry, okay?"

As Ivar just nods, his beaming smile never fading, Floki adds, tilting his head, "and now, go get ready, young Padawan, you have a party to attend!"

***

Sitting on a bench at the seaside, Ivar watches the party from afar, a feeling of uneasiness tightening his chest. It was a mistake. Attending to this party was a mistake. Despite the exoskeleton, despite the fact that he walks almost normally, it was a mistake. He shouldn't have come. He shouldn't be here. Anxiety surges like the swell of a wave, and he struggles to breathe. Sigurd was right: he doesn't belong here, doesn't belong to this life.

A part of him wants to leave. It would be better to run away, to go hide in his room. But he won't. He can't. Because just a moment ago he saw you. Because he's not ready to give up on you now that he is here, eventually close to you.

He recognized you the moment his eyes fell on you. Looking radiant in a polka dot dress, you're as pretty as he remembers. Pretty? Who's he kidding? The girl you were six years ago was pretty. You're a woman now, and one of the most beautiful he's ever seen.

Glowing, smiling at everyone, you didn't even see him. In his head, of course, he makes plans to approach you, even if deep down, he knows all too well he'll never muster enough courage to talk to you. You probably wouldn't want him to anyway. After all, he may be standing tall today, yet he's still a freak, a fucking cripple. He's still cursed with his bony, twisted, useless legs. He's still a burden.

Yet, there's this little voice inside of him, barely audible, whispering that you're not like this, that you never were in the first place; and that's partly why the ten-year-old boy he was when he first met you felt drawn to you almost instantly.

Closing his eyes, he focuses on his breathing and decides to take a little trip down memory lane, bringing him back to that sunny, summer day of his first – and only – encounter with you. His memory so vivid it's like it happened only yesterday.

He can't hear the chirping of birds as his brothers are loudly playing and bickering in the pool. His beloved mother is nowhere to be seen and he's willing to bet she's taking a nap, but not without first making sure he has everything he could possibly need. Lying on a sunbed in the shade of an oak, a glass of lemonade within reach and a thick book on his lap, he hardly notices his father coming into the backyard, Harald Hårfager following close behind.

Since Ivar knows Harald is here to talk business with his father, he pays no attention to the two men, who take their seats at the patio dining table.

He nearly falls off the sunbed when a tiny voice startles him. "Hello!"

Stunned, he turns his head towards the voice and comes face to face with a smiling girl he doesn't know. You. He'd say you're about his age.

"I'm Y/N," you tell him, waving your hand shyly. "I'm at my uncle's for the weekend," you keep going, pointing your finger at Harald, "and I was wondering... May I join you?" You finally ask, dragging a second sunbed closer to his.

His first instinct is to look around, because you can't possibly be talking to him. Why would you? Surely you can't have failed to spot his leg braces, nor his hideous orthopedic shoes. You can't have missed that he's a cripple.

Frowning as he sees that no one is around, he snorts, his nostrils flaring. He can tell you're wearing a swimsuit under your pink dress. What do you want, then? Are you here to mock and ridicule him or what?

"You better get in the pool with my brothers." He knows he sounds rude, not answering nor greeting you, but he doesn't care. He doesn't want to be made fun of and doesn't intend to give you the chance to do it.

Seemingly undeterred, you speak with a soft voice. "No, I'd rather not." Your smile is so genuine he can't help but think you mean no harm. "Actually," you shrug, sitting next to him, "I'd rather stay here with you, if you don't mind. What are you reading?"

Gobsmacked, he just looks at you – and gods, how pretty you are! – for a long time, unable to utter a single word. Are you truly interested in what he's reading? Interested in him? He swallows hard, his heart racing. A small smile dancing on your lips, your kind eyes never leave his as you wait, full of hope, for him to finally talk to you.

And that's what he ends up doing, almost in spite of himself. For the next two hours, he shows you his astronomy book, a gift from his godfather for his tenth birthday, and tells you about the stars, the constellations and the nights he spends watching the sky, when his mother allows him to. And for two hours you listen to him, asking a question here or there and always smiling. He's pretty sure you're not faking being interested in what he's saying.

All too soon, your uncle tells you it's time to go and you stand up with a scowl, letting out a sigh of regret. The next moment, you flash Ivar a grin. "I had a really great time with you, thanks! I'm going back to my mom's tomorrow but I hope we can spend time together again sometime, maybe next summer. I'd love to stargaze with you, you know?" With that, you lean forward and as your lips touch his cheek, Ivar's breath catches in his throat, his heart pounding like a drum in his chest.

Ivar inhales deeply. That kiss... That's when he fell madly and hopelessly in love with you. If he concentrates enough, he can still feel the softness of your lips against his skin, still smell your sweet, flowery scent.

That day, he had watched you leave with a smile on your face, already dreaming of the day he would see you again. You had said "next summer" and even though it was a long time away, he was willing to wait. In the meantime, he would have plenty of memories to recall - your joyful voice, your sparkling eyes, your lovely smile... Sure, he could wait.

And he had waited, hopeful and happier than he had been in a long time.

Not long after, however, his life had been turned upside down, his father being murdered and his mother dying in a car crash. Lost, angry, broken, and infinitely sad, he had gone through the following months as if anesthetized - barely living, hardly functioning, sometimes feeling as if the memory of you was the only thing keeping him from drowning.

Yet, and he doesn't know why – or perhaps simply because Ragnar being dead, Harald had no reason to visit anymore – he had never seen you again.

"Hello!"

His whole body freezes and he stops breathing. This voice... Your voice... He'd know it anywhere. Yet, it can't be, right? Did he fall asleep? Is he dreaming? Is one of his brothers tricking him? Why would you talk to the cripple?

"My name is Y/N." He can hear the smile in your voice. "I was wondering... May I join you?"

Summoning the courage he's not sure he has, Ivar looks tentatively toward you.

Gods! You're even more beautiful up close. Fuck. Now that you're here, right next to him, he doesn't know what to say, what to do. Panic seizes his hammering heart as a lump rises in his throat. He attempts to swallow around it to speak, to say something, anything, but the words won't come out and he finally just nods, his hand gesturing to the bench for you to sit on.

"Thanks," you give him a broad smile before taking your seat.

Ivar cannot believe his eyes. What are you doing? Did you recognize him? Why are you here, with him?

"Woul–", he sputters, struggling to find his voice, "Wouldn't you rather be there?" Pointing his index finger at the crowd gathered in front of the makeshift stage just a few meters away. He frowns, tilting his head, "the party is in full swing."

"No, I'd rather not." You shrug and as you turn your head toward him, he breathes in your sweet scent, suddenly feeling dizzy. "The guys are already drunk and really have one thing on their minds. And those who are not are boring." You lower your gaze, as if embarrassed, and it's so adorable Ivar feels like his heart is melting. "I'd rather stay here with you, if you don't mind."

Oh, he doesn't. He doesn't mind at all. The truth is, there's a fucking firework inside of him, and he barely contains the screams of happiness that threaten to escape his lips. "That's okay, you can stay," he says instead, his fidgeting fingers dancing on his lap.

Over the next hour or so, the conversation flows easily as you speak about Karasjok, the small town where you live, telling him about your mother's people, the Sami, their culture and customs.

Ivar shares with you bits and pieces of his life too, speaking about his passion for the Viking culture and about his belief in the ancient gods. The night, his night, is full of your laughs, full of your smiles, full of you. He wants it to never end.

He's still trying to figure out if you know who he is, if you remember meeting him once when you rise to your feet, almost bouncing with enthusiasm. "Walk with me, will you?"

He's about to break the truth about his inability to walk when he remembers that actually, thanks to Floki, he can. His eyes never leave yours as he grabs his cane with a little bit of self-consciousness, wincing as he stands up, but he can't see disgust, contempt, or disappointment on your face and your smile doesn't falter as you delicately slip your hand under his free arm, curling your fingers back over it. Shaken by your sudden proximity, Ivar feels goosebumps rising on his skin.

"It's such a lovely night and I'm so happy spending it with you."

Your words leave him speechless as you lead him close to the water. A bunch of guys can be seen in the distance and Ivar is pretty sure his brothers are among them. He can feel their heavy stares on him and doesn't need to hear them to know what they're saying. "Who's this dude? Do we know him?" Standing tall, with his braided hair and a blue suit, he knows he doesn't look like himself. Yet, as he locks eyes with Hvitserk for a second, he'd sworn he sees a hint of recognition crossing his brother's face. And as the latter gives him a thumbs up, he knows his mind is not playing tricks with him.

"Oh, I love this song!" You clap your hands twice before shrugging shyly. "Let's dance, please!"

Ivar's heart breaks. Scared out of his wits, he swallows hard, his breathing uneven. "I... I can't." It's a painful admission, and he wishes the ground would just swallow him up.

He realizes you pay no mind to his defeated tone, though, as you grab his cane, leaning it against a nearby tree. "We'll go slow, I promise."

Almost in spite of himself, he places his hands on your hips as you wrap your arms around his neck. Gently – cautiously – swaying to the music, Ivar leans in close and, inhaling deeply your delightful scent, he feels like he's going to spontaneously combust. Your head resting on his chest, he's sure you can hear his frantic, pounding heartbeat. But he can't bring himself to care, not when you're finally exactly where he wants you to be. In his arms.

That's why he doesn't hear the first beep, or if he does, he doesn't pay any attention, entranced by your beauty, your kindness and the mesmerizing color of your eyes.

But when you stop dancing, your eyebrows raised, "What's that beeping noise? It doesn't stop," he hears it too, cold sweats washing over him as panic courses through his body.

"I... I must... I must go," he stammers, and honestly he's about to throw up. He can't think, can't speak. All he knows is that he doesn't want you seeing him crawling around. He won't allow it. He can't.

Fuck.

That's why he leaves. He just strolls off. He doesn't see the appalled look you're giving him, doesn’t' realize he's leaving his black cane behind, doesn't hear the despair in your tone as you shout, "wait, please! I don't even know your name!"

He has only taken a few steps when crocodile tears run down his cheeks, blurring his sight. It hurts so much he could scream, and he can barely breathe as the realization starts to sink in. Who was he trying to fool? Sigurd had been right all along. No matter the exoskeleton, no matter the genius of his godfather, he's still a freak. A monster. An abnormality.

He doesn't belong. He's not worthy.

Fuck.

His heart shatters in a thousand pieces.

Fuck.

Y/N.

Fuck.

🛡⚔️🛡

Ivar's taglist: @waiting4inspiration @honestsycrets @lisinfleur @saldelys @gearhead66 @inforapound @readsalot73 @milkkygirls @xbellaxcarolinax @shannygoatgruff @zuxiezendler @hecohansen31 @lonewolf471 @fuckindiva @tgrrose @didiintheblog @peachyboneless @pieces-by-me @funmadnessandbadassvikings @ethereallysimple @destynelseclipsa @cocovikings23 @xceafh @mrsalwayswrite @deans-ch-ch-cherrypie @pomegranates-and-blood @jadelynlace @grimeundglow @quantumlocked310 @alexhandersen-marcoilsoe-fandom @adrille88

Ivarello's taglist: @not-another-viking-fanfic-blog @hashimily @prepare4trouble @supernaturalvikingwhore @funmadnessandbadassvikings @heavenly1927 @dini73

[blushing-titan]

My reasons to ship Erehisu

About two weeks ago, I got an anonymous ask that reads:

what made you ship erehisu? I don't ship anyone in the series (and defo not eremika lol) and I want to understand the reasons

...but when I tried to answer it on my app, it turned out that I can only post 10 pictures per post, so I decided to make a longer, regular one with my thoughts on this topic 😄 Erehisu remains one of my favorite ships in the series (...with the other ones being Yumi/hisu and Levi/han), so I really enjoy talking about it (...well, at least I did, before I started moving away from the series after that mess of a finale). Without further ado, my reasons to ship Erehisu are under the cut (just a quick warning: the pictures are obviously not mine, and there are some anti-eremika themes in this post).

They had an actual developement

As we know: in the beginning, Historia was pretending to be this good, selfless girl Krista. Later on, we learn that Eren was not particularly fond of her façade (...keep in mind he was the only person who noticed that she was acting off, too - obviously excluding Ymir, who was Historia's closest person and knew about her secret). As Historia chooses to embrace her identity and stop pretending, his opinion on her changes - he reassures her and appreciates the real Historia.

You’re just normal. Just a normal girl who’s absurdly honest. (Eren, ch. 54)

Eren...that day...the time you called me...normal. That made me really...happy. (Historia, ch. 65)

Later on, after Historia saves Eren in the Reiss cave, his thoughts on her change even further. There isn't just something that he likes about her anymore - instead, he starts to actually admire her strength and actions.

(ch. 68)

(ch. 70)

Even further on, he prioritizes her safety and hides an important piece of information that could help Paradis' cause - only because it could potentially put Historia in harm's way.

(ch. 89)

(ch. 90)

(ch. 106)

Keep in mind that there was a time skip in between these chapters, which means Eren kept this secret for years. He hid it even from Armin and Mikasa. After it's finally revealed, he strongly disagrees with, and fights against Historia becoming a titan for the sake of the island. Eren’s sentiment towards Historia is even noticed by Hanji on a few different occasions - it’s something that Hanji brings up while questioning him, later on.

(ch. 107)

Eren also meets Historia in secret, warns her of danger, and downright doesn't let her sacrifice herself - even when she assures him that she's ready to do it. 

(ch. 130)

She's also one of the only people with whom he shares the information about the rumbling. He also brings up her own words that she said to him back in the Reiss cave.

(ch. 130)

I believe he doesn't fight for her just because she's one of his friends. It's a natural progression that comes from the shared experience they had in the Reiss cave. Eren got to know and appreciate the real Historia, so whenever she reverts back to the Krista persona, he's there to remind her that she should live for herself and don't let others use her - just like Ymir told her, and just like Historia told him in the Reiss cave. When Eren stands up for Historia in ch. 107 and blatantly refuses to let her get sacrificed, she's actually touched to the point of tearing up.

Their relationship changes and deepens with time, and it's actually shown in the manga - not just as symbols or small hints, but actual, full-fledged conversations/actions. In my opinion, this should be the base of any well-estabilished ship. We have quite a few one-on-one moments with these two that illustrate this progression. There are also panels in which we can peak into Eren's thoughts on Historia, which makes for an unfiltered source of his opinions on her.

They can relate to each other

Something I find really important as well is that Eren and Historia can find each other very relatable, and therefore - understand each other's struggles better.

Both were used by their fathers, and both caused their demise. Both were fiercely protected by someone. Both felt like the world would be better without them, at some point. Both had a big role to play, despite having doubts if they can do it right (Eren, being humanity's titan; Historia, being the queen). Both wanted to sacrifice themselves for their people's sake - and both intervened, saving each other from actually going through with this decision.

Their relationship is well-balanced

Eren and Historia don't clash when it comes to their personalities. As their relationship grows, they mutually admire, protect and motivate each other, while still remaining two separate characters - with their own goals and traits. They freely talk to each other about their struggles; they also care about each other’s actual feelings on them.

(ch. 54)

(ch. 70)

I can easily see them as partners, which is something I've always had troubles with when it comes to EM. It's just hard not to make this comparison, since Mikasa's character has always been pretty much fully centered around Eren, which - in my eyes - made their relationship look unbalanced and toxic. I've already spoke about my issues with EM in depth in this post, so I won't elongate this one with repeating the same arguments - still, one of the reasons I started shipping Erehisu in the first place is the fact that I immediately saw it as a much more normal, healthy, and well-balanced alternative to EM.

Parallels and relevance to the story’s themes

Parallels are something that, for some reason, make a lot of people mad. I have no idea why - these things appear in the manga, so why not talk about them?

Aside from parallels between Eren and Historia (...please, keep in mind that I didn’t list all of them in this post), there are also a lot of obvious parallels between Historia and the founder Ymir - to the point, when the entire Requiem der Morgenröte ending revolves around this theme:

I've also already spoke about how Ymir/Historia parallels could possibly be tied to Eren in this answer.

(Historia on the cover of vol. 16/Ymir in ch. 122)

Aside from that, there are a few subtle Grisha/Dina and Eren/Historia parallels, as well. Historia is a royal, hiding as a regular person - just like Dina did, before joining the revivalists. Dina also tears up when Grisha stands up for Eldians, just like Historia does when Eren stands up for her.

(ch. 68)

(ch. 86)

(ch. 67)

(ch. 86)

(ch. 56)

(ch. 86)

(ch. 107)

(ch. 86)

Quite interestingly, in a lot of these parallels Historia and Eren act in an opposite way as to previous generations. While Frida teaches Historia to be a good, selfless girl, Historia ends up abandoning this persona to save herself and Eren in the Reiss cave. She doesn’t want to devote herself to fate - instead, she’s prepared for a showdown with it. While the founder Ymir’s children are ordered to eat their own mother to ensure her power’s succession (...and a few hundred years later, Grisha fights to return the founder’s power back to his wife - Dina), Eren does everything he can to ensure Historia and her children are safe and never even titanised in the first place. 

As the story unfolds, we learn about it’s leading themes - some of which are: oppression and fighting for freedom, desire to change history, the mechanism of circle of hate, and how it affects children who are a part of it. In my eyes, Erehisu just perfectly fit with these themes, especially considering how later on Historia’s pregnancy was handled in the manga.

There were countless ways to answer the who’s the father question? immediately, without even starting up conversation about it - for example, I don’t understand why it was needed to bring up the fact that Historia didn’t marry the farmer in the first place. What was it’s purpose, aside from stirring up theories - especially considering how in the last chapter it’s revealed that they are married, after all? Why end up the Eren/Historia flashback on the What do you think about me having a child? question, when the whole conversation they had beforehand was literally about Eren disagreeing with Historia wanting to get pregnant just to save herself? It doesn’t make sense, and led me (and many other readers - judging from opinions I read online and chapter reactions on youtube) to belive that there were other reasons, and that there was more to this conversation then was initially shown.

If the conclusion to this plotline was always supposed to be that she got pregnant just to save herself...then what was this mysterious built-up for? Why show this conversation in the first place, and in such a weird manner, too? Why not have Historia just say it out loud in ch. 130: yes, I got pregnant to save myself in the beginning, and spare us this whole I will not allow it talk...you know, instead of ending the conversation on the What do you think about me having a child? when the whole previous talk was about Eren fighting against it? Where’s the logic?

The truth is - from my perspective, Erehisu had a lot of logical build up that would benefit the story, and stay true to it’s already established themes and both characters’ previous developement. On top of that, I also think they simply had great chemistry.

That’s all from me today 😄 I apologize you had to wait so long for this, anon...life got in the way, and as I said - I think I’m just getting over this series. Hope you’re doing well anyway 😊

[neakco]

The Lost Temple Ch.4

Ao3 First Prev Next Masterlist

Where Tim debates if sending his youngest brother out to murder an ancient order of monks is unethical.

Ch.4 The Calm

Marinette explained that she hadn’t seen any signs of the temple yet. So it was decided they would consider every area covered today as searched unless the remaining sections turn up empty.

 

Their new plan also had them sticking together, just in case. Just in case of what was never mentioned but Tim was starting to think it either had something to do with gods or magic.

 

As they once again shared the watch Tim decided to risk asking a question he had dismissed earlier. “How did you untie the ropes so quickly?”

 

He watched a few different emotions cross her eyes before settling on mischievous.

 

“I have a small god in my pocket.”

 

He laughed quietly, “I don’t even know if you are joking. You are a mystery Marinette.” A mystery he wouldn’t mind taking a long time to solve if he was being honest.

 

Her laughter soon joined his, “How about I tell you when all of this is over.”

 

“So you don’t plan to disappear off the grid after returning to the monks?”

 

Marinette’s mirth evaporated, “I don’t want to return.”

 

It felt to Tim that in that moment she had removed his soul to scrutinize every sin and good deed before finally giving it back.

 

“I trust you more then I have ever trusted them.” Her eyes narrowed as she looked at him. “Adrien and I have known them for five years now.”

 

Tim was curious but he could also tell this was a very sensitive topic, “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.”

 

“I know, but it feels good to tell someone.”

 

He watched and waited patiently. This was the first time he felt as if she wasn’t suppressing any of her emotions and he didn’t want to ruin it.

 

“The monks figured they could control us, by the time the learned they were wrong it was too late. We were too powerful.”

 

Tim wanted to make a joke about how they didn’t look powerful, but deep down he knew that wasn’t true. There was definitely something just under the surface if you knew what to look for. Tim had spent to much Tim with those more than human to ever dismiss Marinette and Adrien.

 

“They tried to kill us when we were 16 three years ago.”

 

That stopped Tim's thoughts. What sane person tries to kill sixteen year olds?

 

“Adrien's father had just been revealed as a supervillain and arrested.” He was definitely staring, this was a lot more information than he expected her to offer freely.

 

She apparently noticed his look and understood, “It is common knowledge and if you are even half as good a detective as rumours say then I know you will find out eventually.”

 

He watched her collect her own thoughts for a moment and noticed his own were silent for once.

 

“We survived the attempt without a scratch. For a while we figured that would be the end of it. We started to pick up the chaos of what remained of our lives. We wanted to be kids, at least for a couple more years. We hadn’t been kids in so long…” She trailed off for less than a breath. “Then they appeared again.”

 

Tim didn’t realize he was holding his breath until she continued speaking in a darker tone.

 

“They took the only people we care about. Said that if we do this one thing that we won't have to worry anymore.”

 

“You don’t believe them.”

 

“Would you?”

 

“No, probably not.” He reached into one of his pouches and pulled out a card in the shape of his logo and handed it to her. “I doubt the monks will expect you ask for help. This has my emergency line and the number for Mount Justice. When you decide to pull off a rescue then you just need to ask.”

 

Marinette surprised him when she hugged him, tears streaming down her pretty face. “This means so much more to me than you could ever know.”

 

Tim, not really knowing what to do, did his best to hug her back. There was a small voice that sounded like his youngest brother telling him it was stupid to trust two teens that he had stumbled over in a jungle, but he was pretty good at ignoring the Gremlin when his gut disagreed.

 

Adrien eventually came by to tell them they were late for breakfast. Tim hadn’t even realised so much time had passed.

 

They came back to camp to see Bart already bouncing off trees.

 

“Adrien, tell me about your girlfriend.”

 

“Kagami?” Tim watched Adrien sit down with a cheese danish that had him questioning if the blonde was as good a baker as Marinette.

 

“She is as fierce and protective as a dragon.”

 

Marinette sat down next to him with a chocolate danish. Where were these coming from? Tim wondered if they could get him a mocha flavoured one.

 

“You know kitty, I am actually surprised the monks managed to grab her. She is rather deadly with a sword after all.”

 

“I am mire surprised they didn’t grab Luka.” Adrien grinned ferally. “Do you think he tossed them in La Siene? I rather doubt they know how to swim.”

 

“Who's Luka? You’re boyfriend?” Kon asked before taking a bite of…was that steak?

 

Okay, now Tim knew he was being pranked. He turned to glare at Bart who just grinned and handed over a large slice of coffee cake.

 

“Luka is actually my ex, but I still count him as one of my best friends. Enough about us, what about you three? Anyone special waiting for you back home?”

 

Bart laughed, “Nah, I am still celebrating just being alive.”

 

Tim could see Marinette adding Bart into her club as Kon scoffed, “Hard to find someone okay with dating a hero.”

 

Tim nodded, “Too many secrets. It isn’t like you can explain why you are ditching a date to run towards danger.”

 

“Or why you are late and covered in bruises, burns or blood.” Bart chipped in.

 

“Actually that one is easy enough when you live in Gotham.” Tim sighed, he really wished that wasn’t the case.

 

Adrien nodded along solemnly, “The only ones to understand are heroes and villains.” He looked towards Tim brimming with mischief. “Is it true that Batman had a threesome with Gotham's Sirens?”

 

A yo-yo flew into Adrien with such force that the blonde actually flew from his seat. Tim was up before the boy had gracefully landed on his feet, but relaxed upon seeing the toy, no the weapon, return to Marinette.

 

“Kitty, no.”

 

“M'lady you wound me. That actually hurt. I just wanted to make him blush.”

 

He watched her tuck the yo-yo away at her back before turning to Tim, “You really don’t need to answer him.”

 

Tim grinned, “I honestly don’t know. Pretty sure I deleted that info from my brain. I mean, would you want to know your mentor's sex life?”

 

Adrien and Marinette both shuddered.

 

“Our trusted mentor was 186.”

 

“and a half.” Adrien interrupted.

 

“186 and a HALF.” He watched her glare at the blonde while his own teammates shuddered.

 

Tim found himself more impressed then anything else. That was an unnaturally long life, unless their trusted mentor was secretly Ra’s. He doubted the Gremlin's grandfather was ever a monk though, rogue or otherwise. Plus, unlike said Gremlin, these two didn’t have the aura of killers. He would bet they had seen death, something in the sometimes haunted look they would get. These two had seen some sort of war and lived.

 

“Hey Red, are you still with us?” Marinette was very close and looking at him with concern.

 

“Yeah, I was just thinking.” He saw that most of the breakfast mess had already been cleaned up and decided to throw caution to the wind. “Have you or Adrien ever killed anyone?”

 

“What?” Marinette reeled back from him in shock.

 

Adrien looked like an offended cat, “No!”

 

“Well, there was that erased timeline…” Marinette trailed off.

 

“You told me I was under mind control! And I doesn’t count when only you and Bunnix can remember it.”

 

“Sorry, forget I ever asked.” If that timeline-hopping, punk rabbit was involved then he already knew more then he wanted to. Missions given to them by her were always the most chaotic.

 

In order to change the subject he pulled up his holo-map. “Working off the theory that our enemy has already searched their area.” He highlighted a good portion of the map purple. “Then this small area here should be the only area left to search.”

 

“We are actually assuming the enemy is competent?” Kon asked.

 

“Even if they aren’t, it will be a lot harder to search their territory without drawing attention.” Marinette added. “If today doesn’t work out then we can work out a strategy.”

 

Tim marked out their path in gold, “Two hours there and about 12 hours to search before we call it a night.”

 

“Unless we find it.” Adrien smiled.

 

“Unless we find it.” He agreed.

As always, feel free to reach out if you have any background lore questions. I am more than happy the elaborate the chaos.

Taglist @toodaloo-kangaroo

[scullydubois]

Only the Light Ch. 16

16/? | AU where Melissa moves in with Scully after Scully’s abduction | angst, msr slow-burn, occasional fluff | currently: The Blessing Way/Paper Clip | T | 6.7k (oops) | previous chapters | read on ao3 | tagging: @today-in-fic <3

Scully searches for Mulder in the desert; Missy encounters her own trouble back in Washington.

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

As she stands in the charred boxcar, she can’t help but fear that Mulder’s remains are scattered around her. She fears him being dead, of course, but thinking about his condition if he’s alive makes her insides swirl. She had heard coyotes howling through the night and all she could think about was what if Mulder was out there, what if their glowing eyes faced him in the dark, what if their howls drowned out his cries? She thinks of all the children on milk cartons, and their poor parents, and all the pain in the world.

Albert and his son accompanied her out to the desert while Melissa stayed back and phoned the Navajo Nation police department and New Mexico’s county police. Mulder is a wanted man in the eyes of the federal government, Scully’s sure, but she’s more concerned with whether he’s a dead man. And if the FBI knows what’s good for them, they’d be concerned too. Of course, that’s a hard argument to make when her name is probably scribbled alongside Mulder’s for aiding and abetting a fugitive. Still, the more manpower they have, the greater the chance of finding him, and that’s in everyone's best interest.

She kneels on the red-dusted bottom of the boxcar and recalls what Mulder had told her he’d found: bodies, piles of them--inhuman by his description--and smallpox vaccination scars. She hadn’t been thinking clearly the night before when she told her sister there’d be nothing left. When a body burns, the skeleton survives. Not intact, exactly, but there. Permissible as forensic evidence, capable of unfurling the secrets of the skin that once surrounded it. Crematoriums have to put bones through a grinder to turn them to ash. Scully sees neither bones nor ashes around her--what is she to make of that?

“Anything ma’am?” Eric calls down to her from where he and his father are searching the rocks.

Scully stands up. “No, nothing but sand and smoke.” 

“FBI man couldn’t have gone far,” Eric emphasizes. “I never saw him leave the boxcar.”

“Well, in that case there’d be bones or some sign of remains...I see nothing, not even what he told me he saw down here.”

Albert appears at his son’s shoulder. “What was that which he saw?”

Scully squeezes her temple. “Bodies with smallpox vaccine scars. He said they didn’t look human.”

“Ah. The disappeared.”

“No, I don’t think it was the Anasazi. I think that...it’s related to whatever caused them to disappear. I think the government knew, and they wanted in on it.”

