#he would be such a sit in the garden and dig holes child...he's like five with no friends but he will sit in the back garden with a tiny

[steelycunt]

digging a hole, putting him in it,

[rockscanfly]

the stars are not wanted now

The headline was several days old by the date in the corner. The cheap paper was peeling at the corners from the wall it’d been pasted to when Charles ripped it down. His mind was carefully blank as he hitched Lenny’s canvas-wrapped corpse higher on one shoulder. He stuffed the ripped page into his pants pocket. 

It stayed there, smouldering, as he loaded Lenny onto Taima. Sadie was already seated on Bob, Hosea laid carefully behind her. Her eyes caught his, red and shining.

Charles was an hour into digging Lenny’s grave when it hit him: He was never going to see Arthur Morgan again.

Death’s messenger arrived in the form of the front page of The Saint Denis Times. TRAGEDY AT SEA! CARGOSHIP THE OQUENDO SUNK FIVE MILES OFF GUARMA COAST!

or,

Charles Smith, Sadie Adler, and the two deaths of Arthur Morgan.

Read below or at  AO3. 

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

In the life of Charles Smith, death’s messengers had come in many forms. 

The first was in the navy blue uniforms of American soldiers, their ghost pale hands wrapped tight over his mother’s arms as they dragged her from their tent, screaming and kicking. 

Ten years later it was in a letter, sent by an old neighbor. It contained his father’s wedding ring, a family photo, and no explanation. 

The way the whiskey had wafted off his father’s breath the night Charles left? There was no need for one. 

Then it had been the sharp crack of a gunshot—one, two, three. Sean, Hosea, Lenny. There was the frightened whinny of a horse mixed in, and the sick, rotten-fruit plop of Kierran’s head as it fell from his cupped, bloody hands.

This messenger arrived in the form of the front page of The Saint Denis Times. TRAGEDY AT SEA! CARGOSHIP THE OQUENDO SUNK FIVE MILES OFF GUARMA COAST!

The headline was several days old by the date in the corner. The cheap paper was peeling at the corners from the wall it’d been pasted to when Charles ripped it down. His mind was carefully blank as he hitched Lenny’s canvas-wrapped corpse higher on one shoulder. He stuffed the ripped page into his pants pocket. 

It stayed there, smouldering, as he loaded Lenny onto Taima. Sadie was already seated on Bob, Hosea laid carefully behind her. Her eyes caught his, red and shining.

Charles was an hour into digging Lenny’s grave when it hit him: He was never going to see Arthur Morgan again.

For twenty-seven years, careful restraint of his emotions had allowed Charles to survive. He’d never had the luxury of anger, of rage. An outburst from most members of the gang meant getting kicked out of the saloon, a fine, or a night in jail at worst. 

For Charles, a length of rope looped over a tree branch was never far. America hated nothing more than a mutt, and to her people Charles was a rabid dog best put down at the first snarl.

So Charles learned control and calm. He learned to bury, to smother, to take everything burning in him and shove it somewhere safe. To put his feelings aside until he was alone and could take them out and look them over with no nervous trigger fingers or hateful eyes waiting for the first excuse—the first bitter word, sharp gesture, first hateful look. 

Charles didn’t know what did it, what final burning hurt snuck into the tinderbox of his chest and sparked the blaze. If it was the seventh rock his shovel struck in the soft, sucking dirt, forcing him to fumble in the dark until he could haul it free and cast it out. If it was the heat, the chafe of sticky cotton on his damp skin. Could be it was the flies buzzing in his ears, or the way the sweat from his brow stung his eyes. 

Maybe it was the sickly smell of rotting meat already coming from the sacks wrapped around Lenny and Hosea’s corpses, or the way there was no money for coffins to bury them in. 

One moment Charles was digging side by side with Sadie, knee deep in the grave that would hold just one body of the second family that fate had torn from him.

And then he was kneeling in the sucking mud, hands fisted uselessly in the torn roots and crawling worms. Anguish tore howling from his throat, muffled against gritted teeth. Charles could taste copper coating the backs of his gums as he hunched in the dirt. His eyes clenched tight as his heart did its level best to tear itself from his chest, to strike out for a life less riddled with bullets, one that didn’t bleed loss like a butchered carcass or burn everything good up to ashes.

Charles was dimly aware, under the pounding of his own pulse in his ears, of Sadie’s soft cursing as she threw down her own shovel and climbed into Lenny’s half-dug grave beside him. The darkness behind his eyes became complete as she shuttered the lamp, plunging them into night. He flinched away as Sadie’s firm hand gripped his shoulder. “Don’t,” he growled. He didn’t want comfort. He wanted exorcism. 

