#entering that sweet spot of precociousness

[whyeverr]

"—like my friend Skip did... Skip farted so hard they almost died. From kale. And all she had was a single. bite."

[defeated dad groan]

"That sounds... really scary..."

...

"Well, how about some tea!"

[brokenhardies]

mimosa, mai tai, blue hawaii, cuba libre for amber? 〜 @xoteajays

𝗺𝗶𝗺𝗼𝘀𝗮 〜 has your oc ever committed any crimes? if so, what did they do? if not, what would they be most likely to commit?

Amber's a goody two shoes, it's unlikely that she'll ever commit a crime... Until she met the Moon Knight system. Then she has at least committed vigilantism, and breaking & entering!

𝗺𝗮𝗶 𝘁𝗮𝗶 〜 how was your oc’s life growing up? did they do well in school if they attended? do they have any awkward teenage memories?

Okay, so Amber's childhood has two direct stages; the first 10 years (pre her dad's death) and post her dad's death. Amber did amazingly at school, but less so socially. She didn't really have any friends - until she met Nate at a paternal grief group therapy when she was about 12 - and tended to keep to herself. This was mostly after her dad died, before her dad died, Amber was very talkative, energetic and incredibly precocious :')

𝗯𝗹𝘂𝗲 𝗵𝗮𝘄𝗮𝗶𝗶 〜 does your oc speak any other language(s)? if they didn’t learn to speak the language(s) when they were growing up, when and why did they learn it?

Tagalog, which was taught to her by her dad, Spanish, which she learnt partially at school and then continued to learn in her late teens thanks to Jade, French, which she learnt at school and Italian, which she learnt at school! I'm also gonna include Coptic and Hieroglyphics, which she learnt due to becoming the Emissary, and Khandaqui, which she literally became fluent in on the spot!

𝗰𝘂𝗯𝗮 𝗹𝗶𝗯𝗿𝗲 〜 if your oc wears any perfume/cologne, what’s their favorite?

Amber often wears very sweet perfume that smells like strawberries and vanilla! She also likes flowery scents!

[imspardagus]

Ramires

Ramires was nine years old when it happened. Now he would always be nine years old, even after the worms had eaten all they wanted.

He was out feeding his neighbour’s chickens when it fell from the sky, piercing his skull with a neat, circular wound and passing on effortlessly through the brain stem, where it mercifully put an instantaneous and painless end to his life before entering his neck and chest.

If he had not been so concerned to help the arthritic widow whose chickens he was attending to, he could have been down at the river playing with his friends. It was a warm day and the water would have been a sweet pleasure, even if it did carry the toxic outflow from the factory outside of town. But it was his fate to be in that dusty yard on that precise spot and to stand up straight at just the moment when the bullet dropped, point first back to earth, as it was bound by the law of gravity to do.

We talk about “fate” and in our minds it conjures for us a hint that somehow the victim is complicit in what befalls him, or her. But that is of course merely our invention, a way of coping with the awful meaninglessness of what has occurred. The neatness of a confected complicity comforts us where the actual arbitrariness of it all could not.

But, fate or not, it was Ramires who was standing where he stood when the bullet dropped and cut short his all to brief life leaving behind only speculation about what the rest of it might have been if he had been spared. His teacher would recall a boy of considerable promise, hinting at possible significant contributions in the fields of literature or science. His priest would refer to an angelic disposition and a precocious devotion to the welfare of others. His neighbour would think, not always kindly, of the loss of his ready help as she struggled to cope with the tasks he had so willingly taken on.

His parents, meanwhile, would grieve and, even when the pain of their own loss had blurred into memory, they would always hold this day, which should have been a day of celebration and joy, as one of loss and misery.

The men had just been doing what men do. Out in the town square, where the news of the ousting of a venal and corrupt president by one they hoped would be less venal and less corrupt had brought forth a gathering of briefly crazily happy citizens drinking and carousing, the men had broken out the impressively black semi-automatic rifles that they had received from some tall, blond Americans whose blazers were always clean and pressed, whose trousers were always sharply creased and whose eyes were concealed by dark glasses even at night.

No woman was permitted to have one of these guns, or even to touch them, naturally. This was men’s business. And so they strutted about the square and, like the percussion section of an orchestra, underscored the festivities by the sporadic firing of their weapons into the air, as if to say “It was us. We saved you. We ousted the Devil.”

It never occurred to them for an instant to think about where those carelessly discharged bullets would come down. Their thoughts only extended to how important it made them look to those around them. “We are people of importance. We are the gun-bearers.”

And even when news of the untimely death of Ramires reached the townsfolk, leaving them stunned and off-balanced, no-one thought to link the firings of the weapons with the boy’s sudden demise.

The gun was still warm from its exertions but it managed a near silent sigh of relief for at last it had fulfilled its only purpose. It had taken a human life. Maybe not as intentionally as it had hoped but it had killed, as it had been created to do. The god of guns had been served and the gun basked in the honour that it had been accorded by being allowed to be the instrument of death.

If the fates allowed, it would kill again. It was a patient gun. This was not the end.

[curiousb]

The Bingley Family Album: Volume VI

Benjamin might have gone on his merry way to uni, but life still carries on at home for the rest of the family.

Hey, cool sweater! (I think these jumpers must be standard issue for politicians in my game, or something.) Charles is keeping up with old friends, which is especially important now, given his recent meteoric rise to political greatness.

William takes the Inappropriate trait to previously undreamt-of heights.

My game confirms that my spreadsheet was absolutely correct in telling me that Jane should really be a Grilled Cheese Sim.

Middle son Daniel is having a busy old life, getting to know the other kids from the neighbourhood - battling Marmaduke the archvillain and sharing a passion for orange with Keziah.

Older brother Samuel is still at home - although not for much longer. Random Townie seems to approve of kids being out in the fresh air getting some exercise, rather than being cooped up indoors in front of a video game: “when I was a lad, we didn’t have all this new-fangled technology, we had to make our own entertainment...”

But then the worst happens, and Daniel’s beloved pal Bella makes her way to the big boneyard in the sky. Sensitive Daniel is heartbroken! (Seriously, he didn’t stop crying for hours - which is months in Sim-time.)

The next day, he and Samuel lay her to rest at Pet Haven.

And it seems the only way to console Daniel is to get another pet pronto - enter Suki! (Please don’t ask me what breed she’s meant to be, I have no idea!)

~ Aries

~ Genius / Friendly

Spotted checking out the pooches on offer is Dog Lover John.

Ooh, a purchase!

It’s also Daniel’s birthday - doesn’t he look like a wholesome lad?!

~ Pisces 5 / 6 / 9 / 9 / 10

~ Animal Lover / Kind / Over-Emotional / Charismatic

~ OTH: Nature

~ Favourite Colour(s): Orange

~ Aspiration: Family / Popularity (just like mum)

~ Turn-ons / -off: +Animal Lover / +Well-Liked / -Undead

Not surprisingly, he’s a caring big brother to Nathan, whom we still haven't met properly. Let’s correct that, shall we?

Nathan’s toddler stats:

~ Libra 6 / 8 / 6 / 2 / 10 (a serious Bingley - that’s a rarity!)

~ Friendly / Athletic

Daniel is also rather precocious when it comes to the dating game, inviting Clara on a trip to the park only the day after his birthday: “help me, I’m only 13, and I haven’t got a clue what I’m meant to do!”

How about a nice, friendly pillow fight?

Clara must have had fun on their sweet-and-innocent date, as later she drops off a little gift for Daniel.

(Fun fact: I hate this chair, and actually have it hidden from my catalogue, but since it was a gift, I’ll let him keep it!)

[cloudhayato]

I’ve decided to live in the woods now so here are some animals I associate with the KHR characters.

Tsuna: Spotted hyena. They’re the most social of the carnivora and Tsuna loves and thrives around his friends. :) The males also tend to be less aggressive because hyena clans are matriarchal and they’re low in the social hierarchy. Just like Tsuna at school, maybe? 0_0

Gokudera: Oh, so very Chihuahuacore. Only likes one person and is super attached to them. Bites and snarls at everyone else who tries to approach them. Gets upset when someone else joins the family or enters his house. Loud. :/

Yamamoto: A capybara! They’re semi-aquatic animals that are super chill and friendly. They’ll get along with a wide array of animals because of how they’re very social animals, are very calm, and also benefit some other animals like birds for example, though that’s mostly for eating ticks and insects from their fur. A chill friendly guy who helps others? Yamamoto.

I also can’t find more information on this picture, since caiman, another crocodilian, will eat capybara, but it makes me think of how Yamamoto will befriend villains first. Like Byakuran and Squalo for example <:3c

Ryohei: A grizzly bear really does fit him best in my head. They big and powerful animals, associated with the kind of toughness that Ryohei strives for! Also while most animals play fight, bears being no exception, I felt the need to mention this because Ryohei violence moments <3. They’re also known to stay with their siblings for awhile, even after leaving their mother, when they’re usually solitary creatures. They’ll den together, though food is not shared, and while circumstances can cause them to separate, the fact that they stay together at all is charming. Just a big strong animal that can be close to their siblings... That’s just adds to this in my opinion ówò

Hibari: A chicken. They have violent social hierarchies that involve fighting in order to get to the top of the pecking order. This can get really bad sometimes, and they can also get a taste for blood. What is Namimori if not a giant chicken coop? What is Hibari if not the head honcho establishing his place through aggressive pecking?

I rest my case.

Mukuro: Another more predictable animal here, but Raven. They’re birds who work in smaller social groups than crows, which fits better with him and the Kokuyo gang. I mean, apparently adolescent ravens will join teenage gangs with one another. They can mimic the sounds of other birds and animals, like Mukuro and his fucked up possession. Ravens are clever and will trick one another, like if the know another raven is watching them, they’ll pretend to hide food while actually hiding it somewhere else. They can also remember the faces of humans who wronged them and will hate them forever. <3 Fun fact: A group of ravens is called an ‘Unkindness.’

Chrome: She’s like a poorly socialized cat who’s really anxious and is suddenly put in a new environment. She just hides and doesn’t approach anyone, not even coming out for food at first. Slowly you have to try and get her comfortable around you, including the use of food, and now she just follows you around and sits with you.

Lambo: Ferret. Hear me out here, ferrets are mischievous and playful creatures. They love to hoard things and drag them into hiding places, like Lambo hiding things in his gross hair, they can dead sleep, which Lambo does throughout the series but the most prominent example I can think off is in Ciao Ciao!, and lastly, I think he’d do a weasel war dance.

Fuuta: He’d be a red fox. They’re associated with being sly and clever, which is a trait Fuuta displayed when he was running away from the men pursuing him, and throwing them off his tracks with little tricks. They live in small, familial social groups, like how Fuuta prefers to stay home with Nana and his siblings. I also wanted to choose an animal featured in The Little Prince, and the fox was the animal that gave him sage life advice.

I-pin: Hey did you know hares are born precocial and are able to fight and fend for themselves immediately after birth? That’s why I chose them for I-pin, who is already a very successful hitman as a young child. They’re also prominent in Chinese folklore as living on the moon (also interpreted as a rabbit) which then spread to other Asian cultures.

(It’s important to note that I-pin’s design is a bad caricature, but I do want to take into account that she is Chinese and instead focus on displaying that respectfully. That’s why I wanted to include an animal from Chinese folklore/mythology since even though her portrayal is shit and so much shade towards Amano for ever thinking that was okay, it doesn’t sit right either to completely erase that part of her.)

Byakuran: I want him to be some kind of bird. Probably a cockatoo because while they can manipulate you to believe they’re sweet, loving, funny birds, their souls are tinged with evil. The only thing they crave is total destruction and chaos, but also tasty fruits and get sad if they’re the only one left and alone. :(

Shoichi: Rabbits can die from stress. Shoichi gets stomachaches from stress. Checkmate atheists. Spanner also thinks his out of place anger is funny, and I don’t know if you’ve ever seen a rabbit temper tantrum but that shit is so funny. Another characteristic I thought about is how closely rabbits can bond, to the point where if their bonded partner or friend die, they grieve and get depressed, even potentially passing away from it. Byakuran was a horrible person, and Shoichi knew he had to be stopped, but when we see his face after his friend’s death, it’s a hard expression to forget. It’s a small moment, but one that comes to mind often when I think of Sho-chan.

Xanxus: Okay so hippopotamuses are seen as goofy, dumb looking creatures, but they’re actually super fucking dangerous. Agile and surprisingly aggressive, they are literally one of the most dangerous animals because of this. You are more likely to get murdered by a hippo than a lion out in the wild. They’re so fucked up, just like Xanxus.

Squalo: I bet you thought shark but nope! Killer whale. Orcas fight in pods, like how Squalo is a squad leader in Varia (almost made boss too), and these creatures are murder machines. They’ve actually been documented killing great white sharks and fucking whales. Like how Squalo is the strongest swordsman orcas are the fucking apex predators of the sea.

Fun fact: I was also considered sperm whales for Squalo because they’re the loudest animals on earth.

Okay this post ended up getting much longer than I intended I’m done now I’m leaving the range of the cell towers goodbye everyone.

[jeminy3]

The Things We Carry.

One of many old drabbles I’m finally getting around to finishing. Expect more Blind!Roy in the future.

In this one, Roy visits the Hughes house a few months after the Promised Day. He refused Marcoh’s offer to heal his eyes.

Features: Blind Character PoV, implied self-loathing, depression, character death and the repercussions on their spouse and child, discussions of death and violence with a child.

Read on AO3

Read on Google Docs

Twitter Post

Cool art by Manalfedz

–

"Can you see this, Mister Mustang?"

Roy stares, aiming slightly down and to his side where Elicia's voice is coming from, but he sees nothing besides the usual darkness.

"No, I can't," he says.

He hears the girl huff softly, then the clicking and clacking of plastic as she retrieves another toy.

"What about this? The light's really bright, can you see?"

Roy knows it's pointless, but he strains his eyes anyway. He thinks he can see the tiniest spot of grey flickering in the darkness of his vision,  maybe, but it's so faint he can hardly tell.

Well, he can't bear to dash the girl's hopes. So he says, "Just a little bit."

Elicia gasps softly. "Really? Yay!" Her little voice beams with excitement, and she claps her hands vigorously. It warms him, and Roy can't help smiling.

Suddenly there's the sound of her mother, Gracia, entering the room, telegraphed by footsteps on the dining room carpet and the shifting of her clothes.

"Look, mommy! It's so bright, even Mister Mustang can see it!" Elicia says, probably waving the light-up toy around for her mother to see.

"That's nice dear, but I think Mustang's had enough for now," her mother replies, somewhat curtly. There's the soft 'thunk' of dinner plates, heavy with food, being laid upon the table Roy's currently sitting at.

"Can you pick up your toys and play in the living room? We're having dinner now."

"Okay..." Elicia says, not hiding her dejection.

There's more click-clacking as she retrieves her toys, and the sound comes and goes as Gracia joins him at the table and begins to speak. Roy can imagine her carting her toys to the other room one armful at a time - she must have brought more toys than he first thought.

"I'm so sorry if she bothered you, Mustang," Gracia says quietly, slightly strained.

Roy lightens his voice, waving a hand dismissively. "Oh no, no, it's fine. She's just curious is all. Perfectly natural at her age."

Gracia sighs, a bit long-sufferingly. "I suppose. I can't imagine what it's like myself."

"Not many can," Roy says casually.

By now he's felt around for his fork on the table, which he uses to explore his dinner via holding it by the base of its tines instead of the handle, using his fingertips to discreetly touch at the food. Feels like meatloaf slices, with sides of peas and mashed potatoes. Very humble, as Gracia had warned him before he came over, but nonetheless appetizing as the smell wafts up to his nose. It's warm, homely, like the Hughes' household always is. Thank God that hasn't changed.

Roy tries the peas first, enjoying the way the soft seeds gently burst into mush between his teeth, tasting mildly sweet and buttery.

Gracia speaks up again after a soft clinking of metal-on-dinnerware from her direction. "I don't mean to pry, but- how are you, lately? I'm sure it hasn't been easy, at work or otherwise."

Roy pauses to swallow the peas. "...Like I've said, we have a system now, and it works. I should be asking how you've been, Gracia. It's been a while."

Gracia stutters a bit. "Oh- Me? There's not much to tell, really. Just more of the same."

Roy blinks uselessly in her direction, halfway though lifting a piece of meatloaf to his lips. "...Even after the eclipse?"

Gracia laughs uncomfortably. "Ah- Well yes, that was quite the scare, but we're alright now. And very glad that we are!"

His guilt stings at him again at the word, the memory of that day. In all his nerve-fraying preparation for that event, he'd arranged safe passage for his own family out of Central, but not the family of his closest friend. Another wound to pick at himself with until the end of his days.

...And by now Roy thinks he's hearing a pause in Elicia's toy-handling that line up perfectly with every other line of their conversation, but... Eh. He elects to ignore it. Not like she'll understand what they're talking about anyway

Roy clears his throat lightly. "...I'm happy to hear that, but- I worry about you, Gracia. You know I do. And I'm sorry again that I couldn't visit sooner."

He can hear the shifting of Gracia shaking her head. "Roy, please. I'm alright, really! Major Armstrong has been kind enough with electing to watch Elicia for me when I'm out. He's such a great help, you know."

Roy smiles around his mouthful of meatloaf, both at her statement and the juicy texture of the meat. Gracia always was a great cook.

After swallowing, he says, "So I've heard. Working out well, I imagine?"

"Oh yes, Elicia adores him. Says she talks his ear off all the time."

She chuckles lightly. Roy can’t help laughing as well, imagining the tiny girl pestering the relatively massive Strong Arm Alchemist with a deluge of comments and questions, not unlike what she was doing earlier with Roy himself.

But the lightness is short-lasting, falling into an uncomfortable silence as they returned to their food. Roy fills his mouth with a spoonful of mashed potatoes, doing his best to ignore the emptiness that occupies the third seat at the table now - even without eyes, he can still feel it there.

Gracia gives a small sigh, suddenly. "...Still...."

"Mm?" Roy grunts through his mouthful of potatoes.

"...Are... Are you sure you're alright?" she asks, in this strange, almost desperate tone of voice. "I know at work you are, but- what about your personal life?"

Roy swallows thickly, partly because of the potatoes, partly because this conversation was making him uncomfortable now. He clears his throat and forces a chuckle.

"What personal life? I practically live at the office, you know this, Gracia," he says, half-laughing.

Gracia doesn't lighten her tone, though, cutting deeper instead. "...I'm serious, Roy. After what you've gone through, what happened in-"

"The explosion, yes. It was terrible," Roy cuts in, more curtly than intended.