“You see?” Albert tells her. “Nothing disappears without a trace.”

Scully turns her back to them. She’s said that exact sentence to Mulder before...what if she was wrong? About all of it?

Eric helps her out of the boxcar. Vultures whine above them.

“Is the tribal police equipped to handle a missing person case?” Scully asks Albert, shielding her eyes from the sun.

“I sure hope so, but it is not often that a non-resident goes missing on the reservation.”

“Since this deals with one of their agents, the FBI could get involved,” Scully relays, “but I fear it might disturb the community.”

Albert nods. “It would be best to leave the federal government out of this.”

“Unfortunately,” Scully says, kicking a stray rock, “my partner and I were in the midst of a sort of dereliction of our duties, so I suspect the FBI will track me down no matter how hard I resist.”

“That is unfortunate,” Albert affirms. “But we will protect you as best we can.”

“Thank you.” Scully meets his eye. It is warm, but it is not the gaze she wishes she were looking into. “I’d like to get back to my sister now,” she divulges, moving toward the truck Albert brought them in.

“We’ll go,” Albert replies, ushering Eric into the truck.

And as the tires rattle over the earth, Scully realizes that the heart can choose to stop beating when it pleases, and my god, what a burden to bear.

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

Scully’s phone is ringing when she walks through the motel door. She ignores it--Skinner chewing her out is the last thing she needs right now. 

At the desk, Missy labors over a spread of tarot cards, not even acknowledging Scully’s entrance. She whispers to herself as she analyzes the selections.

“You brought those?” Scully gripes.

Missy nods, still engrossed by the arrangement. She looks up from the cards. “I suspected I would need it.”

“And what do you need it for?” 

“To make decisions. Specifically, to decide whether I should go back to Washington.”

Scully’s forehead wrinkles. “And what do they say?”

“It’s not definite, of course, but the cards are leaning toward yes.”

“And you needed the cards to tell you this why?”

Missy smiles. “Because the cards work in concordance with the universe, Dana.”

Scully turns away so her sister can’t see her roll her eyes. “Oh. Right.”

Missy slides her chair back, stands up. “I know you think it’s crazy, and I won’t try to change your mind. However, I believe that it’s a worthwhile instrument of spiritual guidance, and I’m inclined to follow its advice.”

“By going back to Washington.”

Missy nods.

“Does that mean that I come too?” Scully asks, suddenly seeing the appeal of putting tough decisions at the mercy of a completely arbitrary system. 

Missy pushes a lock of her sister’s hair behind her ear. “Not so fast. I only asked the cards about me. They said I should go.”

Scully allows the corners of her lips to turn up slightly. Oh, to let child’s play seep into your adult life. “So you didn’t ask them about me?”

“No,” Missy says, eyes shining. “Because I already know the answer. You should stay.”

“Well, shouldn’t you check with the cards about that?”

“I can, but I know what they’ll say.”

Scully frowns now. “How can you be so sure?”

“Because I know the answer in my heart. It’s obvious, like what color the sky is, or should you take an umbrella when it rains. There’s no need to use the cards for that.”

Scully just stares at her sister, feeling backed into a corner. If she asks her to use the cards, that implies that she has some faith in them...but to her the answer isn’t obvious, it isn’t something she knows implicitly in her heart, and sometimes she doesn’t even take an umbrella when it rains!

Missy pats her sister’s shoulder, sensing the uncertainty. “If you want me to use the cards, I’ll use the cards. But I can tell you what the right answer is.”

Scully screws her eyes shut, opening them after a long moment. “Fine, fine, I’ll just stay. But were you able to get a hold of the police?”

Missy nods. “The reservation department doesn’t have enough resources to launch a search until tomorrow. And county police won’t get involved unless the FBI requests assistance.”

“But the FBI isn’t even involved!”

“The conclusion was that since the case involves their missing agent, they should be involved (or you know, would be if we told them), and they have superior jurisdiction over the matter. It would be considered rude if local law enforcement got involved.”

Scully bites her lip. “I’m sure there’s an APB out on us, is that not enough for them?”

Missy shrugs. “I don’t know. I only gave them Mulder’s name, and they didn’t mention anything about him being wanted.”

“Well, maybe they’ll get the memo…”

“There’s a simple solution, Dana.”

Scully raises an eyebrow, inviting her to answer.

“Tell Skinner where you are and what’s happened! Having the Bureau on this would increase the chances of finding Mulder.”

“If the Bureau doesn’t disown us first.”

Missy shrugs. “I’m sure it’s in their best interest to locate a wanted man, and maybe even his rag-tag partner…”

“That’s kind of what the rag-tag partner is afraid of,” Scully concurs. 

“Look, you’re not gonna be able to avoid questioning him for his father’s murder, but you have evidence that proves he didn’t do it. And then that will be done and over with, and you can move on with your lives. Or you can continue to hide out in the middle of nowhere and further incriminate yourselves.” 

Scully lowers herself onto the bed, her face in her hands. “That’s the kind of thing you’re supposed to say before we drive across the country!”

“I wanted you to make progress on the conspiracy. You have, now it’s time to stop hiding.”

“You call what’s happened here progress?” Scully grumbles. 

“Sure. You got translations from Albert--”

“That don’t reveal much.”

“--and Mulder got a look at what was inside that boxcar.”

“What good does that do if he’s not here?”

“He will be. And this will motivate both of you to push even further.”

Scully looks at her sister with world-weary eyes. “I’m really hoping that elder sisters have some sort of psychic abilities that I don’t know about,” she sighs.

Missy pulls her lips into a smile. “We do.”

The girls hug, and Scully feels the world right itself just a bit. 

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

As he steps out of his office, key in hand, the phone sounds. He answers without hesitation, not normal for him at such a late hour.

“Hello?” he barks into the phone.

“Director Skinner, it’s Agent Scully.”

“Agent Scully, where the hell are you?”

He hears her voice tremble with a sigh, then--”It’s a long story, and I can explain it all later, but right now I need you to know that Mulder is missing.”

“He’s on the run,” Skinner responds. “Because he killed his father.”

“No, sir, he didn’t. He came to me, and I...well, I’ll spare you the details right now, but we ended up on the Navajo Reservation in New Mexico, and Mulder’s disappeared.”

 “Agent Scully,” Skinner booms into the phone, “Agent Mulder is a federally wanted fugitive. If you’ve known where he is all this time, you are complicit in his crimes.”

“He didn’t do it sir, I took his weapon to ballistics the morning after his father was shot. They ran a ballistic fingerprint test. The results are in our office, you can see them for yourself.” 

“Why was I not informed of this? You had contact with Agent Mulder after the shooting--when he was a suspect--and you didn’t turn him in?”

“Yes, sir,” Scully sighs. 

“You told our men you didn’t know where he was.”

“Uh-huh, and I gave them a weapon to run ballistics on, but I didn’t tell them it was Mulder’s. It was FBI issue, so I told them we should run it to confirm that a FBI weapon wasn’t used.” 

“That doesn’t clear him, Agent Scully. He could have used another gun.”

“He doesn’t own another gun.”

“His father does.”

“Then ballistics test it. It wasn’t Mr. Mulder’s weapon, I promise you. I’ve seen the weapon, and I know who used it.”

“So you’re withholding information from the FBI as well!”

“It’s not that sir. I’d be more than happy to share it with you, but first and foremost, I need your help.”

“How can you expect me to help you when you’ve deserted your duties and committed multiple federal crimes?” he thunders.

“This is about Agent Mulder’s life, sir. As you said, he’s a wanted man. Here’s your opportunity to catch him.”

“I see you in my office before I do anything.”

“Please, sir. I’m in New Mexico.”

“You either come to my office tomorrow morning to acknowledge your failure to carry out your duties and provide me with the whereabouts of Agent Mulder, or consider yourself stripped of your badge with a warrant out for your arrest.”

Scully’s jaw clicks, he can hear it through the phone. “Alright,” she responds curtly. And with nothing else to add, “Good night.” The line clicks.

In the desert motel room, Scully turns to her sister. “He wants to see me in his office tomorrow morning.”

“You could fly back. I’ll take the car.”

Scully bites her lip and looks out the window, but all she’s met with is darkness. “I hate this, Melissa. It’s my job, or my partner.”

Missy frowns. It’s not cold, but she lifts a blanket and drapes it around her sister’s shoulders.  “And you’re thinking of dad, aren’t you?...What he would do?”

Scully nods, pulling the blanket closer to her. “I thought I knew, but now that I’m faced with the decision, I’m not sure.”

“He loved his work, but he loved his family more,” Missy muses, a smile creeping onto her lips. “That was his last wish, wasn’t it? He visited you, told you that he wanted more time with you.”

Scully averts her eyes. He had, he had. A vision of him told her that when she thought she was dying, and it turned out she was not. But what is she to do with that now? Mulder’s not family, not in that way…

As if she could hear her sister’s thoughts, Missy responds, “It’s about love, Dana, in all its forms. What is life if not the connections we make with others?”

A dam tucked away in Scully’s soul has broken open. She looks at her sister with water-logged eyes, her lips trembling. 

“I love him, Melissa. More than any…”

“I know you do.” Missy wraps her arms around her sister, rocking the two of them back and forth like a mother and her baby. “Act from that place. The world needs more of that feeling.”

Scully sniffles against her sister’s shoulder. The gears have clicked into place, finally. If this is the hill she has to die on, then so be it. 

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

The tide climbs the shore like the man in the sky is holding magnets, drawing it onto land faster than even the moon could dare. This is no tsunami; no sky-scraping waves, no crash and burn as water meets solid. This is a flood. Like there was an invisible barrier keeping the water in its place so well delegated on maps, and suddenly that impediment has disappeared. Water sweeps onto and over land like it's been waiting since the dawn of Earth to do so. Like it’s been held back all this time, drifting in silent slumber. It’s beautiful, really. Natural. But in its celebration of freedom, it unwittingly wipes out the world. 

This is the dream Scully wakes from, roused by a knock on the motel door. Through the curtains, night’s pure darkness softens to a navy blue. She rolls out of bed and pads to the door in her silk pajamas, standing on her tip-toes to peer through the peephole. Sheets rustle as Missy sits up.

“It’s Albert,” Scully whispers to her sister, who pulls on a robe and joins her at the door.

Scully unbolts the door and ushers Albert in. Chilly air slips in behind him. The desert becomes a void without the sun as its heat source. 

“I’m sorry to wake you,” he mutters. “But we’ve recovered your partner.”

Scully feels like she’s had a stun-gun taken to her spine. “What? How? Is he alive?” 

“He is not conscious, but there is breath left within him. My son was out feeding the goats and noticed buzzards circling over the desert. He rode down to see, and sure enough, FBI man’s body was tucked in a quarry.”

Scully’s voice leaps octaves. She gropes for her coat. “He needs medical attention right now--”

“Yes. We are handling it,” Albert says with the calm manner of a stately man. “We are preparing a traditional healing ceremony for him, the Blessingway. We will summon the power of our holy people to help him, but ultimately, it is his spirit that must choose to stay.”

While respectable, this is not a good enough answer for Scully. She pulls on her coat. ��I need to see him. I’m a doctor, I can examine him.”

“It is not medical intervention that he needs now. He is being hydrated and will be fed when the time is right. He has no visible injuries...I believe that the desert simply wore him down, as is its way.”

“There could be internal injuries, and his vitals need to be checked…” Scully argues, the scant slice of sanity she held onto slipping away. 

“We are caring for him, I promise you. You can come and observe our rituals.”

“With all due respect, I think what Mulder needs right now is more than rituals.”

Missy scoffs and lays a grounding hand on her sister’s shoulder, pulling her away from Albert. “Dana, please just let them do their work.”

Scully turns on her sister. “Mulder’s dying, and you want me to leave it in the hands of the spirits?!” she snaps. 

Missy sets her lips in a line. “That is what prayer is, isn’t it?”

Scully crumbles, her world-views clashing like tectonic plates. Finally, she whimpers--“I care too much about him to leave it up to fate.”

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

And so Melissa sets off for Washington in Scully’s sedan, while Scully herself stays cloistered in that motel room trying not to scare off a miracle. The call she expected from Skinner comes, followed by many others. All go unanswered while she waits for an answer from the universe. 

Albert invited her to look in on the Blessingway ritual, but she couldn’t do it. It would be intrusive and painful and maybe even blasphemous--she can’t tempt the fates at a time like this. Besides, looking at Mulder and not being able to help him would take her back to her med school days of staring at death through the glass. Nowadays, there are only two conditions where she’ll allow herself to face death: when she can strangle it, and when she can examine the damage left in its wake. It worries her, then, which one she’ll meet Mulder under.

Missy had gone in to see him before she left. She understood her sister’s apprehension and took the liberty of checking up on Fox herself. Albert had not lied; Mulder was unconscious, but he looked alright. No blood, no bruises, just sun-burnt skin and the aura of exhaustion. She would not have left if she didn’t believe that he would pull through and that his awakening would be a moment of reckoning for he and her sister to tackle on their own.

Four days pass before Eric greets Scully with the vague notion of a smile as he pulls up on his motorbike. She had been expecting him; he takes her over to Albert’s for lunch every day. His countenance is different today, but he is quiet like always. She snaps on the helmet he brought for her and settles herself behind him on the bike. 

The growl of the engine reminds her of Maryland forests and Bill’s four-wheeler. How she’d sit behind him and Missy would sit behind Charlie and they would race over the paths traced by hundreds of children over hundreds of years. It felt like being a part of something bigger than herself. It felt like freedom. 

Now, it feels like chains. Chains she’s had put around her because she’s choosing to do the right thing. The ones keeping her hidden in the desert. The ones making her pin all her hopes on the Navajo people and their gods. The ones holding her feelings hostage from her. And the ones hiding the truth from her and the man who needs it the most. She wants to be back in the basement office with Mulder. She wants things to be okay.

It’s a short ride to Albert’s, and he is standing on the driveway to greet her when they drive up. 

“Hello Agent Scully,” he says as she swings her leg over the bike and hands her helmet to Eric. “It is a beautiful day, isn’t it?”

She had been too occupied with her thoughts to notice, but yes, it is as good a day as the desert gives. Sunshine offset by a breeze, low humidity, and temperatures that do justice to spring. 

“It is, Albert,” she answers kindly. “How are you today?” She has become quite comfortable in his company. He’s been helping her scour the translated passages for useful information, though they have not come up very lucky.

“I am well,” he answers in his warm tone. “There is someone who wants to see you.”

“Oh?” Scully’s attention snaps to Albert’s house. Has Skinner tracked her down? Is he waiting inside to admonish her? There are no extra cars in the driveway, but knowing what she knows about helicopters and appearances and disappearances, this means nothing. 

“No one in there,” Albert assures, following her gaze. He lays a hand on her shoulder and guides her toward the Blessingway tent. 

Scully resists him. “I’ve told you, I feel it would be disrespectful to enter your sacred space as a non-believer.”

“You are not a non-believer just because you believe other things. You are one of the most fervent believers I have met. Besides, your partner wants to talk to you.”

Scully breaks away. “What?...He’s awake?”

“Yes, ma’am. As of dawn.”

You’d be hard-pressed to find someone who reverses course as quickly as Scully does about the tent. She rushes toward it, Albert following after. “Is the ceremony over then?” 

“No, it is up to FBI man to end it properly. He may not work, change clothes, or bathe for four days.”

Scully groans, then takes hold of the tent entrance flap. “I can go in…?” she queries, still uncertain despite days worth of invitations. 

Albert nods. “Go on. I will stay here, and you can ask the boys to join me.”

Scully pulls the material aside and enters. She’s met with the same excitement one feels when stepping onto a train car or off of a plane. She is arriving somewhere only her imagination could previously touch. 

At the far side of the tent, a cluster of Navajo boys about Eric’s age char a piece of bread over the fire. Completing their circle, with his back to her, her partner sits with a blanket pulled around his shoulders. His hair brushes the nape of his neck, and the curve of his biceps look less defined than she’s ever seen them. Yet undeniably, it is him.

“Mulder.” Hellos have never been necessary for them.

He’s heard so many voices talk to him over the past few days that he assumes this is one hanging behind. Only when he sees the boys stop their conversation and draw their attention toward the entrance does he turn and realize this is not a voice, but the voice.

He rises to his feet far quicker than has to be healthy and stumbles toward his partner. “I didn’t know if you had stayed or not. When Albert told me you were here…” Words can’t capture the feeling. Scully understands.

“I couldn’t leave you behind,” she says, deciding to gloss over the details of her dilemma. “Melissa took the car back, but yeah, I’m here.”

She lays a hand against one of the diminished biceps and walks him over to the pillows that have been laid out for sitting. She helps him down in a delicate fashion, then takes a place next to him. The Navajo boys exit without being asked.

“I didn’t think I would see you again,” Mulder confesses, his voice straining as it gains back its strength. 

“Were you planning to join the Navajo?” Scully wisecracks, taking over his usual duty. 

“No, I…” he chuckles at himself. “I don’t know. I just thought I’d wake up and it would be like Freaky Friday, like I’m in someone else’s body, someone else’s life.”

“In Freaky Friday, the mom and daughter switched bodies. They knew each other. So it would be like if we switched bodies, and I think we’d figure out a way to switch back, don’t you?”

Mulder cracks a smile. “On second thought, no take backsies!”

Scully rolls her eyes. She hasn’t done that, she realizes, in about five days. What an influence he has on her.

“Are you feeling okay?” she asks, threading a hand beneath the blanket so she can lay a hand over his. 

“You ever asked the bodies on your autopsy table that? I think they’d have a comparable answer.”

“Is there anything I can get you?” Her voice is a rush of tenderness. “Water?...Have they fed you?”

Mulder rubs his eyes. “I’ve been fed, watered, and bathed like any respectable man brought back from the dead. I apparently have four days of lazing around ahead of me.”

“Yeah, I heard. Not very convenient for a wanted felon.”

“Damn, I was hoping I dreamed that part.”

“No, unfortunately not,” Scully sighs out. “And I’ve been ignoring Skinner’s orders, so I’ll be lucky to still have a badge.”

“So we’re the Bonnie and Clyde of the FBI now, ey?”

Scully smiles. “I think we’ve always been the Bonnie and Clyde of the FBI, though now we’re just...Bonnie and Clyde.”

“So fugitives without the employment of the federal government to protect them…”

“Yeah.”

“Great.” He pulls the blanket tighter against him. Then--“So do you have any idea how I got here?”

“Which part are you fuzzy on? New Mexico, this tent, life in general…” She is so relieved to have him back that she’ll indulge in a bit of playful banter.

“Um…” through his bleariness, he is still able to smile at her silliness. “I remember our car ride out here. I’m not really sure how I ended up the guest of honor at a Blessingway ritual.”

“Do you remember being in the boxcar? You called me and told me there were bodies with smallpox vaccination scars.”

“And that they didn’t look human…”

Of course he remembers that above all. 

“Right, how could I forget?” Scully teases.

“And then I remember heat--really searing heat--and a long period of nothing, and then crawling into the rocks and hearing coyotes cry as I closed my eyes. And then I found myself here.”

“The boxcar went up in flames. CSM’s work, I believe.” She rakes her nails against his blanket. “I don’t know how you escaped without any burns.”

Mulder shakes his head. “I don’t remember.” He looks up at her. “Did you think I was dead?”

She bites her lip, thinking of the hours she spent on the imaginary-that-she-worried-wouldn’t-be-so-imaginary eulogy Melissa made her write.

“I was afraid of that, yeah,” she answers tautly. She considers...should she tell him of the heartache she poured out on paper because she had nowhere else to put it? It seems so futile now with him there in front of her,  his heart beating blissfully. 

She knits her brows together. “I had to think about what I would say at your funeral, so I would really appreciate if you could not scare me like that again.”

“I’ve seen your gravestone, Scully. I think we’re even.”

She contorts her face so as not to show her frown. “Maybe.” She rises, offering him her hand. “You wanna go back to the motel? Sleep in a bed for a change?”

He links his fingers through hers, and she hoists him up. “You’re still paying for that second room?” he jests, only half-joking.

She makes her way toward the tent entrance, looking back at him with a mischievous smile. “No, but Missy’s gone, so you can have her bed.”

Mulder snickers. “Cheapskate.”

Scully gets her revenge by letting the tent flap fall back on him as she goes through, and he laughs because yeah, that sounds about right. He has definitely woken up in the right life.

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

She’s just stepped out of the shower when she hears it: the faint clash of a rubber sole against hardwood. It shouldn't be; her sister is 2,000 miles away, her lover even more than that. She is to be alone...but she’s not. 

And it scares her, but it doesn’t. She knows what to do--she’s read about this, thought about it, almost lived it dozens of times. It comes with the territory. A young woman, a conventionally attractive young woman, a young woman who walks hand-in-hand with her girlfriend in public...yes, she has been waiting for this like winter waits for the first snow. She was born with the knowledge of this fate in her bones.

And so she slides on her t-shirt and shorts, grabs the phone from the nightstand, and wordlessly locks the bedroom door. Seeking as much cover as she can get, Missy slips into her closet, her hair still bundled in a towel. If she could get to her purse, she could grab her mace, but it’s in the kitchen and that’s too much of a risk. 

She won’t cower defenseless though, for she will not allow herself to become another name in the paper, a number on the page. She raises onto her tip-toes and grabs an old lamp from the top shelf. Sliding off the lampshade reveals some nice sharp carvings that’ll surely do some damage. 

She presses herself against the slats of the accordion door and listens. Could she have been hearing things? She didn’t hear anyone break in, but the shower was running. Now she hears nothing more than the usual creaking of the walls. Still, she could have sworn there were footsteps, and that’s happened here before, so how could she rule it out?

She thinks of her sister, alone, running a bath to relax after another day on her new job and ending up laid out on her bathroom tile. Put on display like a mannequin in a store window. It sickens her. That was just the first time her sister became a board for bad men’s depraved darts. How do you end a violent cycle without further violence?

Murmurs--too loud for their speaker’s own good--confirm Missy’s suspicions. So it is not one pair of footsteps, but two, that stalks her. They come from the other side of the door, though not too much beyond it. She dials the three digits that can save her and squeezes the phone between her ear and shoulder.

As fate wills it, so it shall be.

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

Scully can’t take her eyes off him, and she’s not sure whether it’s the motherly instinct or its perfect opposite. He’s lounging on the adjacent bed in his undershirt and jeans, chewing leftover Spitz while absorbing some public broadcasting documentary about the Trail of Tears. His eyes prowl the screen, and Scully wonders if he always watches television like this: hungry desperation meets boyish wonder. It is charming, and it is sad. She wishes she knew him when he was growing up, and that he knew her too.

The documentary breaks for a word from its sponsors, and Mulder rolls onto his side, the front of him facing his partner.

Scully gives him an acknowledging smile. “Are you comfortable?”

He nods. “These are better accommodations than the Bureau would stick us in, that’s for sure.”

Scully smiles at her cross-legged lap. She doesn’t think so really, it’s the second cheapest she could find and all the drinking glasses have lipstick stains, but it’s a nice idea. And he’s spent days against the Earth floor, so she won’t challenge him.

She runs her eyes over him, thinking of the days and nights she passed staring at that bed’s emptiness. Forget the fear of losing her job, even the fear of arrest--none of that matters because he is back now, and that is all she could ask. 

With a stretch, she pulls open her bedside drawer and takes out a notepad. The notepad. Just like that, she is a teenager taking a plastic key and unlocking her diary.

Mulder tosses a sunflower seed in the air, but it thuds on his chest instead of landing in his mouth. Scully pretends she didn’t see.

“When I said that I had to think about what I’d say at your funeral, I mean I thought about it a lot...I wrote it down even,” she stammers. Now she is a teenage boy asking his crush to the prom with a handmade sign and a balloon, and god does it feel inadequate. 

Mulder’s face lights up. “Lemme see!” He sticks his arm across the way, flexing his hand like he’s begging for a cookie. 

Scully clutches the paper close to her side. “It’s stupid and sentimental,” she insists. 

“As opposed to the crushing takedown you were hoping to deliver?”

She shrugs. “It just doesn’t do you or your life justice, and that’s all the more clear with you right in front of me.”

“C’mon, Scully. I’m not asking you to create world peace--I just wanna know what you said.”

She scans her sprawling writing, her beating heart in ink. “I mean...it’s nothing you don’t already know.”

He leans forward on the bed, closing the distance between his hand and the paper. “Let me see it.”

Scully lets it slide from her fingers with a huff of apprehension. Indifference has always been her go-to defense mechanism, but there’s nothing about Fox W. Mulder she can be indifferent about. If he doesn’t already realize that, he will in a moment.

His eyes trace her sentences with a curiosity that is quenched by every word. He smiles up at her, and it’s the youngest she’s ever seen him.

“Best friend?” He can’t even make it through his teasing with a straight face, chuckling before he gets a chance to continue. “Scully, I didn’t know you felt that way.”

“Thank god we got that out in the open,” Scully hums, riding his playful wavelength. 

“No doubt.” Mulder caresses the paper between his fingers, absorbing all the care she put into it while she thought he was gone. “Well, at least you won’t have to read that anytime soon.”

Scully nods, a bashful smile adorning her face. “At least.” Her lips part decisively, but she closes her mouth, a self-imposed censure.

Mulder takes a stray look at the TV screen, the documentary having come back on. Quickly, his eyes fall back on Scully; she shines brighter than the television light.

“For what it’s worth,” he stammers, “I’m glad I didn’t die...that I get to be here with you.”

Scully’s eyebrows crease. That’s the most moving thing a living person has ever said to her...it’s as if she’s taken a bird with a broken wing into her palm, a display of trust so tender it renews her faith in existence. 

She turns her face away from him. He’s left with a view of her profile--a dainty white cheek and the curve of her nose--and he’s never understood the urge to break out a sketchbook until now. This is a sight crafted for capture. 

“Mulder, that’s...thank you,” she spills out. If she looked at him now, she’d do the thing she fears would ruin them forever. So she doesn’t. She closes her eyes and tilts her head toward the popcorn ceiling with something like a prayer in mind. It’s God’s hand, she knows it must be, when the phone rings at just that second.

She lifts it off the bedside table without opening her eyes. “Hello?”

“Dana?” 

Her sister’s voice floats through the receiver, sounding as close as it ever does. Scully sits up, turns toward the table’s edge as if her sister were in the room. “I’m here. Is everything okay?” She asks this because she’s used to it being the first thing she’s asked.

“Well…” A pang leaps in Scully’s heart. Her sister is not one to know uncertainty. She lays the receiver on the table and hits the speaker button. 

“There was a break-in.” Missy’s voice fills the room, catching Mulder’s attention too. He mutes the TV. “I’m okay, I wasn’t hurt, and I didn’t encounter the burglars directly. I hid in the closet and called the police--I don’t think they even knew I was home. They were gone by the time the authorities arrived. They dug around in your room.”

“My room?” Scully’s heart beats in double-time. “Did they take anything?”

“Not that I can tell.” Missy exhales. “They were looking for you, I think.”

Mulder leans forward, and Scully swaps a pin-prick glance with him. “Are the police still there?” she asks.

“Yes, they’re swabbing for fingerprints and shoe-prints.”

“Can I talk to them?”

“Yeah--I’ll give you someone better.” Before Scully can question what that means, she hears the receiver switch hands and a familiar voice boom toward her. “Agent Scully, we’re reviewing your complex’s security cameras to see what we can get.”

“Skinner?” Scully remarks, as if his voice is one she might fail to recognize. Mulder chuckles, and she wishes he didn’t. 

“Are you alone?” Skinner asks, probably tipped off by her partner’s lack of finesse. 

“No, Mulder is here,” she replies nonchalantly. 

There’s an indiscriminate grumble on Skinner’s part, then he continues--”Well, this appears to be a targeted attack. As far as we can tell, all of the apartment is untouched but your bedroom and bathroom. Drawers were left open in both areas.”

“And this wasn’t law enforcement serving an arrest warrant or anything?”

“No, that situation has been resolved.”

Scully’s eyes narrow. “What do you mean…?”

“I found the ballistics report for Agent Mulder’s weapon in your office, and after speaking with your sister, mother, and Albert Holsteen, any charges have been dropped. For both of you.”

Scully’s mouth falls open. She and Mulder lock eyes. Stress he didn’t even know he had falls away.

“Now, there will still be internal discipline by the Bureau, but that’s not the subject of this call. We believe that whoever is responsible for killing Mulder’s father is the same person who broke into your apartment.”

“Krycek,” Scully and Mulder both choke out.

“Alex?” Skinner scoffs. “I’ll need the details on that, and I’ll need to hear them from you. In my office.”

“Yes, sir,” Scully exudes. 

Finally, she and Mulder are homebound. 