Sadie just gripped him tighter, blunt nails digging hard into the hunched muscle of his shoulder. “I know,” she rasped, kneeling before him, sharp knees pressed to his own. A choked cry strangled in Charles’s chest as her skinny, whipcord arms wrapped around him, pressing him to her chest. 

“They’re gone,” he managed, gasping through the tightness in his lungs. He couldn’t get any air. “Lenny, Javier, Hosea—Arthur.” Charles made a fist, pounding senselessly at the dirt. “He, we—” Charles cut himself off, dug his nails deep into the flesh of his knee, and tried to claw the pain into his own skin. 

A beat passed. One of Sadie’s palms gripped Charles at the back of his neck, cupped the back of his head gently. “Charles,” she said, voice rough and small, gentle. “Charles, I know.”

And it’s possible she did. She was one of the more observant folks in the camp. He and Arthur hadn’t really been very careful. Nothing too blatant, no. But anyone could have read into the casual ease with which Arthur touched his shoulder, the way their knees almost touched as they sat by the fire. The way Charles would return from guard duty with his hair mussed, leaves of grass clinging to the back of his shirt, the trailing ends of his hair. How Arthur would sit on a stump, failing utterly to conceal that he was sketching Charles as he chopped wood or hauled water. 

Arthur was not a cautious man by nature. He often made Charles foolish. 

More important than any of their thousand tiny, dangerous indiscretions was the fact that Arthur had trusted Sadie. It was possible the big, soft-hearted idiot told her about them. Maybe one day Charles would have it in him to be angry about that, at Arthur for putting them both at risk without asking him first. Reckless, impulsive, trusting. 

Gone.

Charles leaned heavily into Sadie’s grip, buried his face in the sweat and dirt streaked cotton of her shoulder. “How did you live through this?” He hissed, breath hitching. It felt like nettles had grown in his chest, wrapping around his lungs, choking like weeds to a garden. 

Sadie’s arm tightened over Charles’s shoulder. “Sun hasn’t dawned on a single day I’ve wanted to live through since they killed my Jake.” A filthy hand pet his hair back from his face, streaking dirt through the sweat on his brow. “Two reasons I go on. I gotta put every O'Driscoll on this green earth into a hole in the ground. And ‘cause I got folks as need me, now.”

Charles buried himself tighter against her, hiding from the pain that wracked him. It was ridiculous. Sadie was half his size, if he was being generous. But pressed against her, her clumsy hand in his hair, her skinny arm not even half over his back—he felt safer. Smaller. “They don’t even want me.” 

Sadie laughed, a hoarse, half-hearted thing that shook her chest more than it did the air. “You think those boys are lining up to put me in charge? Or, hell, Grimshaw? It don’t matter what anyone wants, Charles. They need us.” 

“I needed him,” Charles keened. He sounded like a child. He felt like a child. And he’d never felt so helpless, so lost, since he’d been torn from his mother’s arms. “All of them.” Charles bit back a breath, forced it down. He grasped a handful of Sadie’s shirt, pulling her closer. “I feel like the only part of me that’s good died with them. I don’t. I don’t think I can keep doing this.” 

“John ain’t dead yet,” Sadie whispered fiercely. “And neither is Tilly, or Mary-Beth, or me. Even the rest of ‘em. They’re all the family we got, Charles. So cry it out. But then you gotta pull yourself together. I need ya.” 

No one had ever needed Charles Smith. 

No one who lived. 

Charle’s head was going fuzzy, light, in a buzzing, burning way. Maybe he wasn’t getting enough air. Maybe he was choking on his own pathetic sorrow. 

Maybe the pain of losing so much was finally going to kill him. 

“I should just leave,” he mumbled into Sadie’s filthy, mud spattered shoulder. “Suffering follows me, I think. Maybe if I just go you won’t die, too.” 

Sadie’s blunt nails dug hard into Charle’s shoulder. “You leave and you’re yellow or you’re a fool,” she said, shaking him. “The world doesn’t give a shit about any of us, Charles. You know this life we’re livin’ ain’t meant to be a long one.”

Something in that tickled him, in a sideways sort of way. He laughed, a weak, hacking thing that was half-cough. “How the hell is Uncle still kicking?” 

Sadie’s shoulder moved under his forehead as she gave a half-hearted chuckle. “Can’t die if you never do shit.”

“You’re right,” Charles admitted. The stupid joke had shaken something loose in his throat. His chest still hurt, but he wasn’t choking on air. “I’m sorry. I just—” Charles sucked down another breath. “I wasn’t ready to live without him.” 