He jerks his head in the direction of the living room, because by now he's confident that Elicia is quietly listening in on them. An explosion had taken his sight - that's the public statement they'd released, among many, many others, to explain what'd happened on the Promised Day.

Gracia catches his hint with a small cough. "Ah- of course. Sorry..."

Roy straightens, clears his throat again. "...It's fine. I'm coping as best I can, like I always do." His tone leaves another sentence hanging between them, unspoken - So please, don't worry about me.

"...That's what I'm afraid of," Gracia says quietly, more to herself, really

Roy can't think of a response - and soon silence falls again, this time pressing down like a great, crushing weight, a sensation of drowning.

There's another clinking of dinnerware - Gracia seems to have stopped eating. She sighs again, this time with an air of finality. "Just... don't run yourself too hard, Roy. You've been through a lot."

"I'm-"

"I would know," she adds quietly, cutting off Roy's response. This time, he swallows nothing. Or perhaps the sentence he attempted to say.

He's not liking this trend of everyone around him worrying excessively for his personal well-being, lately. But it can't be helped, he supposes, with the severity of his condition and the position he's still holding despite it. It's been nearly two months now, and his superiors are still shocked that he's refusing to retire, but at least Grumman's been willing to work with him. He'll admit that it's been anything but easy, but he'll be damned if he stops pursuing his goal and lets himself become a burden to everyone. He simply can't give up now - he's done too much, come too far, and couldn't live with himself if he did.

...Besides, he can hardly live with himself as it is.

He hears Gracia shift, and suddenly feels a warm hand grasping his own from across the table, gentle but firm.

"If you ever need to talk, I'm right here" she says, full of warmth and sincerity like she always is.

...Like Maes was, too.

Roy swallows at nothing again. "...Thank you," he whispers, trying his best to sound sincere.

Because to be brutally honest, he can't see himself taking up that offer very often, if at all.

---

The tension at dinner never quite went away, even into dessert. Sweet slices of pumpkin pie gained a bitter aftertaste on Roy's tongue, and he decided to take this as his cue to take his leave and head back home to his apartment.

“Thank you for the food, Gracia,” he says, somewhat tersely, rising from his chair. “Delicious as always.”

“Thank you, Roy,” she responds, a little stiffly. She shifts and takes his hand to shake it - hangs there for a few moments, awkward, leans closer as if wanting to offer him a hug instead. But she doesn’t, probably sensing Roy’s tension at the idea.

Still, he bows politely, retrieves his cane and makes his way to the living room and the front door beyond it – then finds himself stopped by a small hand tugging on his pant leg.

“Mister Mustang! You’re not leaving, are you?” Elicia chirps at his side.

Roy lowers his head in the direction her voice is coming from (or as best as he can guess). “I’m afraid so, dear. I’m sorry, but it’s getting late-”

“But I wanted to show you somethin’!”

“Ah- Oh. You did?”

“Mommy, can I take Mister Mustang to my room before he goes? Pleeeease?”

“Yes dear, but don’t keep him long,” Gracia calls out from the kitchen over the soft sound of running water, probably starting to wash the dishes.

“Okay!” Elicia bounces against him, and he feels her small fingers reaching up to grasp his own. Roy flusters slightly, caught between his own awkwardness and the whims of this precocious little girl. The girl, of course, wins out, and he submits to being tugged along by the arm across the house and into a bedroom down the hall.

Roy feels for obstacles with his cane instinctively as Elicia leads him inside, helping him around her furniture and scattered toys on the floor. He finds himself lead to her bed near the back.

“You can sit on my bed, Mister Mustang,” she says. Strangely, it sounds more like a command than an offer.

Roy ponders this as he seats himself on the little bed’s soft comforter, along with the silence that’s suddenly settled around him. Elicia doesn’t say a word as he hears her walk across the room, close her bedroom door, then return to the bed. Neither does she stop to retrieve a toy, or a book, or anything.

Roy feels the mattress sink and rise as her small form takes a seat next to him, still saying nothing. He feels very nervous, suddenly.

After a beat, she finally speaks, and in this strange, solemn sort of way. "Mister Mustang, can I ask you something?"

Roy turns in her direction, not sure what she's implying... but he gives her a smile anyway. "Of course, dear. Ask me anything."

"Who really took your eyes?"

Roy is... caught off-guard, to say the least. His smile vanishes in an instant, and he stammers out his response, his eyes blinking uselessly. "My... W- What?"

Elicia pauses for a moment, then speaks again, still in that odd tone of voice. "...It was the monsters, wasn't it. The ones who killed my daddy."

She knows. And she sounds far, far too serious about it. It's frightening.

...But then, Roy thinks, should he really be surprised? This poor girl lost her father when she'd barely turned three years old. She's been living with a grieving mother ever since, and the entirety of her short life in a violent, war-mongering country that's just gone through an earth-shattering upheaval within the past few months. He can't imagine what she's gone through, at such a tender age.

Obviously quite a bit, as she already has the presence of mind to keep up appearances in front of him and her mother while they discuss sensitive topics, and the intelligence to corner him for sensitive information in privacy.

Ah... she's already so much like her father, Roy realizes. Too stubborn to accept anything but the truth. He sees no point in not being honest with her.

He clears his throat to compose himself. "...Yes, it was them."

Elicia grunts. "I knew it."

Now, Roy could ask a sensitive question. "And how did you know, Elicia? Who told you about the monsters? Not your mother, I hope."

Elicia shifts, her hair-ties clinking softly as she shakes her head. "No, not mommy. She gets too sad. Mister Armstrong told me. I asked him over and over and over, 'till he told me all about the monsters living under the ground, hurting people and making them die. They made all that bad stuff happen during the ee-clips."

Oh, Alex... His heart is so soft. And Elicia is so cunning, now.

"They're all gone now, right Mister Mustang? You guys killed them all?" she asks expectantly.

"...Yes, we did. Even the one who killed your daddy. I fought him myself," Roy says, but not with any air of triumph.

Elicia doesn't seem to notice that, though. She gasps with excitement. "You did?! You used your fire, right?"

Roy nods, the memory not being pleasant. "Yes... I burned him a hundred times. Maybe more."

Elicia's hair-ties clink again, nodding her head. "That's good. I hope he hurt before he died."

This voice of cruelty and vengeance has no place coming from the mouth of a four-year-old. Roy frowns, poised to nip it in the bud here and now.

"Well, I don't, Elicia. Not anymore."

"Huh?" Her hair-ties clink again as she turns to face him, probably wearing a puzzled look on her little face.

Roy takes a deep breath, releases it. "Elicia, listen... I know how you must feel about this. I felt it too, when I was burning that monster. But it's not a good thing. I almost lost myself back there."

Elicia makes an odd, confused little sound. "Lost...? Like a maze? Mazes are easy, you just follow the walls 'till you find the way out."

Roy can only chuckle. She's thinking of her puzzle books... Perhaps her innocence isn't completely lost after all. But ah, how to explain this...

"It's... a different kind of maze," Roy says, grasping for the words even as he speaks. "It's more like... a maze that's inside you. With no walls."

Elicia makes another confused sound,  shifting and scratching her head. He can imagine her small face scrunched up with exasperation.

"...You're weird, Mister Mustang," she says finally.

"Hah, I know," he chuckles. "But it is like a maze."

He reaches out to touch her little shoulder, patting lightly when he finds purchase. "Listen... have you ever felt so sad, or so angry, that you forgot about everything else? Even who you are?"

Elicia makes thoughtful sounds at that."Um... I dunno. Maybe when Daddy died. Mommy was so sad she forgot to eat sometimes."

"Mm..." Roy scoots closer to her on the bed, draws her in with the arm at her back, hugging her against his side as she leans into him.

"Well, that's how I felt," he continues. "When I found that monster, and he told me he killed your daddy... I was angry. So, so angry. Like it was filling me up, all the way from my feet to the top of my head."

Elicia hums sadly.

"I forgot about everything. I forgot who I was, who my friends were. All I wanted to do was just... be angry, forever, and burn that monster over and over for what he did to your daddy."

Elicia pulls away slightly. "But- you can't just be angry. Not for forever."

Good, she understands. "That's right," Roy nods, "I couldn't. I thought I could, but my friends knew better. They stopped me, before I was lost for good."

Elicia makes a sound like something between awe and sadness.

"It was like... Like I was a completely different person back there," Roy says, getting a bit lost in the memory himself, now. He could almost laugh at it now, in this terrible sort of way. "...Can you even imagine? Being so angry that you're not even yourself anymore?"

"No... That's scary," Elicia says, matter-of-fact.

"Yes, it was," Roy says thoughtfully. "I was pretty scared back then. And I don't scare easily."

Elicia sighs, then wraps her small arms around his waist in a hug. "It's okay, Mister Mustang," she says, as if he were still upset about it now.

...Well he does sound a bit watery in his voice, Roy realizes belatedly. Remembered too much of his emotions back then, perhaps. He chuckles again, but welcomes her comfort, wrapping his arm around her small shoulders.

"I'm fine now, dear, I just don't want that to happen to you."

"Mm..." Elicia hums, snuggling closer to him. Roy leans against her in turn, the warmth a small but welcome comfort.

There’s a beat of silence. Eventually, Roy breathes another long sigh. "Well... it's over now. Hopefully there won't be monsters like that ever again.”

"Yeah," Elicia mumbles, her face half-buried against his torso.

They stay like that, holding each other, for a long while. At least, long enough for Roy to fight back down the tears threatening to well up in his chest. No need for that, now.

Suddenly, Elicia leans away from him and speaks up again. "Mister Mustang... Can I tell you a secret?"

"Of course," he says.

"Don't tell Mommy. Promise."

"I promise."

"No, you gotta pinky promise. Like this."

She takes his hand in her two small ones and carefully splays out his fingers, then hooks one of her little pinky fingers with his own. Chuckling a little, he bends his finger, sealing the gesture.

"Alright, alright, I'm doing it. Will you tell me now?"

Elicia giggles slightly, and he can hear her smiling now. "Yeah, yeah! Um-"

She pauses for a moment, as if steeling herself.

Then she says, "I wanna be like you when I grow up. An Alchemist."

Roy's grip relaxes at the revelation, his breath escaping him slightly with bewilderment. An alchemist… like him? Despite the still-cynical part of his mind, he can feel his heart swell in his chest. He can only hope that by the time Elicia reaches adulthood, the State Alchemists will be reformed into something she can be proud to be a part of. Servants of the people and paragons of science, no longer living instruments of war and death. Hopefully...

Elicia releases his hand and makes a worried sound at his tension. "Um- Girls can be Alchemists too, right?"

"O- of course," Roy says, trying and failing to recover. "Just... do your studies and work hard. That's all you need to do, really." Setting aside everything else, he isn't wrong.

"Okay! I will, I promise!" she says, all but bouncing against him on the bed by now.

Roy tries to laugh through the tightness in his chest. "Hey now - I hope you don't want to burn things like me, too?"

She stops bouncing. "Huh? No, not that. I wanna help people. Make no more bad things happen."

And this… gives Roy great pause. Her desires are so pure, so simple - so much like his own, when he was young and innocent and only knew he wanted to learn, to fight, to protect people.

Yes, he definitely wants to cry now. "Oh- Oh?"

"I dunno what I'll do,” Elicia continues. “But- I just wanna help people. Like Daddy did, but with Alchemy. You can do that, right?"

Roy swallows, losing the battle with his emotions. "Of... of course you can. We're supposed to, in fact. It's one of our rules: 'Alchemist, be thou for the people.'“

God, let it be true when this girl grows up.

"'Alchemist, be thou for the people'..." she repeats, slowly. After a beat, she says, "...I like that."

"...I'm glad you do." Roy smiles, now feeling tears gathering in his blind eyes, spilling from their corners.

Elicia startles at him. "-You're crying! What's wrong, Mister Mustang?"

Roy wipes at his eyes with one hand, sniffling. "Sorry, Elicia, I... I-it's happy tears, really."

She throws her little arms around him in a desperate hug, burying her face in his chest. "Please don't cry Mister Mustang! You're gonna make me cry!"

He holds her against him, laughing and pressing small kisses into her hair. "I'm sorry, I'm just- I'm so proud of you, dear.”

When he senses her lift her head to look at him, he adds, “...Your daddy would be, too."

He hears her start to sniffle, and she buries her head against him again, turning her head slightly.

"I hope he watches me,” she says softly. “I wanna be the best Alchemist ever."

"...And I'm sure you will," Roy whispers to her.

And he hopes Maes is watching him, too.

END.

[agent-cupcake]

Beastie and the Bard

Fire Emblem Three Houses - Dimitri x Reader (Chapter 5)

7,640 words later, Symphony Vittoria has drawn to an end. I’m so tired of working on it and want to move on, so just gonna drop it here and hope for the best. Valse di Amour is next, but I might work on something else for a bit. We’ll see... Hope you enjoy <3

Symphony Vittoria Opus 3, No. 3 III. Minuet

The late fall sun was hot on the crown of your head, doing nothing to help with the overwhelming heat of exertion that washed over you as you climbed off of Siobhan’s back and onto your own jelly-like legs. If not for the helpful Church aid, you likely would have fallen right then and there, collapsed onto the ground in a victorious puddle of sore muscles and elation.

“We won!” you said as you stumbled, catching yourself just in time, a goofy grin on your face.

“Congratulations,” the armorer said, her voice dry as she helped relieve you of your weapons and get your face mopped up of sweat. She said something else, but your ears were ringing. There was so much noise around you, the organized chaos of hundreds of people doing hundreds of different things. Victory, it all sounded like victory. Water was given to you, the armor fitted with straps to keep you in the saddle pulled away and leaving you lighter.

And then you left, far too excited to stop yourself. If anyone called for you to stop, you didn’t hear, slipping through the crowd on light feet.

Pegasi were not horses, but the two were grouped together more often than not. Perhaps the elegant Siobhan would be unhappy with the generalization, but you were glad for it as you made your way through the busy staging area. At some point in the fight, Dimitri had dismounted from his favored steed, but he always returned for the destrier. Not only out of affection for the beast, but out of fear that its fractious nature would harm those who came to collect him. In that respect, the two were well suited. And easy to find.

“Dimitri!” you called, rushing towards him as soon as you spotted his familiar blue cape. Both he and the magnificent destrier turned to your approach, an unfriendly set of dark eyes and an interested pair of blue. “That was amazing!” you told him, excitement launching you into a rant before your feet even stilled. “You should have seen the look on Hubert’s face when I got him out, he was so mad! If Seteth hadn’t called it I think he would have attacked you when you were fighting Edelgard. I’m glad he didn’t, obviously, but don’t worry, I would have protected you. Nobody would have been able to interfere with that fight… Gosh, it was so cool! Edelgard was waving that giant axe around like it was nothing, but you swiped in with your lance and the both of you moved so fast! It was intense! And now…” You laughed giddily, out of breath and your thoughts disorganized. “I’m just so happy that we won!”

“I feel the same,” Dimitri responded, his smile glowing. “Although... I cannot fathom from where you gain all this energy.” He laughed, shaking his head. “Don’t you ever grow weary?”

“Maybe… Sometimes,” you replied with a breathless laugh. “But... I’ll get ahold of myself.” More as an act than anything, you pulled in an exaggerated breath, holding yourself still from the jittery shake of adrenaline.

“Oh no, that wasn’t a critique!” Dimitri told you. “Your spirit is admirable. It reminds me of something I feel I had nearly forgotten. And in any case, I owe you for taking out Hubert. For a moment there I was afraid I was done for by rushing in so recklessly.”

“Or maybe you just knew that I’d be right behind you,” you joked. “By now you must know that you can always count on that.”

“Is that so?” Dimitri asked, one of his eyebrows raising in a playful way.  

“Sure,” you answered easily. “Still, I do like the idea of having you owe me. I guess I’ll have to think of a really good favor, huh?”

“Whatever you want,” Dimitri responded, his voice equally as earnest as it was teasing. How he managed such a balance, you didn’t know.

Then, without thinking, you asked, “What if I asked for you to kiss me?”

The brazen words were playful, your inhibitions melted beneath the swell of glory. If you were in your right mind, certainly you would have restrained yourself. Especially because the situation wasn’t romantic. At all. The two of you were sweaty and hot from a recently won battle and surrounded by tired animals, tired students, and frantic grooms. The air stank of all three groups, as well as the dissipating oily smoke of magic fire.  The situation wasn’t suited to the dizzy elation you felt, or the feeling tightening in your sore abdomen. But it was like you were alight, floating. Full of affection and joy and glory.

Dimitri blushed before you could even think to be embarrassed about what you said, the color obvious on his pale cheeks as a compliment to his shocked expression. He didn’t say anything. And then he continued not to say anything, awkwardness growing. Your heart dropped into your stomach. In a splash of iridescent color, the soap bubble surrounding your thoughts popped.

“That was… A really bad joke, wasn’t it?” you asked. Fidgeting, you raised a nervous hand to mess with your bound hair, pulling the tail a bit tighter as you let out a forced laugh to get rid of the tension. Trying to save face. Not that it really helped. Regret was tangy, it left you sore. Dimitri still looked stunned. Conflicted. Maybe a bit embarrassed still.  “Um, anyway, a true knight is noble and brave without any ulterior motives or desire for riches. And besides, today was so much fun that winning is… It’s the icing on the cake.”

“A joke,” Dimitri said doubtfully, adjusting his posture in a distinctly awkward way. His eyes were a bit too piercing, conflicted. Then they were pulled up, distracted by something behind you. “Oh, I… I’m afraid I must go, Professor Byleth asked me to meet with him once I was done here.”

You nodded quickly, glad for a break. “Yes, I should go help, uh, get things ready to leave.”

Dimitri looked apologetic, but moved to leave, pausing only a moment before departing. His expression was conflicted. Step uncertain, he cleared his throat somewhat awkwardly before speaking. “May we speak later?”

Your heart jolted. You couldn’t tell what that question implied, but you answered all the same on something like instinct. “Sure.”

Dimitri nodded, a firm militaristic nod, before departing. His dark-haired destrier looked at you with an unimpressed look, tossing his head in displeasure as his master left him.

“That was bad, wasn’t it?” you asked the beast of an animal. The destrier, nearly as royal as his rider, exhaled in a way that sounded suspiciously like a snort of derision.

Symphony Vittoria Opus 3, No. 3 cont. III. Minuet

It was only after the celebratory gathering of the Blue Lions dispersed that you realized that you had left your cloak in the dining hall. Well, more specifically, you realized it when you reached your room’s door and didn’t have a key. The first indication should have been that you were cold, but who could expect such elevated thought from your mushy brain after the day you had?