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

They are a sight to see as they crawl through airport security, Mulder in week old clothes and Scully lugging their suitcases just in case that might count as “work.” Mulder passes through the metal detector first, coming up clean despite the tangy stench he is taking on. 

Scully takes her gun out of the holster and presents it to the security guard in one hand, her badge in the other. “I’m a federal agent. This is my FBI-issued weapon.” 

“Alright, leave it here and we’ll slide it through.”

She does so, then slips under the metal detector herself. It whines in protest, and she’s surrounded before she can even process the sound.

Her hand goes to her cross. “Is it the necklace?” It doesn’t usually set off the detectors, but maybe this one is more sensitive. She takes it off and tries again. Again, the machine beeps.

“We’re going to need to pat you down, ma’am,” the guard informs her. She pushes away the fear that flashes in her core, then spreads her arms and legs. Hands--men’s hands, brawny and uncompromising--inundate her. She closes her eyes and pretends it isn’t happening, and god, she wishes Mulder weren’t standing only a few feet away.

After a minute that feels all too indulgent, the men back away. “I’m not finding anything,” one says to another, like Scully isn’t even there. 

“Let’s see the x-ray again,” another says, limping off with the other while one stays positioned in front of Scully. 

“Neck…” she hears them say. “I’m thinking it was just the necklace.” 

The men return, and one moves her hair aside to examine the base of her neck. Nothing shows. “You got a bomb in there we should be worried about?” he jokes. 

“I sure hope not,” Scully huffs, getting testy. 

“Well, here’s your necklace, and your gun. You’re good to go.”

She takes her items with the feeling that she is nothing but a toy to them. They work at a candy shop, but only every once in a while do they get to taste the candy. She hopes she left a sour taste in their mouths, though she doubts that. 

Joining Mulder, she feels a sense of cleanliness, a rebirth of a sort. How do his hands touch a woman, she wonders? She’s been privy to his gentle touches and reassuring swoons, so she knows he’s not greedy, but...would he be? If she asked him to? 

A woman can only wait so long.

[wiypt-writes]

Riding On

Ch 16- A Whole Fucking Hand Of Aces Part 2

Summary Recap: Mary is reeling over the news about her biological father and when he requests a visit, she’s not for playing ball. However, eventually curiosity gets the better of her and she tells Frank she wants to see him. Fliss and Bill attend as supervision as Frank can’t bring himself to go, and Fliss plays her ace card. But does it have the required outcome?

Warnings Recap: Bad Language words.

Disclaimer: This is a pure work of fiction and classified as 18+. Please respect this and do not read if you are underage. I do not own any characters in this series bar Fliss Gallagher and the other OCs. By reading beyond this point you understand and accept the terms of this disclaimer.

Riding On Masterlist // Main Masterlist

Chapter 16 Part 1

Staring at the mirror was now one of Alex’s favourite activities, and Frank had to chuckle as the baby was led on his stomach on the floor of their bedroom, his head raised as he glanced at his reflection on the mirrored wardrobe door. He moved his arm a little and became excited when the baby glancing back at him did the same.

“If only you were gonna stay so easy to entertain.” Frank muttered, scooping him up in his arms. Alex let out a loud shriek, one that he seemed to be emitting a lot after having suddenly found his voice at now sixteen weeks old. Frank stood in front of the mirror, holding him with one strong forearm over his chest so the baby could continue to see himself in the mirror. “Hey look buddy…shall we wave?” Frank grabbed one of Alex’s arms with his spare hand and waved it slightly, Alex letting out another loud shriek, his little noises getting more and more excited. Frank laughed and pressed a kiss to his head, looking up as Fliss walked into the room. Alex’s eyes immediately flickered to his momma and he gave another huge grin.

Fliss beamed and cross the room towards them, giving Alex’s cheek a soft peck before she leaned up to press her lips to Frank’s.

“Mary’s ready.” She said and Frank took a deep breath.

“She ok?”

“Yeah” Fliss nodded.

“I know I really should be the one doing this.” Frank sighed “But I just can’t sit round a table with him Liss, I’ll end up punching him in his fucking nose and…” “Hey, we’re a team remember?” Fliss looked at him “I get it Frank, you don’t need to explain.”

Frank nodded and took another deep breath “I’m gonna take Alex for a walk on the harbour and then we’ll be at Greg’s when you’re done.”

“Sure, we’ll come straight over.”  Fliss nodded

“And you’ll call if there’s any trouble?”

“There won’t be. It’s gonna be fine. We got Steve with us so…”

“I know but…” “You still worry, yeah I get it.” Fliss smiled.

At that point they heard the door open and Steve’s voice shouted down the hall, announcing his arrival. The three of them made their way downstairs and Steve grinned, making grabby hands at Alex. Frank passed him over and Steve took his nephew, immediately starting to talk to him in an over exaggerated baby voice.

“Nice to see you too.” Fliss teasingly snarked and Steve stuck his tongue out at her, before he shrugged.

“I aint seen him in two weeks” he responded, unapologetically as Alex made a grab for his beard.

“You aint seen me either.” “Whatever, I grew up seeing you every day for like 20 years …”

Fliss rolled her eyes as she walked into the family room. Mary was sat on the sofa a book in her lap but she wasn’t reading, she was staring at a spot on the floor.

“Stack, you ok?” Frank asked and she looked up at him and smiled.

“Yeah. I’m good.” “You know, you don’t have to go if you don’t want.” Frank crouched down in front of her. “This isn’t court ordered…” “No, I want to.” Mary nodded “I want to ask him questions to his face, I told you.” “Ok.” Frank nodded, brushing her hair of her face “But you promise me, if at any time you start getting upset, the moment you feel uncomfortable you tell Fliss and Steve and they’ll get you out of there.”

Mary nodded “I promise.”

Frank opened his arms and she melted into them, hugging him tight, pressing her face into his neck. This was killing him. She’d been so brave about the whole thing at first. They’d put off telling her as long as they could, but after voicing their suspicions to Greg who said it was certainly an angle he could raise and use to throw doubts on Polland’s motives, they couldn’t actually do anything at that point in time. So they’d decided to wait, as long as they could, but then, the order from the Child Welfare Department had come through, keen to do the interview before Christmas and they’d had to tell her.

They’d explained, promised her that nothing was going to change with her living arrangements, and she’d took everything in calmly and then shrugged and said that she would simply refuse to see him, end of discussion then hopped down from the sofa to go and see Monty. Frank had been about to explain that it might not be that simple but Fliss had stopped him with a look.

Then, in advance of the CWD interview, Greg had a call from Polland’s attorney who had requested a visit with Mary as a ‘goodwill gesture’ from Frank and Fliss without getting the authorities involved. And much to Frank’s disgust, Greg was recommending that they allow it with the caveat that it was supervised. “It will put you in an even more favourable position, Frank. Play the long game…” At those words Frank had hurled his phone across the lounge causing it to fly straight into the wall in a fit of rage and temper Fliss had never seen from him before. At the noise Alex had immediately started to cry and Frank had felt like shit. He looked round with teary eyes to see Fliss gently rocking their son, not a shred of anger or upset on her face as she walked towards him, Alex balanced in one arm as he cried into her shoulder, the other arm gently rubbing up Frank’s as he apologised over and over again.

Mary had reacted as angrily as Frank. Screaming, shouting, barricading herself in her bedroom by dragging her desk in front of the door. Fliss had sat outside her bedroom door calmly talking to her, before she’d called for reinforcements just has Frank had done a few years ago and Steve had arrived. When she had emerged the three adults had assured her that no one was going to make her do anything she didn’t want, but this time they did explain that it might be a court order at some point in the future. They didn’t get back to Greg straight away, which proved to be a smart move as a day or so later Mary announced over dinner that she would see him, as she had some questions and she wanted to ask him face to face. So, given that Frank openly admitted he wasn’t sure he could be in the same room as Polland without breaking his face, Greg had offered to supervise in their place until Fliss had shaken her head and told them that would put Mary on edge. In the end it was agreed she would do it, but at Frank’s request given the suspected link to John’s family, Steve was going to accompany her.  So here they were, a week to go until Christmas, with the impending Welfare Department Interviews set for the following Monday. And Frank was trying not to lose himself again.

“Jesus Pal…” Steve mumbled causing Frank to turn to him as Alex had his little fist wrapped in the hairs of his beard “He’s got some grip on him…” Steve looked at Fliss then Frank.

Mary laughed “He likes to pull my hair…and Fred’s tail, only Fred runs away now.” “Thor doesn’t, dumb mutt…” Frank rolled his eyes, as Fliss gently distracted Alex’s hands by offering him her finger.

“That’s why Frank’s trimmed his beard” Fliss smiled

“It was that or wait till be pulled it clean off my face.” Frank shrugged, rubbing his hand over the shorts stubble as he stood up, Mary doing the same.

“Ok, we ready?” Fliss looked at Mary who nodded. She turned to Steve “You ok to drop us at Greg’s after or do you want me to drive?”

“I can drop you.” Steve nodded and he moved to hand Alex over to Frank when Mary, who had just walked past them to the door, turned and ran back to Frank, throwing her arms round him.

“I love you Frank.” She said softly and Frank felt his chest tighten. He bent down to pick her up and hugged her tight, squeezing his eyes shut to prevent the tears from falling.

“Love you too Stack.” He said softly, kissing the side of her head. Gently he set her down, his large hand cupping her cheek before she headed to the door.

“She’ll be ok Frank.” Steve looked at him as he passed Alex over. Frank gave him a nod, not trusting his voice and Steve clapped a hand on his shoulder. He glanced at Fliss who jerked her head to the door and taking the hint he yelled after Mary to wait up and wandered after her. Without a word she closed the distance between her and Frank, standing on her toes to give Frank a soft kiss. He pressed his head to hers, Alex safely held against his shoulder and gave her a smile. “It’s gonna be fine.” She whispered.

“Yeah. I’ll see you in coupla hours.” He nodded, kissing her again before she left.

**** The journey to the burger bar passed fairly quickly, Steve and Fliss carrying the conversation mostly as Mary was silent, looking out of the window. When they arrived, Steve hopped out of the Audi and opened the back door for Mary.

“Ma’am” he bowed slightly to her and she looked at him.

“Poppa Bill’s right. You’re a divvy.” She said

Fliss burst out laughing as Mary walked a little ahead “Hearing that word in an American accent is almost as good as when Frank says wanker“

Steve sniggered as they caught up to Mary at the main door. Mary paused and looked inside through the glass, and then she glanced at Fliss.

“How will I even know who he is?” It was a simple question, but one that made Fliss instantly realise just how shit this situation was for Mary. Her own biological father, she was about to meet him for the first time and she had no idea what he even looked like. Mind you, Fliss had no idea what hers looked like either. She’d never asked and her mum had never offered the information up. Not that she cared in the slightest.

“Frank told me what he looked like.” Fliss assured Mary, her hand falling to the back of the girl’s head. “It’s ok.” “Stack, you don’t have to do this.” Steve looked down at her. “We can turn round and go straight home. This is your choice ok?” “No, I want to.” She insisted. Steve nodded, pulled the door open and they stepped inside. Fliss scanned around the room and then spotted a man matching the description Frank had given her, sat at a table by one of the large windows. His eyes looked around the room and he minute he spotted them he stood up.

“That him?” Steve asked. Fliss nodded

“I think so”

“Well, he looks like an ass hole so...”

“Steve…” Fliss said, “Don’t.”

“Ok, ok…” her brother nodded. “I’m gonna grab some grub and I’ll be at the table behind if you need me, ok?”

Fliss nodded and her hand gently dropped to Mary’s shoulder and Mary looked up at her. “I think that’s him.” Fliss said, inclining her head in Polland’s direction. Mary looked at him, staying stock still for a moment before she took a little step forward, Fliss following right behind her.

“Bradley Polland?” Fliss asked and he nodded, running a hand through his gelled, light ginger hair. “I’m Felicity.”

“HI.” He nodded, offering her his hand which Fliss shook curtly before she gently lay her hand on Mary’s head as Polland looked down at her smiling. “Hi Mary. It’s nice to meet you.” It’s nice to meet you… the words sounded utterly ridiculous to Fliss, coming from a father to his daughter, but then again, what else had she expected seeing as he’d never been in the same room as her before.

Mary blinked at him, but didn’t say anything. Instead she turned to Fliss “Lissy, can we get something to eat?”

“Sure baby.” Fliss nodded, and then she looked at Polland and gave him a stiff smile “We’ll grab something and then be right over ok?”

“Sure.” He swallowed “I’ll just…” he gestured back at the table before he walked away.

“He doesn’t look like I imagined.” Mary said as they headed to the counter.

“No?” Fliss asked.

“You sure he’s my dad?”

“DNA says so.” 

“Huh.” Mary replied “I thought he would have been more handsome, or at least not look like he got dressed in the dark.”

Fliss let out a bark of a laugh as she glanced back at Polland, taking in his grey jeans and hideous bright, striped polo shirt. His blondey-red hair was messed up and his stubble was also ungroomed. “Well, he does look a little dishevelled so to speak. Good job you got the Adler genes kiddo.”

“And he’s ginger.”

“Oi!” Fliss nudged her “Nothing wrong with us red-heads. Ask Fred!”

“Yeah but you’re pretty…and Fred’s cute.” Mary reasoned, and Fliss chuckled, ruffling her hair.

They ordered their food, and Fliss carried the tray back to the table, Mary hopping up onto the seat opposite Polland as Fliss passed her the burger and fries she’d asked for, along with the soda. Fliss carefully made a deal of adding sugar to her coffee whilst Polland asked Mary a few little questions making small talk- how are you, tell me about yourself, that type of thing, until it grew a little stilted, so Fliss took it on herself to attempt to facilitate a little.

“Mary why don’t you tell Bradley about Monty?” she asked.

“Who’s Monty, your cousin?” Polland seized the opportunity and Mary looked at him as if he was a dumbass.

“No, my cousins are called Charlie and Joel. They’re Uncle Steeby’s twins. He’s Fliss’ brother. Frank and Fliss’ baby, he’s my brother. His name is Alex.” She stated “Monty is my pony.”

Polland blinked at her forthright answer before he nodded “A pony? So you ride?”

She nodded “I show jump. I’ve done a few competitions now.” “Did you win any?”

“Not yet.” Mary said “But I’ve had a few rosettes and stuff. Frank and Liss always tell me that it doesn’t matter if I win or not, I should just enjoy it.” “Good advice.” He nodded “So do you have any other pets?” “We have a dog, Thor. He’s big and he bites people if he gets mad” Mary said, and Fliss looked away, trying not to laugh at the utter nonsense about the dog that had never bitten anyone in his life, “And I have Fred. He’s ginger like you, but it looks good on him. And he only has one eye.”

Ok so now Fliss really was laughing silently, and she looked up and saw that from the table behind theirs, Steve’s shoulders were shaking as he hid his face behind the paper he was pretending to read.

“You have a one eyed cat?” Polland raised his eyebrows. “Sounds cool”

“He is.” Mary nodded “But he’s dead smart. Smarter than most people. Including you.”

“Mary…” Fliss looked at her “Don’t be nasty.”

“I’m not. I’m just saying.” She shrugged “Frank says Fred is smarter than anyone. Except when he lies on the stairs.”

Fliss smiled and looked at Polland who glanced at her. Fliss nodded towards Mary, instructing him to keep the conversation going, and when he spoke again he said something which was in fairness pretty innocuous, and was probably meant as a compliment but it didn’t quite work out that way.

“You look like your mom.”  He smiled and Fliss took a deep breath as Mary stiffened and she knew instantly that he’d lit the fuse wire.

“Yeah, I know. Frank told me.” Mary pushed the fry she was holding around in the ketchup dip before she gave a sigh and tossed it down onto the burger wrapper and looked at him. “Why did you never want to see me before today?”

“It’s complicated Mary.” Polland said, almost patronisingly and Fliss winced a little. Mary hated being patronised. “But I’m here now.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.” Mary looked at him. “Frank always answers me when I ask him things because he knows I’m not stupid. Why didn’t you want to see me before?” she repeated her previous question, folding her arms.

“Mary, it wasn’t that I didn’t want to, but I didn’t know where you were.” Polland reasoned and Fliss rolled her eyes, looking away. “Frank took you when you were-“ “The court case.” Mary cut him off “When you all tried to take me away from Frank last time, why didn’t you come and see me then?”

Fliss took a sip of her coffee, her eyes still on Mary. “You could have followed Frank home.” Mary continued, her breathing becoming deep and Fliss knew they were in for an explosion. But she didn’t try and stop it. This was Mary’s moment. For over 9 years she’d had no contact with this man, the only father she had known was Frank, and she had every reason to be angry, and every right to express that anger.

“You’re right, I could have.” He nodded, “But the case was going on and-“ “That didn’t stop Evelyn.” Mary looked at him. “She saw me during the case. I went to stay with her. Frank told me the court said I had to because she asked. Why didn’t you ask?”

Polland sighed, dropping his gaze to the table. “I guess…well, I was a little nervous, you know. I’d never seen you before, I…” He was floundering for excuses, excuses and reasons that weren’t coming to him because he simply didn’t have them and Fliss remained silent as he looked at her, almost pleading for help. She arched an eyebrow and looked away. She wasn’t giving him anything, not now.

“You didn’t want to, did you?” Mary shook her head, her voice cracking slightly and Fliss turned to her, watching her carefully. She didn’t want her to be upset, but she also didn’t want to remove her from the situation before she’d said her piece. She glanced up at Steve who was now watching them, all pretence of reading the paper gone. He shot her a look to check they were ok and she nodded to Mary as the little girl continued. “You didn’t want me when I was a baby and you didn’t want me 2 years ago so why now?”

Steve looked back at Fliss, shaking his head, telling her to let it continue so she did.

Polland let out a soft sigh and he shook his head “I was wrong, I know that but…Mary, I’m your dad.” He shrugged “And I’m sorry. I really am, and, well, I wanted to see you now, is that so bad?”

“You’re not my dad.” Mary shot back, wiping at her eyes “Frank is my dad. And you’re trying to stop him and Lissy from adopting me.” “Mary, I…”

“If you cared about me at all you’d leave me alone and never contact me again.” Mary looked at him. “Because of you and Evelyn, I spent a week away from Frank and I hated it. But I forgave Evelyn because she realised she was wrong. And she told me that and she said she was sorry, but you…you just want to do that to me again?”

“No, Mary, that’s not what I want at all.” Polland shook his head “I don’t want to take you away, I just want to see you and-“

“Well I don’t want to see you.” Mary glared at him. “Not now. Not ever. And I’ll tell that lady from the Child services that when she asks. And because Frank tells me to be honest I’ll tell her that I hate you. Because I do!” her voice rose to a yell as she stood up suddenly, sending her chair crashing to the ground. Fliss reached up and gently laying a hand on her back.

“Mary…” she soothed, but Mary shrugged her off, her eyes blazing, her face was red and the tears were trickling down her face. Fliss glanced at Steve who was already out of his chair and striding over to them, before she looked back at Polland who was looking a little abashed, as he swallowed nervously, scratching at his neck.

“Come on Stack.” Steve spoke calmly as she turned to him, burying her face into his shirt, just above his hip and he picked her up gently. He shot Polland a filthy look and the man visibly recoiled, and Fliss had to bite back the smirk on her face. Steve was positively petrifying when he looked like that. She stood up and turned towards where Mary was sobbing gently into the crook of his neck.

“You ok?” She asked gently, rubbing at Mary’s back and she sniffed, looking at Fliss

“I wanna go home.” “Ok.” Fliss nodded and she turned to Steve “Can you take her to the car, I need a word with…” she jerked her head at Polland and Steve looked back at him, shooting him another vile glare before he looked back at Fliss.

“Sure, meet you out there.”

She nodded “I won’t be long.”

As Steve walked away, Mary on his hip Fliss sat back on her chair, before she felt her phone buzz in her pocket. She glanced down, swiped at the button on the front before she placed the phone down on the table and glanced at Polland.

“That went well.” She deadpanned.

“What do you want me to say?”

“There’s nothing you can say, not now. The damage is done.” Fliss looked at him “You have no idea how upset she was when we broke the news to her that you were contesting our application. It’s all she’s wanted for months since we made the decision, for us to be her official parents and you’re now taking all that away from her.”

“She’s my daughter…” “She’s been your daughter for 9 years, and you’ve been nowhere to be seen. Well, until the court case that is. And then after that you crawled right back underneath whatever rock you emerged from, not that we’re complaining.” Fliss shrugged. “In fact, we wish you’d stayed there.”

“When those papers came through…” Polland cleared his throat, “It just felt so final, like, if I let her go, I’d never see her again, and it just made me feel…” “It sparked some deep, hidden paternal instinct.” Fliss said, sarcastically as she remembered the words Gregg had spoken a few weeks earlier. She took a deep breath, before she bit her lip and decided to go straight in for the kill. “Well, I really hope whatever the Stazikers are paying you is worth the hell you’re putting her through.”

Polland’s face slipped “Who?”

“Cut the shit Polland.” Fliss sighed, “I know what you're up to just how much are they paying you?”

“I really have no idea who-“

All it took was Fliss’ best stern look and he caved, sighed heavily.

“Fine, let’s just say if you could find me 15 grand, then it would better their offer.” “I beg your pardon?” Fliss whispered, not quite sure she’d heard him right.”

“15 grand and I’ll be out of your hair. I’ll drop my objections, sign over all my rights, and you’ll never hear from me again.”

“You sick son-of-a…” Fliss practically snarled at him, the blood pounding in her ears from her anger. “You’re toying with a child’s feelings and life over 15 fucking grand?”

“I need the cash. I’m in debt.” Polland sighed, shrugging.

Fliss let out a sarcastic laugh “Jesus Christ…” she shook her head. “So, let me ask you this…they fund your court case, block the adoption and turn our lives upside down, leave Mary heartbroken again, they pay you your money and then what?

“I won’t get custody, I know that. I don’t want it…”

“No but you will likely get visitations. Are you then going to step up and abide by whatever ruling or access you get?”

“I don’t know, I hadn’t thought that far.”

“You haven’t thought at all…” Fliss shook her head “For the record, I think you have to be one of, if not, the most despicable people I have ever had the misfortune to meet, and that’s no easy title to earn, believe me.  I can tell you this right now, you’re getting fuck all out of us. So you tell that shit head family from me, that they want a fight, they can have one.”

“Fine, guess I’ll see you in court.”

“I guess you will.” Fliss stood up, before she leaned forward, her palms flat on the table “And I hope you’re not expecting a clean fight either.” “What?” Polland blinked. “What do you mean, a clean fight?”

“We know all about Evelyn, how your little arrangement went down last time. How she had a word in a few peoples ears about getting your company the deal for the University accounts in exchanged for you nominating her as Mary’s guardian in court…”

Polland swallowed “That…that was…look, it was a thank you, not a bribe.” “Evelyn told me everything.” She said “She told me what the deal was. That you did your part, you said what she coached you to say, and she would convince her buddy’s in the University Procurement department to take your company’s bid by offering them a little payment each.”

“That, no…that deal my company did came after court…”

“I’m sure it did, I mean Evelyn wanted to make sure you fulfilled your side of the bargain before she parted with her cash.”

“You can’t prove it.”

“No?” Fliss raised an eyebrow “Thing is, Evelyn and Frank are on good terms now. And she’s behind him here 100% and she already said she’d do whatever it takes to help us push this adoption through. Including coming clean.” She leaned back in her chair, folding her arms “You know, I’m not so sure that the Education Authorities would look favourably on it, or your company for that matter. Not after they were already done for Corruption and Bribery back in 2005 on another deal. What was it the report said?” she fake pondered for a moment “Oh, yes. Back handers to the down selection committee and evading the nature of true competition. The CEO lost his job, did he not?”

Polland looked at her, and his eyes narrowed “So what are you saying here? That I back off or you’ll start making noises?”

Fliss shrugged.

Polland looked at her for a moment, shaking his head “That’s blackmail”

“And you telling me that 15k will beat whatever dirty offer you’ve already isn’t?”

Polland swallowed and looked down at the table, and in that moment Fliss knew she’d made her point. But just to drive it home even more, she issued him one last veiled threat that she hoped would do the trick.

“You think on what I’ve said. And I hope you come to the right decision, if not, then like you say, we’ll see you in court and find out what the authorities think about it all.”

And with that she shrugged on her jacket, grabbed her phone, stuffed it into her purse and left.

Once outside she walked straight past the Audi, where Steve and Mary were talking and climbed into the black range rover parked behind.

“You get it?” she turned to her dad and he raised an eyebrow, before he tapped a button on his phone.

“Fine, let’s just say if you could find me 15 grand, then it would better their offer.” “I beg your pardon?”

“15 grand and I’ll be out of your hair. I’ll drop my objections, sign over all my rights, and you’ll never hear from me again.”

“You sick son-of-a…you’re toying with a child’s feelings and life over 15 fucking grand?”

“I need the cash. I’m in debt.”

Fliss smirked a little at the fact the plan had worked. It had been a simple one. She was always going to hang back to speak to him in private, Steve leaving with Mary being the signal for her Dad to call, at which point she’d answer, leave the phone on the table, and the App which Steve had found would record the whole damned thing.

“Got it all.” Bill said, looking at her “Jesus Titch, I wanted to come right over there and knock his teeth out.”

Fliss ran her hands over her face. “I tell you what though, I didn’t think he’d be as easy to crack as he was…and as for then trying to bribe us too…what a dumbass!”

Bill snorted “You do know this might not be admissible in court, right?”

“I don’t think it’s gonna come to that.” Fliss looked out of the windscreen of the car before she turned back to her father “His face when I told him about Evelyn, he shit himself dad. As soon as Greg files this recording for admission, his attorney will get a copy so he’ll know we have proof of what he’s done. He’ll back down, he won’t want to lose his job or get exposed for being nothing but a fucking con-artist.” 

Bill smirked “You know, when you suggested this to me the other day I didn’t think it was gonna work but…seems like you got him by the balls Titch!”

“What was it you always told me about fighting fire with fire?” She grinned and Bill snorted. “That adding more fire makes the situation hotter and sometimes what you need is...”

“A cool bucket of water.” Bill finished for her as Fliss chuckled.

“Yup, and like Frank said when we came up with the idea.” she glanced out of the window at Steve’s car which was now pulling out of the parking space, Mary chatting to him from the passenger seat. “Sometimes beating someone at their own game is much more satisfying than simply punching them in the face.”

***** Chapter 17

[what-is-your-plan-today]

Riding On

Ch 16- A Whole Fucking Hand Of Aces

Part 2

Summary Recap: Mary is reeling over the news about her biological father and when he requests a visit, she’s not for playing ball. However, eventually curiosity gets the better of her and she tells Frank she wants to see him. Fliss and Bill attend as supervision as Frank can’t bring himself to go, and Fliss plays her ace card. But does it have the required outcome?

Warnings Recap: Bad Language words.

More huge thanks to @icanfeelastormbrewing​, @sweater-daddiesdumbdork​ for their little input into this and to @southerngracela​ for beta reading! Catch up with Part 1

 Staring at the mirror was now one of Alex’s favourite activities, and Frank had to chuckle as the baby was led on his stomach on the floor of their bedroom, his head raised as he glanced at his reflection on the mirrored wardrobe door. He moved his arm a little and became excited when the baby glancing back at him did the same.

“If only you were gonna stay so easy to entertain.” Frank muttered, scooping him up in his arms. Alex let out a loud shriek, one that he seemed to be emitting a lot after having suddenly found his voice at now 16 weeks old. Frank stood in front of the mirror, holding him with one strong forearm over his chest so the baby could continue to see himself in the mirror. “Hey look buddy…shall we wave?” Frank grabbed one of Alex’s arms with his spare hand and waved it slightly, Alex letting out another loud shriek, his little noises getting more and more excited. Frank laughed and pressed a kiss to his head, looking up as Fliss walked into the room. Alex’s eyes immediately flickered to his momma and he gave another huge grin.

Fliss beamed and cross the room towards them, giving Alex’s cheek a soft peck before she leaned up to press her lips to Frank’s.

“Mary’s ready.” She said and Frank took a deep breath.

“She ok?”

“Yeah” Fliss nodded.

“I know I really should be the one doing this.” Frank sighed “But I just can’t sit round a table with him Liss, I’ll end up punching him in his fucking nose and…” “Hey, we’re a team remember?” Fliss looked at him “I get it Frank, you don’t need to explain.”

Frank nodded and took another deep breath “I’m gonna take Alex for a walk on the harbour and then we’ll be at Greg’s when you’re done.”

“Sure, we’ll come straight over.”  Fliss nodded

“And you’ll call if there’s any trouble?”