Sadie just pulled him tighter, tucked his head up under her chin. Charles wondered, vaguely, what she saw when she looked out into the dark of the Lemoyne night. “I know, honey,” she sighed. “But you will. You have to.” 

                                     _________________________

Traditional Kotsoteka mourning is an involved process. Done right, Charles should have burned Arthur’s wagon and killed Peachblossom, Arthur’s white Roan mare, so he would be well equipped in the afterlife. 

But there was no body to bury. No grave in which to throw Arthur’s guns, or the bow he’d left strapped to Peachblossom’s saddle on that final, bloody day at the bank. It would have been a shame to snap into pieces, anyway. Charles had made the bow for Arthur, so the other man had always taken excellent care of it. 

Fact was, Arthur’s body lay somewhere at the bottom of the sea, and they were too strapped for resources to go burning wagons and wasting supplies for traditions Charles had never been all that good at following. So instead Sadie helped him shave the sides of his head—the left side, to mourn a fellow warrior. The right, because a fellow warrior wasn’t all Charles was mourning. 

Together, Charles and Sadie burned one of Arthur’s shirts. There was no wailing, no cutting of arms and chests. As the last few patches of blue cotton caught fire, Charles resolved that, a year from then, he would never again speak the name Arthur Morgan.

                             ______________________________

Six years and too many graves later, Charles was resting on a freshly hammered fence post when a giant, mean-looking mustang rode up the road to Beecher’s Hope. Charles was half-way to drawing his sawed-off when its rider called out to him. “Charles! Charles Smith!”

Charles would know that hoarse drawl anywhere. 

Charles jumped the fence, jogging towards the black-clad woman on her suitably terrifying horse. “Sadie? Sadie Adler?”

Sadie swung down from her saddle, running forward. Charles caught her around the middle, swinging her excitedly. 

“How are you?” Charles asked as he set her down, hands moving to her shoulders to get a look at her. She’d picked up a few fresh scars, some weather to her skin from sun and wind. But her eyes were just the same as they’d always been, lit with an inner fire.

Sadie smiled, that same bitter half lift of the mouth as six years ago. “Alive,” she shrugged, patting Charles roughly on the shoulder. “You?”

Charles shrugged back. “Better, now. A few months back? Not so well.” 

Sadie nodded, walking back to her evil looking mustang and leading it gentle as a kitten to the hitching post. Charles leaned back against the fence, digging around in his jacket pockets for a pack of cigarettes and his lighter. He lit one, settling it in the side of his mouth. Demon-horse secured, Sadie settled beside him, leaning forward over the fence to survey the homestead. Charles passed her a cigarette, holding the lighter out and flickering as she lit a burning ember in the early morning light. 

Sadie inhaled, brown eyes sharp and considering as she surveyed the half-built ranch. “So. You’re, uh. Livin’ with the Marston’s?”

Charles nodded, tucking the lighter back in his pocket. “Just John for now.” He caught himself, laughed. “Well, and Uncle.”

“That old fool’s still alive?” Sadie whistled. “Bless his heart.” Silence stretched out between them. Maybe it should have been uncomfortable, the way it would have been between any two other friends who had parted in bloodshed and hadn’t seen one another in six years. 

Instead, it was like a well-worn blanket, warm and comforting in the early morning chill. Charles hadn’t shared a peaceful silence in a long while. John and Uncle always seemed to need to fill the air with talk. The folks in Saint Denis too, and theirs had been a lot less friendly. 

Their cigarettes burned down to embers before Sadie broke the peace. “Any clue where John’s at?” she asked. “I got a job for him.”

Charles grunted. “Bounty hunting?”

“Only kinda jobs I run. For now, anyway.”

“He’s in town grabbing supplies. Won’t be back until late.”

“Well, shit.” Sadie cursed, scuffing her boot in the dirt. She frowned, kicking up little clouds of dust while she chewed on her lip. Charles turned, tucking his arms up atop the fence, settling against the sun-warmed wood. Sadie leaned in beside him, shoulder to shoulder, so the fringe of her leather duster brushed against his knuckles. They watched the horizon together for a few long moments, the sun slowly rising higher in the sky. 

Sadie let out a long breath, shifting restlessly next to him. In the corner of his vision Charles caught brown eyes flicking consideringly over at him, measuring. “You busy?”

Charles let out an inaudible sigh of his own. “I don’t do that anymore, Sadie.”

Sadie laughed, a little bitter, a little sharp, like a sip of bark tea. “You too good for bounty hunting? Well, excuse me.”

Charles groaned, burying his face in his hands. “Isn’t like that. I just. I’m trying something new.”