Without the glowing companionship of your class, you wanted nothing more than to toss yourself to the soft surface of your bed and lose your mind to a well-deserved rest. Staring dejectedly at the steadfast barrier, you considered the pros and cons of trying to pick the lock. Unfortunately, your training with Ashe hadn’t provided full comprehension in the thieving arts. Or, honestly, much comprehension at all. Then you considered simply smashing down the door. It almost seemed tempting until you realized it would probably make Professor Byleth upset if you were to deface monastery property.

There was nothing for it. With a dejected sigh, you turned on your heel and retraced your steps back into the monastery’s grand hall. Alone this time, since Mercedes and Annette had returned to their own rooms. The grounds and interior were mostly empty. When the heavy door shut behind you, each of your footsteps echoed and the flickering light of magically flared sconces splayed your shadow in all directions. The emptiness was slightly unnerving, especially since it wasn’t obscenely late. But everyone was wrung out and worn from the days battle and subsequent excitement. Most of the knights had left early in the night, leaving the professors in charge so they could make their own merry with coarser endeavors and liquor.

Students, of course, indulged in no such thing, even in the name of celebration. The monastery’s deep wells and windmills drew sweet, pure water from beneath the mountains, serving as the respectable replacement to the wine every establishment in Faerghus served in place of the often unsafe water. How odd it had been to learn that the custom was not mimicked everywhere, even seen as taboo by some. In any case, the rule against liquor in the dining hall was probably for the best. One of the few times you’d ventured out to one of the town’s taverns in your spare evenings, you were able to see firsthand how messily drunk those from other countries could get after drinking even the mildest of alcohol.  

Entering the dining hall, you began to creep through the dark with a bent posture to scope out each bench for your misplaced cloak. The position strained your sore muscles, muscles you hadn’t even known could get sore before assuming mounted combat atop a pegasus. At least you spotted your cloak fairly easily.

You didn’t linger after that. Although you didn’t subscribe to superstitions like that precocious mage from Golden Deer did, there was something haunting in the air now that everyone was gone. An undefined sense of emptiness. Not too long before, the dining hall had been bright and warm and full of sound, but now the only reminder of the night’s celebration was the faint traces of excitement and a mess.

But, without a doubt, the worst part of silence was the way it threw your thoughts right back at you. Without distraction, your conversation with Dimitri returned to mind. The entire night you had been able to shrug it off as momentary madness, a state of drunken delirium from the excitement of fighting and winning, but in the dark, you weren’t so easily able to cast it aside. He hadn’t spoken to you at much throughout the celebration or so much as met your eye afterward.

Shrugging on your forgotten cloak, you left the dining hall through the stone laid fishing area, not desiring to walk back through the main hall. Besides, the air was smooth and fresh and, despite the high altitude, it wasn’t too cold. Not yet at least. In the north, the night would require you to be bundled up in wools and fur, drinking medicinal tea for fear of catching ill. But not here in the goddess’ blessed lands. You took in a deep breath, feeling the way the expanding air pushed at your sore muscles. You really were tired. Completely worn out.

Honestly, it was a coincidence that your chosen path also took you near the entrance to the second story dormitory staircase. Not at all intentional. Why, then, were you not surprised when someone called your name? No, not someone. You didn’t need to look to know the familiar voice, an achingly familiar sound.  Almost like you had expected him to call out to you. If you believed in fate, and you were only partially certain that you did, you’d have no choice but to believe that the two of you were fated to meet solely by the will of the night.

Nerves sparked to life in your stomach, but you turned to face the call with a smile for the man to which the voice belonged. Sparse lamplight was warm on Dimitri’s skin as he moved to approach you, shining in the gold of his hair and highlighting the signs of weariness on his face. Taking the steps with ease you were sure your sore legs couldn’t possibly attain, Dimitri came to a stop a socially acceptable distance away. If you were to take a single step, you would be in his arms reach. Another would ensure that you’d have to look up to meet his eyes, perhaps you could make out their color even in the dark. And another after that would put you close enough to touch, for him to feel the heat of your burning cheeks.

Energy rippled in the space between you. Something about Dimitri’s expression, the way he had said your name. Something that made you utterly and entirely aware, sensitized to the air on your skin and the way your sore abdominal muscles tightened despite the way it strained them. Something about the embarrassment of what you had said after the battle.

“You’re up late,” you said, still wearing the silly nervous grin you couldn’t force away. It was a pointless remark, considering you knew exactly how little he actually slept, but you were far too flustered for anything particularly imaginative.

“Ah, yes,” Dimitri agreed. Formal. “Once again I find myself unable to sleep…” He hesitated, frowning. “Actually, I wanted to speak with you first. If you wouldn’t mind.”

“Not at all.”

“It’s… It’s about earlier,” Dimitri said.

“I remember,” you said, heart dropping. Soft words, achingly nervous words. Where was all your confidence now? It seemed all you had was the relentless flutter of butterflies and a head dizzy with anticipation. “I just was so excited, and I spoke without thinking and I’m really, really sorry... I don’t suppose we could just pretend it never happened?” You offered him a tight, hopeful smile.

“That’s not something I can so easily disregard,” Dimitri said, his brow furrowing. “I know sometimes people say or do things in the heat of the moment that they might not otherwise, and I swear I won’t pursue this any farther if that is the case. After all, I’m sure there are many other boys in the academy who would be far preferable, and besides, I’m...” He let the words lapse there, frowning. A moment later, that haunted look passed and his eyes rose back to yours. “Either way, for my own peace of mind, I felt that I ask what you meant by that request.”

You let out a little bubble of laughter in response, you couldn’t help it. The entire thing was just ridiculous. Boys preferable to him? What you meant, when your words had been so blatant? “Isn’t it obvious?” you asked. “I just thought that you weren’t interested, which is fine! I didn’t want to put you in that situation because I know you’re… I know you already have so many things to deal with and it’s not like I can offer someone like you anything of value, and most of the time I’m sure I’m just an annoyance anyway, so-”

“You’re not an annoyance,”  Dimitri said urgently, taking a step forward. “Please don’t think such a thing. And as far as ‘value’, well, I’m not sure what I would do without you. What any of us would do without you. Your positivity and your smile have more value than you know. That’s why I worry that I…”  He frowned again as if he was torn up about something. “I’m afraid I can’t give you what you want. I’m in no position to make any promises regarding the future. To do so would only be selfish.”

“I don’t understand,” you said. “If you don’t… like me, you can be honest about how you feel.” Even if it hurt, there was nothing worse than the not knowing. Probably. Maybe.

Dimitri’s expression shifted, his head tilting and lip turning up with the beginning of a smile. “Isn’t it obvious?” he asked, delivering the repeated quip with the stilted humor you’d grown used to. Despite that, in Dimitri’s expression, you saw a mirror of your nerves. You saw something that was at once cautious and questioning, binding the whatever fire that burned beneath. You saw intensity in its truest form. Control, and restriction. Doubt, and a question. Hesitation before action.

It was dizzying. The lack of sleep, the physical fatigue, the joy of victory, and now this. Words couldn’t describe the feeling, the elevation burning in the base of your skull, the shiver holding still at the small of your back, the muscles fluttering and tightening. Affection, pure and undiluted. Too much, bursting from the seams. Much more than you could ever tell him of.

“Will you kiss me?” you asked.

Like that, his hesitation melted away. Self control overridden by impulse. Dimitri took the last two steps, coming close enough for him to feel the heat of your blushing cheeks, to smell the soap you’d used to wash your hair after returning to the monastery. Close enough for his hand to cradle your head with overly careful movements, for your own to raise tentatively to his cheek and shoulder. Close enough for his lips to meet yours.

And it was lyrical. Poetic in every sense that it was not. Chaste, nothing like the enthusiastic and messy kissing you’d seen others engage in. Awkward in the way of two partners trying to learn a dance for the first time. Sweet because when you breathed in, Dimitri filled your senses. His hands, his body, his lips, all of them so close, yours for that moment.

Too soon it ended, leaving you starry eyed, dizzy, grinning like a lunatic.

Dimitri let his hands drop, taking a half step away to give you space. “I’m sorry, that was forward of me.”

“It’s okay to be forward, you know,” you said. “And sometimes being selfish... Well, it’s not always a bad thing.”

Dimitri weighed those words, then let out a heavy breath, shaking his head. Closing himself off from you. “I’m not so sure that’s true. Not for me, at least.” He caught himself after a moment, adding, “That’s not to say that I’m displeased with this. With you. That said… It looks as if you’re about to fall over. Today was an exhausting day, perhaps both of us could use a bit of rest.”

You hadn’t even noticed the way you were wobbling on your feet, unsteady. “Are you actually going to sleep?” you asked him.

“I think I might. Finally.”

You smiled. “Well, until we meet again in the waking world.”

“Until then,” Dimitri said, his head tipping politely.

Parting was bittersweet, your stomach lit aflame with a final glance back at him. That image kept you company all the way back. And although you had a thousand thoughts to keep you awake, you didn’t even get changed from your clothes before unconsciousness claimed you.

Symphony Vittoria Opus 3, No. 4 IV. Finale

It was a full moon, the first since the Blue Lion’s so-called victory at Remire Village. Even with the added illumination, the sky was somehow just as large and unfathomable as the abyss that sprawled beneath your feet. With the horizon so dark, there was practically no difference between them, no dividing line to say what was of earth and what was of the heavens. Only you, the darkness, and the absolute unknowable.

And your music, of course.

The air was cold as winter continued to cast its witching spell across the lands, and a seat on the top of the fence edging the sheer cliff at the corner of one of Garreg Mach’s courtyards was probably not the most comfortable or safe spot, but you had no desire to leave. Central Fodlan’s cold season wasn’t even half as brutal as it was in Faerghus. Besides, the full moon made you wonder, made you dream. Was the goddess really praying up there in the heavens, as legend of the Ethereal Moon would say? You could almost imagine it. The goddess in all her magnificent splendor among the stars, praying for peace and prosperity, for safety and calm.

That begged a rather odd question, though. To whom did the divine pray?

Either way, you performed for the occasion. Stray chords and soft melodies. Gentle notes that echoed against mountainous drop hidden in the dark below. Slow, weaving tunes that reverberated and repeated in the silence back to you. Or, perhaps, it was the silence itself that was rejecting the noise which disturbed it. You played for the abyss that stretched beneath your throne at the top of the world. You played for the billows of fog that crawled up from the dark, set alight and lustrous from the tender caress of the full moon hanging right above. You played to cease your thoughts as they whirled unendingly, you played in an attempt to remember the warmth that had burned so delightfully in your chest before.

Poking out from the scarf you’d pulled over your face, the tip of your nose was red, and your fingers were clumsy and stiff from the chill. But it was much, much better than silence. Absence was agony, quiet was cruel. For a while, you’d driven away the silence of the night with training. Dimitri hardly ever said anything, but there was a weight to the companionship and ritual of the entire affair. Since the brutal end of the previous month, you hadn’t seen him nearly at all.

You told yourself that it was fine. Dimitri was as the moon, a soul shining in soft radiance existing in a cycle of shifting patterns amidst the nuanced darkness of night. Waxing and waning with each pass. Bright and alluring sometimes, drawing you in with his laugh and contradicting sense of humor, with the liquid warmth you’d felt when his lips had met yours, but shuttered and turbulent on the others, hiding half in the dark and pulling away from you as the horrors of things hiding in the shadows overcame him. Distant and unknowable, something to love without expectation.

If only. Things had been going so well after that fateful night, your heart warm with joy in the wake of the Blue Lion’s victory at the Battle of the Eagle and Lion. Or at least you thought so. You hadn’t expected Dimitri to actually court you after a single kiss, or to treat you any differently than he had before, and he hadn’t. It was all you could hope for that he’d keep you around. But now the memory of his lips against yours was tinged by regret. Regret when you thought of Dimitri’s outburst outside of Remire and the subsequent slip of his mood and mentality, the way that he avoided you and your silly girlish crush and idealistic desires and annoyingly mundane wishes like a partner to the upcoming White Heron Ball and a calloused and strong hand to hold in yours.

You strummed a happy chord to counteract the bitter ache of that thought. A happy chord that became a melody. Nothing at first. That was the way of music, wasn’t it? Something from nothing, song from silence. Now, without even thinking about it, you began to play a song for the moon. You weren’t thinking about it, not really. You’d practiced this song a thousand times over in order to get it just right because the moon deserved something perfect. Another chord, a bit clumsy with cold, climbing it out to create a steady instrumental for the sung melody, now replaced with the soft voice of the lyre. No longer happy, the tune wept with the faint edge of melancholy.

You heard the approach of footsteps before the voice could startle you, your fingers coming to a harsh halt mid-way through. Combat training had taught you to be constantly aware of your surroundings, even while relaxed. Especially when there were such wicked villains strutting about the area. At the very least, it saved you from the undesirable fate being scared into a deadly plunge towards the void beneath you once the voice startled you, although you couldn’t help but mourn the loss of that blissful ignorance for the slightest moment. It was for the best, anyway, that song was for-

“I thought I might find you here,” Dimitri said.

Surprise or no, hearing his voice made you tense up, quickly looking behind your shoulder as if to prove to yourself that it really was him. Then again, who else would it be at this hour? You chose your spots very carefully these days, picking out the holes in where knights might usually patrol. There was no sense in guarding an area that no creature, human or beast, would be able to sneak in through.

Although you hadn’t seen him much at all recently, Dimitri’s appearance filled you with an odd sense of Deja Vu. Something about the way he was bleached silver by the full moon and draped in shadow, finally paying respect to the cold weather by wearing a striking blue cloak more substantial than that of his uniform. You pulled your lyre and hands into the safe warmth of your cloak, submitting to the silence while a small voice in your head wondered if it was the song that had summoned him. It was his, after all, penned soon after the conversation in the classroom months back.

How many days had it been since Remire, since he’d begun avoiding you?

But that was an easy answer, for you at least. Far too many.

“Perhaps I should try to be more unpredictable,” you finally said with an attempt at being playful, pulling your face from the scarf so you could be heard.

“Oh, no, that wasn’t what I meant, I-” Dimitri’s quick apologetic response cut off soon after it began, as if he realized something. “That was a joke.”

“Not a very good one,” you gave him.

The momentary levity dissipated in a flash, awkwardness returning. Dimitri looked tired, although it would have been more surprising to see him looking well rested at this point. Cold had nibbled his cheeks and nose to a pink that was rather fetching, considering you were quite certain your cheeks were ruddy with the icy chill. Visible awkwardness, both in his expression and in his stance, mirrored your own.

“Did you... Need something?” you asked when he said nothing further. You regretted your tone immediately, but Dimitri didn’t seem to take it personally, addressing the question at face value in the rather blunt way he so often did.

“Yes, I wanted to speak to you... Do you mind if I sit?” he asked, gesturing to stretch of the stone fence beside you. The blocks were just wide enough to make for a seat, and not adorned like they were in other parts of the monastery. Your head tilted in curiosity, heart stuttering in a way you were far too familiar with by now, a reaction you were certain your body reserved for Dimitri.

“Of course,” you said. Dimitri, to your surprise, threw his legs over the wall to sit beside you, looking about twice as awkward in the position as you might have imagined him to. Although, it didn’t seem to be out of caution of the great height, but some odd dissonance between the polite prince he was raised to be and the exhausted soldier he so often carried himself as. Neither were likely to adopt the position of the romantic delinquent who would find solace in such a place.

“This is an… Interesting spot to practice,” Dimitri noted lightly, looking at the sky, the abyss, and the stretching image of the cathedral’s spires beyond. Although his tone was as proper as ever, his eyebrow quirked, lit quite well by the bulbous moon above.

“I started coming here to get over my fear of heights so I could ride Siobhan without wanting to cry, but…” You considered the view, feeling a bittersweet twinge in your heart at the sight. Raw beauty hurt when you weren’t expecting it. “It’s a good spot to think, you know? And please don’t say that it’s dangerous. I have a knife and everything, just in case.”

“That’s good to know, but I wasn’t going to lecture you,” Dimitri said. “I trust your capability.” After a moment, he bitterly added, “Besides, I’m hardly one to talk in that regard.”

“Oh,” you replied, unsure of what else to say. You hadn’t noticed it before, but he looked serious. Well, Dimitri almost always looked serious, but there were varying shades of it. This was the type of serious that had a furrowed brow and eyes full of all sorts of deep, conflicting thoughts. The weight of the world bearing down on his shoulders. Very kingly.

“I wanted to apologize for my behavior in Remire Village,” Dimitri finally told you.

You felt a harsh pull in your gut to hear him say that, as well as surprise. You blinked as if that would clear things up, but it didn’t.

“Apologize?” you asked.

“For my behavior, and… For frightening you.” His eyes closed with those softer words, that apology utterly sincere. “Frightening me?” you asked, your voice even softer with disbelief. “You’ve been avoiding me since then, haven’t you?” Dimitri asked. “I won’t force my company on you, but please know that what happened… How I behaved… I am deeply regretful that you witnessed that.” He let out a breath, the cold puffing in front of his lips like a little ghost. “An apology does little to mend it, I know, but I am truly sorry.”

“Dimitri…” you said after an extended stillness had settled, your voice timid as you tried to understand what he had just said. “I think you’ve misunderstood.”

“Misunderstood?” he asked doubtfully.

“Or maybe I’ve misunderstood? You didn’t scare me, Dimitri, that’s…” Ridiculous. It was a ridiculous thought. “I was… No, I am worried for you,” you got out, stilted as you tried to voice what you thought. This wasn’t at all what you had thought this conversation would be, if it even happened at all. It was surreal, almost.

Dimitri still looked doubtful, measuring your words as mere placations. You knew him well enough by now to recognize that look in his eyes, even in the near dark. So you pushed forward, trying to make him understand, to convince him of your feelings without voicing them directly. A confession was the last thing Dimitri needed right now, not that you were even sure if you had the courage to confess what you felt. What you truly felt.

“After… What happened, you seemed so withdrawn and unhappy whenever I was around, so I thought you wanted to be left alone. That it was… What you needed. And I- I don’t really know how to help you, anyway.” That truth hurt to voice, ripping up the inside of your throat as it emerged from your mouth in a hushed tone. “Or if that’s even possible. I see the stress you’re under, the pain… You look so tired these days, and you mentioned that your head aches terribly, so I-”

“I’m fine,” Dimitri interrupted sharply, his body tense and eyes hard. Then he blinked. Sighed with another puff of cold air. His eyes lowered and shoulders drooped, a hand going to his temple. “I’m sorry. You shouldn’t be concerned about me, I really am fine.”

“Even if that’s true… Well, please remember that I’m with you, whatever you need, however I can help. No matter what,” you said.