“There won’t be. It’s gonna be fine. We got Steve with us so…”

“I know but…” “You still worry, yeah I get it.” Fliss smiled.

At that point they heard the door open and Steve’s voice shouted down the hall, announcing his arrival. The three of them made their way downstairs and Steve grinned, making grabby hands at Alex. Frank passed him over and Steve took his nephew, immediately starting to talk to him in an over exaggerated baby voice.

“Nice to see you too.” Fliss teasingly snarked and Steve stuck his tongue out at her, before he shrugged.

“I aint seen him in two weeks” he responded, unapologetically as Alex made a grab for his beard.

“You aint seen me either.” “Whatever, I grew up seeing you every day for like 20 years …”

Fliss rolled her eyes as she walked into the family room. Mary was sat on the sofa a book in her lap but she wasn’t reading, she was staring at a spot on the floor.

“Stack, you ok?” Frank asked and she looked up at him and smiled.

“Yeah. I’m good.” “You know, you don’t have to go if you don’t want.” Frank crouched down in front of her. “This isn’t court ordered…” “No, I want to.” Mary nodded “I want to ask him questions to his face, I told you.” “Ok.” Frank nodded, brushing her hair of her face “But you promise me, if at any time you start getting upset, the moment you feel uncomfortable you tell Fliss and Steve and they’ll get you out of there.”

Mary nodded “I promise.”

Frank opened his arms and she melted into them, hugging him tight, pressing her face into his neck. This was killing him. She’d been so brave about the whole thing at first. They’d put off telling her as long as they could, but after voicing their suspicions to Greg who said it was certainly an angle he could raise and use to throw doubts on Polland’s motives, they couldn’t actually do anything at that point in time. So they’d decided to wait, as long as they could, but then, the order from the Child Welfare Department had come through, keen to do the interview before Christmas and they’d had to tell her.

They’d explained, promised her that nothing was going to change with her living arrangements, and she’d took everything in calmly and then shrugged and said that she would simply refuse to see him, end of discussion then hopped down from the sofa to go and see Monty. Frank had been about to explain that it might not be that simple but Fliss had stopped him with a look.

Then, in advance of the CWD interview, Greg had a call from Polland’s attorney who had requested a visit with Mary as a ‘goodwill gesture’ from Frank and Fliss without getting the authorities involved. And much to Frank’s disgust, Greg was recommending that they allow it with the caveat that it was supervised. “It will put you in an even more favourable position, Frank. Play the long game…” At those words Frank had hurled his phone across the lounge causing it to fly straight into the wall in a fit of rage and temper Fliss had never seen from him before. At the noise Alex had immediately started to cry and Frank had felt like shit. He looked round with teary eyes to see Fliss gently rocking their son, not a shred of anger or upset on her face as she walked towards him, Alex balanced in one arm as he cried into her shoulder, the other arm gently rubbing up Frank’s as he apologised over and over again.

Mary had reacted as angrily as Frank. Screaming, shouting, barricading herself in her bedroom by dragging her desk in front of the door. Fliss had sat outside her bedroom door calmly talking to her, before she’d called for reinforcements just has Frank had done a few years ago and Steve had arrived. When she had emerged the three adults had assured her that no one was going to make her do anything she didn’t want, but this time they did explain that it might be a court order at some point in the future. They didn’t get back to Greg straight away, which proved to be a smart move as a day or so later Mary announced over dinner that she would see him, as she had some questions and she wanted to ask him face to face. So, given that Frank openly admitted he wasn’t sure he could be in the same room as Polland without breaking his face, Greg had offered to supervise in their place until Fliss had shaken her head and told them that would put Mary on edge. In the end it was agreed she would do it, but at Frank’s request given the suspected link to John’s family, Steve was going to accompany her.  So here they were, a week to go until Christmas, with the impending Welfare Department Interviews set for the following Monday. And Frank was trying not to lose himself again.

“Jesus Pal…” Steve mumbled causing Frank to turn to him as Alex had his little fist wrapped in the hairs of his beard “He’s got some grip on him…” Steve looked at Fliss then Frank.

Mary laughed “He likes to pull my hair…and Fred’s tail, only Fred runs away now.” “Thor doesn’t, dumb mutt…” Frank rolled his eyes, as Fliss gently distracted Alex’s hands by offering him her finger.

“That’s why Frank’s trimmed his beard” Fliss smiled

“It was that or wait till be pulled it clean off my face.” Frank shrugged as he stood up, Mary doing the same.

“Ok, we ready?” Fliss looked at Mary who nodded. She turned to Steve “You ok to drop us at Greg’s after or do you want me to drive?”

“I can drop you.” Steve nodded and he moved to hand Alex over to Frank when Mary, who had just walked past them to the door, turned and ran back to Frank, throwing her arms round him.

“I love you Frank.” She said softly and Frank felt his chest tighten. He bent down to pick her up and hugged her tight, squeezing his eyes shut to prevent the tears from falling.

“Love you too Stack.” He said softly, kissing the side of her head. Gently he set her down, his large hand cupping her cheek before she headed to the door.

“She’ll be ok Frank.” Steve looked at him as he passed Alex over. Frank gave him a nod, not trusting his voice and Steve clapped a hand on his shoulder. He glanced at Fliss who jerked her head to the door and taking the hint he yelled after Mary to wait up and wandered after her. Without a word she closed the distance between her and Frank, standing on her toes to give Frank a soft kiss. He pressed his head to hers, Alex safely held against his shoulder and gave her a smile. “Love you.” She whispered.

“You too. See you in coupla hours.” He nodded, kissing her again before she left.

**** The journey to the burger bar passed fairly quickly, Steve and Fliss carrying the conversation mostly as Mary was silent, looking out of the window. When they arrived, Steve hopped out of the Audi and opened the back door for Mary.

“Ma’am” he bowed slightly to her and she looked at him.

“Poppa Bill’s right. You’re a divvy.” She said

Fliss burst out laughing as Mary walked a little ahead “Hearing that word in an American accent is almost as good as when Frank says wanker“

Steve sniggered as they caught up to Mary at the main door. Mary paused and looked inside through the glass, and then she glanced at Fliss.

“How will I even know who he is?” It was a simple question, but one that made Fliss instantly realise just how shit this situation was for Mary. Her own biological father, she was about to meet him for the first time and she had no idea what he even looked like. Mind you, Fliss had no idea what hers looked like either. She’d never asked and her mum had never offered the information up. Not that she cared in the slightest.

“Frank told me what he looked like.” Fliss assured Mary, her hand falling to the back of the girl’s head. “It’s ok.” “Stack, you don’t have to do this.” Steve looked down at her. “We can turn round and go straight home. This is your choice ok?” “No, I want to.” She insisted. Steve nodded, pulled the door open and they stepped inside. Fliss scanned around the room and then spotted a man matching the description Frank had given her, sat at a table by one of the large windows. His eyes looked around the room and he minute he spotted them he stood up.

“That him?” Steve asked. Fliss nodded

“I think so”

“Well, he looks like an ass hole so...”

“Steve…” Fliss said, “Don’t.”

“Ok, ok…” her brother nodded. “I’m gonna grab some grub and I’ll be at the table behind if you need me, ok?”

Fliss nodded and her hand gently dropped to Mary’s shoulder and Mary looked up at her. “I think that’s him.” Fliss said, inclining her head in Polland’s direction. Mary looked at him, staying stock still for a moment before she took a little step forward, Fliss following right behind her.

“Bradley Polland?” Fliss asked and he nodded, running a hand through his gelled, light ginger hair. “I’m Felicity.”

“HI.” He nodded, offering her his hand which Fliss shook curtly before she gently lay her hand on Mary’s head as Polland looked down at her smiling. “Hi Mary. It’s nice to meet you.” It’s nice to meet you… the words sounded utterly ridiculous to Fliss, coming from a father to his daughter, but then again, what else had she expected seeing as he’d never been in the same room as her before.

Mary blinked at him, but didn’t say anything. Instead she turned to Fliss “Lissy, can we get something to eat?”

“Sure baby.” Fliss nodded, and then she looked at Polland and gave him a stiff smile “We’ll grab something and then be right over ok?”

“Yeah, yeah...” He swallowed “I’ll just…” he gestured back at the table before he walked away.

“He doesn’t look like I Imagined.” Mary said as they headed to the counter.

“No?” Fliss asked.

“You sure he’s my dad?”

“DNA says so.” Fliss said

“Huh.” Mary replied “I thought he would have been more handsome, or at least not look like he got dressed in the dark.”

Fliss let out a bark of a laugh as she glanced back at Polland, taking in his grey jeans and hideous bright, striped polo shirt. His blondey-red hair was messed up and his stubble was also ungroomed. “Well, he does look a little dishevelled so to speak. Good job you got the Adler genes kiddo.”

“And he’s ginger.”

“Oi!” Fliss nudged her “Nothing wrong with us red-heads. Ask Fred!”

“Yeah but you’re pretty…and Fred’s cute.” Mary reasoned, and Fliss chuckled, ruffling her hair.

They ordered their food, and Fliss carried the tray back to the table, Mary hopping up onto the seat opposite Polland as Fliss passed her the burger and fries she’d asked for, along with the soda. Fliss carefully made a deal of adding sugar to her coffee whilst Polland asked Mary a few little questions making small talk- how are you, tell me about yourself, that type of thing, until it grew a little stilted, so Fliss took it on herself to attempt to facilitate a little.

“Mary why don’t you tell Bradley about Monty?” she asked.

“Who’s Monty, your cousin?” Polland seized the opportunity and Mary looked at him as if he was a dumbass.

“No, my cousins are called Charlie and Joel. They’re Uncle Steeby’s twins. He’s Fliss’ brother. Frank and Fliss’ baby, he’s my brother. His name is Alex.” She stated “Monty is my pony.”

Polland blinked at her forthright answer before he nodded “A pony? So you ride?”

She nodded “I show jump. I’ve done a few competitions now.” “Did you win any?”

“Not yet.” Mary said “But I’ve had a few rosettes and stuff. Frank and Liss always tell me that it doesn’t matter if I win or not, I should just enjoy it.” “Good advice.” He nodded “So do you have any other pets?” “We have a dog, Thor. He’s big and he bites people if he gets mad” Mary said, and Fliss looked away, trying not to laugh at the utter nonsense about the dog that had never bitten anyone in his life, “And I have Fred. He’s ginger like you, but it looks good on him. And he only has one eye.”

Ok so now Fliss really was laughing silently, and she looked up and saw that from the table behind theirs, Steve’s shoulders were shaking as he hid his face behind the paper he was pretending to read.

“You have a one eyed cat?” Polland raised his eyebrows. “Sounds cool”

“He is.” Mary nodded “But he’s dead smart. Smarter than most people. Including you.”

“Mary…” Fliss looked at her “Don’t be nasty.”

“I’m not. I’m just saying.” She shrugged “Frank says Fred is smarter than anyone. Except when he lies on the stairs.”

Fliss smiled and looked at Polland who glanced at her. Fliss nodded towards Mary, instructing him to keep the conversation going, and when he spoke again he said something which was in fairness pretty innocuous, and was probably meant as a compliment but it didn’t quite work out that way.

“You look like your mom.”  He smiled and Fliss took a deep breath as Mary stiffened and she knew instantly that he’d lit the fuse wire.

“Yeah, I know. Frank told me.” Mary pushed the fry she was holding around in the ketchup dip before she gave a sigh and tossed it down onto the burger wrapper and looked at him. “Why did you never want to see me before today?”

“It’s complicated Mary.” Polland said, almost patronisingly and Fliss winced a little. Mary hated being patronised. “But I’m here now.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.” Mary looked at him. “Frank always answers me when I ask him things because he knows I’m not stupid. Why didn’t you want to see me before?” she repeated her previous question, folding her arms.

“Mary, it wasn’t that I didn’t want to, but I didn’t know where you were.” Polland reasoned and Fliss rolled her eyes, looking away. “Frank took you when you were-“ “The court case.” Mary cut him off “When you all tried to take me away from Frank last time, why didn’t you come and see me then?”

Fliss took a sip of her coffee, her eyes still on Mary. “You could have followed Frank home.” Mary continued, her breathing becoming deep and Fliss knew they were in for an explosion. But she didn’t try and stop it. This was Mary’s moment. For over 9 years she’d had no contact with this man, the only father she had known was Frank, and she had every reason to be angry, and every right to express that anger.

“You’re right, I could have.” He nodded, “But the case was going on and-“ “That didn’t stop Evelyn.” Mary looked at him. “She saw me during the case. I went to stay with her. Frank told me the court said I had to because she asked. Why didn’t you ask?”

Polland sighed, dropping his gaze to the table. “I guess…well, I was a little nervous, you know. I’d never seen you before, I…” He was floundering for excuses, excuses and reasons that weren’t coming to him because he simply didn’t have them and Fliss remained silent as he looked at her, almost pleading for help. She arched an eyebrow and looked away. She wasn’t giving him anything, not now.

“You didn’t want to, did you?” Mary shook her head, her voice cracking slightly and Fliss turned to her, watching her carefully. She didn’t want her to be upset, but she also didn’t want to remove her from the situation before she’d said her piece. She glanced up at Steve who was now watching them, all pretence of reading the paper gone. He shot her a look to check they were ok and she nodded to Mary as the little girl continued. “You didn’t want me when I was a baby and you didn’t want me 2 years ago so why now?”

Steve looked back at Fliss, shaking his head, telling her to let it continue so she did.

Polland let out a soft sigh and he shook his head “I was wrong, I know that but…Mary, I’m your dad.” He shrugged “And I’m sorry. I really am, and, well, I wanted to see you now, is that so bad?”

“You’re not my dad.” Mary shot back, wiping at her eyes “Frank is my dad. And you’re trying to stop him and Lissy from adopting me.” “Mary, I…”

“If you cared about me at all you’d leave me alone and never contact me again.” Mary looked at him. “Because of you and Evelyn, I spent a week away from Frank and I hated it. But I forgave Evelyn because she realised she was wrong. And she told me that and she said she was sorry, but you…you just want to do that to me again?”

“No, Mary, that’s not what I want at all.” Polland shook his head “I don’t want to take you away, I just want to see you and-”

“Well I don’t want to see you.” Mary glared at him. “Not now. Not ever. And I’ll tell that lady from the Child services that when she asks. And because Frank tells me to be honest I’ll tell her that I hate you. Because I do!” her voice rose to a yell as she stood up suddenly, sending her chair crashing to the ground. Fliss reached up and gently laying a hand on her back.

“Mary…” she soothed, but Mary shrugged her off, her eyes blazing, her face was red and the tears were trickling down her face. Fliss glanced at Steve who was already out of his chair and striding over to them, before she looked back at Polland who was looking a little abashed, as he swallowed nervously, scratching at his neck.

“Come on Stack.” Steve spoke calmly as she turned to him, burying her face into his shirt, just above his hip and he picked her up gently. He shot Polland a filthy look and the man visibly recoiled, and Fliss had to bite back the smirk on her face. Steve was positively petrifying when he looked like that. She stood up and turned towards where Mary was sobbing gently into the crook of his neck.

“You ok?” She asked gently, rubbing at Mary’s back and she sniffed, looking at Fliss

“I wanna go home.” “Ok.” Fliss nodded and she turned to Steve “Can you take her to the car, I need a word with…” she jerked her head at Polland and Steve looked back at him, shooting him another vile glare before he looked back at Fliss.

“We’ll be in the car.”

She nodded “I won’t be long.”

As Steve walked away, Mary on his hip Fliss sat back on her chair, before she felt her phone buzz in her pocket. She glanced down, swiped at the button on the front before she placed the phone down on the table and glanced at Polland.

“That went well.” She deadpanned.

“What do you want me to say?”

“There’s nothing you can say, not now. The damage is done.” Fliss looked at him “You have no idea how upset she was when we broke the news to her that you were contesting our application. It’s all she’s wanted for months since we made the decision, for us to be her official parents and you’re now taking all that away from her.”

“She’s my daughter…” “She’s been your daughter for 9 years, and you’ve been nowhere to be seen. Well, until the court case that is. And then after that you crawled right back underneath whatever rock you emerged from, not that we’re complaining.” Fliss shrugged. “In fact, we wish you’d stayed there.”

“When those papers came through…” Polland cleared his throat, “It just felt so final, like, if I let her go, I’d never see her again, and it just made me feel…” “It sparked some deep, hidden paternal instinct.” Fliss said, sarcastically as she remembered the words Gregg had spoken a few weeks earlier. She took a deep breath, before she bit her lip and decided to go straight in for the kill. “Well, I really hope whatever the Stazikers are paying you is worth the hell you’re putting her through.”

Polland’s face slipped “Who?”

“Cut the shit Polland.” Fliss sighed, “I know what you're up to, just how much are they paying you?”

“I really have no idea who-“

All it took was Fliss’ best stern look and he caved, sighed heavily.

“Fine, let’s just say if you could find me 15 grand, then it would better their offer.” “I beg your pardon?” Fliss whispered, not quite sure she’d heard him right.”

“15 grand and I’ll be out of your hair. I’ll drop my objections, sign over all my rights, and you’ll never hear from me again.”

“You sick son-of-a…” Fliss practically snarled at him, the blood pounding in her ears from her anger. “You’re toying with a child’s feelings and life over 15 fucking grand?”

“I need the cash. I’m in debt.” Polland sighed, shrugging.

Fliss let out a sarcastic laugh “Jesus Christ…” she shook her head. “So, let me ask you this…they fund your court case, block the adoption and turn our lives upside down, leave Mary heartbroken again, they pay you your money and then what?

“I won’t get custody, I know that. I don’t want it…”

“No but you will likely get visitations. Are you then going to step up and abide by whatever ruling or access you get?”

“I don’t know, I hadn’t thought that far.”

“You haven’t thought at all…” Fliss shook her head “For the record, I think you have to be one of, if not, the most despicable people I have ever had the misfortune to meet, and that’s no easy title to earn, believe me.  I can tell you this right now, you’re getting fuck all out of us. So you tell that shit head family from me, that they want a fight, they can have one.”

“Fine, guess I’ll see you in court.”

“I guess you will.” Fliss stood up and leaned forward, her palms flat on the table “And I hope you’re not expecting a clean fight either.” “What?” Polland blinked. “What do you mean, a clean fight?”

“We know all about Evelyn, how your little arrangement went down last time. How she had a word in a few peoples ears about getting your company the deal for the University accounts in exchanged for you nominating her as Mary’s guardian in court…”

Polland swallowed “That…that was…look, it was a thank you, not a bribe.” “Evelyn told me everything.” She said “She told me what the deal was. That you did your part, you said what she coached you to say, and she would convince her buddy’s in the University Procurement department to take your company’s bid by offering them a little payment each.”

“That, no…that deal my company did came after the case…”

“I’m sure it did, I mean Evelyn wanted to make sure you fulfilled your side of the bargain before she parted with her cash.”

“You can’t prove it.”

“No?” Fliss raised an eyebrow “Thing is, Evelyn and Frank are on good terms now. And she’s behind him here 100% and she already said she’d do whatever it takes to help us push this adoption through. Including coming clean.” She leaned back in her chair, folding her arms “You know, I’m not so sure that the Education Authorities would look favourably on it, or your company for that matter. Not after they were already done for Corruption and Bribery back in 2005 on another deal. What was it the report said?” she fake pondered for a moment “Oh, yes. Back handers to the down selection committee and evading the nature of true competition. The CEO lost his job, did he not?”

Polland looked at her, and his eyes narrowed “So what are you saying here? That I back off or you’ll start making noises?”

Fliss straightend up and shrugged.

Polland looked at her for a moment, shaking his head “That’s blackmail”

“And you telling me that 15k will beat whatever dirty offer you’ve already isn’t?”

Polland swallowed and looked down at the table, and in that moment Fliss knew she’d made her point. But just to drive it home even more, she issued him one last veiled threat that she hoped would do the trick.

“You think on what I’ve said. And I hope you come to the right decision, if not, then like you say, we’ll see you in court and find out what the authorities think about it all.”

And with that she shrugged on her jacket, grabbed her phone, stuffed it into her purse and left. Once outside she walked straight past the Audi, where Steve and Mary were talking and climbed into the black range rover parked behind.

“You get it?” she turned to her dad and he raised an eyebrow, before he tapped a button on his phone.

“Fine, let’s just say if you could find me 15 grand, then it would better their offer.” “I beg your pardon?”

“15 grand and I’ll be out of your hair. I’ll drop my objections, sign over all my rights, and you’ll never hear from me again.”

“You sick son-of-a…you’re toying with a child’s feelings and life over 15 fucking grand?”

“I need the cash. I’m in debt.”

Fliss smirked a little at the fact their plan had worked. It had been a simple one. She was always going to hang back to speak to him in private, Steve leaving with Mary being the signal for her Dad to call, at which point she’d answer, leave the phone on the table, and the App which Steve had found would record the whole damned thing.

“Got it all.” Bill said, looking at her “Jesus Titch, I wanted to come right over there and knock his teeth out.”

Fliss ran her hands over her face. “I tell you what though, I didn’t think he’d be as easy to crack as he was…and as for then trying to bribe us too…what a dumbass!”

Bill snorted “You do know this might not be admissible in court, right?”

“I don’t think it’s gonna come to that.” Fliss looked out of the windscreen of the car before she turned back to her father “His face when I told him about Evelyn, he shit himself dad. As soon as Greg files this recording for admission, his attorney will get a copy so he’ll know we have proof of what he’s done. He’ll back down, he won’t want to lose his job or get exposed for being nothing but a fucking con-artist.” She

Bill smirked “You know, when you suggested this to me the other day I didn’t think it was gonna work but…seems like you got him by the balls Titch!”

“Fight fire with fire dad.” Fliss grinned “And like Frank said when we came up with the idea, sometimes beating someone at their own game is much more satisfying than simply punching them in the face.”

[crash-cinematic-universe]

A Speedster, A Nuclear Bomb, and a Worn Down Walkman (Ch.1)

pairing: peter maximoff/fem!Wilson!reader

summary:  Y/n Wilson is the only child of the renowned X-Man Deadpool. When Y/n is asked to enroll in Xavier’s School for Gifted Youngsters by Charles Xavier himself, she has no choice but to accept; much to the dismay of her father. Y/n isn’t used to the knew surroundings or the constant stress of her mutation. All she wanted to do was disappear. Little did Y/n know, she caught the eyes of a certain speedster who wasn’t planning on letting her fade away anytime soon.

req:  Hey, I was wondering if you could write something about dating peter maximoff and being deadpools kid - @8-eight-8

warnings: none, rlly

notes: FUCK YEAH!!! IM BACK TO WRITING THIS SERIES BABEY. sorry this took so long, i swear it wont take this long next time. also 2.5k words to make up for it hell yeah!

PREVIOUS: prologue 

taglist: @creator-appreciator, @wallows-spring

            Saying that life at the academy was hectic would be a severe understatement; your first few days were filled to the brim with endless placement assessments and class work and first impressions. It was as if you were meeting every person at once, each new smiling face and unique name immediately leaving your brain after mere seconds of talking. It was overwhelming and chaotic and at one point you felt as if you had begun to spiral in the first week-- worst of all, you were beginning to miss your father. However, there was one person who stuck in your mind like a fly to a gluetrap-- Peter Maximoff. 

            Peter was made of pure adrenaline, constantly on the move at high speeds as if he would cease to exist if he were to stand still. Nevertheless, he somehow managed to land himself right next to you anywhere you went. You’re not exactly complaining, though, you quite like having Peter around. He’s like your anchor, a person you can lean on when everyone and everything becomes too much-- not to mention Peter’s physical appearance. His features were refined and smooth, as if he was carved from marble by Michelangelo himself. He always had a grin on his face, his eyes lighting up like Fourth of July fireworks that you just can’t look away from. 

            Similarly, Peter was still having trouble processing… you. You were like an ethereal being, an inhuman gracefulness and beauty following you everywhere you went. You brightened up rooms, your laugh could make the saddest person feel uplifted, your eyes were abyss-like pools that made Peter feel fuzzy whenever they locked with him. Peter couldn’t stay away from you if he tried-- you were magnetic, an invisible force pulling him closer and closer until he got close enough to smell the shampoo you use. Everything about you was amazing and perfect and pristine to him-- he would be lying if he claimed he didn’t have a crush on you. Unfortunately for Peter, you were completely and totally out of  his league. In fact, you were so out of his league that the mere thought of you liking him seemed about as realistic as a fever dream. For now, Peter was content with being your friend.

            Meanwhile, Charles was attempting to settle on one of the hardest dilemmas of his lifetime. Originally, Charles had invited you to the academy to attempt to control your mutation. Hank had run various tests to get an idea of exactly how strong you’d become, and the results were shocking. Long story short, both Charles and Hank had come to the conclusion that you were a ticking time bomb. With every day that passes your manipulation of energy expands, reigning in more and more force by the second. The process is gradual and slow, but with time, you would lose your ability to contain the energy. Keeping you in the academy would be your only chance at stopping your inevitable destination, but that would also put the rest of the students at risk. Then again, you were useful; having you on the X-Men team would help save so many people. For the first time in what felt like years, Charles didn’t know what to do. 

            “Hank,” The British man called. “If you were the equivalent to a timed explosive, would you… would you want to know?”

            “I’m sorry?” Hank’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion. 

            “I just… I’m not sure if I should tell Y/n about her… situation.” Hank nods in understanding before inhaling deeply.

            “Charles, she’s only been here a few days. She’s barely settled in-- give her time to… warm up to the place.” Hank replies. That doesn’t help Charles’s situation.

            “And after that? After she’s settled in?” Hank sighs. He’s not sure what to do either-- all Hank really knows is that he wants whatever's best for you. Hank had come to enjoy your presence through the last few days. You were kind and paid attention to Hank and his interests. It was refreshing-- Hank wasn’t used to having some be genuinely impressed by his work.

            “You have to tell her eventually, Charles. You’re only hurting her by hiding it.” Charles groans and leans back in his chair. He was truly dreading this conversation-- he had no doubt in his mind that you’d want what’s best for the other students; Wade mentioned that you had a habit of putting others' needs and feelings before your own.

            “Thank you, Hank. That’ll be all.” He waves the other man out of the room, allowing himself to be left to his own thoughts. Charles’s head ached as he glanced at the report Hank had written on you, one specific observation jumping out at the distressed man: “Y/n Wilson is as much an evolutionary breakthrough as she is a safety hazard-- she must learn to contain her power; if she’s successful, she’ll be one of the most powerful mutants ever recorded. If she fails-- if we fail, the consequences will be as catastrophic and destructive as a nuclear explosive. Proceed with caution.”

______________

            The sound of confused giggles and hurried footsteps echo through the hallway as Peter gently tugs you along, turning to glance at you every now and then. Peter knew you were having trouble getting comfortable with the other students, and he was determined to change that. He had a small group of friends that were eager to meet you-- Peter managed to bring you up in every conversation he’s had with anyone in the past week.

            “Peter, where are we going?” You question as Peter turns around a corner. He just shoots a smile back at you before quickly pulling you into his bedroom-- a bunch of students sitting in various places on the floor. You can recognize a few faces from the hallways, but other than that they’re mostly strangers. Except for one-- I can recognize Kurt from the library.

            “Alright, so, uh, I thought that maybe you’d want to meet some of my friends. Just to-- uhm-- just to get more used to some of the people here.” Peter’s stomach flutters as you grin at him.

            “You did this for me?” Peter nodded before your attention was quickly drawn away from him and to the people around the room. Peter is quick to introduce you to all his friends.

            “Uh, Kurt, Jubilee, Scott, Jean, Ororo, this is Y/n,” A blue teenager materializes in front of me almost instantly. 

            “We met already but it is nice to meet you again,” He grins a toothy grin, his hand extending to shake mine. I’m soon met by a boy wearing odd goggles, presumably Scott, then Jubilee, then Ororo, then finally, Jean. They were all friendly and unique and oddly comforting in a way, regardless of the fact that they were all a full decade younger than you and Peter. 

            “What’s the best way to get to know someone?” Scott asks, glancing at Jubilee. She smirks back at him.

            “In all 16 years of living, I’ve come to learn that the single best way to get to know someone's personality is via the ancient practice of Truth or Dare.” She grins wildly.

            “Oh, uh, I don’t know if--” You can hear Peter inhale sharply as Scott pulls him onto the floor, the other students following suit and soon forming a circle on the floor. Jubilee tugs you down by your sleeve.

            “Alright, who’s first?” Jean quips. Everyone exchanges a look before settling on Peter.

            “Oh, uhm… Kurt, truth or dare?” Everyone seems to be disappointed by Peter’s selection, but they continue nevertheless.