Sadie rolled her eyes. “Ain't no reason you can't help around Marston’s ranch and earn yourself a little money.” She gestured to the half-built house, the piles of timbers and sacks of plaster. “Hell, how you think John’s paying this place off? I know y’all ain’t making any sort of profit yet.” 

Charles massaged his temples, willing away the oncoming tension headache. Sadie wasn’t wrong. Charles loved John, knew he needed to look after him for Arthur—at least until John was settled in with his family. But there would be an after, one day. Charles had learned one thing in his thirty-three years: no one stayed. 

He’d be watching his own back again, probably not too long from now. And it's a lot easier to do that when you had money. 

Charles sighed, pulling his hands from his face. He hooked his thumbs through his belt. “What’s the job?”

Sadie grinned, bitter and mean. “Man murdered his family, looks like,” she said, pulling away from the fence. “He’s wanted in Strawberry. Not even that far of a ride from here.”

Charles walked over to the little campsite, pulling his rucksack from his tent. It was already packed. He hesitated. “Kids?”

“A little girl, around ten. And a boy, round three.”

Charles pulled his tomahawk from under his bedroll, tucking it into his belt. He grabbed some of the nastier arrows—the poison wouldn’t kill a full grown man, but it’d make him suffer. 

Some men deserve to suffer. 

Charles stalked over to Falmouth, mounting him in one swift motion. “Lead the way.”

Sadie swung up onto her monster. “Good man,” she said, kicking her boot against Charles’s own as she trotted by. “Let’s see how rusty you’ve got, Mr. Smith.”

As they rode, Sadie interrogated him. 

“Talked to John a little, ‘bout you,” she yelled over the thundering of hooves. The earth was hard-packed and dusty in the Texarcana heat. “Heard things weren't going too well down in Saint Denis.”

“They weren’t,” Charles called back. “I’d only been there about a year, anyway. Job was going sour.” 

“How so?”

Charles laughed. It wasn’t a pretty sound. “Folks were only going to put up with me beating up white men for a living for so much longer.”

Sadie tossed a grin over her shoulder, knowing and vicious. She and Charles had different struggles in their lives. But there was a baseline understanding between them. Most of the gang had been dangerous for what they did. Of the ones who lived, Charles and Sadie were dangerous because of what they were. “Novelty was about to wear off, huh?”

Charles shook his head, whipping wayward hair from his face. “Yeah.”

Sadie turned back to the road, steering Hera around a sharp bend. “Before that?”

The road widened out. Charles urged Falmouth forward, riding till the two horses were running abreast. “Was up in Canada. Helped relocate the Wapiti after...” Charles paused. He had left with the Wapiti immediately after the attack on the oil refinery. Hadn’t even gone back to camp for the rest of his belongings, just taken what was on Taima’s back and. Left.

Charles had no idea if Sadie even knew why Charles had gone, what Arthur had told her.

“That kid,” Sadie asked, breaking Charles’s train of thought. “He died, didn’t he?” 

Charles swallowed, the dust from the road cloyingly sweet in his mouth. “Yes.”

Sadie steered Hera over a wooden bridge, hand on her rifle as she scanned each side for signs of an ambush. “I don’t think I understand what all happened with them,” she said. “There was so much going on, towards the end. Folks leaving, Arthur sick, that damn fool plan with the train—How did Dutch even get those folks wrapped up in our mess?”. 

“Same thing that happened to all of us,” Charles offered. “Dutch talked a good game, riled them up over things they were already angry about, got everyone in over their head, and was the only one who didn’t pay for it.” 

The rest of their ride continued in contemplative silence, broken only by the necessary shouts and calls needed to wrangle their bounty. The murderer was holed up in an abandoned cabin just a little north of town. Hardly worth hiring bounty hunters for, really. Except that the Strawberry sheriffs had always been corrupt, not to mention lazy. Some things don’t change. 

Still, working with Sadie again was worth it. It’d just been them those long months Arthur and the rest were lost in Guarma, presumed dead. Sure, the rest of the girls were still around and they pulled their weight. But none of them were as talented in violence—save Karen, maybe. 

 But she was too far gone over Sean to hold herself together, let alone anyone else.

It’s when they’d divvied up the bounty and stepped into the Strawberry saloon that Charles remembered why those months had been so damn stressful. Besides the Pinkertons, the hopeless fate of half their family, the deaths, John trapped in prison—

Sadie Adler’s temper had always been on a short fuze. 

And Charles, fool that he was, had always had a weakness for brave, impulsive idiots.  