His eyes, the blue obscured by the sunken shadows cloaking them, held yours for a suspended moment. Looking for your loyalty? For honesty?

“The Professor looks at me the same way,” he finally said, looking back out into the dark. “So worried. He says I should get more rest… But how can I sleep when the despicable scoundrels who orchestrated the tragedy in Remire Village continue to draw breath? Not just them, but…” Dimitri hesitated. “I told you before that I lost my parents and many of my friends in the Tragedy of Duscur, do you remember?”

You nodded, not daring to speak.

“When I saw what was happening in Remire, I was reminded of the flames I saw four years ago in Duscur… Of the chaos that took my family and stole countless precious lives. And right then, my mind was overcome with that same rage… A complete and utter darkness.” He paused, looking out over the void below with hardened eyes, anger etched into his face. “Since that day in Duscur, my sole purpose has been to find justice for my family. Justice for all of those who have suffered and died at the hands of the Flame Emperor and his ilk. Inhuman monsters who prey on the innocent. That is the only reason I came to the Officer’s Academy.” Dimitri’s voice had become low, not the growl from Remire, but managing to be just as intense. “I will have revenge.”

Chills prickled nearly painfully against the insides of your sleeves and thick leggings, shuddering down your spine like ice water. Dimitri was being honest, there was no doubt in you that this was his truth, but you weren’t sure he’d ever seemed more unreachable as he did at that moment. The binding chains of the dead dictated his life. You had seen it before, feared it, but now you could see the fact starkly, plainly displayed in his eyes. He was willing to lose himself to the ghosts of those who had died, to his rage and his grief.

And you couldn’t do anything about it, could you?

“Dimitri,” you said softly, even mournfully. With a tentative touch, you pulled a hand out from your cloak to place it on his clenched fist where it sat between the two of you. Dimitri tensed up, his eyes swiveling to you as if surprised at your proximity. He blinked, and the tension bled out from his body, his fist unclenching. Clearing his throat, he adjusted his gaze, his body. Awkward once more. Your hand retreated, falling back onto your lap as you pulled away from him, allowing the moment to drop without any further comment.

Somewhere beyond the two of you, a breeze rustled the world of the dark into a faint stir, the sounds of it loud in comparison to the silence. You let out a slow, heavy breath, drawing in the cold air gratefully for the way it stung.

“Thank you for telling me. You know that…” You swallowed hard. “Anything you need of me, anything you ask… I’m with you to the end.”

“I wouldn’t ask that of you… Of any of you,” Dimitri responded. “This is my duty, my burden alone to bear.”

“You don’t need to be alone,” you said softly.

Dimitri pulled in a sharp breath, his gaze once again fixing on you. Was that surprise? Distaste? You didn’t know, and he didn’t respond. Soon after, he looked away. Another trail of silence began. Just you and him and the millions of things you didn’t know, that you wished so desperately to understand.

“I should probably attempt to get some rest,” Dimitri said after a span. “Professor Byleth has already made it clear that he’ll drag me out for tea first thing.” He sighed. “I appreciate the effort, but I can’t say that I’m in much of a mood to celebrate.”

Panic spiked through you.

“Dimitri,” you said, your voice just a touch too loud as you looked at him, blinking yourself to clarity as something in his words registered. “It’s your birthday today.”

“So it is,” he replied.

You were so stupid to have forgotten! Well, not entirely forgotten. You had known it was coming up, you just assumed that you wouldn’t get the chance to give him his gift considering how distant he had been. Now your lyre felt heavy in your arms, and the song for the moon began to tease your thoughts once more. It was one of the first real original compositions you’d ever penned, a song for a man who had an admitted indifference towards music. Admittedly, you had bonded a sort of understanding with all of the musicians who had composed for King Lambert while writing it.

“Before you go, um, so... I didn’t know what to get you...” you began nervously.

“I didn’t expect anything,” Dimitri said as if to soothe you. He meant it, too, a fact that made you feel rather sad.

“Well, I didn’t get you anything, but I… I wrote you a song. It’s all I could think of that would be special, and I was thinking that when you’re king, every bard is going to write songs about you. Extolling your virtues and waxing endlessly about your battle prowess and jaw-dropping physique and kingly merits, but I’d like to be the first.” You paused in your mess of words, frowning as the question struck you. “I am your first, aren’t I?”

Dimitri looked, unless you were way off the mark, flustered. After thinking about what you had just said, you felt a bit of that yourself. Luckily, he played it off well.

“The first to write a song about me? I believe you would be.”

“That’s a relief,” you said with an overly dramatic sigh, trying to cover for your embarrassment. It helped, kind of. “Anyway, I know you don’t love music and if you don’t want it that’s fine, but I thought that it’d be… Uh… Well, you know…”

“Can you play it?” he asked.

“Yes, if you want,” you said, feeling a rush of nerves. Of course, you had hoped for him to ask, but hoping for something and having it happen were different matters entirely. Every musician wanted a chance to show off, but you were only partially a musician and you wanted most desperately to impress Dimitri. More than the goddess, even.

“Please,” he said, gesturing for you to play. You couldn’t tell if he was just humoring you or not. You hoped he wasn’t.

“It’s a short song, so don’t worry… It’s a lullaby, actually,” you explained, pulling your lyre out from beneath your cloak and testing the strings and your fingers. Luckily, talking had given them a chance to melt a bit. “I, um, I didn’t think that a gaudy ballad or anything would suit you. Or anything too upbeat. Perhaps one day, but for now… Well, I thought it was the best fit.” Dimitri didn’t say anything to your rambled thoughts, and you were far too embarrassed to look at him directly to see what expression he might have been wearing. But that was fine, you’d only been talking in order to give yourself a chance to get everything in order. “It doesn’t have a name yet, either, but… Uh, here goes.”

You took in a deep breath, holding it for just a moment before letting it out in a slow stream. A set of singular notes began the song, the ones you had been tinkering with earlier. They built up into a chord. Simple, the best lullabies were simple, even their introductions. Then, striking one chord to hold, you began to sing.

“Now close your eyes and hush your cries, though the dark surrounds you.”

You struck another chord as you savored the words, holding onto the notes just slightly. This was the first time you’d ever tasted them like this, and they were bittersweet. Luckily, the sound of your voice was greatly helped by the sound bouncing to and fro about the cliffside below, being returned back to you by the dark.

“Many have gone, and the night’s been long, but soon the sun will rise.” With your right hand, you layered in more chords to add a more firm compliment to your melody. The lyre wasn’t creating a happy sound, but not one that was overtly sad. She sounded melancholic, in a way. Somber, but also giving you a driving force for the next lines.

“Now comes the cold and horrors untold, the world torn asunder.”

Your fingers climbed the strings of your lute into a rising glissando, the other set of fingers adding a faint droning note to work off of.

"But Prince of Blue….

By the goddess, it was sad, wasn’t it? Dimitri. He was a tragic figure. Now more than ever you understood that as a fact.

“Stay brave, stay true…”

The discordant tri-tone shift downward propelled you forward, emotion pulling through your fingers and in your voice.

“The lion will prevail….”

Your voice pushed upwards a third, unraveling the melody into repeating itself.

“So don’t you cry...”

There was tension in the chord you hit, still. Unresolved conflict between the notes and the song, not one you had planned for, but it was right. Complete in the way that it was broken.

“Close your eyes…”

Another chord to compliment the echoed tri-tone shift, closer to what was needed to fulfill the sound, to make it whole, but not quite, not yet.

“Soon, the sun will rise.”

The instrumental resolution following that final phrase was simple, as simple as anything else. Three chords struck plain and not held. Sorrowful, but not dark. It hurt all the same, and as the final notes faded from your mind, you found that you wished they didn’t have to. It wasn’t the best song, and maybe it wasn’t even good, but that didn’t matter.

Your eyes were misty as you slowly pulled your lyre back against you, raising your gaze to look at your singular audience member. You’d never written a song for another person before, and certainly not like this. While performing you had felt a sense of separation, of strength and belief in your composition, but you suddenly realized that you had no idea what it might have sounded like. Making it even worse, Dimitri wore an expression you couldn’t read, his eyes fixed on you intently.

Anxiety twisted your insides as you waited for his deciding response, the seconds ticking by like years. Eventually, you found yourself too antsy to wait for him.

“Do you hate it?” you asked in a rush. “If you don’t like it I can… I can try another one, maybe a different type of song? Or different lyrics? Or….” Maybe this had been a bad idea, he had mentioned before that he wasn’t especially enthused about music in the first place. You had been too excitable about it. Too desperate. “You can be honest.”

“I… I don’t know what to say,” he finally told you, the words' stiff. “It wasn’t what I expected… I suppose that I’m the Prince of Blue?”

You nodded.

“And the lion?”

“Us, all of us. Together.”

“I see…”

“You can be honest.”

“It’s a lovely song. I… I’m sorry to admit that I didn’t expect that.” He even managed to sound apologetic. “I’ve never had much interest in music.”

Relief crashed through you, your shoulders drooping a bit as you relaxed. “Before knowing you, I hated warm up routines,” you replied, striving for a casual smile and tone. “So… Maybe there’s hope for you yet?”

Dimitri snorted at the idea, at the perceived ridiculousness. He was probably right.

“Okay, maybe not,” you admitted. “I promise you next year I’ll get you a really cool sword or something.”

“Next year…” he mused. His expression wasn’t dark, but leading into to unsafe territory. You could only begin to guess at what he imagined for his future.

“Things will be different then, huh?” you said, frowning. It hurt to think of him leaving, going off to be king, to think of the reason why he couldn’t make any promises. In a year there would be no more clandestine night time meetings, sanctified by the moon. “I suppose time must continue forward. But that… That’s okay, isn’t it?” you asked. Then, your head tipped towards him, an impish smile spreading across your face. “For now you should probably be more concerned about tea with Professor Byleth.”

Dimitri blinked, his eyes focusing, but he laughed. “That’s true, I-”

“Your Highness,” a familiar low voice said, cutting through Dimitri’s words. Dedue. He stood behind the two of you, wearing an obvious look of concern. Likely for the potentially precarious position Dimitri was in. “I’ve been searching for you. I wish you would alert me before going out, it isn’t safe.”

“Ah, my apologies, Dedue,” Dimitri responded, returning to his stiffly conversational way of speaking. Posture equally stiff, he turned and swing off of the fence to the solid ground. “I didn’t intend to be out so long. We should be getting back.” Dimitri turned his head to you. “And you as well.”

“Yes, it’s late isn’t it?” The sky-bound moon had dragged across the sky in the time you’d been too absorbed in your worldly moon to notice, showing how late it was. You swiveled and hopped back to the ground, holding your lyre safely beneath your cloak. The case was in your room, one of the worst signs of your internal turmoil. But… that was fine. You didn’t want to take the time to place your lyre back in her case that right then. Not when you’d just won a victory of sorts. Victory always made you a special kind of fool.

“Goodnight Dedue,” you said, bowing slightly to the tall man. “And… Goodnight Dimitri. Happy birthday. This years gonna be a good one, I can feel it.” Smiling, nervous, and a bit jittery, you rose to your toes and kissed his cheek. Quickly, too fast for him to respond in any way. Like that first victory, months ago. And, just like that time, you turned tail straight away to make your escape, endlessly grateful that your block of dormitory rooms was in the opposite direction from theirs.

You hummed all the way back, a lullaby.

[blehbleehhhh]

Bubble Gum ft. EreMika❣️

A lovely reader requested a super sweet fluffy modern childhood fic that I'm really excited to share! Hope you'll enjoy. ❤️

ps: my mom calls me ladybug, just humor me.

The sun was a blazing fiery ball, twinkling its peak midday golden rays over a small sleepy town and the playground where local children congregate when their parents send them out to play. Titan's Fury Park happens to be one little girl's favorite place of solitude where she can steal away if only for a moment to add drawings to her sketchbook since there are many beautiful places to sit that never fail to inspire a doodle or two. Somewhere in a small group of boys are her two best friends playing a very competitive game of football. Mikasa has witnessed it herself many times, where Eren will rub it in Jean's face that his team had won the game by aggressively throwing the ball into the grass, while Armin sits on the sidelines feeling uninterested in the sport, but he'll keep score as he reads one of the many books off his shelf that's most likely already been read.

The precocious, green eyed boy was instructed by his mother to keep watch over Mikasa, who later stubbornly insisted that Armin and Eren do their own thing since she fully intends to work on filling her sketchbook instead of playing. But one of the local girls who only recently started to pick on her had other plans. "Where's your cute friend?" Annie inquires, blowing a small bubble with pink gum as she stands confidently before the girl sitting cross legged on a bench. Mikasa sighs with irritation, deepening the shading on her closeup tree bark sketch. "Hey, I asked you a question. Look up from your stupid scribble book." But the girl remained strong and ignored how demanding and harsh these words were being spoken to her by such a blunt person, carefully smudging a spot on her sketch with the pad of her pinky. "Excuse you," Annie hisses under her breath obviously feeling impatient as she suddenly grabs Mikasa's long hair with a truly evil grin. "You know, you really have such beautiful hair. It would be a shame if you had to cut it." Her victim frowned and reached for her hair only to have it painfully tugged in retaliation, making her whine in discomfort as she holds her scalp protectively.

"Well, you don't have to worry about that, because I'm not cutting it."

"Uh-huh, where's Eren?"

"I don't know!" Mikasa rushes to say as her hair is tugged once more. "Why?!"

"Because I think he's cute and I want you to talk to him. Aren't you his sister or something?"

"Not by blood..."

"Tell him that Annie thinks he's cute."

"Can't you do that yourself?!"

"It would be so much more fun to see you do it. And if you don't, I'll destroy your sketchbook."

"Fine..." Mikasa reluctantly agrees, shyly darting her eyes from Annie's stoic expression. "I'll talk to him later."

"Thanks." Annie smiles as she spits her gum out on her hand and smushed it with raven hair, rolling the wad around between her hands to mix everything together. She snickers to herself as she walks away, leaving Mikasa with stinging eyes and a quivering bottom lip already feeling humiliated to the point where her cheeks and the tips of her ears felt hot. It was with a heavy heart that she gathers her belongings and holds them to her chest as she takes off running in search of Eren, the one who she always has and always will turn to in stressful situations.

Eren was found playing football with his friends like she anticipated, but he's currently on the ground after being tackled aggressively by Reiner and Jean for the ball. Armin cheers for his friend from the sidelines while Bertolt, Marco, and Connie watch intently to learn the final score of their fourth game. "HA! I GOT THE BALL! CONNIE! CATCH!" Jean roars with laughter, cackling triumphantly as he rushes to throw the ball at Marco not far away to finish the game in their favor.

Until they heard truly hysterical crying.

"ERENN!" Mikasa cries, her voice wailing his name at the top of her lungs as tears streamed down her face. He immediately sits up from where he was laying in the grass recovering after being tackled so aggressively and his heart sunk to see her so distraught.

"What?! What?!" Eren hurried to his feet and stumbled a step as he runs to embrace her. "What happened?! Why are you crying?!" She looks up to meet his concerned and inquiring gaze with watery eyes, her tears making him cloudy until she blinks them away.

"Someone was mean to me and and -" She coughs suddenly from crying, making her cheeks even hotter with embarrassment. I don't want all this attention! Her foot stomps angrily. "She put gum in my hair!" Dreading the consequences of Annie's actions, Mikasa bursts into tears because she knows that she needs to have this obnoxiously large wad of gum cut from her hair, when she happens to love how long it's grown to barely above the waistline of her long skirt. Eren's blood boils with anger and the look in his eyes is one that only someone close to him would recognize. It somehow made her cry even more to feel validated that what happened was indeed a horrible thing. He sighs deeply to keep his cool and studies at the wad of gum in her hair, holding it carefully in his hand.

"Who did this do you?"

"It-" She sniffles and takes in a few involuntary breaths as her body tries to settle itself, his fingers releasing her gummy hair. "It was Annie. She was telling me to tell you that she thinks you're cute, when she just squished her gum in my hair!" The embarrassed little girl sighed with sorrow as her best friend wrapped his arm around her shoulders and gently brought her in for a hug, letting her cry into his shirt. He glanced up at Jean, who just gave an understanding nod to let him know that it was more than okay for him to skip out.

"Figures," Eren sighed as he rests a hand on the top of her head the way his mother comforts them at home. "Annie asked me the other day if I liked her and I think she meant the like like way, so now she won't leave me alone," He maintains an arm around her shoulder and gives a small wave at his friends while they go over the score together and rehydrate. "Come on, Mika, I'll take you home."

"But I want you to stay here. I can walk home by myself..."

"I know you can, but I want to be there for you when you're, like, sad and bummed out. Those guys understand."

"But why?" Mikasa's voice was soft and her breathing has already begun to settle much to his relief.

"Because you're my best friend and I really really hate seeing you anything but smiling. It's beautiful," Eren smiles at first until he realized what he said, and it make him chuckle awkwardly. "I mean you're beautiful. I-I mean.." But it was too late. His slip of the tongue has already made her giggle amidst her soft sniffling as she wipes the tears staining  her cheeks with her fingers. He swallows hard and his face grows hot, but her laugh always makes him smile. No matter what. "Never mind." She tucks her hair behind her ear and plays with her fingers anxiously.

"You're so funny, Eren.."

"I wasn't really trying to be funny, but thank you." He chuckled as they came up behind his mother outside while she was gardening, who did a double take and immediately dropped her tools in the flowerbed, running over to Mikasa terribly concerned. "Hi, Momma, someone was mean to Miki and put gum in her hair."

"This will never come out!" Mikasa whines, stomping her feet in the grass as she looks down at the wad of gum and hair, trying desperately to untangle the gooey mess with her little fingers to no avail. Carla frowns as she carefully takes the girl's hands in hers and holds them while Eren wipes tears from beneath her eyes. "Aunt Carla, I don't wanna cut it!"

"Mikasa, I'm so sorry.." Carla opens her arms to offer a hug that was happily taken. "This does need to be cut out, ladybug, but it'll be alright. Your hair will grow out before you know it, I promise." She gently pats the little girl's back before pulling away to stand up, offering her hands for both children to take as they followed her inside the house. "Why don't you two wait for me by the sink so I can find a pair of scissors?" She says as they enter the kitchen, their little hands departing from hers while they run to the sink together and little sneakers squeak on the hardwoods. Carla soon comes over with scissors in her hand and a sad look on her face because she has to cut these beautiful raven locks. Mikasa sighs softly as the scissors were positioned to cut above the gummy mush. "Hold still, okay?" Raven hair drops silently on the kitchen floor as the scissors slowly work their way around her head, leaving her with just as luscious shoulder length hair. "You cutie pie, look at you!" Carla smiles as she sets the scissors on the counter and carefully runs her fingers through Mikasa's hair to make certain all of the gum has been removed. The little girl offers a small smile in return as she wipes her tears from beneath her eyes.