            “Truth.” Peter bites his lip while he attempts to think of a question to ask, and you can’t help but stare. The silver speedster is undeniably cute-- you’ll willfully admit that any day. “Out of everyone here, who do you think is the smartest?”

            “Well, both you and Y/n are much older than ze rest of us, so it’s one von of you two-- sorry Jean, zey just have more experience. Uh, I guess Y/n since I vonce saw Peter try to catch a bird with his bare hands.” You laugh out loud at this new discovery and Peter’s face burns a light red. 

            “Alright, Kurt, it’s your turn.” Jean says. The blue boy scans the crowd before choosing the next victim. 

            “Y/n, truth or dare?” All eyes turned to you expectantly. You were never a coward, so you took the most logical route.

            “Dare.” The entire group jitters with excitement, anticipation for what odd things Kurt would make you do circulating in the air.

            “I dare you… to hold hands with Peter for ze rest of ze game.” Scott and Jean both huff in disappointment as Jubilee and Ororo gaze at Kurt with such fury it was as if they were trying to kill him. This dare was odd, sure, but you weren’t one to back down.

            “Easy peasy,” You quip as you hold out your hand for Peter to take. He laces your fingers with yours and immediately your entire arm feels as if it had just been jostled awake. The feeling of Peter’s hand in yours is foreign, but incredibly welcome. His hands are warm. 

            “My turn, right?” You ask, trying to forget the fact that Peter’s hand is entangled with yours. “Jubilee, truth or dare?” 

            “Truth, and make it good.” She grins. 

            “Whose mutation do you think is the least useful out of everyone in this circle?” Jubilee glances around the circle.

            “Depends. I don’t know what yours is,” she trails off for a moment. “And I don’t wanna be mean…”

            “My mutation is energy manipulation-- I can control the energy that’s constantly being produced.” Peter’s grip on your hand tightens a bit as Jube’s eyes widen. 

            “Okay, that’s fucking awesome so definitely not yours,” she exclaims. “Kurt and Peter are useful in combat, Jean is useful in getting information, Ororo and Scott are both super powerful-- I think my mutation is the least useful.”

            “Don’t say that, Jubilee,” Scott says from across the circle. “You’re useful sometimes.” Jean cringes at his words and both Jubilee and Kurt laugh aloud. Scott seems unaware of his mistake. 

            “Thanks, Scott,” The young girl said before returning to the game. “Alright, my turn again? Ororo, truth or dare?”

            “Dare,” Ororo smirks. She’s quite pretty, her hair looked soft and shimmery-- not dissimilar to Peter’s. 

            “I dare you to knock the power out of the entire mansion for a full five minutes.” Ororo complies, a large clap of thunder echoing through the mansion as the room goes dark. Ororo had created a large thunderstorm to cover for the power outage, lightning and rain wailing down on the windows. Peter grips your hand tightly, his muscles tensing as he shuts his eyes for a moment. The other students are consumed by their chatter and laughter in the darkness.

            “Hey, you okay?” You ask softly. Peter is jumpy and nervous, but he doesn’t want to seem cowardly in front of you. 

            “Y-yeah, I’m just not the b-biggest fan of thunderstorms,” You can tell he’s trying to act tough. Gently, you run your thumb over his knuckles in an attempt to calm him down.

            “Don’t worry, silver, the storm will pass. For now, I can distract you if you’d like me to,” You offer. Peter looks at you for a moment, and his heart skips a beat. You’re kind and sweet and selfless, you’re considerate and caring and wonderful and Peter is in awe of you. 

            “A distraction would be nice.” Peter said quietly, wincing at the weakness in his voice. He was almost 30 years old, one of the oldest among the group in the room and he was cowering because of a little thunder. He felt ashamed and small-- it really was no shocker that you were out of his league. However, when you flipped his hand over and began tracing shapes on his palm with your finger, all of his worries melted away for a moment. 

            After a while, Ororo switched the lights back on and dispersed the storm outside, the group  of teens returning to the antics almost instantaneously. You pulled your hands away from Peter reluctantly.

            “Well, uh, I better get going-- I have some work to do.” You say as you stand up. “It was lovely to meet all of you, this game was pretty fun. I’ll see you around.” You can hear Peter scramble behind you, quickly following you out of the room as if he were a lost puppy. You walked in silence for a while, Peter’s strides in sync with yours as you made your way to your bedroom. You admired the detailed architecture along the walls as you walked, various small symbols were scattered across the wallpaper. You didn’t realize you’d reached your bedroom until you were standing face-to-face with the door.

            “Thank you.” Peter says, his voice low and raspy. He’s not looking at you, his eyes glued to the floor.

            “For what?” The shameful feelings returned as Peter kept his eyes on the floor. He feels like a baby-- a whiny baby who gets afraid during thunderstorms and has trouble articulating his thoughts and feelings. It made him so frustrated when he couldn’t find the words to say what needed to be said-- his mind just moved too fast to grip onto any coherent thoughts. When he glanced into your eyes, he managed to get something out.

            “It’s just that I know a lot of people who would make fun of me for being as old as I am and so easily scared.” You smiled softly, a hint of sadness in your eyes. Peter didn’t want you to pity him, but at this point he just needed to express his gratitude. “Thank you for… not being one of those people.” You took his face gently in your hands and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek.

            “Anytime, Maximoff. Anytime.” You smiled before opening your bedroom door and stepping inside. The first thing you notice is that the books on your desk have been knocked over. Then, you realize that there was someone standing behind you.

            You yelp, whipping around and shooting out a blast of energy. You didn’t even expel that much force, but the figure is launched into the wall. It’s only then that you realize this figure was actually your father.

            “Dad? What the fuck are you doing here?!” You shout as you rush to help him off the floor.

            “What, I need a reason to come see my daughter?” He jokes as he pops his arm back into its socket. He looks worried, but he masks it with a smile. “It just happens that Charles wanted to see me the same day I came to visit you.”

            “Charles wants to see you? Why?” You ask as Wade pulls you into a hug. A cough from the doorway startles you apart, and a very anxious looking Hank is standing in the doorway.

            “Looks like we’re about to find out,”

[riseandshinelittleblossom]

Hoping for Home Ch. 10.1 - Everything has Changed

Summary: Sixteen years ago Libby Scott was supposed to become Queen of Cordonia, but Fate had other plans. Catch up here.

A/N: As always please let me know if you wish to be added or removed from the tags!

Disclaimer: I don’t own the TRR characters, they own me.

Song Rec  for this Chapter: “Everything has Changed” by Taylor Swift ft. Ed Sheeran

Tags:  @ao719@ritachacha @leelee10898 @fullbeaumonty @emichelle @lodberg @pedudley @blackcoffee85 @drakesensworld @thequeenofcronuts @kingliam2019 @dcbbw  @desireepow-1986 @princessleac1 @dianalend @valtorian-duchess@maxwellisangry @texaskitten30 @bbrandy2002 @burnsoslow

                    Cordonian safe house - 16 years ago

      Libby brought the roll of gauze to her lips, crudely ripping it with her teeth before tucking the end into the makeshift bandage she'd made for Drake.

    "Do you remember the last time I patched you up after a fight?" she asked.

    "How could I forget?" Drake snorted. His eyes grew stormy and his body stiffened as the memory washed over him. 

   "I've got a couple of regrets in life, but punching Tariq after what I saw that night...not one of 'em."

    "We thought out problems were big then."

    "Scott...taking a hit for you was as worth it then as it was tonight."

     Libby's jaw went slack but she corrected it directly. Her fingers were still trembling a bit as she ripped off a piece of medical tape, securing the spot she'd just tucked in. 

     "How's that?" She squeaked through her dry throat.

   "Good as new. You did great."

   "Drake, I owe you my life. If you ever need anything-"

    "Nah, you just owe me a shot. Though, for the record, I prefer whiskey to bullets."

   Libby placed her hand on Drake's knee, brow furrowed.

    "I'm serious, Walker. I've never had a friend that would take a bullet for me. It….it means a lot."

     His eyes snapped to her delicate fingers and she jerked her hand back, embarrassed. 

    "I've always got your back, Scott, no matter the stakes."

    "I know, it's just….I've never...had that...before. I've always just had to, ya know...rely on me." Libby rubbed her knees together awkwardly, eyes fixed on the floor.

    Drake's calloused hand covered hers and she turned her head to look at him. 

    "Not anymore. You can always count on me." 

***************************************

    Valtoria, Cordonia - present day

     "Superfecundation," Hana explained matter-of-factly.

     "It's the fertilization of two ova by the sperm from separate acts of...well you know. It's rare, and usually it just leads to run of the mill fraternal twins since the father is generally the same man.."

      Libby shook her head and stared down at the callused hand she was holding. Sometime during her flood of emotions she'd grabbed hold of Drake's hand and now, she noticed, she was gripping it with white knuckles. 

    "Sorry, Walker." She said softly, loosening her grip but not letting go.

    "S'okay." He replied, patting her forearm.

     "So we're half-siblings?" Emma's eyes were wide, holding her brother's gaze.

   "It would appear so." Liam clarified.

    Olivia shook her head. "Leave it to you, Libby, I swear. Only you could manage such a rare occurrence."

   She chuckled, waving her hand dismissively.

     "Well it's not like she was trying," Maxwell defended.

    "I'm...I'm so sorry. To everyone. Emma, Will...I,"  Libby took a step towards her children, grasping each one by the hand.

     "You don't have to apologize, Mom. Now we know, and that's all I care about." Will answered. He turned to face Maxwell. 

        "So should I call you Dad?" 

     Maxwell's eyes went wide and he exhaled loudly.

     "I'm...okay with that, but I mean it's not a requirement of you aren't...okay with...that."

     Will nodded, "I think I'd like to."

***************************************

Libby rested her elbows on the smooth stone of her balcony rail, staring out into the Valtorian countryside. The wind whipped her long locks across her face obscuring her view, but she didn't seem to notice. Tears played at the edges of her eyes.

     For almost two decades she had  avoided thinking about who had fathered her children. She had done her absolute best to put Cordonia far behind her.

   From the moment she'd stepped off the plane with Drake and Maxwell all those years ago, Cordonia had changed her. Something about this place made her feel reckless. It did then and the longer she was here the more she could feel it now.

     She'd allowed herself to get swept away by it's charm and the trappings of courtly life and something about it all had made her love too freely. 

     She most assuredly was not naive enough to believe that after all this time she was still in love with either Maxwell or Liam - she didn't even know who they were anymore, honestly - and yet she found herself in an all too familiar predicament.

    When Liam was around, her heart would race. Her palms would sweat and she could feel herself getting pulled into him. It was intoxicating, as if she would give her whole self to him if he asked, even knowing she'd regret it the next second.

    Then there was Maxwell. She longed for him. Pined for him like a lost puppy. Just the sight of him across the room made her breathing hitch. It made her head fuzzy and clouded her judgement.

    She would give up her life for him, unequivocally. There was nothing stopping them now from running off into the sunset like they had wanted to years ago, but maybe it was too late for that. 

    Liam was married and she had no idea where Maxwell stood and those were the facts.

    To complicate things further, adult Libby - who should have matured enough to not give in to her every whim - had this thing with Drake. 

    What was that? A thing. She had sought refuge from her life several times with Drake over the last two months, but that's all it was right? A distraction.

    She buried her face in her hands.

   "Fuck your love life, Elizabeth. This isn't about you. It's about your children. Stop acting like a thirteen year old girl at a school dance." She thought.

     "Am I interrupting?" Drake's voice broke Libby from her thoughts and she spun on her heels, her skirt flying around her knees.

     "Jesus, Walker you almost gave me a heart attack."

    Drake snorted, jamming his hands in his pants. "I have been known to have that effect on people." 

    Libby rolled her eyes and turned back to her view.

    "How ya holding up?"

    "I'm okay. It's a lot to digest, but I'm glad that we know, ya know? So many more questions now, though."

He nodded silently, sidling up next to her. 

    "I guess you're gonna stay then? I mean you're out of your mind if you think Liam is gonna let you take Emma out of here now."

     Libby glanced at him. "But you're gonna go back to the states…"

    "That's the plan. I mean I may want to stick around until everyone is settled. Lend a hand where I can."

       "Is it as exhausting as it sounds to feel totally responsible for everyone and everything around you at all times?"

     A brief memory of camping in France washed over her. She had teased Drake, as had the rest of their motley crew, for being so bossy. She had begged him to relax and enjoy the view. 

     She grinned remembering it as he appeared to be relishing the view from her balcony now.

     "You're not funny, Scott." He said it with a straight face, but Libby heard the levity. 

             That evening Emma stood in front of the boutique mirror. As she stared at her reflection with one eyebrow cocked, she smoothed the front of her simple burgundy ball gown. This was her life now, forever. She was a crowned princess. 

     She heard someone from behind her clear their throat and she turned her head. 

    "Hey Abel."

     "Your Majesty," the young man dipped into a bow.

     "Please," the princess rolled her eyes. "Don't you start."

      Abel peered up at her with a wide grin, wiggling his eyebrows. 

      Emma giggled. "Do you think they'll accept me? I mean….I am basically a foreigner...and a bastard. Do you think people will accept me as their future queen?" 

     "Forget that bastard talk. The king won't allow it, I'm sure. You are his daughter, Em. He hasn't stopped smiiling about it since this morning. The people will accept you because their King and Queen accept you."

     Emma sighed. "I thought fitting in at my high school was tough."

      "Knock knock." 

     The pair faced the door to find Bartie and Will sauntering in.

     "Another day another ball, amirite?" Bartie snarked.

     "I suppose we'd better get used to it." Emma concurred. 

    "What's this one for again?" Will asked.

     Abel cleared his throat, "this is the Festival of Lights. Since my parents have been running this duchy in your mother's absence I haven't missed one yet and it's my favorite. Although I'm probably biased."

     "Basically the whole duchy sends off paper lanterns," Bartie explained. "When you let it go you make a wish for your future."

    "But you also must let go of something from your past." Mckenzie finished, rounding the corner. "And speaking of your past….I just heard Dad and Libby talking about a press conference or something tonight. I don't think King Liam wants to wait to tell the world about the results."

    Will looked at his sister who turned away.

    "That doesn't seem very fair. What if we aren't ready for that."

     Emma wiped a nervous tear from her cheek. "Guess we'd better get ready real fast." 

    Will shook his head. "Fuck that."

     He turned, stalking towards the door. 

     "Where are you going?" His sister called.

       "To find my parents. And to have a word with your father."

[dragonrajafanfiction]

Trade Secrets

While Mr. Baldwin and Captain Foli had their little chat, Dofi, made his way back the way he came, hands in his pockets a smile on his face. His soft footsteps were made softer by his gleaming black patent leather shoes. 

The hall was quiet and empty. The crew was in the middle of a shift change. There were four shifts. Morning, starting at 8 am and lasting until 2 pm. Then 2 pm to 8 pm then 8 pm to 2 am and 2 am to 8 am, called the Red Eye shift.. 

The midnight shifts were the smallest in the crew, and the Red Eye shift was often the slowest to wrest themselves from their beds so for a precious few minutes, Aido-Hwedo fell quiet. There was no one to hear when those leather shoes seemed to shimmer, as if losing focus and converting into stunning heels. The well pressed leather pants turned into a mesh of fishnet stocks wrapped around curving calves and topped with an A-line skirt.

HIs jacket and shirt changed shape as his body converted into an hourglass figure, his facial features softened and his eyelashes lengthened. The only thing that didn’t grow was his short cropped wiry curls. It wasn’t unusual for both men and women on the ship to keep hair clipped short.

Such a disguise couldn’t have been performed even by the most veteran spy, because it was more than just a trick of make up or acting.

Soul Skill: Mirage!

When he approached the women’s dorm area, the cameras fixed on him. Even the cameras couldn’t decode his ability.  It was a trick of the light. Light entered the field of his dragon speech and returned to the eye of the beholder and the lens of the camera, bent and distorted by his will. 

He walked through the halls until he came to the area where the mystery woman was staying. Two guards were posted outside her door armed with two rifles but he didn’t mind it. They were both accomplices to this mission. They opened the door for him without a word and he walked inside.

Two other women were there, seated on the top bunk beds, facing one another. On the left, a woman with bright golden eyes quietly whispered to herself in an endless stream of words. She stared eyes empty towards the other woman, not seeing her. Her whispering intensified and a bead of sweat rolled down her face. She gripped the mattress next to her legs. Her breathing accelerated.

Dofi paused, watching her carefully. This was Maria, and Maria was capable of putting anyone within five hundred feet of her into a coma without breaking a sweat like this. Yet, here she was visibly struggling. Dofi’s brow knitted and he looked down at the woman who was under her spell, sleeping quietly in her pajamas. This was no ordinary Cassell Student.

Captain Foli was warned by the Council of Elders of the likelihood that Cassell would bring in a secret weapon from the College. They never forgot their encounter with Anjou. They said that he was sniffing around like a hyena, smelling blood, but not finding the carcass. The West Africans had a vast bounty and he had picked up on it. He was looking for it. His arrival sent a shiver up all their spines and they couldn’t come out of their covert hiding places for years. Only after the breath of life left that man, could he finally move.

Now Dofi would see this secret. 

He held out his hand and the unoccupied woman gave him a pair of latex gloves. Working quickly, he picked up her hand, found a vein and inserted a needle. Bright red blood jetted into a small glass tube, which he handed to the woman.

He looked down at this strange young girl with her delicate features, smooth skin and almond eyes. Her face was ringed by those shiny dark curls. His fingers traced her hand where a ring should be, but was conspicuously absent.

The woman on the upper bunk topped the vial with a small eye dropper and held it over what appeared to be a copper plate, swirled with gold and green and etched with a five sided symbol. At each of the five sides was an aspect of the draconic elemental wheel. The droplets of blood fell and moved about the plate as though pulled by magnetism. The woman watched the drops of blood wander aimlessly before finally settling in a pool at the center.

“There is no resonance.”

Dofi lifted his head and looked straight at her. Growling low like a lion, despite his female appearance, he said. “Test it again.”

The woman didn’t change expression, but gently tapped the bottom of the plate. The drops of blood wandered a bit before settling again in the center.

“No resonance.”

“Are they accepting humans at Cassell College? Maria, make her talk. Who are her parents?”

Maria gasped, staring at the far wall. “Ch-... Chu… Zihang.  Chu… Meixiu.”

The woman on the bunk put the plate aside and picked up a less esoteric piece of technology, a small laptop. She typed away and while she did, no one spoke or moved.

Dofi sat still as a stone, glowering at this mystery girl. He’d lived too long and fought too hard for Cassell to stab them in the back at the last second. They were a mystery and unknown to the world of Hybrids. Did Mr. Baldwin think he could eliminate them in the middle of the sea with no one to take revenge?

“Chu Zihang was an Ace Commissioner in Cassell College, President of Lionheart, until his retirement. Chu Meixiu was Ace Commissioner in Cassell College, President of Club-S until her retirement. Her name is Chu Ru'Yi, a first year student. Born at Cassell College. There are no state records of her existence. There are no state records of her mother’s birth. She was a found child. Her mother was officially adopted at Cassell at age 16. Her father’s state records are thin. Only listing a mother and an adopted son. His father’s information has no state records.”

“Is Cassell a nursery now? Do they have a breeding program? What more can you find out?”

“I will need to take more time.” She looked down at him. “If you’re asking me to hack Norma.”

“How can the daughter of two Ace Commissioners be sterile of Dragonblood? Maria, ask her about her spiritual speech.”

The golden eyed girl gripped the mattress and stared. She panted as though drowning, gasping for air. She grit her teeth and grunted. “Can’t.”

“Can’t what?” He asked slowly, his eyes widening in barely contained fury.

“I can’t… I can’t tell you. I can’t …” The woman’s eyes moved to him. “I can’t push it. If she resists, she might break free of me.”

The amount of power needed to break free from Maria had to have been insane. Dofi began to feel real fear. They had to have a counter to a weapon as dangerous as this, but how could they counter something they had no information on? “Push it!”

Just as he spoke, the phone rang. It wasn’t a cell phone but the room phone. Dofi got up and walked to the phone and picked up. He didn’t have to ask who it was. He knew who was calling this room. “Brother, she has to be an extremely high level hybrid. Maria can hardly keep her down.”

Foli’s voice came over the phone. “Stop the inquiry.”

Dofi was so shocked that his illusory disguise wavered. “Why?” He snarled.

“I’ve changed my mind. I’ve decided to trust Mr. Baldwin.”

Dofi was speechless for a moment. “You don’t understand. This woman is powerful.” He hissed into the phone. “We don’t know what she’s capable of! She might kill us all here!”

“I don’t believe that will happen any more.” His brother said. His voice was calm. Unwavering. “Stop the inquiry.”

Dofi’s hand trembled as he hung up the phone. “Pack it up. We’re stopping the inquiry.”

The two women quickly gathered their things and hid them in spaces in the wall. They were supposed to just be her roommates for the night. No one else on the ship knew they would be interrogating her.

Dofi stood a few more moments, staring at the phone. Was his brother brainwashed? Mr. Baldwin went in alone. That man did not have the Soul Skill for brainwashing. This couldn’t be right. He strode quickly out of the room and down the hall, his heels clicking rhythmically against the tile. He slammed his hand against the button to open the door and walked through  when it was just barely wide enough for him to fit through. As soon as he was out of the range of the cameras his disguise dropped and he was just Dofi.

The hall was occupied now with the shift workers and they pressed themselves to the wall upon seeing such a fierce expression on the normally jovial man’s face.

He picked up his own phone. “Where are you. We need to talk about this.”

“I’ll meet you in Ra’s Chamber.”

“Don’t deactivate him until you listen to me brother!” Dofi turned and opened a door to another staircase. This was dark and lined with only emergency lighting, but Dofi didn’t stumble in the dark. The hum and roar of the ship's mechanics drowned out everything here. This should have been only a cramped maintenance area, where piping carried water, waste and air where it needed to go. There wasn’t much room for anything on this ship, not even its own people. But after moving past two fortified bulkhead doors, Dofi entered space, which spanned half the length of the ship itself.

Foli and Dofi stood dwarfed by a gigantic scaly muzzle. The steam from the hot breath that exited its nostrils was vented up through the ceiling while fresh air was piped in. Its black scales were damp with dew from it. It’s body was tightly bound by what appeared to be metal cuffs that pinned its limbs to its body. It lay on its stomach much like a slumbering crocodile, it’s ribs expanding and then contracting every several seconds.

Foli laid one hand on the tip of the creature’s nose.

Dofi approached him and pulled his hand away. “Brother, I need an explanation.”

“I know.” Foli looked at him. “You know I’m your brother, we shared the same womb. So you know how much I care for you. I wouldn’t make a decision like this lightly. What Mr. Baldwin did today, not only showed his care for me, but his respect for our ways, for our secrets. To ignore that, would be a sign of stubbornness on my part, not of wisdom.”

“Is the inquiry into the woman really ignoring whatever good it is he’s done? We can reward his actions some other way.” He took a step closer to him and whispered. “I know what I saw. If you want to trust him, fine. But I do not.”

“Every organization is entitled to their secrets. He respected ours.” He picked up the medallion from his pocket and held it up.

Dofi’s eyes went wide again, experiencing yet another shock. “The Ashanti Medal! Where … where did you find it?”

“He found it. He found it and showed it to no one until he returned it to me.” Foli looked his brother in the face. “Do you understand now?”

Dofi was visibly paler, despite his dark complexion. When he didn’t answer Foli grinned. 

“You’re speechless as well? It took my breath away. All the hand wringing and late night shouting in the Council… when it was all just a misunderstanding.” He returned the medallion to his pocket.”

Dofi sobered and looked over the bound sleeping dragon. “Some wanted to go to war over that thing.”

“It’s back in our possession.” He clapped Dofi on the shoulder. “Get some sleep. Don’t bother keeping one eye open this time.”

“Then are you deactivating Ra?” 

They both looked over the bound creature. “I don’t believe that’s wise. We are facing a Dragon King, we may yet need his support should the Cassell Agents fall in battle.”

[jenovahh]

The Honey Pot - Ch. 16 - A New Home

“Again.”

You groan as you peel yourself off the floor, after unceremoniously crashing down hard on your back. “Why are we even doing this?” You growl, picking yourself up once more. “What is this even teaching me? If you’re trying to show you’re a colossal asshole trust me; I know that already.”

Zenos stands nearby, arms crossed, eyes somehow colder than usual. “What other reason do I need aside from because I said so?” Something about him has changed; has become more rigid, more closed off. Not that he was ever necessarily open with his feelings, just…

Something has changed.

It is especially noticeable on the weekends, because those have now been freed up for you. Zenos remains at home to do work while you head over to the Garlond estate.

He was mad about it, you were sure. His father was making him share his toys. You thought he'd at least get over it like three weeks ago. Instead, he refused to rise up to your banter, and he no longer fought to get a rise out of you. He had become cold and unfeeling, apathetic, barely treating you any better than any of his other lackeys.

Sighing, you wearily shake your hands in an effort to limber them up again. Carefully, you handstand, abs flexing with the effort to find your balance. Keeping your center was proving oddly difficult, your body working itself in ways it had not previously. Your arms shook momentarily as you fought to keep steady, slowly willing yourself to control your breaths. Shutting your eyes, you find your center, muscles stabilizing as you hold yourself in place. The world slowly melts away until all you can feel is the whisper of air conditioning across your stomach, hear the thrum of the mini fridge in the corner of the room…

See Zenos’ fist make a beeline straight for your abdomen…

You choke out a wheezing breath as his fist still makes a solid hit on your stomach, having made your arms go lax to drop you to the floor. The momentum of your fall has you drop onto your back, barely having the breath to roll out of the way as Zenos’ foot comes down where your head once was. “Zenos, what the fuck,” you snarl, quickly hopping to your feet, bringing your arms up in defense. He looks apathetic still, face emotionless and for a moment you feel something akin to dread as your stance weakens ever so slightly. “Zenos,”

“Do you think in a fight that an opponent won’t take the chance to strike at your most vulnerable part?” He asks in that condescending manner, sounding entirely too much like his father.

Entirely too much like when you first met.

“I thought we weren’t working on combat,”

“We are always working on combat.” He drones, and though his voice is without feeling, the weight of his words is oppressive all the same.

“Then you should be a little more fucking clear before we start!” You snap back, dropping your fighting stance. “Fuck this. I’m through here.” You don’t even bother looking him in the eye as you move to walk past him and out the door. Before you can even make it an ilm behind him his hand has whipped out and snagged your arm in a nigh deathgrip, slowing your circulation. Your eyes drop to where his hand has encircled your arm, veins sticking out in some places, before sliding up to meet ice blue eyes. “Let. Me. Go.”

“You will leave when I allow it.” He states, as if you had no choice in the matter.

“Zenos yae Galvus,” you begin as calmly as possible, “If you do not let me go within the next three seconds I will have you on your ass so fast you’d think it impossible.”

A spark flashes in his eyes; it's not fear, but something else. It's gone as fast as it came though, replaced by underlying stubbornness and sheer loftiness. “I’d like to see you try.” He scoffs, to which you narrow your eyes at him.

“You and I both know I am the better fighter. Do you want me to kick your ass?” You question with a smirk, flexing your arm in his hand. “Does the sadistic psychopath have a thing for powerful women?”

“You flatter yourself. I would--” He scoffs, but his three seconds are up and you twist yourself out of his grip to sure enough knock him flat on his back with your foot on his chest.

“I do flatter myself. Because I’m worth flattering.” Stepping off him, you make your way to the door. “If you’ll excuse me, I have a date with a pointy eared bastard.”

The door clicks softly behind you as you make your way back to your room to shower. If Zenos wanted to act like a jealous cunt, that was good as well as long as he didn’t take it out on you like some sort of child who didn’t learn how to properly communicate his feelings.

Showering, you make sure to use that same floral scent you started using over a month ago; the bottle is nearly empty now. And even though its effects don’t last long due to you immediately going into a heavy training session not even an hour after, it's still worth the few seconds you see Estinien’s nostrils flare and his eyes glaze over with muted desire. Pouring a generous amount on the loofah, you rub it along your body, focusing on the sensation of it gliding across your skin. Your sight focuses and unfocuses as you clean yourself up, gazing at old wounds, old cuts and tears.

Such ugly, ugly skin.

You were not without your own insecurities. Who would love such imperfection? Who would ever turn your way with all the scars you have? How would he ever--

Grunting, you turn the water as cold as it will go, shocking your system as your teeth begin to chatter. It scatters your thoughts enough that you can turn off the spray and step out, yanking the towel to wrap around your chilled body. Your thoughts are formless as you dress in fresh workout clothes. Some snug yoga pants and a tank top to go over your sports bra. Picking the choker up from your dresser, you fasten it around your neck, quickly forgetting its presence. Grabbing your bag, you head to walk out the door.