A big, mean white man took exception to Charles drinking at the same bar as him. Sadie snapped off a sharp warning, stepping around Charles and squaring up to the man twice her size. Then the mean bastard took exception to Charles traveling with, being familiar with, a white woman. 

Sadie took exception to his exception, and her exception took the form of a knife straight through the man’s hand and into the scarred oak of the counter. 

They were riding hard out of town, ducking the odd shot from the posse riding too slow behind them, Sadie whooping wildly and shooting flawlessly over her back when Charles realized: he hadn’t had fun like that in six years.

They lost the posse in the hills by turning off on a razor thin trail, stashing the horses under an overhang and laying down in the tall grass. 

They lay there, panting, laughing, exhilarated. The stars were bright in the sky, glaring down through the clear West Elizabeth sky.

Eventually Sadie sobered, hoarse laughter falling silent. Charles could see her from the corner of his eye. She was still staring up at the stars, hair limned silver in the moonlight. She chewed on her words before breaking the peace. “You didn’t say goodbye.”

Charles took a breath, held it. “We had to leave before the Army arrived,” he said. He picked absently at the grass, crushing it dry and summer-sweet between his fingers. “The Wapiti. They were mostly women and children, the elderly. The sick.”

Sadie huffed, turning on her side, propping up on her elbow to glare down at him, hair frizzled into a messy halo behind her head, all lit up by moonglow. “Ya could of wrote,” she insisted. 

Charles kept his eyes fixed on the night sky, on the stars in their cold, beautiful distance. “To who?” he scoffed. “We all knew the gang was on its last legs. By the time we crossed the border into Canada I’d already seen the papers. Interesting, how they left you out of it.”

Sadie went quiet. She collapsed back beside him, thumping softly in the bent grass. “Is that how you found out?” 

A copy of The New Hanover had been pinned to the wooden wall of the trading shack where Charles was selling pelts for food and medicine. He’d left for Beaver Hollow the next day. “Yes.”

Sadie sucked air through her teeth. “I went back, few years later,” she muttered. Her boot knocked against his, a rough comfort. “You uh. You did a good job, Charles,” she said. Her fingers sought his in the tall grass, brushing against his lightly. Like she was scared to spook him, maybe. “We watched the sun come up together. He woulda liked it.” 

Charles drew his hand back, pressing it over his heart. The hollow, dull ache that lived in his heart sharpened, brightened. A fresh cut on an old scar. “He’d have liked it better if he’d lived.” 

Sadie made a noise, propping back up on her elbow to lean over him. “You know that ain’t his fault,” she frowned at him. “The man was sick, Charles.” 

Charles’s head hurt. His whole body did, in a cold, numb way. This wasn’t the burning, searing grief at the bottom of Lenny’s shallow grave. It was older, rooted deeper down. “Don’t,” he rasped. Grit from the road coated the back of his throat. “Just, don’t.” 

Sadie charged on, implacable. “You know he wasn’t gonna leave without John.”

The stars were so bright. Charles could feel the headache building, like a creature clawing out through his temples. “They could have left together,” he snapped at her. “We all could have left together, before the bank. All of that mess in Lemoyne—none of it had to happen. Arthur didn’t stay for John—he stayed for Dutch.” 

Sadie scrubbed her free over her face. “The man raised him,” she tried. The excuse was hollow, empty. Even she didn’t buy it.

Charles turned on his side, faced Sadie properly through the tall grass and moonlight. “Don’t give me that, Sadie. Not you.” 

“Fine, Charles! He was a fool!” She threw her hand up in the air, exasperated. “He was scared, he was foolish, and he loved Dutch because he was an idiot.” Sadie fixed him with a glare. “There, did that make you happy, big man? Speaking ill of the dead?” 

It didn’t. “I shouldn’t be speaking of him at all,” Charles said instead. “That’s not how—we’re supposed to let go. It’s been years.”

“You loved him,” she insisted.

“Look at how much that mattered,” Charles said, anger furrowing his brow, burning low in his stomach. Had he ever let himself be angry, with Arthur, with the choices they made? “What did loving him buy me, besides a heart that broke twice?”

Sadie’s eyes softened, understanding dawning warm and terrible. “I know that’s not how you really feel,” she said. Sadie reached out, again, with careful fingers. When Charles didn’t stop her she tucked the hair plastered to Charles sweaty forehead back, away from his eyes.

It was the first gentleness anyone had touched him with since he left the Wapiti for Saint Denis. Charles’s breath caught in his throat, trapped, terrified. Vulnerable. 

It would have hurt less if she’d socked him in the stomach.