"It actually feels good to have my hair cut.."

"I'm so glad that you like it."

"Thank you for fixing my hair. Eren was right, you do have super powers."

"Mikasa!"

"Oh, my sweet baby boy," Carla laughs and brings the embarrassed child in to plant a kiss on his forehead and ruffle his hair. "You’re in desperate need of a haircut as well, but I can take care of that later. Why don't you take Mikasa back to the playground?"

"Will you take me?" The little girl turns to her friend with a hopeful look and he simply grins.

"Will you smile for me?"

"Okay.." Mikasa smiles and found her cheeks to be hot when his face immediately lights up in response. Before she knew it, his hand was in hers and they were well on their way back to the park. It was still hot outside from the midday sun, its blinding rays invading their vision frequently, but Eren still manages to spot blue wildflowers growing along the sidewalk. He stops and his heart races as he picks the flower for her while she's far enough ahead not to notice. "Eren? Where are you?" She hollers, turning in a slow circle to see him running up to her.

"Sorry! I'm right here!"

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah," Eren smiles as his ears grew hot, twisting the tiny flower stem with his fingers behind his back. "I'm great. Are you okay?" He asks as they start walking once more, the park in clear distance.

"I'm..I'm good. Your momma is so nice."

"She's pretty cool, but so is your momma. And your dad is so funny."

"Yeah, he is. Your dad is silly, too." Mikasa giggles, her sneaker kicking a rock out from her path. "I know you're angry at yourself for not being there and I just wanted to say that you don't need to be so hard on yourself. It makes me sad."

"Yeah, well, it's true. I'm sorry Annie is so mean to you now."

"I think she's jealous that you and I are so close."

"Probably, but who needs her? You're way cooler than Annie anyway." Eren smiles, her giggle gracing his ears once more as they make their way to the swing set. She sits gracefully on a swing and he takes the one beside her, still twirling the blue flower he picked for her between his fingers. "Mikasa?" He turns to look at her and swallows hard to gather his nerve.

"Hm?"

"I...I like your hair short," He smiles shyly and they both blush as he scoots his swing closer to hers. "I mean, I like it long, too, but you look really pretty with it short." She grins, his hand raising hesitantly to push hair behind her ear and gently tucked the flower in that gap. But then, Mikasa did something he hadn't ever anticipated her doing and leaned in, clearly feeling slightly unsure as she kisses his blushing cheek.

"Thank you, Eren.."

"You're welcome," He smiles as their swings separate and stands up so he can be behind her. "Can I give you a push?"

"Yeah!" She says excitedly as her legs kick the air.

"Okay," Eren laughs in amusement as he pulls her swing back and pushes her forward. "Here we go!" She giggles as she's pushed, and he can't help but think about how cute she is no matter how hard he tries to fight it.

"Push me higher, Eren! Push me higher!"

"Anything to hear your laugh again." And with that he gives a harder push to her lower back, making the swing soar even higher. She cheers in excitement and giggles as her short raven hair blows in the breeze, holding the blue wildflower safely in her hand against the swing chain so it doesn't get lost. They remained this way for a while, just enjoying each other's company and sharing many laughs knowing that there will be more in the future.

[renee-writer]

Redemption Chapter 58 Christmas Presents

“I need to borrow Evie for a bit today,” Evie tells Gabriella the next morning.

“Why?”

“Can't tell you. Only that it is for a Christmas surprise.”

“Okay. As long as you get back in time to help getting hers wrapped and the bike put together.”

“Can do.”

“Can you just drop her off a Jade's when you are done?”

“No, because I will need Jade's help for Evie's. I can pick her back up after and drop her off if that will help.”

“Yes. Whatever you are planning is very involved.”

“Yep,” he replies with a smile as he reaches out to sample some of the fudge she is making. She smacks at his hand.

“I am making it for the lock-in.”

“Ah, they will love it. And, I love you.” He adds pulling her into his arms. He kisses her and tastes the fudge, that makes her sweet lips, sweeter.

“I love you too.” She says in a shaky voice when he releases her a few minutes later.

“Where's Evie?”

“Upstairs playing. Are you anxious to be off?”

“I am. Not to be away from you. But, just anxious to do this.”

“Man, you have my curiosity up.”

“Not to long to wait.” He reminds her as he turns and heads upstairs to get Evie.

“Now remember, you can’t tell Gabby about anything we do today. It is a Christmas surprise.” Eli reminds Evie as they head towards the jewelry store to meet Jade.

“I ‘member. I promise to keep the secret.”

“Good girl.”

They pull up in front of the store and Eli helps Evie out. Jade pulls up. “Ready to do this?” she asks Eli. She is dressed in jeans and a sweater with multiple colored Christmas ornaments. Conservative for her

“Very ready.” He assures her. She smiles broadly at himand then turns to Evie.

“Are you ready to help Eli and I pick put a ring for your sister?”

“Yah! It is going to be cool.”

“Yes it is. Okay, let's go y'all.” Jade takes Evie's hand and they walk in , following Eli who holds the door open.

“Wow pretty,” Evie exclaims as they step through the door. They enter a room full of mirrors, with diamonds and other jewels under the glass. A clerk, who introduces himself as David, comes out to greet them.

“Hello David. My name is Eli, this young lady is Evie, and this is Jade.”

“Nice to meet you. How can I help you today?”

“I am looking for an engagement ring.” His heart jumps a little at his own words.

“Congratulations. Is Jade the bride?”

“Oh no,” Jade quickly answers,” My best friend is and Evie is her sister.”

“Very nice. Are you going to help pick iut your sister’s ring, Evie?”

“Yes sir.”

“Sweet. Do you know what you are looking for?”

“No. That is why I brought the ladies.” David turns his attention to Jade.

“Well, Gabby isn’t as flamboyant as I am. She is more simple.”

David nods and leads them to one of the tables. On it are over a dozen rings of various designs and sizes.

“Oh!” Evie is awed.

“What do you think Evie? Which one will Gabby like?” Eli asks.

Evie takes her assignment seriously. She studies them for a moment, walking back and forth. “This one,” she says at last. She points out a simple princess cut ring in the center of the others. Jade leans in for a closer look and smiles at her niece.

“She is spot on Eli. It would be the one I would choose. It is perfect for her.”

“Two carats. Simple yet elegant.” David chimes in.

“Can you take it out?” Eli asks.

“Of course,” David, unlocks the case and lifts the ring out and hands it to him.

He takes it, turning it around and watches the sunlight reflect off it, sending points of light around the room. Evie is enthralled by the light. Eli prays her sister will be just as fascinated. “Need this in a size six,” he says, handing the ring back to him.

“Yes sir.”

“Very good job Evie. Now remember, not one word to Gabby.”

“I will keep the secret. When are you going to give it to her?”

“Christmas morning.”

“She is going to be so surprised.”

“That's the plan.”

He pays for the ring, now housed in a beautiful little gold box. He then takes Evie home so he can get her gift. Jade stays at the store, searching for the perfect gift for Evie.

“So, did you accomplish what you set out to do?” Gabriella greets them.

“Yes partly. I will be back sson to get Evie and take her to Jade's.” Eli tells her.

“Okay. You are driving me crazy with your secrets, you know.”

“I promise. It will be worth it.”

“I can't even know what you are getting Evie?” She asks him in frustration.

“No well.. Because you just can't.” She gives him a look. “No worries. Jade is helping.”

“Well okay.” She sighs.

“Ah baby. I promise, I swear you guys will be happy.”

“I do believe you. I just have trouble waiting.”

“It won't be much longer. With all we have to do between now and Christmas, time will fly.” Said for her and himself. He is as anxious for her to see his gift as she is to see it.

“Good point. Go ahead and get Evie’s so you can help me.”

“Yes ma'am. I truly love you.”

“I know. I love you too.” He gently kisses her and heads out the door.

“I think I found it.” Jade greets him when he walks back in the jewelry store. He joins her. “I thought about a ring but she would outgrow it so..” she gestures to one of the necklaces she stands in front of.

“Great idea,” he praises her while scanning the case. “That's the one. Don't you agree?” He points out a delicate cross with a small diamond in the center.

“Exactly what I was thinking. It is feminine enough for her and she can wear it forever. It would also go beautiful with a fflower girl dress.”

“Perfect.”

Eli has Daniel place it in a sweet pink box.

“Now off to wrap.” He says with a rueful grin.

An hour later, he and Gabriella sit, surrounded by wrapping paper, scissors and tape. They had decided to tackle the wrapping before the the bike assembly.

Gabriella had brought her sister three brand new dolls, clothes, shoes, and a new coat, to go with the big present, a brand new big girl bike. Her first. It has training wheels which, Gabriella predicts she will have off within six months.

“She is precocious.” She tells Eli as she tapes wrapping paper over the box containing the coat. “She was early talking, walking, and reading. I predict she will be early riding a two wheeler.”

“I bet you are right. Where did you find this doll?” Eli asks her as he he finishes wrapping it. It is almost as big as Evie.

“Walmart. Where else?” She replies with a grin. “Fo you think she will like it?”

“Oh yah. Dolls, after all, is what she was wanting the day we meet.”

“So true.”

“Are you putting them under the tree?” Eli asks when they are done.

“Yes. All but the bike. Can we hide it at your house until Christmas morning?”

“Sure.” He helps her stack the boxes under the tree. “You did well Gabby. She is going to be one happy girl.”

“Thanks. I saved all year. I didn’t want her to feel deprived because mom and dad aren’t here.”

“Ah Gabriella. As long as she has you, she will never be deprived.”

“Thanks. That is the sweetest thing you could say to me. Thank you.”

“You are very welcome. Now, where is this bike?”

An hour later, it is complete. He and Gabby stand and examine it. It is pink with tassels on the handlebars. The tires have a pink center. It is, without a doubt, a bike for a girly girl.

“Does she know?” Eli asks her.

“No, it will be a complete surprise.”

“That is great.”

“Yes. She has been asking but has no clue.”

“I can't wait to see her face Christmas morning.”

“Me too. I also can’t wait to see what you got us.”

“I can’t wait for that either.”

[letterfromtrenwith]

Crowned With Consolation

1806: George & Elizabeth receive some devastating news, tearing their contented life apart.  

A future fic which is AU for both the series and the books, although it is inspired by some events from the later books. 

~

Prologue

“Oh, Kitty, would you please open the window?”

“Of course, Ma’am.” George and Elizabeth shared a small smile when the young housemaid could not resist pausing to take a breath of the warm summer air. As the girl departed, the faint sounds of birdsong floated into the great hall.

“Can you hear the birds? They’re very happy today!” Elizabeth smiled down at their youngest child, Nicholas, who sat contentedly on her lap, playing with the embroidered hem of her shawl. The other children had been sent back to the nursery for their lessons so he was able to spend some time alone with his parents as they lingered over the end of their breakfast.

“Because it’s summer,” he replied, quite seriously, and George could not help but laugh as Elizabeth gave him a look of astonished delight.

“Why, yes! How clever of you to know that!” Nicholas beamed at his mother’s praise, cuddling closer to her. Although just three years old, he was a bright boy, taking after his elder siblings in their tendency to precociousness. His sisters read to him from their books, while his brother took him for walks in the gardens, pointing out flowers and insects, and showing him birds’ nests in the trees. At twelve, Valentine would be off to school soon and so they were making the most of his time at home. They would miss him terribly they knew, although school was the best thing for him.

“Are you at the Bank today?” Elizabeth asked, handing the last piece of her scone to Nicholas, who ate it eagerly, smearing a spot of jam on his chubby cheek. She wiped it gently away.

“Yes, I must go this afternoon. There are some papers that need sent to Gloucester by tonight.” The Warleggan Bank had expanded greatly over the years, with offices all over the South West, and even a small one in London. Once upon a time, George had travelled often between them, but now he preferred to remain close to home as much as possible. Close to the warmth and comfort of his family. It was his age, he supposed – he was getting startlingly close to fifty, although he felt as fit as he ever had – or perhaps it was simply the years teaching him that no matter how successful his business, it could never give him the same happiness as his wife and children. “What do you have planned for today?”

“Oh, not a great deal. I was going to ride over to see Ruth, but she sent a note saying Agneta has a fever. Nothing serious, I understand, but I will visit another day.”

“That poor child is often ill. She seems prone to it.” Agneta Treneglos was one of Ruth and John Teague’s four daughters and was of an age with George and Elizabeth’s eldest daughter, Ursula, and her cousin, Loveday Carne. Malicious gossip had it that there was something wrong with her, some infirmity of mind, but on the occasions Ruth had visited with her children, the girl had seemed quite ordinary, playing with the others and joining them in pestering Cook for sweets. She was perhaps not quite so quick and lively as Ursula and Loveday, but she was only eight years old and they were both clever for their age, not to mention fortunate enough to have parents who were happy to educate girls the same as boys. A lack of sons was a great disappointment to John Treneglos, something both he and his father were not exactly shy about making known. It was very unbecoming behaviour in George’s mind; his own daughters were the light of his life, and brought him more joy than he could describe. Besides, if it was a matter of inheritance, John had a nephew to whom he could will what little of the family fortune he had not already frittered away. Then again, considering George had two much adored sons of his own and had acquired another by marriage, perhaps it was easy for him to take such an attitude.

“I think I will take the girls out into the garden this afternoon, if the weather stays fine.” Elizabeth glanced out at the clear blue skies. “The flowers are blooming beautifully now, and it is time we had some spring colour in the house.”

“I am sure they will be delighted, my dear.” All of their children had inherited their mother’s love of nature, but the girls especially so. The twins, Clare and Susannah, recently turned six, were already prone to clattering in splattered with mud and leaves, much to the despair of the housekeeper, Sarah, who complained only partly in jest that they were half-wild.

Sarah – or Mrs Ewer, more properly – entered now. Irish by birth, she had served the Warleggan family since George’s father was alive, and had been one of a handful of servants who had followed George to Trenwith upon his marriage, somewhat understandably not wishing to remain at Cardew with only Cary as master. Competent and loyal, she had been an invaluable servant over the years, and was now housekeeper. She had asked if they would keep her on even after her marriage – to a respectable coachman – and they had readily agreed. Today, her pleasant face wore a grave expression and George noticed that she was gripping her hands rather tightly together.

“Sir, there are two gentlemen here who wish to speak with you, on a matter of some importance.”

“Well, show them in.”

“Forgive me, Sir, but I think it would be better if you would step outside.” He exchanged a questioning glance with Elizabeth. This was highly irregular, but Sarah was not one for silliness or flights of fancy. If she thought this was for the best, then she would have good reason.

“Very well.” He rose, feeling a twinge in his left shoulder. He had dislocated it in a riding accident over a decade ago and now age occasionally niggled at it. Out in the stone-flagged entrance hall stood not merely two gentlemen, but two soldiers, their uniforms almost glaringly bright in dark-walled space.

“Sire, you are Mr George Warleggan, are you not?” asked the taller of the two. George looked between them, confused as to what their purpose could be.

“I am, but – “

“Stepfather of Lieutenant Geoffrey Charles Poldark, of the 81st Regiment of Foot?”

“Yes…” The solider continued to speak but George did not hear him. His voice faded away, along with everything else that had been in George’s mind that morning, because the other officer was holding out a letter. A letter edged in black.

I

Elizabeth’s grief was almost harder to bear than this own. Her misery was total and all-consuming. As he’d stepped back into the hall that day, feeling as if he was suddenly in another world than he had been when he’d left it, it hadn’t been the matter-of-fact way in which he’d just been told that his son was dead which truly agonised him, but the knowledge that he must now tell Elizabeth. She’d been playing some sort of game with Nicholas, making him laugh, sheer happiness on her face. He’d watched them for just a moment, wanting to draw out the time before he had to shatter her heart completely. She knew him too well not to see that something was dreadfully wrong as soon as she saw him. He’d watched her beautiful, beloved face fall and her soft eyes fill with tears, and he’d felt an icy hand take hold of him inside and squeeze as if it were trying to crush the very life out of him.

Such was the depths of her despair that when, about three weeks after that day, he had not been able to find her, a terrible possibility had occurred to him. A truly dreadful thought which had almost paralysed him with horror, until he realised that there was one last place he had not looked. He had not thought to look there, because he himself could not bear to go there.

Geoffrey Charles’ bedroom was exactly as he had left it on his last visit home. His books piled on his writing desk and the bedside table, the mantelpiece littered with childhood keepsakes – shells, old coins, some of his toy soldiers, now faded and worn. The sight of their painted red coats made George look away quickly.

Elizabeth lay on the bed, her mourning dress flowing inky-black across the coverlet. Her face was wan, her eyes red and she was clutching what it took George a moment to recognise as Geoffrey Charles’ school coat. He had not realised that the boy had kept it, but then again, by all accounts, his stepson had fonder memories of his schooldays than George.

“Here you are, my dear. I have been looking for you.” He was careful not to let any of the panic he had briefly felt into his voice.

“I thought there might be something of him left in here, but there’s nothing.” Her voice was so soft George had to take a step closer to hear her. “It just all reminds me that he’ll never come back here – never read his books or wear his clothes, never look out of his window or sleep in his bead.”

Her voice broke into a quiet sob and George felt her words keenly. The shock of Geoffrey Charles’ loss had been so brutal, so sudden, with no time to prepare or say goodbye. Yes, they had known he was going off to war, to face terrible danger at every moment. They had seen their friends and neighbours experience the loss and suffering of their husbands, brothers and sons; and yet, somehow, George knew that some part of them both had always believed that Geoffrey Charles would come out all right, that somehow not even a war was enough to take him from them. But they had been wrong, so very wrong. That spirited, clever young man, with his love of riding and cards and sensational novels, his ready smile and dandyish air, was gone. Snatched away, leaving behind only a great hole ripped in the lives of those who loved him.

Not knowing what to say – he hardly knew what to say to anyone at the moment – George came to sit beside her on the bed.  She shifted slightly, laying her head on his lap.

“We cannot even bury him,” she whispered. Pain poured through her every word. Elizabeth was a wonderful, loving, devoted mother to all of her children, but Geoffrey Charles was her first born, their special bond strengthened by the time after Francis’ death when they had only had each other. George knew that nothing he said could make it better, so he simply sat and stroked her hair in silence. After a while, although he did not know how long, he heard her breathing slow and felt her relax against him. He dared not move for fear of disturbing her, so he leant back against the headboard and closed his eyes. It would be an uncomfortable night, but it was worth it to bring Elizabeth even a moment of comfort.