Your Lalafellin driver assigned to you awaits you outside, and you give him a wave as he holds open the backseat door for you. Stepping inside, you finally relax as he starts the car and pulls off from the estate.

The ride across town is not nearly as boring anymore, or at least it feels shorter now that you have been enough times. You usually text Ardbert during these rides, where you can chat about anything and you know your conversations aren't being monitored as closely. He's been incredibly supportive besides, happy to see you hanging out with someone much nicer, even if it wasn't fully your choice to do so. You had questioned why Varis actually agreed to continue your visits, but Ardbert advised you to not look a gift horse in the mouth and be happy he let you leave at all.

That made enough sense you supposed, though a small, inner voice told you to heed Zenos' words, that his father was a man with ulterior motives…but what were they?

I'll think about it later, you thought, seeing the Garlond estate come into view. The gate was already rolling open for you to come inside, the driver pulling up beneath the awning as usual. Your car had become a familiar sight at the estate, the security guard waving with a smile as you roll by. Grabbing your bag, you step out of the car and wave to your driver who waves in return and pulls away to leave until you call for him.

Walking through the front, you feel almost like you’re here on a friendly visit, not spying on the enemy. Sweet air conditioning welcomes you as you toe your shoes off at the door, slipping into your designated guest slippers. You had been given your own personal pair, which you had refused at first, but Cid had insisted. It was weird because he acted almost fatherly, but had no known children of his own, or even siblings, nieces, nephews to spoil.

“Ah, Honey, you’ve come a bit early!”

Turning around, you halt your trek to the backyard that leads to Estinien’s quarters to instead greet Cid. Just seeing him somehow brings a smile to your face. “Good morning, Cid.” You beam, giving him a small wave. He’s dressed semi-casual, sporting some simple khaki slacks and a powder blue button down. His goggles are present as usual, situated perfectly over his third eye.

“I had to send Estinien on a bit of an errand earlier; he might be a bit. I hope you don’t have any other business and mind a little bit of a wait?” He asks, already turning down the hall. After spending enough weekends coming over, you know that is an invitation to walk and talk with him.

“No, no other plans for today. I surprisingly have a pretty free day for once.” You laugh, following just behind him. He slows his pace to match yours, walking side by side with you.

“Good, good. Otherwise I would’ve prepared lunch for nothing!” He chortles, giving you good smack on the back. You wince only slightly; while incredibly rich, Cid is a man who still isn’t afraid to get his hands dirty and as a result he’s got some mean arms.

Walking into the kitchen, the smell of what seems to be pork wafts toward you. Sure enough, you watch as he makes his way to a nearby oven in the wall and pulls out two plates of perfectly, pan seared pork chops. Your mouth waters immediately, and even though you had already eaten breakfast before your training session with Zenos, you suddenly found yourself starving.

“Please, please, take a seat.” He offers, setting the plates down on the nearby island which seems to also serve as a makeshift bar-style table. Pulling a stool out, you take a seat as you watch him pull out two wine glasses from the rack overhead. Like the rest of his home, it is very modern in design, all light, powdery colors and big windows. “I hope you can hold your liquor enough that a little wine to go with our meal won’t affect your sparring later?” he asks, reaching for what is an obviously expensive bottle of red wine.

“No, I can hold my own well enough.” You laugh, setting your change of clothes down on the kitchen floor nearby. The food looks and smells delicious. The porkchop is paired with what looks to be oven roasted popotoes and sauteed greens. Just before you can grab a fork and knife and dig in, Cid is pouring you an almost generous glass of wine and drizzling your porkchop with, “Gravy?” you fail to hide the disbelief in your voice.

“Yes of course. Tell me, why the face?”

“I haven’t had gravy in so long,” It takes great care for you not to dig into your meal like some sort of barbarian, though you are on the edge of your seat as you wait for Cid to sit down so he too may eat. “I am kept on a very...limited diet.”

His brows furrow concerningly at that. “You are not starved are you?”

“No sir, I don’t mean limited like that.” You assure him, giving a nervous laugh. “What I mean is I don’t get to eat a lot of fatty foods; my meals are strictly nutritional. However, even my chef will occasionally risk his job to sneak some extra salt or cheese into my meals even at the risk of being found out by his employers.” You giggle, already imagining Lyngsath’s boisterous laugh in your mind’s eye.

You miss the split second Cid’s expression remains worried for one second longer before easing into something more neutral. “Yes, well...tell me Honey...do you enjoy your time at Galvus enterprises? Are they a good employer?”

You prepare to open your mouth but suddenly the weight of your choker feels heavy on your neck. Unconsciously, your fingers reach up to press against the cool metal, fingering the ruby of the Garlean logo betwixt two fingers. “I enjoy my time there. Some days are harder than others--”

“Honey.”

Looking up, Cid stares back with a serious expression, sapphire eyes gazing at you deeply. “I have known for a long time Varis has sent you to spy on me, and I have long since pinpointed that your choker records our every word. It is why I have worked to formulate this device actually,” he reaches under the table and pulls out what looks to be some sort of strange, robotic beetle. “It took a lot of tinkering, but it is capable of taking the words we are saying at this very moment and fabricating them into some arbitrary nonsense. Varis has some wonderful technicians in his employ sure, but I think it's safe to say that even ten of his best could hardly hold a candle to me.” Placing the small beetle on the table, you watch as it scampers around cutely. With a smirk, he cuts into his porkchop. “You are safe here, Honey.”

You are safe here, Honey. The light of the Mother Crystal will watch over you.

Tears well up in your eyes almost immediately, your hands dropping your utensils to quickly wipe at them. “Oh bother, I hadn’t meant to make you cry,” Cid grumbles, standing immediately to grab a cloth napkin from a nearby counter.

“No, no, it's not your fault,” your voice cracks as the dam finally breaks, your shoulders sinking as you finally release months worth of unshed tears. Suddenly, the weight of your sins comes bearing down upon you in this moment, your body jolting as one of Cid’s strong arms comes to wrap around your back in a comforting embrace.

How long has it been since someone had hugged you…?

After a minute or so, you manage to get yourself together enough that you can finish your meal. “I’m so sorry,”

“No, no, it seems you needed the cry.” He assures you, chewing on a piece of his food.

“I just...I can’t even remember the last time I’ve been able to talk without worry that someone was monitoring me. Without fearing that anything I could say, be it good or bad could be used against me. It’s so...freeing.” You sniffle, once again picking up your knife and fork.

“Then I have achieved my goal.” Cid replies, giving you a warm smile. “After all, you know the Ironworks slogan don’t you?”

Meeting his smile, you think for a moment. “...Freedom through technology?”

“Thatta girl.” He resumes eating his food. “Now tell me. Just how do they treat you over there?”

“It is...less so about the way they treat me and more so what I am made to do…” You trail off, cringing as horrid memories enter your mind.

“If you do not wish to elaborate, I will understand. It would not do to dredge up anything uncomfortable for you.” He urges, quickly refilling your glass. Paying no mind, you take a large swig of it, enjoying the light burn of alcohol going down your throat.

“They are...dark things. Horrid things.” Is all you say, deciding you need another sip of your wine. “This porkchop…”

“Made it myself.” Cid beams proudly, taking a bite of his own.

“You cook?” You ask, genuinely surprised. The meat is flavorful and juicy, well seasoned though you would prefer it a little saltier for your own tastes. The potatoes are well roasted, though some have a few overly crisp edges. The greens are that little bit of extra salt you were looking for, tying the meal together.

“As a hobby. I would say even I get tired of tinkering and making gadgets, but somehow I can never stop myself from optimizing my cookware when I'm making a good roast." He laughs, pouring himself a second glass of wine. "Besides, it is much more impressive to guests."

"I'm impressed just from the fact you deign to cook your own food. Varis would never do something like this; he sees work such as this for the help…" you trail off, finishing off your popotoes.

"I'm not surprised. Varis has always looked down his nose not just at people who were not Garlean, but those in a different tax bracket as well…" Cid sighs. "I've known Varis for quite some time, when we were both younger than we are now. My father was already a renowned engineer in Garlemald; it is not as if I had more humble beginnings. No, it is because of my father I was able to meet Varis."

"You make him sound...important." You say slowly, swallowing down a piece of pork.

"That's because he is." His tone is serious now. "He couldn't hide his money, his affluence, but he could hide his lineage." He sets his fork and knife down, gently dabbing at his lips with his napkin. "He is royalty."

You nearly drop your own at that. "Royalty?"

Cid nods gravely, taking a sip of his wine. "My father was a personal engineer for the Galvus family. Varis, however, was only the third son, and therefore not entitled to the throne even if it was posturing with no real power in congress. This gave him the opportunity to play himself off as a mere distant relative despite bearing the Galvus name."

You let that sink in, staring emptily at your plate. You knew so little of foreign affairs that you never put two and two together that he shared the name of the Garlean royal family. "But why,"

"On the surface, I'm sure it is to be his own person, and also to distance himself from his homeland to pursue his ambitions." He refills your glass, but you barely take note of it, knowing another glass will edge you towards tipsy. "I understand it, in a way. I too, wanted to separate my own ambitions from my father; from the cruelty he committed in the name of the royal family."

"But how was he able to leave an entire royal legacy behind?"

"The family simply denounced him back." Cid shrugged.

You mull over that for a few seconds, thinking on his words. "And what do you mean… by...cruelty?"

Cid fixes you with a stern look, silent for many moments. "I have never shared this with anyone aside from a close circle of friends; I trust you understand the need for confidentiality?"

You nod solemnly, your mouth suddenly feeling dry, the wine feeling appealing once again.

"I will not unload a lot of information on you at once...but Varis is far crueler than you could possibly imagine." He whispers. "The majority of my fathers experiments were at Varis’ behest. I could no longer support my father's endeavors and left to start my own company." Standing to his feet he grabs your plate and moves to place it in the sink. "Somedays still, it pains me that I could never reconcile with my father…"

"Can you still not? Is he no longer in Garlemald?" you ask, fisting your hands in your lap.

Reaching for the faucet, he runs water over the dishes, staring at the water as it goes down the drain. "He was killed by one of his experiments about three years ago now."

Your heart aches for him; you never would have known. You don’t even remember seeing it on the news at all. "Cid...I'm so,"

"No, no...no need to apologize." he chuckles lamely, picking the bones from the sink to toss in the trash and activating the garbage disposal for the rest. "I have long since made my peace with my regret." Grabbing the plates, he opens the dishwasher door and stores them inside. "I know not what horrors that tyrant puts you through Honey, but know this…"

Rounding the island, he pulls your hands from your lap, and cradles them in his own. "You will always have a home here."

The sincerity of his words makes you tear up again, fresh tracks running down your face as you giggle miserably. "I have not thought of having a home for some time..." You warble, wiping your tears on your arms. Cid reaches to grab you another napkin, smiling at your small murmur of thanks. “Thank you,”

"Hey, I thought hosts were supposed to be courteous to their guests."

Both of you turn to the furthest kitchen entrance, finding Estinien standing there in a rather nice suit instead of his usual training gear. He has his usual scowl, but you can see evident concern as he stares down Cid.

"Now, now, don't look at me like that. She is crying now, but if I wanted to woo her, Hydaelyn knows you wouldn't stand a chance with your prickly self." Cid teases, seemingly unable to help himself.

"Who said I was--" Estinien bursts before taking a calming breath. "Don't you have...I don't know a company to run?" he sighs, clearly knowing that getting riled up will only serve for Cid to tease him more.

"Yes, yes, I can see when I'm unwanted. I will whisk myself away. What is the furthest place in my home, I wonder? Perhaps the sun room, or the home theater…" Cid drawls, listing off the many rooms in his large home. “Also make sure you take the omega device with you Estinien!”

Snarling, Estinien grabs your bag from the floor (and swipes the poor beetle from the counter) and storms off. Giving a quick bow and a shy wave, you leave a laughing Cid behind.

Estinien takes a minute to catch up to with his long, Elezen stride, but you are now familiar enough with the grounds that you don't have to worry about getting lost if you fall behind. "Silly man, oof," You titter to yourself, only somewhat paying attention to where you’re going.

You hit a warm and hard surface, a hand snatching you by the wrist to steady you. "Silly?" Estinien echoes, arching a winter dusted brow.

Face heating, you give him a teasing look. "Of course. Have you seen yourself?" you snort, trying not to shiver as his thumb rubs small circles on your inner wrist.

"You've been drinking." He states, gently releasing your hand. Though his tone is disproving, you’ve learned to read the truth beneath the truth and spot a hint of mirth twinkling in his eyes.

“Or...Cid is a rather generous host, you should say.” You huff, moving past him to continue down the hall. Hearing him sigh behind you, his footfalls follow your own as you exit the main house and cross the grounds to his little corner of the estate.

“In that case I think it would be fair to say you are in no state to do any kind of sparring.” He says with a click of his tongue, watching as you toe off your guest shoes at the door. Dropping your bag to the floor he does the same with his own, placing them in a nearby cubby. Despite his gruff appearance, it never ceases to amaze how homely and welcoming his place is, all warm lighting, and soft edges. There’s a slight rustic feel to it, possibly caused by how a lot of the furniture is wooden and the walls covered in stone accents, hailing to his Coerthan heritage.

“How did you come to be here? From Coerthas I mean.” You blurt out, running your hand along the wall as you follow him through to the living room.

He’s stopped moving, his hand hooked around his tie. His expression is unreadable even to you for a few moments, before it eases into veiled pain. “I wanted a fresh start.” He tugs forcefully, loosening it from around his neck.

“I’m sorry,”

“Don’t apologize.” He cuts you off, throwing you a biting look. “Stay here, I’ll change.”

Reaching out for him, you stop him in his tracks, meeting his blue eyes with your own. “Are you changing to spar?”

“Is that not what you came here for?” he questions, arching a strong brow. His hand feels so much warmer in your own, but you do not feel a chill. In fact, you feel so warm yourself, and perhaps that wine Cid gave you was a little stronger than you thought. You suppose you should’ve expected as much from rich people alcohol...

“I...don’t know.” you murmur, releasing his hand slowly. You plop down on the couch, head full of so many thoughts; too many. Why were you here? If you came to spar, by all means you should’ve never drank at all. You were no lightweight, but that didn’t mean your body was immune to the slowing effects of alcohol. It's why even if you did grab a flute of champagne or two at an event where you were escorting Zenos, you paid careful attention to how much you were consuming. Your mind was still very clear, though. You never got drunk or even tipsy if you could help it.

Why did you feel so at ease here?

“What did the old man talk to you about?” Estinien asks, seeing that you are clearly lost in thought. He starts to undo his cufflinks, placing them on the coffee table just in front of you. He shrugs out his blazer, draping it gently over the back of the couch. The distance he sits away from you brings a giggle out of you; it is just far enough to be deemed respectable, but just close enough to push the boundaries of friendship.

“Old man?” You question, throwing him a smirk, to which Estinien gives one in return.

“He hates being called that. Told him if he just went clean shaven he’d age down about a decade.” He snickers, laying his right arm on the back of the couch. You watch as he fully relaxes into it, even going as far to kick his feet up on the table.

“He...told me about how Varis is a lot worse than he seems on the surface.” You admit quietly, fiddling with your hands in your lap. A sense of foreboding came with that knowledge; you felt it in your very bones. Something much bigger than you was heading your way, and you had to wonder if you were too late to stop it. “Funnily enough, Zenos had warned me too. Said that his father is worth fearing, even if I do not fear Zenos himself. That if I ever wanted to be free of this hell, that even leaving country might not be enough.” The exhale you give is weighed down by how defeated you feel. “It's been just over a year now...I’ve not seen my friends, I have no clue if they know I’m all right. I’ve not been able to contact...my old coworkers at all. Its like I’m living a totally new life.”

You gasp as Estinien’s warm touch glances just beneath your eye, wiping at a tear before it could fall. You freeze in place as the waterworks start again, except you find you cannot sob. Both for the strange reason in that you feel unable to blubber and wail once again, and also because you could never weep openly in front of him. “I-I’m fine,”

“Like hells you are.” Estinien snarls, fixing you with a hot glare despite his cool eyes. “You’re obviously bursting at the seams, Honey, you’re hardly keeping yourself together.” His voice is soft but still harsh, his body leaning toward you more as both hands try to futilely stop your tears.

“I’m sorry,”

“Stop apologizing, idiot.” He grunts, shifting to make himself a bit more comfortable. “You’ve done nothing wrong.”

“But I’ve hurt so many people,” you insist, whimpering as his hands move to clutch at your face fiercely, but not painfully.

“Did you want to?” he asks, staring deep into your eyes.

“...N-No,” you stutter, lip trembling.

“Then you’ve done nothing wrong.” He sighs, the sound incredibly pained. “Gods woman-- it's a wonder you’re holding yourself together as is.” His thumbs gently swipe at still flowing tears, and the motion is soothing, your eyes drifting closed. You allow yourself this small comfort, leaning into his touch, his warmth. It is silent, nothing but white noise in the background. The light hum of his refrigerator in the kitchen nearby, the chirping of birds outside. The sound of his nearing breath.

“Honey,”

You’ve leaned forward before you’ve realized it, able to feel his breath on your face. Opening your eyes, for once the Elezen man looks a bit unsure, teeth worrying his bottom lip in a uncharacteristic show of anxiety. “Estinien.” You breathe, pushing yourself closer, but he pulls away, just barely. Frowning, you lean back slowly, looking more dejected than you feel. “I’m sorry. I thought,”

“No...it was I who made the first move was it not?” He groans, running a hand roughly through his long hair. The two of you sit in strained silence, neither one of you wanting to break it. The clock on the far wall ticks loudly, thudding in your ears until Estinien heaves a heavy sigh. “I just...not like this, Honey.” he murmurs softly. “I want you sober and willing. Not drunk and depressed.”

“I’m not drunk.” You snap back immediately, with more venom than you intend. “I will admit that the wine Cid served me certainly had more alcohol than I was expecting, but I am of a clear mind. I want to be here, I…” you swallow down a gulp of air, turning to face him slowly. “I want you.”

Estinien regards you in silence, studying you carefully. “How do I know you aren’t lying?”

“A-About wanting you?” you stammer, not resisting as he slowly takes you by your wrists and pulls you toward him. You raise to your knees with the movement, being pulled to straddle his lap as he leans back against the couch, allowing you to rest your hands where you wish.

“No. About you being sober.” He responds, his gaze turning ravenous.

Pursing your lips together, you give him the most serious look you can muster. “When have I ever lied to you Estinien?”

He opens his lips for a moment as if there’s something he wants to say, but decides against it. “Your breath smells like expensive wine.” He chooses instead.

“Blame your boss,”

And you fall into him, pressing your lips to his own and by the Twelve does it feel wonderful. He groans into your kiss, tongue skimming along your bottom lip and you take it upon yourself to deepen your kiss, but Estinien wrestles back control immediately. He sees fit to remain in control and you are fine to let him, being okay with giving up the reins for a while. His hands shift to cradle your hips, smoothing up and down your sides before resting on your behind and giving a firm squeeze.

“Halone have mercy,” he gasps for air, breaking your kiss, giving another good squeeze before bringing your hips down to grind against his own, his bulge settled right where you need most and the two of you groan in unison. Your hands get greedy, yanking his tie off him as you continue your kiss, fingers fiddling to quickly undo his buttons.

“The one time,” you huff as he trails kisses to your jawline, to your neck. “You come home wearing something I can’t just pull over your head,”

“We can worry about that later,” he growls, stopping your movements by flipping you beneath him onto the couch, hitching your legs on his hips. “Much later,” He continues ravishing your neck and you let him, raising your arms so he can get you out of your shirt. Estinien undresses you like a man possessed, reason too far gone as you do the same to him. Both of your pants are shoved downward in a rush, hands down the other’s as if you were two teenagers locked away in a closet. And in a way, aren’t you? You’re not supposed to be fraternizing with the enemy at all. You’re here to weasel information out of the Ironworks CEO and his idiot bodyguard, or at least those were your orders.

Following orders doesn't’ feel nearly as good as this though.

It doesn’t feel as good as Estinien’s long, nimble fingers stretching your core, preparing you for him, because from what you’ve felt he is certainly proportionate, and you hope he can not just feel but see how ready you are for him. His lips unexpectedly press to your lower lips hotly, his tongue delving inside to taste your sweetness that has you sobbing into the couch. He groans so wantonly, finding you ready enough to flip you over, your back to his front, both of your pants around your ankles respectively. As he looms over you you feel the tip of his cock press against your core, a tingle shooting down your spine, a trickle of anticipation racing through your veins.

Slowly, he takes his time filling you, ilm by torturous ilm. He is patient, surprisingly gentle, though that isn’t to say you thought he would take you like some sort of brute.

Like the savages you were.

Fully hilted within you, he lets you adjust to his length, his breath hot even though you both are sweating. When you finally wiggle your ass against him does he begin to slowly thrust, groaning your name into your hair, clutching your hips as if it is in the only thing grounding him in the moment. One hand of yours clutches at a stray throw pillow, the other reaches between you to feel how he fills you; to feel the glide of his cock reaching so deeply within you that you can focus on naught else.

“Estinien,” you moan, back arching like a bow beneath him, his eyes screwed shut as he increases the force of his thrusts.

“You feel…” he rasps, slamming hard into you, pulling a cry from your throat. “There are no words,”

And from then on there is no need for there to be. You come on his cock more times than you dare count, your clothes strewn all over the living room, the kitchen. Each release is as great as the last, a welcome distraction from the mess your life has become. Time does not pass as you are bent over every flat surface in his home, fucked against every wall. Each orgasm sets you free as much as it weighs you down, until you find yourself weeping silent tears as Estinien spends himself inside you one last time.

“Honey...what’s wrong?” Estinien asks, cradling your naked body to his, pressing a kiss to your temple.

“I don’t,” you hiccup, feeling so small and helpless in his arms. “I don’t know. I feel so...guilty.”

You feel him frown against your head, but do not take note of it as you continue to weep. He carries you up the stairs to his bathroom, where he manages to get you both showered and clean. Too spent to bother getting dressed, he simply deposits you in his bed and tucks you under the covers, closing the blinds to block out the afternoon sun. You watch him with drowsy eyes, feeling a pain in your heart. “Estinien,”

He’s just about to leave the room but stops at the sound of his name. “Yes?” he asks, not turning around.

“Thank you.”

Saying nothing, he walks out the bedroom and closes the door behind him,

[seagreen-meets-grey]

When Lightning Strikes Ch. 13

When your life is nothing but a cloudless sky, lightning can come and strike you so unexpectedly, you won’t even know what hit you.

Or: When Hiccup and Astrid meet, it is as if lightning strikes.

[Chapter 1] [Chapter 2] [Chapter 3] [Chapter 4] [Chapter 5] [Chapter 6] [Chapter 7] [Chapter 8] [Chapter 9] [Chapter 10] [Chapter 11] [Chapter 12] [Chapter 14] [Chapter 15] [Chapter 16] [Chapter 17] [Chapter 18] [Chapter 19] [Chapter 20]

Crossposted on ao3 and ff.net

_______________

Astrid could hear the soft gurgling of the stream long before she saw it. Hiccup led her around several groups of trees, through dense thicket, over narrow footpaths so hidden, she wondered if he’d formed them himself or if he’d been here so often, he knew every single step by heart. Probably both.

Ducking underneath the low-hanging leaves of a beech and evading the thorned twigs of a blackberry bush, they arrived on a small meadow, blooming and buzzing in the warm sunlight. She breathed in deeply, filling her lungs with the sweet smell of late spring.

The stream was about ten feet wide, shallow water so clear she could count the pebbles at the bottom glistening in the light. She admired the way the current smoothly ran over and past the stones sticking out of the water, some big and round, some flat, serving as slippery step stones.

All around, leaves were rustling in the faint breeze, coming together with the humming and buzzing activity in the grass and the calming melody of the water in a soothing symphony.

The grass tickled her ankles as she slowly made her way to the bank of the stream, looking around and taking it all in. “This place is amazing.”

“It’s my favorite place in the forest.” Hiccup followed her and sat down on a small rock near the water. “Apart from the small cove my father used to take me to for fishing. It’s a bit further downstream, but last week I found a little fox family there and I don’t want to disturb them.”

She gently nudged him with her foot. “Scooch over.” When he moved to the side to make room on his rock, she settled down next to him. The surface of the rock was rather flat and not very big, just enough for two lean people to share without one butt cheek hanging over the side. It also meant that her entire side was pressed against his. He was warm and soft and comfortable. And maybe she leaned into him a bit, but only because she didn’t want to slide off the rock.

They sat in silence for a while. Astrid leaned back on her hands as far as she could on this surface and took in the scenery. Lining the meadow and the creek, knobby trees covered in ivy stood among straight trunks with white-gray pattern; overgrowing shrubbery, weeds and wildflowers nestled the ground close to their roots.

And there was green. Wherever she looked, everything was green, in different shades and shapes and sizes. When she breathed in through the nose, she could practically smell the luscious colors, along with the May bells and mayweed and the scent of fresh water in spring.

A gentle breeze brushed through her hair, harmonizing with the rustling of the leaves and the mellow mumbling and babbling of the water. Chirping and tweeting sounded from the trees, accompanied by the squeaking and cheeping of the baby birds hidden in the branches. A small, thin tree had grown low across the stream, its twigs hanging into the water, and she imagined the smaller animals using it as a bridge so they didn’t get wet feet or got carried away by the current.

Out of the corner of her eye, she caught sight of a tuft of red and white swiftly disappearing up the trunk of a tree. A vole scurried through the leaves on the other side of the stream. Occasionally, a sudden ripple on the water revealed a glimpse of the activity below the surface. She knew that the longer she waited, the more the life of the forest would reveal itself to her. There was no traffic, no people, just her and Hiccup and their promised nature quality time.

Also belonging to the scenery was one dashing young man with the kind of chiseled jaw covered in stubble that could kill a man – or woman. He was focused on something unspecific in the water. In the sunlight, his hair looked like it would catch on fire any moment. Even his eyelashes were glowing. Was it possible to be hot in a dorky way? Apparently. She took a deep breath and followed his gaze to the mesmerizing dance of light and tiny waves on the surface of the water.

After a few minutes of silence, she started plucking at a long blade of grass until she held half of it in her hand. Staring at the stream, she absentmindedly ripped the blade in tiny pieces. “I’m afraid Eret’s cheating on me.” She opened her palms and the grass landed on her shoes without a sound while she waited. She didn’t even know what she was waiting for, or why she’d admitted to that in the first place. She suspected the peacefulness of this place had gained her trust.

Hiccup regarded her thoughtfully. “Why do you think that?”

She crossed her arms with a sigh. “He keeps talking about this coworker of his. How much fun they have at work. How they always get stuck after their shift ends because of their infinite amount of conversation topics. It’s always ‘my coworker’ this and ‘my coworker’ that. And then last March, on their department’s spring party, I met Dana. She kept going on and on and on about how funny he is, how capable and handsome.” She tugged at a whole clump of grass, in desperate need to rip something apart. “She was practically throwing herself at him.”

“Hmm,” Hiccup made. “Have you talked to him about that?”

She huffed. “Oh, I have. I confronted him two weeks ago. He didn’t take the accusation that well.”

“You… blatantly accused him of cheating? I don’t think anyone would take that well.”

“How else was I supposed to talk to him about it? Ask him nicely if he has a mistress?”

He shrugged with one shoulder. “Yes. No? I don’t know. I guess there’s a more delicate way to approach that subject.”

“I’m a straight-forward person, I don’t like to beat around the bush. So when he started his next sentence with my coworker and I, I just snapped. I was so sick of it.”

“What happened?”

“It escalated. We yelled. Then while he packed for his work trip, I packed to go live with my parents for a while. Said I needed some distance. He said I didn’t even need to leave the house for that, because I was already acting distant. I said that the same would go for him. And the yelling started again and then we left and… Well.” She vaguely gestured around. “Here I am.”

“Sounds like a real mess.”

“It is.” She bit her lip. “What do you think I should do?”

He looked at her in earnest, sincerity deep in his eyes. “I think you should talk to him about how you feel. And maybe this time, leave out the blunt accusations.”

She groaned and threw her head back. “I don’t want to talk about my feelings.”

“At some point, you will have to. Take it from a guy who as a teenager ran away from every single confrontation because he was too afraid of failure and an outcome more negative than the actual situation.”

The boulder was back in her stomach. She wondered what would happen if she went into the water now. Why had she brought up the topic again? Because she’d felt comfortable enough to do so? And weirdly, despite her old friend the boulder, she wanted to get another thing off her chest. Desperately.

“I took a pregnancy test last night.” She felt his eyes bore into the side of her head.

“Are you…?”