“You don’t ride back from Canada, on your own, to bury a man who you hated,” Sadie continued. Her calloused hand settled on his jaw, thumb behind his ear. She held him steady, made him look her in the eye. “You don’t spend a year of your life helping his kid brother get his family back.”

“Arthur didn’t need me, at the end,” Charles managed. “Rain Falls needed me—and then they didn’t. No one did.”

“Why Saint Denis, Charles? You hated it there,” Sadie asked, resigned. She already knew the answer. She was being cruel, making him face it out loud.

Charles swallowed. No one had ever accused Sadie Adler of being kind. 

“I was waiting to die.” 

Sadie nodded. Yes, of course. “And all this with John? What next, once he doesn’t need you?”

Charles glared at her, mouth tight and stubborn. 

Sadie laughed in his face. “You and Arthur,” she sighed, shaking her head. “You were made for one another, weren’t ya? No understanding how to live in this world for yourselves.” 

“You’re one to talk,” Charles shot back. 

“I’m happy with my life,” Sadie said firmly. “I had love, but I never wanted a family. I just wanted Jake. He’s gone. So I’m doing what makes me happy.” She paused, staring down at him, considering. “What makes you happy, Charles? You’re the most competent, most stubborn man I know. What do you really want? You know no one could stop you from getting it.”

Charles shook his head. “I have no idea,” he admitted. He climbed to his feet, offering Sadie a hand. She accepted, pulling herself to her feet. She kept hold of his hand, squeezing tight.  

“Don’t stop looking,” she commanded. “What you were doin’ in Saint Denis, waiting to die? You’re better than that, Charles Smith.”

Charles shook his head, pulling Sadie into a one armed hug. Grief, Arthur, his life—they hadn’t solved any of it, laying out in a field and snapping at one another under the stars. 

But the wound hurt a little less, like a lanced infection. 

“I hope so, Mrs. Adler,” Charles said into the mess of Sadie’s hair. She chuckled into his chest, punched him half-heartedly in the arm. They separated, fetching and mounting their horses. 

They separated at the fork in the trail. Sadie headed east, back to her base camp just outside Valentine. She had work to do, bounties to catch. The world may have been more ‘civilized’ in 1907 than it was in 1899, but work was still plentiful for a rider and marksman of Sadie Adler’s skill. 

Charles rode west towards Beecher’s Hope, sun rising over his shoulder.

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

A/N: Charles and Sadie are my favorites, and they should have spent more time with one another. They're not exactly similar people, but they've been through many of the same trials. 

I also think they were both done a disservice by the epilogue. Charles's feelings regarding the gang's collapse are largely unexplored, despite him canonically being the one to have buried Lenny, Hosea, Mrs. Grimshaw, and Arthur. 

We also don't get a good explanation for why Charles ended up in Saint Denis as part of a fighting ring. Certain lines from Charles--"It seems like I was put on this Earth to hurt and to suffer myself"--have always led me to believe that he suffers from suicidal ideations. Him ending up in Saint Denis, surrounded by people who wish him harm, reads to me like a sort of 'death by cop' form of suicide.

On the subject of Charles's heritage: Rockstar is a trash fire, so beyond being half-Black and half-Native we have very few clues about Charles's culture and his history. I settled on a particular band (the Kotsoteka, or 'buffalo eaters') of the Comanche who would have had a decent amount of contact with Black Freemen post-Civil war. They live in Oklahoma and Texas, buffalo are a central part of their traditional lifestyle, and one of their mourning traditions involves shaving their heads in a manner similar to Charles's hairstyle change post-Guarma arc.

 I'm white and if anyone has constructive comments about my inclusion of Kotsoteka funerary traditions I'm happy to hear and act on them.

The Oquenda was the name of a Cuban trading ship from the 1870's. It was primarily used to transport indentured Chinese workers to the Cuban sugar plantations.

[bonesthebeloved]

Complicated- creativitwins

Digging up old drafts baby here we goooo.

The father in this story doesn't have a name so you can imagine it as anyone you'd like/ as simply a stranger. Happy reading.

Trigger/ squick warning: father figures, complicated relationship with parental figures, mention of screaming, child services mention (in like...one sentence) mention of crying, mention of animal death (bunnies) mention of homophobia. <- if I missed any let me know.

Edit: I did not check spelling. We die like men

-

Pappa had always been with them.

When they were three and just formed their first memories they might remember in distant futures when all was quiet and nothing was holding them back from reminisent, they would remember about the time they’d gotten two big stuffed bears bigger than themselves When Papa had still been alone and Dad hadn’t been with them yet.

They would remember the soft fur in their little hands as they cuddled close to the things when it was naptime.