~

The old Poldark family church was cool even in the height of summer. There was a faint hint of damp, in fact, and George absently thought that he must have word with the estate manager about seeing to it. Perhaps he would speak to the stonemason when he came about Geoffrey Charles’ memorial. There may be no body for them to bury, lost on the battlefields of Europe, but his passing would not go unmarked. His stone would go next to the one commemorating his father. The letters of Francis’ name were looking a touch worn, George noticed; that would have to be fixed as well.

George had never been a man of any particular piety. He attended church as often as was thought proper, but was not especially interested in religion. The clergy spent their time lecturing their flocks on temperance and Christian charity, but were almost inevitably a feckless, grasping bunch themselves. However, he had found this place oddly comforting these past weeks. It was quiet and peaceful. Here, he could be alone with his grief. At home, he spent all his time worrying about Elizabeth and the children. He did not come often, and when he did he asked Sarah and Kitty to take care of Elizabeth as best they could, without pestering her of course.

Originally, he had told only Valentine what had happened. He was too old, and too intelligent to be deceived, and George had not wanted him to find out any other way. He at first tried to be stoic, with the typical twelve year old boy’s idea that he must be very grown up about everything, but his resolve had quickly crumbled and he had cried properly for the first time since he was a little boy. It pained George deeply to see him so upset. He himself had been barely older than Valentine when his father died; there was no right age to have death first intrude on one’s life.

“I – I never wrote to him,” he’s stuttered between sobs.

“Yes, you did, I sent your letters myself.”

“No, I – I mean, the last time. His last letter, I kept putting off writing back, and I never did, and now he’s…”

“Shhhh, my boy. Geoffrey Charles did not need letters to know that you were thinking of him.” Despite their age difference, the two boys had always got along well, Geoffrey Charles patiently reading to him from Mrs Barbauld, and playing hide and seek with him in the maze of old attic rooms upstairs then, as Valentine grew, taking him riding and showing him how to play chess.

George had extracted a promise that he would not tell any of the other children, nor any of his cousins. However, Ursula, as usual, could not be fooled. One day, as he sat alone in the parlour, Morwenna having managed to cajole Elizabeth into at least sitting outside with her, if not taking a walk, Ursula had burst in quite suddenly, a determined look on her little face.

“Papa, is Geoffrey Charles dead?” The blunt, direct question was typical of her. “I asked Valentine but he won’t tell me.”

“Ursula…” It had been on the tip of George’s tongue to lie, but he had seen that there was no point. “Yes, my love, he is. I am so very sorry.”

He could see from her face that a small part of her young mind had hoped that her Papa would tell her she was being silly, that it was all a terrible mistake, but he had not. In the end, she had cried into his coat for an hour, every sob like knife in his chest.

The younger children could sense the terrible cloud of pain that hovered over their once idyllic home, but George absolutely could not bring himself to tell them its cause. Nicholas was certainly far too little. Perhaps the twins were not, but he could at least try to preserve their innocence a little longer.

He was startled out of his reverie by the church door opening behind him, and the soft brush of a woman’s shoes upon the floor. The woman did not hesitate to approach, but he did not look up, not until she stood over him.

“May I sit?”

“Of course, my dear.” Morwenna Carne was a married woman with children now, and almost thirty years old at that, but George still often thought of her as the sweet young girl who had come to them as Geoffrey Charles’ governess. Although she had stopped being that girl when she absconded from her home and her engagement to the odious Osborne Whitworth to marry Drake Carne, a decision which may have caused a great upheaval, but which she had blessedly never had reason to regret.

“How is Elizabeth?…But that is a foolish question, of course.” She shook her head, looking down at hands clasped on her lap. It may have been warm outside, but she was dressed quite sombrely, her long coat a pale grey. In deference to the church, perhaps, or her own way of mourning. The special connection which had formed between her and her charge had never lessened over the years, and although she had endeavoured to bear up for the sake of Elizabeth and the children, George knew she must feel her own sense of loss just as deeply as they did. “I will visit again this week, if she would like.”

“I am sure that she would.” Morwenna had been the only visitor Elizabeth would see. George had turned away several in the first weeks, from the genuinely well-meaning likes of Caroline Enys, to the morbidly nosy Mrs Teague. By now, they had stopped coming. He did not miss them.

“I – I have something I must tell you. Drake says I should not, but I believe it would be wrong of me to keep it to myself.” George looked at her curiously. She sounded regretful, almost guilty, but he could not imagine why. “You will remember when Geoffrey Charles first announced he wished to join the Army? You were both so set against it, but he would not listen to you. Elizabeth begged me to persuade him not to go, and I told her that I would but –“

“But?”

“I did tell him that I did not want him to go, but I also told him that I could not tell him what to do, and that he must trust his own judgement. I encouraged him to go to his death.” Her voice wavered at the last word, and she looked away, her hat covering her face. It would be easy to be angry with her, but he was not. She had not fired the rifle or the canon which had killed Geoffrey Charles – it was not her fault.

“You knew him as well as any of us, Morwenna. Even if you had told him unequivocally that you would never approve of his going, do you think he would have listened?”

“No, I do not suppose that he would,” she conceded after a moment.

“If he had been considering any other decision, I might well have told him the same thing.” Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her nod, although she kept her eyes down.

“I just – I wish there was something I could do. To – to make it better.”

“We all wish that, my dear.”

II

All of the pain and misery gathering at the house had to boil over eventually, and it did so one day in early October. The summer had passed in a sort of grey blur, each day much like the next. George continued with his work purely out of necessity – he could take no pleasure in it at all now. Almost one penny in three which passed through his hands had something to do with the war. It had tripled their income, but at a terrible cost. The thought of it had made him somewhat uneasy right from the beginning, but since the loss of Geoffrey Charles he loathed it. He would gladly throw every coin into the sea if he could.

Sometimes, he would forget for moment, and for that all-too-brief second it was as if their world had never been destroyed. As if his dear wife were not consumed by her agony, his children’s young lives falling in the shadow of death. As if he had not lost his son. George had been Geoffrey Charles’ godfather before he became his stepfather; he had held the boy at his christening, encouraged by a smiling Elizabeth, her pure adoration for her child written all over her face. In the first months of George’s marriage to Elizabeth, his relationship with Geoffrey Charles had not been the easiest, but over the years they had become much closer, and George loved him as he loved all of his children. He had never hesitated to tell anyone who asked that he had three sons, and Geoffrey Charles had quite happily introduced his friends to ‘my parents’.

If George was laid low by his grief, it was naturally taking a much greater toll on Elizabeth. She had lost weight, rarely eating, and he knew she was not sleeping properly. Partly because he was not either, but he often woke during the night to find her sitting at the window seat, simply staring out into the darkness, or frequently gone altogether. The servants had told him that she had taken to wandering the house at night, like some melancholy spirit. She would rarely speak unless spoken to, and then very little. The children tiptoed around her, not wishing to upset her further, although she tried her best to hide her sadness from them. It hurt the youngest children the most, because they did not know the reason for their mother’s melancholy.

The time was rapidly approaching for Valentine to go to school. George had considered putting it off, and asked Valentine if he wished to stay at home a while longer. To his surprise, Valentine had said not.

“It is only proper that I go….I do not think Geoffrey Charles would approve if I did not.” That had brought the first genuine smile to George’s face in a long time. Valentine was probably right. Geoffrey Charles had done very well at school, and often spoken of it to his siblings. Upon reflection, George thought that going away might in fact be good for Valentine – he could make new friends his own age, and find something else to think about other than the absence of his brother.

When George had attempted to broach the subject with Elizabeth, she merely nodded her understanding, but commented no further. He had seen her watching sadly as Valentine’s boxes were piled up in the hall, ready to be loaded into the carriage, but she’d turned away as soon as she saw him watching her.

That night, she barely touched her dinner yet again, disappearing into the parlour. George sent Valentine to bed, and looked in on the others, sitting with Ursula until she fell asleep, and watching Nicholas dream his innocent dreams. He found Elizabeth staring into the fireplace, sewing sitting long untouched on the table beside her.

“My dear,” she turned her head slightly towards him. At first, she had clung to him for comfort, but every day he felt her drawing further away, further into herself. He could stand it no longer. “I beg you, you must eat, and I know you have not been sleeping. I cannot bear to see you this way. Geoffrey Charles would not wish you to suffer like this.”

“How would you know?” He was so surprised by her question that he did not answer, and she turned entirely in her chair to face him. “How would you know what he would wish?! You were not his father! If you were any sort of father to him you would have stopped from going! He could still be here, at home, with me, but you let him go! You let him go and now he’s dead!”

George could not reply; her words had cut him deeply, to the point he felt tears prick at the back of his eyelids. After she had finished her tirade, her sudden burst of energy seemed to drain out of her and sat heavily back down, looking away once more. He did the only thing that he could think of – he turned and walked away from her.

He sat up the rest of the night in his study, not wishing to go to bed alone. There was a chamber upstairs set aside for his use, but he and Elizabeth had spent barely more than a handful of nights apart since their wedding. He had no desire to lie alone in a cold bed that smelled of nothing but laundered sheets.

After a while, he opened one of the desk drawers and took out two letters, one well-read, the creases deep from being opened and refolded so many times. The other was almost pristine, despite being several months old. George had read the first letter Geoffrey Charles had sent him after his departure many times over. Despite Elizabeth’s assertions, George had in fact had a furious row with Geoffrey Charles over his decision to enlist – George demanding that he think of his mother and siblings, of his responsibilities to his estate, but Geoffrey Charles had been defiant and in the end George threw up his hands in defeat.

“Very well! Go if you wish!” They had barely spoken thereafter, and George had regretted that their last words had been cross long before Geoffrey Charles was lost. This letter had arrived a few weeks after he left home/

My dear Uncle

I write to you from Plymouth; we depart tomorrow at last. I wish that my departure from home had been a more harmonious one, but I want you to know that I am not upset with you. I understand entirely why both you and Mama feel as you do, and I cannot blame you for it, but I must do what I believe is right. Please be assured that I am happy with my choice, even if it pains me dreadfully to leave you all.

You asked me to think of Mama, and of the children, and of my estate. I could not say it then, but the truth is that I feel able to go because I know they will all be in your excellent care, Uncle. Knowing that you are all waiting for me at home gives me the strength to go forth, and I believe will help me come back safely.

I will write as often as I can, and I ask that you do the same. Tell me all – what new words has Nicholas learned? What little games have the twins devised? Which of the horses has foaled? What gossip is old Mrs Teague spreading now? It will help me to miss you all less.

Please do not be angry with me, Uncle. I could not bear that.

Your affectionate son,

Geoffrey Charles

George could almost recite the words from memory now, and they remained as simultaneously comforting and saddening as ever. Some part of George agreed with Elizabeth – he should have forbidden Geoffrey Charles from going. Or at least tried. He had always indulged Geoffrey Charles, partly out of affection and partly to please Elizabeth, but perhaps he should have been sterner. George glanced at the portrait of Francis on the wall. Its glaze was yellowing now, but his long gone friend’s gaze was as direct as ever. Would Francis have been able to keep Geoffrey Charles at home? With a sigh, George turned to the second letter. It had never been opened, its ominous black seal still in place. The letter the young officer had given George that fateful day; it contained the report of Geoffrey Charles’ death. Nobody had especially wanted to read it, and George had locked it in his drawer. He had taken it out and turned it over in his hands once or twice, but still it remained sealed.

I must read it, he thought. It is only right that I should know the fate I allowed him to go to.

After so long, the wax parted easily from the paper, and George steeled himself for a moment before reading the small, neat hand.

Dear Mr & Mrs Warleggan

It is with regret that I must inform you that your son, Lieutenant Geoffrey Charles Poldark, of the 81st Regiment of Foot, has been killed in action. He fought and died bravely at the Battle of Maida, where the French troops were beaten back by his battalion. I am told that he sustained his fatal wounds while rescuing his fellow men who were pinned down by enemy fire. He served his country with great honour, and his heroism will not be forgotten.

Your &c.

Major Edward Darnley.

So that was it. A single, formal paragraph detailing the end of a young man’s life. George might as well have burned it as read it, it made no difference. He felt neither better nor worse. Geoffrey Charles was still dead; the fact that he was hailed a hero did not change that. Dropping the letter back into his drawer, George closed it with a click and sat back in his chair.

Sometime after midnight, he was disturbed by the door opening, and realised that he must have been dozing. Elizabeth stood there in her night-clothes, her light dressing gown giving her a ghostly appearance in the moonlight. He could see that she had been crying.

“Oh, George, I am sorry for what I said, it was so dreadful.” She came and knelt beside his chair, her eyes shining with tears as she looked up at him. “Of course I do not blame you and it was so very wrong of me to say that I did. And you were a father to Geoffrey Charles, he told me so himself many times over. I spoke so cruelly do you, can you ever forgive me?”

“Oh, my love…” He stroked her cheek softly and she closed her eyes, leaning into the touch. “There is nothing to forgive.”

“But – “

“No, Elizabeth. I cannot deny that your words cut deep, but only because I have sometimes thought them myself.”

“Oh, George…”  She rested her head on the arm of the chair and gently ran his fingers through her hair. After a few quiet moments, she spoke again. “You were right to say that Geoffrey Charles would not want this for us. For me. I believe he would be quite cross with me, in fact.”

“He would never be cross with you, my love, but I know that he would hate to see you so unhappy. No one could ever blame you for feeling so – certainly not I – but it pains me to see it consume you like this. If you continue as you have, you will make yourself ill and…I cannot bear to lose you as well.”

“George, I am so very sorry. You have only tried to care for me and I have given you nothing in return when you too have been hurting. I have been so selfish, and such a poor mother to the other children besides.”

“You did not want them to see your pain. You have done nothing wrong, Elizabeth, not to my mind. Many others would have done the same in your position.”

“But you did not. You have been so very strong where I have been weak.”

“To grieve is not a weakness, Elizabeth. Your love for Geoffrey Charles is not a weakness. And I will say, I have not felt very strong these past weeks.”

“Oh, my love…” Elizabeth took her hand in both of his and kissed the back of it. “Now, I think, we must both try our best to be strong together. Not just for the children, but for ourselves too. That is what Geoffrey Charles would want.

~

The November air was bitingly cold against his face as George stepped out of the Bank. He had barely been to the offices in months, disliking being away from home, and unable to concentrate. There had been some business he simply could not put off, however, and so he had made the journey into Truro. This time, his reluctance to leave had blessedly little to do with worry. Elizabeth’s release of anger, and their subsequent talk in his study, seemed to have done her some good. She was still grieving, of course; they would all be for some time yet, but he had been pleased to see some of her old warmth return to her. She was eating and sleeping better, and her health was much improved. The children had noticed the uptick in her spirits as well. Until he had been nearly bowled over by Nicholas and the twins barrelling along a corridor after Sarah’s little terrier, he had not realised how quiet they had been of late. Although they had not known the reason for it, their parents’ sadness had subdued them.

Elizabeth still regretted her words to him that night, although he had assured her many times that he was not upset with her. In the heat of the moment he had been stung by hearing his own guilty thoughts from her lips, but he had truly meant it when he told her that she did not need to ask his forgiveness. She had still wished to try to explain herself, turning to him one night in their bed, her brow creased in a small frown.

“For all those weeks, I was so very angry. It built and built inside of me. I was angry at the war, at the generals who order young men to their deaths, at whichever damn Frenchman shot my boy; I was angry at the whole world, even Geoffrey Charles for going in the first place. And then I took my rage out upon you and I realised how foolish I was. It would not bring him back, and all I had accomplished by it was to push you away when I most need you. I know that I have not shown it, but you are my greatest comfort, George. Even long before this, from when we were first married, I have always felt that I could face anything if you are with me.”

“Elizabeth…” Too overwhelmed to say anymore, he had simply gathered her close, kissing her forehead.

It was perhaps remembering this which had him so distracted as he crossed the street towards the confectioner’s that he almost ran into the woman in the green coat. He was halfway through an apology when she looked up from under her hat and he realised it was Demelza Poldark.

Save brief glimpses across a ballroom or a banquet hall, George had barely seen anything of the Nampara Poldarks for he did not know how long. Years. His intense dislike for Ross had never changed, and it was safe to presume it remained mutual, but over time they had both become too preoccupied – and too old – to have a care as to do anything about it. George had sent a note to Nampara to tell them of Geoffrey Charles’ death; they had been his family, after all, and so far as George knew, Geoffrey Charles had still spoken to his aunt and cousins or occasion. For some time afterwards he had half-expected Ross to come barging into Trenwith, demanding they all get out at once. With Geoffrey Charles gone, Ross and his family were the last of the Poldarks, so the family property now surely reverted to them. Not wishing to distress Elizabeth or the children, he had put off broaching the subject of them having to leave Trenwith, but he knew he could not delay much longer.

With a polite nod, he stepped around Demelza and continued on his way, until he was pulled up short by the sound of her voice.

“It’s like a shard of glass in your heart.” Of course he knew exactly to what she referred, for Demelza Poldark had lost a child, too. It was many years ago now, almost eighteen if he was not mistaken, but he was sure such things did not slip easily away into the mists of time. George had thought often these past months of how young Geoffrey Charles had been, how much of his life he had yet to live; Julia Poldark had been barely more than a babe in arms when she died, the question of who and what she would grow up to be left forever unanswered. Behind him, he heard Demelza take a step forward, and he turned his head but did not face her. He did not think that he could. “It pierces your soul, and the agony is so terrible you think it will never end. You think it will kill you. Sometimes, it seems like it’s getting a little better and then something will remind you – a word, a sound – and the pain comes back all over again. One day the wound will heal over, but the scar is always there. It will never stop hurting, but it does get a little better.”

“….” He wanted to say something, but could not. With a short, sharp nod of acknowledgement, he strode away. In her desire to be kind – even after everything that had passed between their families over the years – Demelza had inadvertently re-opened the very wound to which she referred. After he was sure he was out of her sight, he had to spend ten minutes standing in the shadow of the alley next to the shop until he was able to master himself.

III

The answer to the mystery as to why Ross had not come to claim his family property was answered one day early in December when an officious little man appeared at the house, announcing that he was Mr Silas Pettyfer Esq, Geoffrey Charles’ attorney, and he was here to read them his will.

“I would have come earlier, but it seems that the Army neglected to inform me of Mr Poldark’s passing,” he complained in his nasal voice, giving George a look of mild disapproval. “Among others.”

George frowned. He did not especially care to be chastised by complete strangers in his own home, let alone over such a distressing matter.

“I might have informed you, Sir, had I not been entirely unaware of your existence until this moment.” That took the wind out of Mr Pettyfer’s sails somewhat and he coughed awkwardly, fishing in his little folio for some papers.