She shook her head. “No.”

“Oh.” He opened and closed his mouth a few times, unsure of what to say. “Is that… I mean, did- did you… Are you- are you okay?”

Ripping out more grass, she scrunched up her face. “Yeah. I’m relieved, I guess. I mean, I always knew I wanted to have kids at some point, but…”

“But now’s not a good time,” he finished the sentence for her and she nodded. If she had been pregnant, then the whole situation would have been more complicated. She probably would have rushed back into a relationship that still needed more sorting out, ignoring any problems for the sake of the child. But that would have just made all parties involved more miserable.

She smiled at Hiccup. “Thanks. You’re good to talk to.” That was probably an understatement. It was somehow so easy to tell him about things she hadn’t even yet mentioned in passing around anyone else. They’d just started to really get to know each other, and she already trusted him completely. Her mother would call her naïve. But Astrid knew better, and so did he, judging by the meaningful look he gave her.

“Anytime.”

Before she could change her mind, she leaned her head on his shoulder. She could feel him freeze for a moment, but then he relaxed and slowly leaned his own head against hers. The boulder inside her dissolved.

A woodpecker joined them somewhere on their left, a cuckoo called faintly in the distance. She closed her eyes. The sun warming her face and the songs of nature were like a lullaby, luring her in for a nap. She’d almost drifted off when a gentle nudge brought her back. Looking up at Hiccup, she opened her mouth to say something, but he shook his head and pointed ahead.

There, on the other side of the stream, a deer poked its head out of the underbrush. It stood still for a moment, its nose quivering, before it slowly stalked towards the water. With one last check of its surroundings, it lowered its head and started drinking. Astrid didn’t dare to move a muscle or make the slightest sound.

However, a low gasp escaped her when a second deer came onto the meadow, then a third. One of them set its gaze onto the two humans on the other side, regarding them, and after a good twenty seconds of staring decided they were no threat. It was an incredible feeling. Her hand slowly reached for her phone, but before she could take it out of her pocket, Hiccup closed his hand over hers and shook his head. "Shh," he made, so quietly she almost didn't hear it. Her heart was pounding.

When the breeze suddenly picked up and carried their scent over, the deer tensed, holding their noses up in the air immediately. From one second to the other, all three of them leapt up and bolted, the snapping of twigs in the underbrush growing fainter by the second. The woodpecker, bumblebees and gurgling of the water slowly came back into focus. She and Hiccup looked at each other with a spark in their eyes.

“Thanks,” she whispered and he raised his eyebrows in question. “For taking me here.”

“Ah, you’re welc–” His voice died when she suddenly leaned forward and gave him a kiss on the cheek. With wide, green eyes he stared at her, and she assumed her expression mirrored his. Her lips tingled, warm and exciting. The sensation wandered down her arm into her hand and she managed to break away from his gaze to look down. He followed her eyes and when he realized his hand was still holding hers, he gulped and slowly pulled away, the nerves under her skin longing to chase his touch.

“We… We should probably get going,” she feebly suggested.

“Yeah,” he agreed, voice an octave higher than normal. “That’s exactly what I was gonna… Get going.” Looking anywhere but at her, he scrambled up from the rock and orientated himself. “There- let’s… Uh, let’s go there.”

For some reason, her knees needed a moment before they let her walk after him. Whatever that had just been, she should just forget about it. She followed Hiccup through the trees, no paths directing the way. All she could do was trust him that he knew where he was going, and she did. He led her up a small hill, leaves and twigs crunching under their steps.

“Hey, your shoe is untied,” she noted. He stopped to look down and a soft oh escaped him. It was cute.

While she readjusted her socks that were slowly slipping from her heel, he bent over to relace his shoes, giving her a good look at his backside. From her point of view – which was completely neutral, of course – he had a nice butt. When he stood again, she jogged past him and gave it a light slap.

“Astrid!” he exclaimed in surprise.

She just smirked at him. “Come on, slowpoke!” Then she sprinted down the other side of the hill.

“Oh, you!” she heard him call before he took after her, chasing her through the woods. She made it down the hill, past a group of birches and around a thick beech when he came around the other side of it, throwing his arms around her and lifting her up. “Gotcha!” He immediately let go of her after, walking further down the invisible path only he could see.

She had to catch her breath for a second before she fell back in step beside him. From the sprint. “Just so you know, I let you win.”

“No, no you didn’t!” he countered in a chipper tone.

“Because I was tired of playing catch.”

“Nope, you weren’t.” She stuck her tongue out at him, making him laugh. “You’re so mature, Ms. Hofferson.”

“That’s because I’m older than you.”

“By two months! Hey, watch your step, there’s a lot of vines here.” Naturally, he promptly stumbled over one, catching himself on a tree.

“Watch your step, there’s lots of vines here.”

He shook his head. “Well, aren’t you a little smartass.”

“Takes one to know one,” she shrugged.

“Eh, can’t argue with that.”

She brushed her fist along his arm again and caught his grin.

All too soon, she began to make out traffic and chatter in the distance again. It felt like leaving a different, peaceful universe, where the rest of the world and its problems didn’t exist. It was kind of disappointing. And if that wasn’t enough, on their way back to the cars, her phone started ringing with a very familiar name filling the screen. She sighed. She didn’t want to deal with that right now, but knew that ignoring his call wouldn’t make anything any better.

She threw Hiccup an apologetic look and held her phone against her ear. “Hi.”

“Hey.” There was an awkward beat of silence. “I’m on my way home and uh… I just wanted to know if you’re there.”

“No.”

“Are you… still in Berk? At your parents’ place?”

“Yes.”

“Do… Do you know when you’ll be coming back?”

“No.”

When her answers didn’t become more elaborate, Eret cleared his throat, and after years of being with him, she could tell he was about to say something he’d rather not say at all. “You, um. You were right, by the way. About Dana.” Bright red warning bells rang in her mind at that name. “She kissed me last night.” He cleared his throat and gulped audibly.

She stepped past the last line of trees and onto the gravel of the parking lot, and leaving the woods had never felt this sobering. “I fucking knew it,” she mumbled through clenched teeth.

“Astrid–”

“I knew it!”

“Hey, hold on, please let me finish!”

She walked a small distance away from Hiccup and any other people in the near vicinity. No need for them to overhear her personal drama. “Fine, I’m listening!”

“Like I said, you were right, she wanted–”

“Did you kiss her back?”

“No–”

“So there’s nothing going on between you and your coworker?”

He didn’t immediately answer and his hesitation stung. “Will you just let me explain?!”

“You didn’t answer my question!” She was yelling and she knew it. People were turning their heads so she glowered at them.

“And you didn’t let me speak in the first place! You know what, my mother’s right, sometimes you really do act like my personal dictator.”

Astrid’s jaw dropped to the floor. “WELL, FUCK YOU TOO!” she screamed and it took everything in her to not fling her phone across the parking lot. Instead, she hung up and forcefully kicked at a large pebble on the ground. It whirled up dust and gravel and hit a stranger’s car. She couldn’t care less. Everything inside her was fuming. How dare he? How dare they?!

With a frustrated growl, she turned around and walked back to Hiccup. He had given her some space and was leaning against his car.

“Everything alright?” he asked carefully at her aggressive body language.

“I was right! Eret just told me! He and his stupid fucking coworker!”

“So… He admitted to cheating on you?”

“Well, no, not in those words, but…”

“So he didn’t?”

“He was telling me the story of how he and Dana had fun last night, but I just...”

“You avoided the topic.”

She opened her mouth, closed it, then huffed. “I didn’t need to hear any details.”

“Hm,” he made, thoughts scurrying across his face. “Are you sure there isn’t more to the story than you think? Maybe you should talk–”

“Don’t tell me what to do!” she interrupted him, the words breaking out of her on their own.

He held up his hands in defense. “Geez, sorry. I’m just trying to help.”

Something churned inside her stomach, between all the raging knives, something akin to guilt. Seeing his expression, her shoulders untensed a little. “No, sorry for yelling at you. I’m just so– ugh!” Her fist punched the next best thing, which was the metal pole of a parking sign. A flash of pain shot through her knuckles and she shook her hand out with a hiss.

“Hey, can I say something?” Hiccup asked, caution coating his voice with his eyes set on her aching hand.

She shrugged. “As long as it doesn’t include the word overreaction.”

He shook his head, brows furrowed in contemplation. “I might be going out on a limb here, but… Do you think that, maybe, you want it to be true?”

“Why on Earth would I want that?!”

“Because… Because you’re not happy in your relationship and- and this way, you can put the blame on someone other than yourself.”

“EXCUSE ME?!” The blazing wall of fire burned every shred of guilt and sympathy she felt.

He held up his hands again. “I’m just saying, you accused him of cheating, kept yelling at him – I’m assuming offensively – and now you yelled at him again instead of hearing him out. Is that what happened or am I totally off-base here?”

“Are you taking his side?!”

“No! If it were up to me, I wouldn’t be involved in this at all!”

“Then why are we still having this conversation?” She crossed her arms tightly over her chest as he sighed.

“Because I care about you. And I hate seeing you digging yourself deeper into this mess, so I’m trying to help you realize what to do.”

“Really? Then what is it I should do?”

“Let him give you his side of the story. Without any yelling.”

She leaned against the pole, suddenly very tired. “I…”

“You know,” he said when she didn’t continue, avoiding his searching eyes, “for someone claiming to be so straightforward, you sure like to run from truthful conversations.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” she asked, voice rising again.

He looked at her for a moment, then shook is head. “Never mind.”

“No, if you have something to say, then say it!”

After a short contemplating glance, he stood up straight. “Fine. You say you don’t like to beat around the bush, but how come we’re not talking about what happened on your wedding day? Or at Dagur’s party? Are we just going to ignore all that until we die?”

“What- I don’t- We-” she stuttered, her stomach dropping further than the ground beneath her feet. At once, she felt exposed, vulnerable, and confused at the same time. Her mind decided on the next best defense mechanism. “What is there to talk about?” She could see the small change in his eyes, a gray curtain falling, tired, disappointed, sad.

“You’ll keep denying it, won’t you.” It was more of a statement than a question and that somehow hit even harder.

“What is there to deny?”

Suddenly, he took a large step towards her, until he was so close, their noses were almost touching. She could feel the heat of his body, smell his deodorant, make out every tiny hair on his face and the miniscule change of skin tissue at the edges of the long, white scar on his chin. Her breath hitched, heart pounding rapidly, her entire being longing to close the remaining gap between their bodies. Her knees weakened. It was hard to not get mesmerized by his eyes, a deep, green galaxy right before her. She tore her eyes away from them, only to latch onto his lips. She couldn’t breathe.

Like detaching himself from a magnet, he slowly stepped back and the air found its way back into her lungs. She could hear her heartbeat in every cell of her body, had trouble making sense of her surroundings, like waking up in a dark room with only a sliver of light coming from an unknown direction. By the time her feet touched solid ground again, mere seconds could have passed, or entire lifetimes.

“You’re right,” he said, strained voice cutting right through her chest, “there’s nothing to talk about. You dropped your phone, by the way.” With that, he got into his car, reversed out of the parking spot, and drove away. Even after he was long gone and the sound of his engine had faded in the distance, Astrid was still rooted to the spot, staring in the direction he had disappeared.

It took her a while to reassemble herself, clear the fog in her mind, will her heartbeat to finally slow down. On autopilot, she picked her phone up from the ground, wiped the gravel off the screen, saw the new variation of tiny scratches on the back but didn’t truly see anything. Her mind was still drowning in the sudden proximity to Hiccup Haddock, which shouldn’t have shaken her as much as it had, considering she’d sat close to him merely an hour ago.

Only when she was back in her own car, weaving her way through Berk’s rush hour traffic, her fingers stopped twitching at the memory of being almost skin to skin with him. As the fog was clearing, her confusion began settling, the puzzle pieces setting themselves back together, and a fist of steel closed around her still thumping heart.

It remained like that for the rest of the day. She managed to smile, make small talk, be present enough to get through the conversations with her parents, avoiding too much eye contact, especially with her mother. She probably noticed her mental absence but knew it would be futile to try and get anything out of her.

Astrid went to bed at ten; she tossed, turned, buried her face in her pillow until long past midnight. Now that she was alone with her thoughts, lying in the dark in her old bedroom, there was no place to hide from her mind. It insisted on replaying the whole day over and over, gnawing and nibbling away at her from the inside. When she closed her eyes, she saw green irises, a storm of freckles dancing across her retina, lips so close her fingers twitched to touch them, her own lips puckering. And even though it’s been several hours, she could still feel his hand on hers, warm and gentle and setting a blazing fire to her core.

He kept haunting her, occupying her every thought, every beat of her heart. Her ribs were aching from the steel inside her chest, pressing cold and heavy against her heart and lungs ever since her fight with Hiccup. She felt terrible. All he’d done was be honest, something she had not been with herself for a very long time, and she’d lashed out at him just like she had at Eret and her mother.

She grabbed her phone from the nightstand and squinted at the bright screen. Opening the right messenger app, she drafted an apology message, deleted it several times, all the time hoping he wasn’t looking at his side of the chat right now and saw her typing. Because in the end, she’d gone through at least ten versions of the same text and didn’t send any of them. None of them sounded right, didn’t fully convey the sincerity of her feelings. Instead, she got lost in her thoughts again, staring at the ceiling, phone forgotten beside her with the screen gone dark from long inactivity.

Gazing down at her was a pair of eyes. Lighter towards the middle, a dark green ring at the edges, and depending on how the light hit them, either forest green or a brilliant shade of emerald. It was so fascinating to watch him, to survey the everchanging expressions on his face, his emotions an open book most of the time. The way his eyebrows dipped, the corners of his mouth twitched or the crinkles around his eyes deepened, eyes always the most telling. How his features changed with every new thought, every new idea, and the way his shoulders and hands could carry half the conversation for him.

The sound of his laugh, sometimes dorky, sometimes sassy, sometimes charming, and always so uniquely Hiccup. That lopsided smile of his that could turn into a smirk when he thought of something witty to say. How he listened to her, even when all she was spouting was a bunch of mundane bullshit. How he showed interest in everything she said and did. His kind nature, his honesty, his spirit. The way he could turn her insides to mush and her soul to dangle freely a few thousand feet in the air by just a look or a simple touch. How he inspired her to be herself.

Never before had she been this intrigued by someone, never had she wanted to discover every little thing there was to know about another person. Wanted him to know her better than she did herself. Wanted to know him better than anyone else. Wanted him with her here, next to her, right now. Wanted to feel his warmth, his touch, his breath ghosting over her lips, over her skin, before tracing every line, every patch of skin on her body with his tongue. A deep, longing sigh escaped her as she imagined all the things she wanted him to do to her, everything she wanted to do with him. Craved him more than she ever had anyone else.

But above all, she couldn’t keep running from the truth any longer, especially since it was blaring in her face like a trumpet. As soon as she opened that gate, the steel in her chest melted, glowing and smoldering as it encased her heart. A giddy thrill coursed through her, as well as fatigue, as she finally gave in, let the wall crumble brick by brick. By the time the first choked sob rocked her body, the tears were already flooding down her face, hot and salty, paired with incredulous laughter.

Fuck. This was it, wasn’t it? She was undeniably and irrevocably screwed.

[passmeabook]

Servamp: A Mother’s Face

I’m just going to refer to Mahiru’s mother by my own personal headcanon name of Shirota Haru because continuously writing Mahiru’s mother gets tedious after a while.

Shirota Haru to me is a fascinating character. She’s the mother of our protagonist, but we really don’t know much about her. Not her real canon name, not her inner opinions, and not even her perspective.

She’s an often unseen character who’s had much influence over Mahiru and his decisions. Yet, we rarely if ever see her face. This is important because in the manga Mahiru is usually the POV character, and despite the fact that he should know what his mother’s face looks like in his memories her face is either shadowed or not shown at all. The only time Shirota Haru’s face appears fully is when an external factor beyond Mahiru’s control causes him to feel strong emotions. Mahiru has never shown us, the readers, her full face from his POV without the influence of another person.

Hypothesis:

Mahiru actively blocks out the memories of his mother because he feels survivors guilt among other negative emotions about her death.

With the Ch. 97 raws it seems like there was a child’s hand in front of the car from Mahiru’s memories. Perhaps he accidentally ran into the road and his mother saved him at the cost of her own life? In the anime too we are shown a car accident that seems to be her cause of death.

Ch. 24: Tears

In this chapter we see the face of Mahiru’s mother clearly for the first time ever. Mahiru’s memories of her are brought upon by Licht playing on his piano-lead. Mahiru did not choose to remember his mother voluntarily. Licht’s piano brought up the memories of her. Since Lawless himself is also shown remembering Ophelia in this chapter we can guess that the music is supposed to bring up the memory of your most cherished and beloved person. In this case Haru for Mahiru and Ophelia for Lawless. We can only speculate who Kuro was seeing when the music played, but it's likely The Creator.

Since Lawless had regrets about Ophelia’s death and Kuro had regrets about The Creator’s death we can speculate that Mahiru himself also has regrets over his mother’s death. Ophelia and The Creator’s deaths devastated Lawless and Kuro beyond words. It is not a nice comparison for Mahiru to share this similarity.

Ch. 68: So That We Won’t Become Lonely

In Ch. 68 we see the face of Mahiru’s mother once again. Reaching out to Mahiru to hold his hand as they walk. I once again believe that the reason we see her face is because of an influence external of himself e.g. Tsurugi who interferes and enters Mahiru’s mind in the previous chapter 67. If you look closely you’ll see that the way Tsurugi enters Mahiru’s mind by standing on the ceiling is the same way Mahiru entered Inner!Kuro’s rose mindscape in Ch. 92. In Ch. 67 Inner!Kuro himself tells Mahiru that someone’s thoughts are intercepting his and calls mini-Tsurugi an intruder.

I think it’s important to realize that Tsurugi is the force that prompts Mahiru to remember Haru’s face. Because if you go back to the Ch. 67 chapter you’ll see that Mahiru and Haru had a colored introduction, but the top part of Haru’s face is shadowed. 

Continuing further on in Ch. 67 and we come to find out from Inner!Kuro remarks that they are inside Mahiru’s mind. Inner!Kuro pulls up a few memories that seem to be related to the topic of Haru and her death, and Mahiru becomes agitated at seeing them.

Even Inner!Kuro in Mahiru’s own mind couldn’t make Mahiru see her face. The scene above takes place right before mini-Tsurugi shows up.

Ch. 79: Touma Taishi- The Tower

We see Haru’s face come to Mahiru’s mind when Touma is giving him a run down of “The unjust conditions which you cannot choose.” It is only when Touma mentions “Parents” that Mahiru’s face changes as he remembers his mother. If you look closely you’ll see the picture of her is the same as in Ch. 68. Mahiru once again sees her face clearly because of someone else; in this case Touma.

Ch. 86: The Requirements of a Hero

This is currently the last time we see the face of Shirota Haru clearly. Again the reason we see her face is because of external factors beyond Mahiru’s control e.g. Toru being grievously wounded by Tsubaki and Iori bringing up the topics of heroes. Iori tells him, “It’s the fact that they will surely come back smiling… Toru knows that.” Iori is talking about Toru in regards to heroes coming back home and that Toru is Mahiru’s hero, but in the flashback Mahiru is shown to be thinking of his mother coming back home smiling. To Mahiru his mother is his hero.

Also the face Mahiru makes. It’s almost exactly like the one in Ch. 96 when he’s having his breakdown in the shower thinking about Toru.

Conclusion:

The topic of his mother is a sensitive one for Mahiru. Excluding Ch. 68, where Haru appears as some mixture between a memory and a sort of dreamscape being, all the times Mahiru remembers his mother are when he is his current age of 16-years-old. Just look at the faces he makes: Ch. 24 where he is literally crying, Ch. 79 where he has this shocked look on his face, and Ch. 86 where he just outright does not look good.

From what I’ve seen these four times in the manga are the only times that the face of Shirota Haru is shown clearly to the viewer. Other times her face is covered in shadows or only the bottom half of her face is visible to the viewers. 

I headcanon her name as Shirota Haru because we’ve never been given one for her, but I’m willing to bet that the chapter where Mahiru lets go of whatever negative feelings, such as survivors guilt, that he has about his mother’s death is the chapter where not only will Mahiru, and by extension us the readers, see her face clearly but allow us the readers learn her real canon name.

The other route for us to learn more about her is from either Touma, Iori, or Toru. Toru is her brother who grew up with her and also seems to know a secret about Mahiru’s birth, Touma is the biological father of her child and since both managed to keep their relationship a secret from Toru he probably knows a side of her that’s different from what Toru knows, and Iori would know her in passing as Toru’s sister and if she worked in C3 in any way. Iori also just seems to give off the vibe that he knows a lot more than he lets on. His conversation with Mikuni in Ch. 72 is highly suspicious to me.

I do think that there is more to her death than a simple car accident, but I’m not quite sure what. I look forward to seeing what the manga reveals about her.

If we don’t get as many chapters dedicated to her as we did to Touma and his backstory I will be sorely disappointed.

Picture Sources:

Ch. 24: @pastenaga​

Ch. 67, 68, 72, 86, 92, & 96: @hello-vampire-kitty​

Ch. 97: @svpages

I apologize for any grammar mistake. I also apologize that I couldn’t figure out how to properly resize the pictures. I’m still very new to this.

[captcas]

Worth Fighting For

WORTH FIGHTING FOR by capthamm

Killian “Hook” Jones is a dominate up and comer in the UFC while Emma “The Savior” Swan’s career was cut short. When Hook’s manager moves up and the office brings in UFC’s youngest legend to keep him in check, will either of them be able to handle it?

read on ao3 // tumblr: ch 1/ ch 2

[CHAPTER 3/?]

Saturday night brings their monthly movie/game night and Emma has never been more grateful for a distraction. Ruby and the Nolans will come over around 6 o’clock and Henry is practically bouncing off the walls with excitement. Tonight’s theme is Star Wars and this will be Henry’s official introduction to the series; at David’s insistence they’re starting with A New Hope and going release order from there. They’re also going to play Star Wars trivia which Henry will undoubtedly suck at.

Should be a fun night all around.

And it was, until Henry went to bed and the “adults” got to talking.

Ruby cracks another beer and turns to Emma, “So, Emma, you’ve got probably the coolest new job in the world and you haven’t said jack shit.”

She shoots Ruby an icy glare as David and MM stop bickering over whether or not Kylo Ren deserved a redemption arc to hear what Emma has to say.

Emma sighs, “It’s going alright. All the onboarding is underway and between the perks, benefits, and pay, Henry should be set for life.” She’s been fortunate to live off her winnings for the past nine years, being mindful of money and not giving into the lifestyle of frivolous spending many fighters take on, but -even her friends know- she doesn’t have a money tree.

The looks on their faces when she mentions Henry being set for life could melt 1000 Olafs. When she arrived at Ruth Nolan’s home at the age of 16, she never expected to find a family. Hardened by a life too lived for anyone her age, Emma assumed they’d be like every other foster home and use her for the money. To this day, she’s never been so happy to be wrong.

Emma’s not sure what twist of fate landed an orphan with such a great support system, but she’ll be forever grateful. David took to the “protective brother” role immediately. Soon after Emma moved in, he met Mary Margaret (fireworks and butterflies and all that mumbo jumbo) who introduced them to Ruby. They’re small, and maybe a bit scrappy, but they’re family.

She breaks out of her thoughts and returns to the present, “I will need some babysitting though; I’m required to attend each of my client’s Fight Nights. But overall it’s great, really!”

She hopes she squeaked away without having to mention Jones at all but the glint in Ruby’s eye tells her otherwise. “Ok that’s all fine and dandy,” Mary Margaret shoots Ruby an incredulous look, warning her to tread carefully, but Ruby ignores her and continues, “but who’s the client?”

David is giving her a protective father vibe, Ms is practically vibrating, and she's pretty sure Ruby is salivating. Emma sighs realizing she shouldn’t postpone the inevitable, “Killian Jones.”

Ruby practically drops her drink and Mary Margaret squeals, David rolls his eyes and turns back to the TV where SportsCenter has been playing in the background. Mary Margaret beats Ruby to the punch, “THE Killian Jones?! As in Killian “Hook” Jones?!”

Emma nods, standing up to refill the only slightly empty chip bowl in front of her. She knew this was going to happen and she wasn’t exactly looking forward to her friends thirsting over her client– client… right.

Ruby speaks next, “Well that is probably the best case scenario. Do you think he can get us tickets? Have you met him? Is he as gorgeous in person as he is on TV? Can we meet him?”

Emma, now glad she’s in the kitchen with space to breathe, is starting to feel a bit overwhelmed. She knows Ms can sense it and is unsurprised when she speaks next,“For Christ’s sake Ruby let her breathe. She’s probably only had her initial meeting with him.”

Ruby seems to get the hint and it doesn’t take long before Ms is in the kitchen helping Emma pick up the leftover pizza, “We’re happy for you, Emma. He’s a huge client for them, they obviously trust you to do a good job.” Emma nods in thanks and they both head back into the living room. Her sister-in-law’s warmth always calms her (and Ruby) down which allows David to jump in and change the subject to the coverage of some football player’s arrest on SportsCenter. Emma finally catches a breath and realizes just how lucky she is for the friend dynamic they have before settling in to debate if this James Spencer kid should still be eligible for the draft.

As she lays in bed that night, Ms’ words ring through her head. Despite the rollercoaster of emotions she’s been feeling, Killian is a huge client, one that was formerly represented by a namesake for the company. This re energizes her a bit and helps her fall asleep, actually excited for what's to come.

She wakes up Sunday morning and makes Henry some pancakes and declares it a lazy Sunday. Henry happily obliged, cuddling up on the couch with The Deathly Hallows while Emma threw on some shitty reality TV.

. . .

When her alarm rings Monday morning, Emma pulls her pillow over her head like some teenager from one of those Disney Channel movies.

It takes her a second to remember what day it is and why she’s up at this godforsaken hour.

Killian Jones. Right.

She audibly groans before rolling out of bed and getting ready for the day. Between her shower and breakfast she gets Henry up. School starts at 8 so he’s technically running a bit behind but he’ll make it on the bus in time… hopefully.

She’s pouring him a bowl of cereal when he comes out of his room zipping up his sweater and rubbing his eyes.

“Hey, kid. Coco Puffs or Fruit Loops?” He mumbles some semblance of what she thinks is Fruit Loops so she pours the bowl and slides it across the kitchen island. He smiles in thanks as she pours her own bowl and sits beside him.

“So today’s the big day?”

She didn’t tell Henry about her new client and when she spoke to the Nolan’s and Ruby, he was definitely supposed to be sleeping. “How could you possibly know that?”

“You’re not as quiet as you think you are and I’m not as tired as you think I am.” He yawns as if to punctuate his point.

“Uh huh, sure, kid.” He gives her a knowing glance and she realizes she’s not getting out of this. She runs her hands over her face and sighs, “Yes, today is the first meeting and I’m only slightly nervous to fu— screw this whole thing up.”

Henry chuckles at her attempted censorship (she never said she was a perfect parent), “You’ll be great, Mom, and Hook seems like a decent enough guy. I’m sure he won’t give you too much trouble.”

She stares at Henry a bit dumbfounded. It shocks her everyday how old he’s getting– nine going on nineteen for sure.  “Are you hiding some Weasley’s Extendable Ears in your room or something? Are you a wizard? Should you be at Hogwarts?” Emma is very obviously trying to derail this conversation but it works, setting Henry off about how he’s finally on the sixth book and explaining the concept of a horcrux.

Oh, her sweet summer child.

God, maybe he is old enough for UFC.

When did that happen?

She ushers Henry to the bus, promising him they’ll watch the sixth movie tonight if he finishes the book today and is to school on time. It’s only September and he can’t be late three times in the first month of school. She kisses his forehead and he wishes her good luck.

Sometimes she wonders how such a screw up ended up with the perfect kid.

After cleaning up the kitchen, Emma finishes getting ready. She jumps on the subway and finds herself at the office with a half hour to spare. She’s never early so she chalks it up to nerves and uses the time to prep for this meeting.

Over the weekend she received multiple emails from Gold’s team surrounding a possible spot for Killian on the card for the pay-per-view Fight Night in November.

A pay-per-view card. She did enough research about Killian this weekend to know that would be his first.

Emma feels like she’s been thrown into the deep end before being taught how to swim.

Go big or go home.

She did a lot of research about Killian and learned practically nothing. She knows he came here from London almost ten years ago and that his team includes his head trainer Robin (husband of now former manager Regina Mills), and three other men named Will Scarlett, August Booth, and William Smee (he’s really selling it with that whole Hook theme). Other than that all she found was his record and highlights. He’s 6-0 which is insane for only being in the circuit for a year and a half– fighters are usually limited to three, maybe four fights a year.