Pappa was always there for them

When Roman was five and he woke up from a nightmare where a squirrel was chasing him around the playground pappa was there to wrap his long arms around him and tell him that he was safe and that he would get his squirrel catching gear out of the supply closet the man they had started calling Dad had built for them, first thing in the morning.

When Remus faked being sick the first day of school because a kid in his class had laughed at the white streak in his hair he'd had since birth pappa had come and picked him up, explaining that poliosis is nothing to be ashamed of and laughing warmly as his son tried to pronouns the word.

-

Pappa would always protect them.

When Roman first talked about his pappa and dad in school the teacher had looked like she'd eaten something nasty. Later on Roman was moved to the same class as his brother, his own teacher saying she didn't want to be associated with his kind.

When Pappa came to pick him up that day Roman asked what that ment. And for one of the first times in his life he'd seen pappa frown.

They baked a cake to celebrate them being the same class that evening and Pappa and dad lifted the two of them high up in the air and twirled them around while cheerful music played.

When Remus got told off by a teacher for the first time because he had pushed another kid in his class he had to sit in the corner for ten minutes.

When he was allowed to go back to his spot Roman thanked him for protecting him and Remus threw the paper ball that had been thrown at him right back.

When Pappa came to pick him up he and the teacher had a long talk and they left quickly afterwards. Pappa holding both his and Roman's hands in his own big one's and telling them about how they had done the right thing.

-

Pappa would always comfort them.

When Roman came back home with scrapped knees and an attitude Pappa had asked him what had happened.

Roman hadn't answered and his brother had later told their dad's that he had seen Roman getting pushed around by some older kids. The had been yelling a word he didn't know the meaning of. When he had told it to pappa he had looked angry. And told his boys that those kids were mean and to never use that word because it made fun of good people.

When Remus began to get more friends his pappa asked him to include Roman in all of their games.

His brother had trouble connecting to people and was quickly becoming the bullied kid. And while Remus would gladly take any bullets for him he couldn't protect him at all times.

And while Remus played star wars with his friends, running around the playground and pretending to know the characters, Roman sat and drew in the little notebook pappa had given him for school.

And Remus bought him a new one with his own pocket money when a mean kid threw it in the lake nearby when they went there to explore with the class around the time that eggs would magically appear in their garden and they pretended like it was a bunny putting them there.

Pappa would always be with them.

When they went to highschool and Remus his friends could no longer play starwars with him because one moved away, one said she’d never liked him and two others went to the same school but suddenly forgot about their being friends, he sat with his brother more often.

And when Roman got friends that he wasn’t sure he liked but hung around anyways because it was better than sitting alone, Remus was left sitting at a table at lunch, other kids coming to sit at the same one in the hopes he would get up and leave.

When he had refused to do just that they’d began whispering about him pretending he didn’t hear them. And when he acted like he didn’t hear they had began calling him mean things.

After two months at the new school they came home and both called for their Pappa with shaky voices too quiet to bare any sort of good news.

And when Remus showed off his bruised wrist he’d gotten when a kid had grabbed him harshly and Roman told him about how his friends hadn’t been friends but bullies in a trenchcoat and a mustache to make him think they were friends before telling him he was too weird to hang around, Pappa had brought them both into his arms. Whispering something like ‘oh my poor, brave boys,’ before holding them a bit tighter and then telling them that sometimes, the world was mean like that and that, sometimes, it takes a while before you find the right people.

And when they went to bed that night they laid in the room and stared at the same ceiling. Both pretending they couldn’t hear Pappa arguing with Dad in the hallway.

Both pretending they weren’t crying silently until they fell asleep to Dad accusing Pappa of being a vile and horrible human being.

Pappa didn’t have all the answers.

They learnt that when they were on their second year of highschool and both of their pet bunnies died in the same night. 

Roman had sniffled and stood near the gardendoor as he watched them dig a deep hole all the way at the back of their garden. 

Remus decided that he would be sad about this at night when nobody would see or worry and stood close by Pappa as he put the two bunnies in a shoebox and put it in the hole. Saying they had probably died because of the rat poision Dad had spread across the lawn and that the mice must’ve gotten into their food somehow.

They learnt this when Dad and him had sat them down after breakfast that had strawberries to tell them that sometimes love died and that weddingrings would rust and be put in two seperate homes in two seperate boxes that would never be opened again.

They learnt this the fifth time that Remus came home with bruises and Roman began to listen to darker music and emote less dramatically. Unlearning all the expressions he’d picked up from those animated childrens series they weren’t allowed to watch but watched them anyways. He faked having imagined a happy place when the woman that was supposed to help them through the divorce told him to invision one. Instead invisioning Remus, and how he should have punched the guy that had made him drop his books the moment he saw it happening.