“Mr Poldark had not informed you he had made a will?”

“Lieutenant Poldark, and no he had not, although I cannot imagine why.”

“Perhaps he did not wish to upset us,” Elizabeth said quietly. George covered her hand with his and she gave him a small, sad smile.

“Shall I begin?” Pettyfer looked between them.

“Forgive me, Mr Pettyfer, but I believe we know its contents, the Nampara Poldarks…”

“Ah, no, Mr Warleggan. That is just it. Mr – Lieutenant Poldark expressly made the will to avoid the automatic passing of the family property.”

“He did?” Elizabeth was frowning, and George knew his expression would match hers.

“Yes, Ma’am. Aside from some small bequests to his cousins – that is, Mr Jeremy and Misses Clowance and Isabella-Rose Poldark – and some personal items willed to, ah, Mr & Mrs Drake Carne, Mr Poldark has left the entirety of his estate to you both, to divide as you wish amongst your remaining children. I have the will here, if you should wish to see it.” George took it, a combination of incredulity at its contents, and years of business teaching him never to agree to a document without reading it. It did indeed reflect what Mr Pettyfer had said, and was, so far as George could see, properly signed and witnessed. He passed the paper to Elizabeth and, out of the corner of his eye, saw her trace the loops and whirls of Geoffrey Charles’ signature with her fingertips.

“Was that everything?” If Mr Pettyfer was displeased at being treated so abruptly, he endeavoured not to show it.

“Not quite. There is also this.” He produced a folded letter. George immediately recognised Geoffrey Charles’ seal. “I was to give it to you if…”

“I see. Thank you.”

“Now, unless there is anything else you wish to discuss I must visit…Nampara?…to discuss those bequests.”

“Does Ross Poldark know that he is no longer to inherit Trenwith?” George did not really know why he asked.

“Yes, I believe Mr Poldark informed him before he made the will.”

“Thank you. If there are any items for them to collect, please tell the Poldark children they may come for them whenever they wish.” George might have once felt some sense of satisfaction at Ross being deprived of the property, but now he felt nothing. It was not the value of Trenwith that would have been the greatest loss. Elizabeth had lived here for most of her life, since she was barely twenty years old and all of the children had been born here; for George, it was the place he had been happiest in his life. It was where all of their memories were. To leave it all behind forever would have been deeply saddening.

After Pettyfer had departed with an obsequious sketch of a bow, George and Elizabeth sat quietly for a while. Eventually, George picked up the letter which had been left on the tea table. He held it out to her, but she shook her head.

“Read it to me? Please?”

“Of course, my love.” They sat close together on the sofa and, as he opened the letter, Elizabeth rested her head on his shoulder. Taking a deep breath, George prepared to read their son’s final words to them.

My dear Mama, Uncle George, Valentine, Ursula, Susannah, Clare and little Nicholas,

As you are reading this letter, it seems that the worst has come to pass. Before I sat down to write, I thought that it would easy to decide what to say to you all, but now I put pen to paper I find it almost impossible.

There is not enough parchment and ink in the land to capture how much you mean to me, and how deeply I will miss you all. You will be always in my thoughts while I am away from home, and I am sorry if we shall never see each other again. I wish only to come home safely to you all, but of course that must not be the case.

As this is so inadequate a way to express what I wish to say, perhaps I can discuss some everyday matters instead. If Mr Pettyfer has shown you my will, you may be wondering as to its contents. The Poldarks may be my family in name, but you are my family in my heart. If I cannot be there for them in life, I wish to do something for the children in death, even if that is simply to make sure they will always have a home here. I know, Uncle, that you are more than capable of providing for their futures, but let me help you also.

Oh! There is so much in my heart I wish to say, but I cannot make come out of the end of this pen.it is my fervent hope that I have made it all plain to you over the years. Please do not weep too sorely for my memory, but remember the happy times we have all had together.

If I allow myself, I will continue this letter forever, as if by doing do I could put off the event it is designed for. I think I shall have to be content to sign myself…

Your ever loving

Geoffrey Charles

~

There was nothing but a sheet of pure white outside of the windows, wind swirling the flake madly. Snow had been expected all over Christmas but the sky had remained quite clear – much to the disappointment of the children – until almost the very end of January. Now, it seemed quite relentless. Thankfully, Valentine would have arrived safely back at school before it began. He had returned for the Christmas holidays filled with confidence and good cheer, much to his parents’ delight. They had hoped school would be good for him, and so it had proved.

It had been a lovely Christmas in the end, although Geoffrey Charles’ absence had hung heavily over them all. About two weeks before the festive day, George had almost bought him a Christmas present, forgetting for a moment that Geoffrey Charles would not be coming home for the season, or ever again. George looked up now at the fine portrait of him on the wall – a Christmas gift from Morwenna; she had come to George a week before to show it to him.

“It is a larger version of the miniature I painted for his twenty-first birthday. I wanted to ask you if you thought it would be….I am worried it would upset Elizabeth, or the children.”

“No, my dear, quite to the contrary. I believe it would please them very much indeed.” And so it had. Elizabeth had wept a little over it, but not in misery. She had become much more able to remember Geoffrey Charles with happiness. Now, the portrait hung in pride of place over the fire, above another piece of Morwenna’s work – matching silhouettes of George and Elizabeth. She had a truly find hand.

Wet flakes spattered against the windows, obscuring the view even further. George had been writing letters in the parlour – although it would be days before they could go anywhere – and was now resting his eyes; he had been fighting a losing battle against the need for spectacles for several years now, and it was only a matter of time before he was forced to surrender.

With a soft click, the door swung open and Elizabeth entered. The first thing George noticed about her was her dress. Although her spirits had gradually improved these past few months, she had remained in her mourning clothes – her previous array of blues and pinks and greens replaced by grey and black. George had said nothing to her about it; if that was how Elizabeth wished to mourn her child, he would not stop her.

Today, however, the black was gone. Her dress was not quite so bright as some of those she used to wear, but it was a warm brown, almost the exact colour of drinking chocolate. It suited her eyes, and her simple gold necklace.

“Elizabeth….” She glanced down at herself with a soft smile.

“Do you like it?”

“Very much so, my love. But…if I may ask, what has brought this on?” Elizabeth came to sit next to him at the table. There was something different about her, something else besides the dress, but George could not put his finger on what. She was smiling, but she had been doing that more often recently, some of the light returning to her eyes. Of course, their loss would never leave them, but it pleased George to see her able to be happy again.

“The time just seemed right. Although, perhaps there is a particular reason why I feel I must put away my mourning garb.”

“There is?”

“Yes.” She took his hands. “For, although we have suffered a great loss, we have now received a great blessing.”

“What – “ He frowned, and Elizabeth gave him an affectionate look.

“I am with child, George.” He had to confess to being entirely astonished. Such wondrous news…and so unexpected. Elizabeth would be forty-three this year, and as time had passed since Nicholas’ birth, they had come to accept he would be their last child. But now….

“Are you quite certain?”

“Yes!” She frowned a little. “You are pleased, are you not?”

“Of course! Forgive me, my dear, I am simply surprised. Wonderfully surprised.” 

Epilogue

The street was busy today, filled with people – servants hurrying about on errands, gentlemen striding along with importance, ladies twirling their parasols as they strolled. A few carriages trundled by, sunlight glancing off their livery. Two young officers passed by, laughing at some jest, and George felt a pull in his chest.

It was just over a year now since Geoffrey Charles’ death at the Battle of Maida. They missed him as much as ever, but Demelza Poldark had been right – the pain was still there, but it was not quite so sharp as it once was.

Glorious sunshine filled his office at the Bank, making it almost glow. Recently, he had been able to pay more proper attention to his work again. Geoffrey Charles’ desire to provide what he could for the children even if he himself was no longer here had motivated something in George. He could not neglect the businesses he had devoted years of his life to building up, for the sake not only of Valentine, who would one day inherit them, or his other children whose futures depended upon their success, but to all those whose livelihoods were connected to them.

He still preferred to be at home with his family, especially now. Valentine was home from school for the summer, and the children had spent the long, sunny days playing in the gardens. Last summer had been a cold, dark time for them all, and for no reason to do with the weather. Valentine and Ursula still talked of their elder brother, but it was with happy remembrance as much as sadness. The twins had to be told in the end, asking too many questions about when Geoffrey Charles would be coming home. Like their siblings, they had been terribly upset, but had borne their sorrow with impressive maturity for their young age. Nicholas would find out when he was old enough; being so small when Geoffrey Charles left, he had not known his brother the way the others had. Perhaps that would lessen the sting a touch.

After a sip of tea, George stifled a yawn. The reason for his tiredness was their greatest joy – their youngest child, a beautiful baby girl, arrived only a week ago. They had named her Flora, and to them she was a true blessing, a sign of brighter times to come after a truly dark time in their lives. Of course, the fact that she had had a sibling she would never know was always with them, and she would be told all about her brave brother, who had lost his life fighting for what he believed was right.

Returning to his desk, George scanned the shelves behind it for a particular ledger he needed. Behind him the door opened, and a secretary gave a discreet cough.

“Sir, there is a young man here to see you.”

“Show him in, Preston.” George dropped the ledger onto his desk as Preston’s light tread was replaced with a heavier, bolder one. He looked up to greet his visitor and paused. He felt the teacup slip from his hand, heard it crash upon the floor, but he did nothing, frozen in place.

“Good Heavens, Uncle! Am I such a shocking sight?”

~

Title part of a quote from Shakespeare’s Anthony & Cleopatra: “For grief is crowned with consolation.”

[hook-come-back-to-me]

Bad Idea (Ch.1)

Enemies AU

Emma Swan’s big story is stolen by none other than Killian Jones. But to her surprise, he comes to her with a proposition. 

Word Count: 1659

For @swanandapirate

Happy music plays in the streets, and multicolored lights twinkle in the trees. The air is crisp and cool.  There's a fresh blanket of snow on the ground. New York is dazzling during the holiday season.

It's giving her a headache.

She spots someone reading a copy of The Mirror at a nearby bench. She grinds her teeth. On the front page is a picture of Mr. Gold being led away in chains accompanied by large black letters.

Mayor Gold Arrested

By Killian Jones.

That damn man kept showing up. Always shoving himself where he did not belong. She could not be rid of him.

In college, they worked on the paper together. Both determined to win the coveted internship at The Mirror given at the end of senior year. She drove herself to near insanity. She sacrificed tears, sweat, and long hours of work. Everyone thought it was hers, and then Killian won it. The rivalry transformed into something else. Something deeper. She accepted a job at The Informer. It was a good paper, but it was second rate compared to The Mirror.

Now he was stealing her stories now too.

How did he even find out? Detective Lucas had promised she had only spoken to her, and Emma believed her.

She needed coffee.

Starbucks is warm and packed with people. Businessmen making phone calls, writers tapping away on keyboards, and people with arms full of packages.

“I wonder if Mr. Gold did all the stuff they say he did. I mean there's a rumor that he even murdered his wife,” a girl in the corner says.

“I heard he chopped her up.”

“Stop it,” the third girl complains as a shiver racks her body. “I am trying to enjoy my latte.”

She takes a deep breath and tries to ignore them.  Thinking about the promise of sweet caffeine only a few steps away. At that moment, she spots another copy at the counter with its title facing out for all to see. She marches up to the counter, grabs the paper with fury, and it shakes in her grip.

“What's your order?” a male voice asks.

“Espresso with three shots,” she seethes as she rips the paper violently in half. “And a paper.”

The man behind the counter nods in fear and takes her money.  As she walks away from the counter, she rips the paper again, and again. Until it's nothing but shreds. She dumps the shreds in the garbage as her order is called.

The Informer office is humming with tension. She feels the weight of every gaze on her as she walks to her desk. She grips her coffee cup tight in her hand.

“I can't believe this,” she huffs as she tears off her jacket and throws into her seat. “How did that little cockroach of a man find out?”

She notices that several of her nearby co-workers turn their heads away.

Mary Margaret sighs. “It's possible he got wind of it through the same source you did."

“Detective Lucas promised me that I was the only one she talked to. She's the only one who knew. You might not do underhanded things to achieve your goals, but most people in this business do,” she snaps. A long moment passes in which the words burn through the air like poison. Her stomach churns. “I'm sorry. I've been working on that piece for months and that little weasel outwits me in one move.”

“Forgiven and forgotten,” Mary answers.

“How angry is Regina?” Emma asks, but she's a little afraid to hear the answer.

“She's had four coffees this morning.”

“Oh, god. Can this day get any better?” she scoffs.

“There are some rumors going around that you gave him a scoop.”

Emma chokes on her coffee. “What?”

Mary looks up from her keyboard, with sympathy in her gaze. “Some people were talking in the elevator. I overheard! I didn't take part.”

“Do you think Regina thinks that?”

“I think you are about to find out,” Mary nods to Regina who is walking towards them.

“Miss Swan,” Regina Mills oozes ice in her every syllable. “My office. Ten minutes.”

Once Regina is out of sight, Emma hangs her head. “I'm going to get fired,” and the words feel disconnected from herself somehow. Empty and hollow.

“Don't jump to conclusions. She probably wants to hear your side of the story,” Mary cautions.

Emma sits up straight and smooths her skirt. “You're right. I am going to go in there and tell her what a precocious little di-”

“Emma,” Mary interrupts, “breathe.”

Ten minutes later, she is standing in the doorway of Regina's office. Her heart is beating so fast it might as well jump out of her chest.

“Sit down, Emma.” Regina had never referred to her as Emma. She was in more trouble than she'd thought. She moves further into the office but does not sit. Regina folds her hands on her desk. “Tell me how this happened.”

She considers her next words carefully. “He outwitted me.”

“Clearly,” the word is almost a whisper, but it sends a wave of nausea through her. “Do you think Detective Lucas gave him something?”

“No,” she answers honestly, “he got it somewhere else.”

“Did you show your piece to anyone before you gave it to me for approval?”

“No.”

"Did you give him this information?"

“No,” Emma retorts.

Regina studies her for a long moment and then nods. “I believe you, but that brings us to a different problem. Is there a leak in our midst?” She reaches across her desk and pulls out her calendar. "I spoke to Mr. Jones this morning.”

“Why?”

“Hello Swan,” a familiar voice interrupts from the doorway.

Emma clenches her hand into a fist so tight that it turns her knuckles white. “You have got to be kidding me.”

“No hello? I'm deeply offended love.”

“What in the hell is he doing here? He broke our story, he can't possibly-” but Regina holds up one hand.

“Mr. Jones, please have a seat.”

Killian enters the room and stands next to Emma, but she refuses to look at him. “I am sorry about your story.”

“Don't lie to me, Jones.”

“Okay, I'm not that sorry. It was quite the story. I've already been asked to have interviews on all the major news stations.” She can hear the mocking smile in his words and it makes her so furious she starts to shake.

“Keep talking, Jones. I've given you a black eye once, I will do it again,” she vows through gritted teeth.

“You always were violent, Swan,” he laughs.

Something snaps inside of her and she faces him. He's exactly the same. His hair is untidy and his jaw is stubbled. He's wearing a deep blue velvet shirt, leather jacket, and leather pants. “I see you kept the leather,” she laughs.

He grins at her. “It's nice to see you too.”

There's a long moment of silence. Neither of them is willing to break eye contact.

“Mr. Jones, we are rather on a tight schedule. Now told me on the phone that you have something to share?” Miss Mills interrupts.

“Yes,” he replies as he moves toward a chair. Emma continues to glare daggers at the back of his head. “It all started yesterday when I got an anonymous note on my desk.”

“What did this note say?”

“It gave me a phone number to call. The person told me they were from The Informer, and that Mr. Gold was going to be arrested this morning. They gave me all the information I needed,” he declares, and the words fall weighted and deadly into space.

Regina hisses a very obscene curse under her breath.

“You are lying. No mole would be that stupid,” Emma fires back.

Killian shrugs. “I'm just telling you what they told me.”

“Why should I believe you?” she hisses.

“Because of our history,” he retorts with a quick wink.

“Jones, you need to get the fu-”

“Before you finish that thought. I have an offer for you,” he interrupts yet again.

Emma crosses her arms over her chest and glares at him. “What could you offer me?”

“Perhaps we should speak outside,” he gestures to the door.

“Anything you have to say to me, you can say in front of my boss.”

He shrugs noncommittally. “Whatever you say, love. I want you to come with me this afternoon so we can interview Mr. Gold together.”

Regina starts in her chair, but Emma doesn't even flinch. “Why in the hell would you want to do that?”

“I'm sure was Zelena's idea. It's a move my dear sister would make. A power move," Regina interrupts.

“No, it was my idea. Zelena doesn't even know.”

Something inside her twists. “You didn't ask permission?”

He shakes his head and runs a hair through his hair. “I have had some dealings with Mr. Gold in the past. Interviewing him alone would be unwise on my part.”

“Why don't you take your dear sweet editor with you?”

“Miss Swan,” Regina finally speaks up again. “You should do this.”

There's a command in the words, and she knows she should not refuse. “Yes, Miss Mills.”

“I'm planning on going this afternoon. I will meet you here at two,” Killian gives her a final smirk then exits.

She turns to Regina. “Care to explain what that was about?”

“There's more here than the chance to figure out who our mole is. I  have to play my cards right. Thank you, Miss Swan,” she concludes.

Emma turns out of the office and heads towards her desk. She mumbles curses under her breath the entire way.

“So, did she fire you?” Mary hesitantly asks.

“Worse,” she moans.

“What on earth is worse than being fired?”

“She's forcing me to work with Killian Jones.”

This was a bad idea. She could feel it in every inch of her body.

[abitterlifethroughcinema]

          Three (+1) Movies You Should Catch Before the New Year!