4 of his 6 are knockouts.

He’s good… really good.

Her thoughts are interrupted by a light tapping on the edge of her cubicle. She glances up to find none other than the man himself. She can’t help but double take.

Real professional, Emma.

She's only ever seen him in the ring, at the gym, or dressed up for a business meeting. She’s not sure what she expected, but a leather jacket and pants that fit him like his own skin definitely weren’t it.

He looks good… really good.

Emma snaps herself out of it, “Hi, Mr. Jones, just give me a moment and we can head to the conference room.”

“It’s Killian, love, please.” She notices he winces at the seemingly habitual pet name. Emma ignores the ring of disappointment that runs through her gut at the realization that it may not be reserved for her. “A conference room’s a bit formal, don’t you think? Let’s get out of here, Swan.”

He grabs her hand before she can answer. “Mr.— Killian. Is this allowed?”

He chuckles. “We can plan the meetings at our leisure,” he says the last bit in an almost scary imitation of Regina, “but even still, Regina and I never met in office. A bit silly for two people to take up an entire conference room, yeah? Come on, lass, try something new. It’s called trust.”

Emma rolls her eyes but follows along anyway. The elevator ride should’ve been awkward but Killian kept the conversation flowing by asking her preferred drink. “Coffee, tea, or smoothies?”

Despite the risk of sounding like a child, Emma finds herself being honest with him, “Uhh, I actually prefer hot chocolate… with cinnamon.”

He smiles brightly at her, as though her drink order was the most brilliant discovery this century, “Perfect, Swan. I know just the place.”

She was so swept up in his ambush, she doesn’t realize that this isn’t the cocky, asshat Killian Jones she sees on tv or at the gym until he’s practically dragging her across the street to a small cafe. This Killian seems genuine and carries this almost childlike excitement.

Emma tells herself she has no interest in learning more about this Killian.

(Emma doesn’t have to tell herself that that is complete bullshit.)

. . .

He can’t stop himself from beaming when she offers up her drink order without hesitation. Killian feels like a bloody teenager around her. He promised himself he wouldn’t feel this way again, but something about Emma Swan has completely entranced him.

He finds himself fascinated with every part of her, including the small things, like the fact she takes cinnamon on her hot chocolate.

Once they get to the cafe across the street, Killian forces himself to dial it back. He can tell she’s guarded and as much as he’d like to be friends (more than friends) with the lass, he knows business has to come first.

It wouldn’t exactly be a good look for him if he ran “The Savior” out of the office on her second day.

Somehow he thinks he doesn’t have that power.

He’d like to. (Obviously not to run her out of the office, but he’d like his existence to mean that much to her.)

Bloody hell, he's being ridiculous.

They sit down across from each other at a small table by the window. He expects to start the conversation but before he can form a coherent thought she’s speaking.

“So, Killian. I’ve already received some correspondence from Gold’s team. I’m not sure how much time you usually take between fights and I know it’s already the end of September but…”

She’s rambling and he doesn’t think he’s ever seen anybody so adorable when they’re nervous.

Adorable is not a professional descriptor.

Killian Jones doesn’t want “professional” with Emma Swan.

Fuck.

“...Gold is hoping to get you on the main card for November 14th.”

Did she just say main card?

He chokes on his coffee.

“Main card, Swan? I’ve never been on the main card. Strictly early prelims…”

She eyes him suspiciously, “Usually that’s a good thing. Upward momentum and all that. His team is clearly impressed by your dominant record.”

“Is his team the only one impressed?” The flirt escapes him before he can stop it.  

Bloody idiot.

She doesn’t even bat an eye, “The entire league seems to be impressed, Jones.” Her tone tells him she knows what just happened but she shut it down immediately.

He likes a challenge.

Emma Swan may be his favorite challenge yet.

Emma Swan is off limits, but Killian will be damned if he cares.

. . .

Emma is surprised when Killian pays for their drinks despite her insistence that she can charge it to Mills Management. She’s also surprised by how nice he is.

She keeps waiting for the other shoe to drop.

She’s still waiting.

He’s definitely flirtatious, every other sentence being easily twisted into some sort of innuendo, but she can tell it’s a front. The little things he does like tipping the barista an extra fifty cents or holding the door for her, let on to the man behind the persona.

Well, and the fact he practically chokes when she tells him they want him for the main card.

He seems genuinely shocked that anyone would be impressed by him. His mask comes out almost immediately, another innuendo laced into his question. She doesn’t let him go there, shutting it down as quickly as it started. For this to work, she needs him the real him. Not the cocky MMA fighter who he used to catch the eye of UFC execs. She compliments him, and it’s beyond genuine. That seems to calm his nerves a bit as they move into social media management and he shifts into a professionalism she’s not entirely prepared for.

She’s not sure she wants professional Killian Jones.

Whoa, Emma, pump the breaks.

She shakes it off as she watches him take notes on what she’s saying about the importance of a lead up on Twitter and how it can set the tone for the entire fight. His tongue runs along the inside of his lower lip as he concentrates and she can’t help the overwhelming wave of attraction that hits her.

Like lightning.

It’s not just the tongue, (but that’s not helping) it’s his dedication to this sport and how he actually gives a fuck about what she’s saying. Killian never displayed even a hint of the deeply rooted misogyny that runs rampant throughout the industry. He actually seems almost humbled by her presence. The words escape her mouth before she can’t stop them, “Why are you actually taking anything I say seriously?”

Very professional, Emma. Way to instill confidence in your client. Smooth.

His head snaps up at her abrupt question and he looks confused. “I know you don’t like being called a legend, Swan, but you were a damn good fighter. If I walk out of this partnership with half the following and success you had, I’d call that a win.”

She’s stunned by his sincerity.

Brick. Wall. (She thinks she hears Pink Floyd somewhere in the distance.)

“And I suppose you think you know all about me from our, what, three conversations now?” She knows it’s snippy, that’s the point.

He stops typing and puts his phone down. “Pardon me, love, but you’re a bit of an open book.”

Emma scoffs, “Anyone with the internet knows I prefer people don’t call me a legend.”

“Aye, but do they know it’s because you feel too young with a career too short to have made an impact? That you feel choosing yourself, a life, over MMA removes all glory from your name?”

Emma is entirely shaken by his apparent ability to read her like a fucking picture book. (Does that even make sense? Do you read picture books?) Emma never had a formal retirement ceremony; gloves in the middle of the ring and all that. She had asked Gold to be taken off the roster and for a quiet exit and that’s what he’d given her. The public doesn’t know the real reason she left MMA, her attempt at keeping Henry’s life as normal as possible, but somehow Killian–

Brick. Brick. Brick.

“Let’s talk about Instagram.” She sees the disappointment sweep across his face, realizing she can read him pretty well too. That’s terrifying.

Way more terrifying than social media plans.

They keep it strictly business for the rest of the meeting. She’s startled when her stomach rumbles and she checks the time.

12:00. They’ve been strategizing for three hours.

She’s not sure where the time went, and when Killian asks her if she wants to grab a bite to eat together, she’s startled again by her initial gut reaction to say yes.

Obviously, she says no and makes up some lie about needing to get back to the office. He knows it’s a lie, she can see it all over his face. He doesn’t push her though, and she’s grateful. They set their next meeting and Emma’s heart speeds up, seemingly unaware that this is a business meeting and not a date. She shakes his hand and promises to have a full plan ready for Thursday before practically sprinting out of the cafe.

In three conversations Killian Jones has gone from asshat to… who knows. One thing Emma does know is that Killian Jones is off limits to the highest of ethical degrees. But what scares her most, is that she’s not entirely sure she cares.

. . .

As soon as he asks her to lunch he knows he’s pushed too far.

Actually, he perhaps pushed too far by letting on just how easy it was for him to read her, but lunch, well that was just asking for a brick wall. He runs his hands across his face, completely taken with someone he has no right to. She’s witty, smart, and could probably kick his ass— scratch that, could definitely kick his ass— but she also has demons, he can see them swimming behind her eyes. Demons that seem scarily similar to his, maybe not on the surface but definitely in their damage. Emma is raw and unapologetic; a real human being who is, for all intents and purposes, unimpressed by the suave persona of Killian “Hook” Jones.

She’s bloody perfect.

He’s fucking fucked.

Eloquent.

Killian decides to grab a quick lunch from the cafe and head to the gym. He has a lot of pent up frustration and really feels the need to punch something. Thank god that’s his job. He scarfs down his sandwich, not realizing how hungry he was and jumps on the subway to the training center. He miraculously finds a seat and is able to scroll through his phone a bit. As he pokes around Twitter he finds an article announcing Emma “The Savior” Swan’s comeback to the UFC. He clicks on it, curiosity getting the better of him despite probably knowing the gist of the article.

He didn’t expect a timeline of her very impressive career:

2008: Swan joins the UFC with her Boston gym. Her debut match against Aurora Rose ended in a TKO. She’s back in action six months later fighting Ella Tremaine. She wins again, this time after three rounds by split decision.

2009: A dominant start to the year for The Savior with a first round submission against Tiana Dampier in January. She rounded out her year with another first round submission against El Oldenburg in May, and a third round knockout against Esmerelda Gringoire in October.

2010: Swan goes three rounds with Merida Baer and wins by unanimous decision. Swan wins again after three rounds by split decision against Megara Alcmene. The Savior’s final match is a KO against Mulan Fa rounding out her record to 8-0. Her next match, meant to be for the women’s title, was declined with no comment from The Savior.

2020: Swan joins Mills Management as a talent manager assigned to Killian “Hook” Jones.

Killian knew Swan was good, an early legend in her own right, but he had no idea she was this dominant. He also had no idea she left without so much as a wave goodbye. He figured he’d just missed the announcement seeing as it came well before his introduction into the sport. Against his typical moral code, he tries to google why she left but finds nothing. She knocks out Mulan Fa and then just stops being added to cards and fades away as new fighters take her place.

He knows there’s a reason for her secrecy and he’d be lying if he said curiosity was the only driving force behind his attempt to learn more. He finds himself wanting to know everything there is to know about Emma Swan; a deeper part of him aches for her to be the one who tells him.

He’s positive he can only dream of gaining that level of trust from her, but he has to try. Liam's words ring heavy in his ears, "A man unwilling to fight for what he wants, deserves what he gets."

He gets off at the stop closest to the training center and walks through the front doors, waving to Belle at the front desk before heading into the locker room. He’s fortunate to be on the UFC roster, allowing him to keep his training gear at the center and not have to worry about lugging it around with him. It also gives him the freedom to come here whenever he needs to let off some steam. He changes quickly and finds a treadmill to warm up. He jogs a mile and a half before picking up the pace. Killian’s in the midst of his runner’s high when someone steps into the machine next to him. He turns his head to offer them a small smile in hello, it’s not that big of a gym, exclusive to the UFC industry and a few friends of friends, so chances are he knows the person at least in passing.

Oh, Killian knows them alright, and he practically falls off the treadmill when he sees her green eyes blown wide.

[mythologyfolklore]

Ares and Athena through the years - Ch. 16

Chapter Sixteen: Meanwhile ... 

.

When Ares had chosen to leave for a world journey, Aphrodite and his children had tearfully said goodbye.

Hephaistos had been there too, although he given his older brother a warm grip of the hand, rather than shedding tears.

The rest of his family had also come to say goodbye.

“Take care of yourself”, Artemis had said, while giving him a firm hug.

Ares had laughed: “I'll do my best.”

“Don't get caught by giants and locked in a jar”, Hermes had grinned.

“Oh shut up, squirt!”, the war god had snorted and lightly slapped the Messenger's shoulder.

Hera had given her son an awkward hug; after the Trojan War things were more tense between them than usual.

Zeus had been more affectionate, giving his son a firm embrace and a kiss to the forehead (an extremely rare gesture of fatherly love from the King of the Gods).

“I suppose you will be gone for a few Olympian decades?”

“Yes, father. Seeing the world and getting to know new people takes a while.”

“Goodbye then, my son. Take care of yourself, as Artemis said. Don't forget to write. We want to know how you are doing and how it is, where you're staying.”

“Unless the place I get to doesn't have a writing system, sure!”

With that, Ares had spurred on his horses and left Olympos.

First he had gone to Thrace to say goodbye to his twin and his friends.

Enyo had tearfully begged him to stay or at least take her along, same as Eris.

But Ares had insisted, that he needed some alone time (although it had hurt him to leave his twin behind).

“I need someone to do my duties”, he had told her. “You're the only one who can, Enyo. Your domain is the same as mine. You guys just take care of my home, okay?”

Then he had left.

.

At first he toured around Hellas. It couldn't hurt to see what was going on and maybe check how the survivors of the Trojan War were doing.

Many of the Trojan women had died or worse, were living a miserable life as concubines.

Aineias, the son of Aphrodite, had gathered a few survivors and was now sailing the seas.

To his great delight, most of the Achaeans had met a bitter end: Agamemnon had been killed by his wife and her lover, Ajax the Lesser was dead, so were many others. And the best thing was, that his old enemy Diomedes had gone through some shit, only to come home to a nasty surprise.

Now the hero who had once wounded him and Aphrodite, was wandering the lands and seas in search of a place to live.

Ares couldn't resist the temptation and descended onto the earth.

.

Diomedes was done with everything.

He had almost drowned in a massive thunderstorm, then been washed ashore on the coast of Libya, only to nearly be sacrificed to Ares. Then he had landed in Attica, where the local king had mistaken him and his crew for pirates and had attacked them. And when he had finally come home to Argos, he had found his wife not only unfaithful to him, but also ready to kill him.

Now he had nowhere to go.

This moment he was walking through a forest, when he spotted a small river. Tired from the long march, he sat down, let his feet dangle in the water and sighed contentedly at the sensation.

“Feels nice, doesn't it?”

He jumped at the sound of the voice and hastily grabbed his spear.

But it was just a little girl sitting on a branch of a nearby tree, dangling a leg.

Except it wasn't.

Diomedes still had his enhanced sight and knew a god, when he saw one.

The girl twirled her auburn hair and eyed him with twisted curiosity.

“You look like life wasn't kind to you, sir”, she noted.

He shrugged. “Is life kind to anyone?”

“To some”, she replied. “You look like someone glorious. A hero. Isn't that a kindness of life?”

“I'm not so certain anymore.”

The child giggled.

“You seem pretty happy”, he remarked.

“Likely happier than you”, the other teased. “Then again, heroes almost never get to live happily ever after, huh?”

Diomedes resisted the temptation to roll his eyes.

“Your disguise isn't very subtle, Lord Ares Polydakros¹.”

The other snickered and leapt off the branch. When his feet touched the ground, he had turned from a little girl to what was basically a human form of his divine shape.

It made the Argive shudder. He almost averted his eyes, but managed to steel his nerves and hold the other's burning gaze (though his body refused to stop trembling).

“So Glaukópis² let you keep your enhanced sight”, Ares noted. “Interesting. Not that it's of much use to you now.”

“Have you come to gloat?”

“Yes, actually. After your stunt back at Ilion³, it is really satisfying to see you this humbled. And I don't even need to have revenge, because Aphrodite already had hers. Betrayal is a nasty thing, isn't it?”

The god's grin was twisted and way too broad. Obviously he was revelling in the other's discomfort and misfortune.

Diomedes refused to dignify the god's remark anyhow.

“But don't feel bad”, Ares chuckled, “It could be much worse. Most of the Achaeans drowned, Agamemnon was murdered and that psychopathic brat Neoptolemos was slain by Apollon's priests for some blasphemy a few days ago. Also, Menélaos, my half-sister Helene and Odysseus are all stuck far away from home. Compared to that, you got off easy!”

His smirk vanished. “You should be grateful, son of Tydeus. Considering the shit ton of murder attempts you escaped, you're actually really, really lucky.”

Diomedes bit his lip.

So he isn't going to kill me, then.

“No”, Ares answered his thought. “I'm not.”

Diomedes took a deep breath and forced himself to stop trembling, before putting his spear down.

“You can't blame me for being afraid of you”, he told the god bluntly.

The Man-Slayer laughed: “I don't. Only a fool wouldn't fear war.”

“What do you want then – apart from gloating, obviously.”

“Give you a piece of my mind”, the war god replied bluntly. “Remember how my granddaughter Kallirhoë saved you from being sacrificed to me by my son? You could at least have thanked her.”

Diomedes blinked in confusion. “But I left her a letter?”

“Kallirhoë couldn't read, Diomedes.”

Oh. Oh shit.

“The Libyans don't have a writing system”, Ares explained, “And even if they did, she was mentally disabled. It would have been extremely hard for her to learn how to read, if at all. Not that it matters now; she's dead. Hanged herself, because you broke her heart.”

Shit times two.

“Of course killing you sounds tempting”, the god went on. “But luckily for you, my family has other plans for you. Don't think Athena has forgot you. After all, you and Odysseus have always been her favourites. So before I leave, one last piece of advice: take the next ship to Italy, find the last surviving Trojans, lead by Aphrodite's son Aineias and return the Palladion to them. Only then will your misfortune end, for even though you had Athena's approval, that doesn't change the fact that you robbed it.”

For a few seconds Diomedes considered, if this was a trap. But it sounded logical enough, so he memorised it anyways.

Ares stood up and unfolded a pair of huge red wings. Then he took to the air and was gone, leaving behind only a single red feather.

Diomedes knew better than to consider this a sign of goodwill.

.

Ares, having gained just a bit of closure, continued his tour.

He had seen what he had wanted to see. Now it was time to leave Hellas and explore the rest of the world.

He hadn't been to Aigyptos in quite a while. He had a few friends there, who would be delighted to see him.

.

“ARES! EYYY!”, Sekhmet roared in delight.

“EYYY, SEKHMET! SO GOOD TO SEE YA!”, Ares yelled back and they engulfed each other in a bone-crushing hug.

“IT'S BEEN SO LONG, MOTHERFUCKER! HOW ARE YOU DOING?”

“DOIN' GREAT, YOU BOSS ASS BITCH! AND YOU?”

“GREAT! THE OTHERS ARE TOO!”

“AWESOME!”

A dignified cough interrupted them.

“Can you two please stop yelling?”, Thoth asked. “It's headache-inducing. Apart from that, welcome, Ares. What brings you here?”

“I'm travelling the world!”, Ares beamed at the ibis-headed god. “Just started my journey and I wanted to see old friends, before I discover the rest. My presence won't be needed in the next centuries, so why not get away from it all and do something new?”

“That's fair”, Thoth agreed. “Sadly, none of us can leave Ta Meri⁴ right now; the earthly world is quite a mess.”

Ares frowned: “Yeah, back in Europa too.”

.

---

.

1) Polydakros: "Of Many Tears/Of Much Weeping", an epithet of Ares, referring to the woe and grief, which war brings. 2) Glaukópis: "Bright-Eyed/Owl-Eyed", an epithet of Athena, because of her bright eyes, which depending on the source are either grey or blue (in my version they're blue). 3) Ilion = Troy 4) Ta Meri: "Beloved Land", one of the ancient Egyptian terms for ... well, ancient Egypt, as the word Egypt is Greek in origin. The Egyptians also called their country Kemet, "Black (Land)", referring to the fertile soil along the river Nile, which was very dark because of the yearly inundations. The desert parts of Egypt were referred to as "Ta Desheret", which means "Red Land" and was the domain of the goddess Sekhmet and the god Set (and some other deities associated with the desert.

[farmerlan]

Farmer Lan’s Rewatch Guide to The Untamed - Episode 2

SPOILER CAUTION APPLIES.

Alright buds we are going to get right into it - no time to waste!

[WWX hangs out by a river/well with XPG (Little Apple aka Xiao Ping Guo aka XPG from now on), cultivator scene with the demon compass argument happens (cute), A-Yan gives WWX an apple and she’s clearly not mentally all there, mountain top A-Yan dance scene with her mom disclosing her tragic story and father’s death to WWX.]

Differences from the novel:

There’s some minor choronological and setting differences between here and Chapter 6. A-Yan was not the person who gave WWX the apple, it was a random girl. There were two separate scenes with cultivators trying to use the compass in the novel, but it was condensed into one in the drama.

WWX bumps into A-Yan in the town at the foot of DFS and hears of her story from townspeople. A-Yan’s story is essentially the same in both versions, but the novel also includes an additional story about how a slovenly/good-for-nothing oaf became seemingly wealthy and suddenly wanted to get married and settle down, except he died on the night of the wedding. This would later be used by WWX to further support his narrative of what’s behind the ‘soulless people’ cases when he explains it to the Gusu disciples.

[Cut to WWX in a forest, A WILD JIN LING APPEARS! Man, I forgot what a little shit he was when he first arrived <3. WWX and JL runs into each other, except JL thinks he is MXY, banter ensues, WWX traps JL with his paper man and drops that awful YOUR MOM line to JL.

Banter continues until JC brings his posse and incredibly sharp jawline to the scene. Seriously, damn. Things are about to get physical before LWJ arrives. Shade is thrown between JC and Gusu & Co., JC literally looks like he is in pain and why oh why does nothing ever work out for him as his subordinate reports that all the spirit nets have been destroyed. JC decides against picking a fight and tells JL he better BRING HIS A GAME TO THE HUNT before dismissing him. LWJ dismisses the rest of the disciples and walks away, leaving WWX alone. Cut to WWX remembering JC + JYL by the river and then he overhears JL’s true parentage and feels baaaaaaad man.]

In the novel, there is further discussion of the LLJ sect and especially JGS in Chapter 7. Seeing JL’s reaction to him as MXY, WWX then correctly deduces that MXY is actually the illegitimate son of none other than JGS, who was known for his philandering ways.

It was also clarified in the novel that locked within the ‘paper man’ WWX sic-ed on JL was the ghost of a man who had died from gluttony, hence why JL could not get up. He was basically being sat on by a really fat man.

A bigger deal is made in the novel of how LWJ is someone who “appears where there is trouble” – JL says this to him in a sarcastic way, but it’s a common theme that runs throughout the novel, that although he can be considered an extremely prominent figure, he takes the time to help or show up no matter how ‘low level’ the situation is. It’s a sign of his strong moral character that nothing is too beneath his attention.

The situation of the night hunt itself is also explained a little bit more in detail – JL is turning sixteen this year, and this night hunt at DFS is basically a debutante ball for him as you have to be past a certain age to participate in hunts. So, in order to make sure he claims the top prize, JC made sure to come with him and also set up the spirit nets. Aww, they ruined his present!

Fun fact: JC very nearly came to blows with LWJ in the novel but chose not to do so because a) he had to consider sect relations between Gusu and Yunmeng and b) he wasn’t sure he would win since they’ve never fought before. HA.

[Gusu disciples run into old man grave caretaker, these are Wen graves! He asks them to go visit the Tiannu Temple and they move on before he can tell them that the goddess statue moooves. Spoopy. WWX also happens upon the Wen graves. Scene between him and WQ and he realizes it’s the statue stirring shit and JL is about to step in the shit that has been stirred.

Scene in the temple with Gusu disciples and JL, shit starts going down, WWX and Gusu disciples gather outside. Gusu disciples realize they ran out of flares and WWX is all like haha prepare to be punished! WWX clarifies the difference between soul-eaters and the goddess status, links it to the ongoing issues with A-Yan. LJY calls him out – he’s only pretending to be CRAZY! ]

There’s no old grave caretaker in the novel and there’s no Wen graves scene. There are ancient tombs around the area that the Gusu disciples explored, but it was only mentioned in passing as part of the larger conversation around what exactly was plaguing the mountain. What happens in the novel is – WWX encounters a spirit dressed in fancy burial clothes, realizes something is wrong because that kind of spirit (the spirit of a corpse) should not be on DFS, puts two and two together and goes off to find JL.

The scenario of WWX explaining what exactly ‘it’ is to the Gusu disciples closely follows that of the novel, except he also adds the explanation around the slovenly oaf’s story. Basically, oaf prays to the goddess statue to be wealthy, the goddess granted him his wish but took away his soul on the night of the marriage. Hence why WWX encountered the wealthy corpse spirit - essentially the goddess split open his grave and gave the oaf the funeral/afterlife offerings that were buried within it, displacing the spirit in the process.

 Also the goddess statue ate some humans in the novel but this was probably too graphic for the drama lol.

[JL shows up with the statue hot on his heels, WWX is like but wait we sealed the statue off before! WWX then builds and plays a makeshift bamboo flute. LJY changes his mind – MXY is still crazy after all, and on top of that he’s also a garbage flute player, ha. WN shows up and WWX is all ???, illusion is revealed, WWX posits whoever did this wanted lure out WN, a mysterious man in black scuttles off in the background.

Men rush WN, WN is like, uhm, y’all ain’t shit. WWX then plays WangXian to suppress WN’s rage, draws him towards himself and then we have THE REUNION – eyes meet, lovey-dovey wrist-gripping scene ensues.]

Interestingly, the drama shows JL being thrown to the ground and trying to scurry away/flinching as the statue advanced on him. In the novel, he actually stood right within reach and thought, “If I can’t kill her right here and now, I’ll die – but so what?!” Basically, he was 100% ready to kill the statue or die trying before WN showed up.

In the drama, we weren’t specifically clued in to the fact that WN is currently unconscious due to the nails in his head. In the novel, WWX realizes this instantly because Wen Ning was not capable of sentient thought and had to rely on WWX’s orders.

The drama hints that the whole thing was staged by the mysterious man in black caught scampering away – in the novel, this is not the case. There was no other person ‘operating behind the scenes’, this whole incident with the statue was not an illusion.

The reunion scene is as it happens in the novel, gripping of wrists and all. Ha. I love you directors.

[WWX is outed as the person who summoned WN and JC is like well well well, Shady’s back. LWJ tries to protect WWX, WWX tries to run away but gets whipped and decides to play crazy as JC wonders why Zidian didn’t work.

WWX appears to faint and wishes to go back to the time to 16 years ago, when he was at Lotus Pier and we start our flashback arc. Cute scene where he gets a sugar rabbit (HA I see you) for JYL. They decide to rest in a tavern. JC bickers with WWX and grouses that JYL and JFM always defends him and is reminded that being free-spirited is considered a virtue by the YMJ sect.]

The confrontation between JC, WWX and LWJ follows the novel partly (the whipping, the face-off between JC and LWJ), but the novel goes into more detail.

For one, LJY is like, ‘wait didn’t YOU kill WWX? Why are you saying he’s back?’ to JC in the drama. In the novel, no one claims that JC was the one who killed WWX in the novel – only that he was present at the battle at Nightless City along with the Yunmeng Jiang sect.

Also, in the novel, someone in JC’s sect basically tells says that there’s no way MXY is WWX because WWX would have chosen someone cooler. WWX was flirtatious with girls and a good-looking dude and MXY is a gay lunatic riding a donkey. And also, his flute skills are so, so subpar compared to WWX. Ha. WWX secretly grouses that he would kneel to anyone who’s able to play a nice melody on a dollar-store flute after not having practiced for 13 years. Touché.

In an attempt to get both JC and LWJ off his case, WWX tries to disgust the both of them by going, “JC is NOT my type but you know who is my type? LWJ uwu he’s so attractive” but it totally fails because LWJ does not take the bait. Instead, he says “Well then, I’m taking this man back to the Lan sect with me.” And that’s the end of Chapter 10. See comments on the flashback/timeskip in the summary section below.

The last conversation JC and JYL shares is very interesting. It’s not in the novel, but it really plays into the narrative that “WWX embodies more of Yunmeng Jiang’s values than JC even though he is not a Jiang”, which is also a theme in the novel and kind of a sticking point for JC obviously. One can say that JC takes after his mom, and WWX takes more after JFM.

Overall Thoughts

This is where the divergence from the novel plot line begins to get a little more serious. The novel employs a series of flashbacks scattered throughout the book whereas the drama is essentially one long flashback from Episode 2 through Episode 33. It obviously makes more narrative sense to arrange it that way in a drama series in order to make it less confusing, especially since they’re using the same actors for past and present WWX/LWJ, but just keep that in mind.

With that said, I will stop at Chapter 10 for the purpose of comparing it to Episode 2. Chapter 11 and 12 have essentially both been removed from the drama besides for the cold springs scene, which was also modified. I will discuss these two chapters when we get to Episode 33 (wow, will we ever get there??). Episode 3 picks up at Chapter 13, which is the beginning of the Gusu arc. Chapters will start jumping around (in the novel, the Gusu arc is only Chapters 13-18, and then the Wen Sect/Tortoise of Slaughter is a separate flashback from Chapters 51-59)  so I am going to try my best to match them up lol.

Ending the summary on another cute note, in the novel LWJ’s presence is often described as being accompanied by the light scent of sandalwood, which is what WWX smelled before bumping into him in the novel.