                         WOKE! Film Reviews for the Holidaze

                                                     by

                                      Lucas Avram Cavazos

Mary Poppins Returns ###-1/2   Let it first be said that there is no way that anyone can EVER take the place of Julie Andrews (and she was none-too-keen on having a cameo in this remake, though it seemingly had her “blessing.”) That said, there could be worse people chosen to play the part of a modern-day Mary Poppins than Emily Blunt, who takes the proverbial reins…perhaps to a fault? From a critic’s point of view, she plays the part a tad too hard. Whereas Andrews’ iconic character was curt, she was also practically perfect in her genteel ways as an actress playing a role. Blunt does an exceptional recreation of a prolific Hollywood character, but she’s almost too humanlike in her manner, at times sucking the sweetness of the original character from its true nature. That said, she does her best to help nail the plot line sequences that certainly do their part in touching the soul. We can sum up the story easily, as we now find a grown-up widower Michael Banks (Ben Whishaw) and his two precocious kids teaming up with Auntie Jane (Emily Mortimer), a suffragette fighter like her mum before her, along with nanny-in-tow and the cantankerous time-tellers and their annoying-ass roof canyon, which incidentally commences the film. Well, not before a real intro with the “new Dick Van Dyke” as Lin-Manuel Miranda plays city lamplighter Jack, sprucing up that horrid faux-Cockney accent left over from Sir Van Dyke, in the meantime. The arrival of Mary occurs when, under duress by the bank where Michael works, he is forced to accept the fact that after his wife’s death and intent to keep her alive, he has fallen egregiously behind in his house note payment, and must now fork over the entire amount or forfeit the house on Cherry Tree Lane.  Thankfully, the music of the Sherman Brothers, who composed the original score lives on despite their passing through Marc Shaiman. Now then, though there are some great song numbers and the energy is always lit, without them I wonder how strong the film could have been…maybe better, maybe not? Everyone has their role to play in this film and they do it well, you will most definitely tear up, and at least one of the songs will get to your core most likely, but after the screening and the feel-good loveliness wears off, it’s hard not to see that the film is merely a modern-day, paint-by-numbers interpretation of a Disney classic. (Now playing across Catalonia and Spain)

Ralph Breaks the Internet ##-1/2   For years, the sheer nature of the animated film sequel was one usually relegated to direct-to-video/on demand sources. Soon, at the seeming behest of millions of adoring children, we shall receive Frozen II: Ever SO Cold (surely I jest with the name), but in the mean time, Disney has thrust a premiere animated sequel upon us, a sequel to the blockbuster film Wreck It Ralph from a few years ago. Firstly, the egregious and rather obvious usage of so much marketed and paid-for advertisement through product placement is outrageous. I suppose one could say that it’s necessary, as it is clearly the only way to lock in zombified youth and keep their uninterested/ing parents mitigated with visuals of brands they know and will likely go out and buy as soon as the film’s funny but superfluous 90-something minutes are over. Whereas the original cartoon tested the fires using retro love showcased by work vs. self plot lines, this new, thin-as-thread argument revolves around Ralph (John C. Reilly) and dear mate Vanellope (Sarah Silverman) as they are faced with a work dilemma when Vanellope’s game Sugar Rush is shut down, leaving her and all its characters gameless/homeless! Ralph suggests that she just hang with him all the time, but that would never do for our female protagonist. No, she sets off to replace a missing steering wheel that finds them $27K in debt to eBay, so they decide to cash in on Ralph’s vintage appeal to meme or GiF him into some quick cash draw. It becomes all way too much, and even the good-natured voices and wannabe themes of Ralph and Vanellope, pale in comparison to the megalomaniacal barrage of big-name companies and internet giants who so obviously paid for this trite shite. (Now playing across Catalonia and Spain)

Aquaman ###-1/2   This film actually made me tear up, and I abhor admitting that, as this is a bloody comic book-based popcorn film, but I despise hiding truth even more, so I must let you know…this DC Film is cornball as all hell… and fantastic, as well! Starring a host of insanely fine-form actors, be it due to Oscar cred or fine-ass bodies, Aquaman begs for the customary suspension of disbelief (after all, it IS a comic book movie), and with that in tow, we view the film as an underwater wonderland…with a tonne of overacting. But I do dare say that even the how’d-he-get-here Jason Momoa is convincing enough as the titular character and son of Thomas, a lighthouse keeper and Atlanna, Queen of Atlantis (Nicole Kidman), who washes ashore and falls in love with Thomas. Are we all still on the same page here? So then, as he’s a bit of a mud-blood, and after his mother is kidnapped, Arthur (Aquaman’s real name) has to learn to harness his power while trouble is abrew down below. Enter in stage left his half-brother Orn (played to oddly Aryan perfection by Patrick Wilson) hell-bent on culling together the seven seas, so as to crown himself the Ocean Master. This sets off the need to keep the younger audiences in form with the rest of the adults and comic dorks, so it is here where director James Wan gives us his atypical flim-flam of zingy one-liners, more dazzling actor-star turns like Willem Dafoe and Dolph Lundgren, and the sex symbol is introduced for the horny ones’ fancies, but may I say that the acting Amber Heard employs as Mera, Orm’s fiancee, is both terrible and seducing in that college/high school one-act play kind of way. All in all, everything is set up so as to be easily palatable and do its best to war with the mighty fray that is the Marvel Universe. And then there is the finale battle scene, a war waged underwater that becomes any person’s imaginary spectacle, and I enjoyed every single moment of it. Well-played and well-done for the young and young at heart alike! (Now playing across Catalonia and Spain)

Fahrenheit 11/9 ####   Premiering a few weeks ago here in Spain, and only at very select cinema screens across the country, this is the first documentary in some time by Michael Moore that could play across an international landscape and should be required viewing on any critic’s or person’s list, frankly. Yes, it is that good. The titular oddity refers to the day after we all woke up across the world in shock and awe that there had been an extreme, perhaps unprecedented, blockade thrown into the realm of the New World Order, which of course, can wage its own war across the socio-political landscape. The way in which Moore has created this think piece is brutal yet funny and all too real if maddeningly convincing. It should come as no surprise to anyone that Moore is a socialist-liberal, and that now runs through my mind as I watch his docs and even now as I scribe. That said, even if this is not his best film, it is undoubtedly the one film in his oeuvre that holds the viewers’ feet to the fire and calls for us to fight the nasty funk Trump’s administration brings in this 2018/19 world. From his hilarious if frightening deduction that Trump only decided to run for the office in order to chastise NBC after realising they had paid Gwen Stefani more for her spot on The Voice than his salary for The Apprentice to the bare way Moore strips the last two years down to a finite joke, this movie hits a lot of targets succinctly. But, it’s when he takes it back to his roots, to Flint, Michigan, and ends up involving all local and state politics, that we start to see the more sinister undertakings happening amongst conservative parties, ideals and societies. It becomes a tad creepy, for lack of a better word. When you add in the fact of the Parkland High School shooting and the way Moore later fuses footage of Hitler and his minions and followers with a rally speech made by the current occupant of the White House, it becomes all too obvious that things are exactly as we think they are (A HOT MESS!) and we have very little recourse rather than claiming truth and shooting down this current and insane barrage of falsehoods. (Now available VOD/DVD/Blu-ray)  

[kurtty-drabbles]

In spite

N/A: You know the drill already.

@djinmer4

Having shapeshifter abilities can be useful even if people automatically assume you are Mystique, yet, one this is having a power that has an infamous user, the other is having this inconvenient power of reading people´s emotion. That always proves to be a pain to Meggan.

A blond woman with a nice body can be many things but a hero.  Meggan wants to be a hero. She wants to save the others. Yet, as soon as Meggan opens her mouth, many suggestions hit her, the suggestion are as suggestive as possible.

It is not required this special power to know what some men are thinking. A pretty woman smiles at them and they already feel entitled to them.

Meggan never feels shame for leaving this. She does feel bad for not doing more(she has super strength).

There´s the mentality that next time it will be better. It used to be cute when she was a kid.

__________

Meggan meets Captain Britain by accident. His group was investigating a paranormal accident, a magic user was on the lose and his magic, using the term with some leniency here, did cause troubles. Captain Britain asked for her help(there´s an urgency in his voice and emotions)

Brian is stoic during the entire mission, until, they finally catch the magic user, however, they arrive too late to save his last victim. The others are making sure the scene is untouched as the villain will be arrested for years if not for his entire life.

Meggan is the only one to noticed Brian, the stoic, going to where the body of the last victim was found. She was the only one who notices him taking a knee and praying.

His emotion is nothing more than a genuine sadness and grieves for this person. Meggan saw him praying silent(his emotion tell this right away) and she goes to this stoic, buffy man who is doing his best to hold the stoic image as he can cry right now.

Meggan takes a knee next to him. She puts a hand on his shoulder, once the prayer is over, as she speaks the name of this person.

"Roger Green at least it will be reunited with his family, we may not be able to save him, but at least, his family has a body to bury"

"If I was faster..." there´s anger at himself as his emotion still gravitated with sadness.

"No, don´t think like that. Those what if are never going to help in the future, you are Captain Britain is always focused on the future, not the past"

Brian has an emotion of gratitude towards Meggan.

This is the first time someone feels such genuine emotion for her.

________

Captain Britain did invite Meggan for more missions(sometimes, the big buffy man would fidget and stutter in front of Meggan as his emotions are a  combination of many emotions that Meggan knows, however, is the first time she enjoys those emotions direct to her) and she even meet with his sister Betsy.

(The woman´s emotion is often of concern for when Meggan and Brian are out, a strange woman with her brother?  Betsy isn´t afraid of doing the shovel talk and Meggan is not afraid of Betsy in the slightest)

After finishing the last mission. Brian asked something quite unusual from Meggan.

(His emotion are in a convoluted shyness, excitement and fear)

"I was wondering if you found a new place to stay, after the last accident" Brian´s funny way to say that a monster ruined her apartment and now Meggan is looking for a new home.

"No, I´m still looking," she says a bit bubbly. She likes London and the apartment hunting is entertaining.

"Well, if you want, you could stay here...until you sort yourself, but if you don´t want.."Captain Britain is stuttering and is making a mess of himself. Meggan chuckles and shakes her head.

"That is really sweet, Brian, but don´t offer me a place to stay just to cease the guilty you feel"

"Is not guilty, ok, fine, I still feel a bit guilty about being deceived by that monster...maybe if things went differently from your apartment would still be intact, however, I want you to live here, even if the apartment was saved" Brian answer and once again there´s only sincerity in his voice.

"I´m not a charity case"

"For Christ ´s sake, I´m not doing this for guilty or charity, I´m doing this because..." he gulps and Meggan can see his emotions now" I like you"

The man confessed in just the way Brian knows and this prompts Meggan to laugh in good humour. She rests her head on his chest and once the laughter ceased.

"I like you too"

_______________

Founding Excalibur was supposed to be a new exciting thing. A group of superheroes dedicating in protect the earth? Meggan is already sold(is her childish excitement clouding her senses again) and even 3 members of X-men decided to help.

Rachel Grey(her emotions are longing, confusion and something else that Meggan can´t place)

Kitty Pryde, straight from X-men´s mansion(so silent, her emotions are sadness and fear. Why?)

Kurt Wagner(his emotions are fear, self-loathing and aggressive emotions that Meggan can´t put on words)

In the last member, Meggan didn´t feel very comfortable. The blue man often likes to flirt with Meggan once Brian is not around(there´s something wrong in this sentence)

Meggan did meet some of the other X-men to chatter about their goals and plans(to get info about Kurt Wagner, could it be this is just in her imagination? after all, she heard that German people are very talkative and way too friendly and Meggan hates causing a scene)

Ororo Monroe did give praises(geniuses) about the man. Ororo Monroe did mention that Kurt can be a bit of flirt(she feels uncomfortable and awkward now) she tells a mission they did together and she didn´t feel comfortable with his words.

"But he is a good person, trust me, Meggan"

Then it was his sister, Rogue, she tells the same tale.

"A good person indeed, but he can be a bit handy, but still a good person" Rogue declared and Meggan nods(Rogue feels uncomfortable in every way as she tells about how they meet)

Once back to the Excalibur, the blonde woman saw Kurt practising with Kitty, his emotions change by this point. They are so gentle not matching the aggressive kicks and punches (Kitty did teach martial arts to him.)

He didn´t notice Meggan until Kitty´s cell phone ring and it was a man called Peter(Kitty´s emotion are not happy, in fact, she is far from that, she seems fearful) and now as magic, Kurt noticed Meggan.

The man begins a sweet talk, a flirtation that Meggan is never interested, however, his emotions are miscast here. He feels angry and jealousy.

Meggan did a step back. Kurt interprets this as fear(partially right) of his own looks(wrong!) and Meggan can´t help to feel a bit insulted that he would think that the only reason for her stepping back from him is his "demonic looks"

(Meggan rolls her eyes at this. She was real demons, and they all have white skin and sharp smiles, ready to take you apart)

She morphs into a creature from one of Betsy´s favourites shows, a strange bat monster with red eyes and long canines and wings as big as her body. With this new look, she flies away leaving Kurt to dumbfound on the scene.

Maybe, he will get a clue and stop.

This is her childish believer talking again. ________________

Meggan spotted Kitty Pryde avoiding answering her cell phone hoping it would stop ringing. This Peter fellow was dedicated, if nothing else, as he starts to call Excalibur.

Kitty didn´t appreciate the calls at all.

"Kitty, can we talk?" Meggan asked feeling the fear and resentment pouring from the petite woman.

"Yes, sure"

"Why are you dating this Peter? you are miserable"

"I´m not dating him...I mean, it is my fault" she says and the fear is making Meggan sick."I meet him when I was 14 years old...he did say I was looking at him in a certain way, I was tempting him and maybe it was my fault, I was a precocious child and maybe"

"Kitty, with all due respect, shut up," Meggan said " if a grow ass man tell a 14-year old that she is giving him the looks tell him to fuck off, a child is not sexy and shouldn´t tempt any grow man"

Kitty blinks and a relief comes out of her body.

"I thought..."

"I know, but, just this once, Kitty, you are wrong, so please, don´t answer the phone anymore"

Peter did end up coming to Excalibur only to Kitty finally to tell on his face that their dubious relationship is over.

Meggan is proud of Kitty.

Meggan noticed how Kurt´s emotion shift with this news. __________

Excalibur made many enemies. And like any respectful villain, they do know how to hold grudges and how to enact revenge on the team, even on people that have nothing to do with the villain´s downfall.

Meggan is a shapeshifter and an empathic, so, this means that when someone is controlling her mind, she has to watch her own body moving without her consent.

She morphs into a blue version of Kurt(she feels sick with the implication) and goes to kiss the blue man. She feels disgusting with herself and him for not stopping the kiss.

(I don´t want this, please, I don´t want this.)

Kurt is more than ready to kiss someone that is under a spell. She can´t give consent. (funny how his emotions change completely with other women, with Kitty is so different)

Brian enters in the scene and sees a blue Meggan almost kissing Kurt his short temper get the best of him. Meanwhile, thanks to the fight, Meggan is free from the mind control and returns to normal.

(She is still in that revealing outfit. She wants to cry, she didn´t choose this outfit)

The two men are fighting and Brian managed to break Kurt´s leg. Meggan exhales and goes to talk with them, the word nicely is not going to be attributed here.

The woman prevents Brian and Kurt from fighting using her gigantic hand(she is a very skilfully shapeshifter) and the two now realize her presence.

"How. dare. you?" she askes screaming feeling tears running free from her eyes.

"Meggan" Brian asked in concern and fear. Fear is all Kurt is feeling, which, in Meggan´s opinion is a good thing.

"How dare you to kiss me without my consent?" Meggan asked furiously as her pretty face morphs into something akin of a horror monster "And you, Brian, how dare you to fight over me, like I´m a trophy"

"It wasn´t that...I saw him kissing you" Brian said feeling remorse, "I thought..."

"That I´m cheating on you? No, rest assured, I´m not this type of woman, but you clearly don´t trust me enough. I was mind controlled"

(is a bit unfair, the situation was really wrong, but Meggan is so mad right now)

"And you, Kurt Wagner, how dare you to treat women like that? You seek validation from women as we are obligated to heal you, guess what? We aren´t. And guess what? No means no." She said gaining attention from the others members.

Kitty shows up and now Kurt´s emotion is in a cloud of shame and sadness.

"You are a coward, you say you are the brave hero, but in reality, you are just running away from your problems and traumas, and expecting a quick fix, we don´t owe you anything. If you want to be better do on your terms"

She takes a deep breath and let them go. She flies, hovering them, Brian asked for her to not leave.

"I´m not leaving...you two are, think thoroughly about your actions today" she order and Captain Britain nods as well Kurt. Both men leave the sight of Excalibur easily.

(it was a bit comical to see Brian asking if Kurt´s leg are alright)

______

Brian spends a night away thinking on what happened. Meggan did the same, the scene was misleading and if the roles were reverse, would she jump the same conclusion?

Bottom line, does Brian really trust her?

"Can we talk?" his British accent makes itself know and Meggans nods. Both stare at each other in silence for a moment, his emotions are of longing and love.

"In the first place, you are right, I shouldn´t have fight Kurt like that, you aren´t a prize to be won, Meggan" Brian starts and Meggan let him continue"I should have realized something was up, I know you, and you are not this type of person that cheats"

"But you jump to this conclusion, I can´t blame you too much now...I know the scene looks way too suggestive"

"Yes, but we deal with crazy stuff all the time, and I shouldn´t have jumped the gun here"  then he adds "I always have this fear...that one day, you would grow tired of me and...realized you could have someone better"

"That´s your fear?" she asked marching to him and punching his chest playfully "you stupid idiot, that is my fear, I always fear you would trade me for someone else, some worthy to be your girlfriend"

"I would never do that, Meggan" Brian stated "I love you and I want to spend the rest of my days with you"

Meggan chuckles as she rests her head on his chest(the scene is familiar)

"You stupid, silly man, can´t you ever say I love you in a normal way?"

"No, we are in Excalibur, nothing is ever done in a normal way" this response was greeted by a kiss. "Am I forgive?"

"Yes, but pull that stunt again and you will meet the bat demon"

"I love any shape you take, even the bat demon"

They kissed some more. His feelings are love matching hers.

___________

Things get normal or as much normal Excalibur can get. Meggan enters in the kitchen and saw Kurt and Kitty talking, once the due spot her the conversation stops as they greet Meggan.

Kurt is still with his plaster made up by Kitty herself(who did sign the plaster with her name in bright pink) and feels shame and wants to apologise.

Kitty nods softly to him as Kurt is not feeling confident in his own apology. (Meggan is right, he is a different person around Kitty)

"Meggan, I want to apologise for what I almost did, it was something awful and I shouldn´t have taken advantage of you in any way, I´m really sorry," Kurt said.

"You promise that won´t happen again?" She noticed Brian entering the room and pay attention to the scene.

"I promise, I won´t ever do that again"

"Good, apologies accepted, also, if you do try to do this again, I´ll do far worse than breaking your leg, got it?" Kurt nods solemn and Meggan knows he got the message.

"Oh, Kurt, you may want to resolve any problem on your past before jumping in a relationship"

"Meggan is right Kurt, I think we should all do that" Kitty stated calmly taking his hand gently. The blue man nods.

Brian watches the blonde woman flies next to him and he decided to eat breakfast, this time a toast and eggs will be fine. His feelings are telling that today the breakfast will be normal.

"Brian, there´s an evil duck on the table talking to us?"

"Damn"