Pappa was  a human being.

They realised this more clearly than ever when he’d found out why Remus only wore long sleeves and got sent to therapy after their Pappa had hysterically cried over it and begged his son not to leave them before he could grow old.

When Roman stared at the ceiling after he’d taken 14 paracetamol and googling how many it would take to leave them before he could grow old, only to find that he would probably be fine and go to school the next day feeling as empty as usual. Pappa had yelled at him when he had gotten back to be more careful and not get invloved with his brothers troubles after he’d shown off the scratched shoulder from where he’d been thrown against a fence when he'd tried to stand up for him.

And when Remus got diagnosed with dyslexia and Roman with depression they said nothing. Roman shaking his head when the doctor suggested therapy and Remus sitting quietly as they explained that he might have adhd aswell.

Their father wasn't perfect.

They learnt this when Remus came back from school with a black eye and a failed math test and the test was all that was focused on. Shouting not unlike the one they'd heard all those years ago when love began to die and rings began to rust booming through the house and piercing through the music Roman was listening to in his room. A bottle cap with water falling off his desk and the little growing plant in it falling with it.

They learnt this when Roman said he was asexual aromantic and their father said that he should consider therapy again because surely that couldn't be normal.

And when Roman told him that maybe they weren't normal he'd been send to his room. Doors slamming shut and noises too loud for Remus to process.

-

Their father was wrong sometimes.

They realised this when Remus first brought a friend home and jokes about countries the kid wasn't from were made around the otherwise uncomfortably quiet dinner table. And when religion was brought up in a house full of atheists Remus stood and took his friend's hand, saying that they'd eat something at a foodtruck and storming of, leaving Roman to feed little stripes of unseasoned meat to the cat.

-

Their father was bad sometimes.

They learned this when the both of them started college and the racist microagressions turned into jokes about how they'd never make it since they were both going to art schools.

And when Remus showed him his homemade costume he huffed and said it looked great in a tone that Implied anything but. And when Roman showed him the finished piece he'd worked months on he said it looked nice even if it had mistakes while pointing at every single one of them while his son, hands still stained with markers and pencil smudges, gave a watery smile and the artwork was put in a art map to never be looked at again.

Their father wasn't good for them.

They realised this. Finally realised this, when Remus was twenty and had decided to move out, getting a small apartment would have been to expensive had his brother not eagerly asked him if he could come with him.

And they told their father while their bags were already packed and the rent was already payed.

And their neighbours registered a noise complained and whispered about calling childservices when their father started another screaming match to tell them how much he didn't want them to leave and how they wouldn't make it.

And they painted the walls mint green while Roman painted a mural around the spot where their couch would be.

And they ate lukewarm noodles from the plastic canisters while sat on the empty apartment floor.

And Roman bought a dozen succulents to take care of and make it feel more like home.

And the wall was always covered in outfit designs and storyboards as the jar they had put the sticker 'for a couch' on slowly filled up.

And they still send him Christmas cards but didn't plan on visiting that house for a long long time.

And their father would have killed them for the mess they made of the apartment sometimes.

And they preferred it that way.

-

This is both an extremely specific vent and goes out to all the kids with complicated relationships with their parents.

You're allowed to not like your caretakers. You're allowed to not want contact with them after you've moved on. You're allowed to think how they treated you was unjust because it probably was.

-

-

Taglist

@purp-man @crazycookie13o @deceitifullies101 @sapphire-knight @ragingdumpsterfiremess @chronophobica @lance-alt @mylifeisadeceit

[iseeskiesofblueandcloudsofwhite]

Pumpkin Man

Andrew thought he got rid of the man he suspected had an affair with his wife. Little did he know that he problems only started to take root in his backyard. 

Chapter One

 Andrew

May 16, 2021. It will be the day I forever regret. The day I killed my Robert Norstrum. He was a co-worker of Stacy, my wife. They worked at a local home depot at a town over, she worked in the garden section while he worked in electrical.  He was a  short man with piercing blue eyes and dark black hair who always had something clever to say and chose the most annoying way to say it. I know that I could be rough around the edges, not as easy going as some but that didn’t mean that he needed to bother my wife. I am a good father to our child and got a degree in software engineering so I could pay for our beautiful house with a garden that Stacy loved. Our home that we made was the perfect slice of heaven

There was nothing extraordinary about Robert that I could see, but I could see that my wife thought of him differently. Initially, when she spoke about him, her eyes would light up. Eventually she caught on to my disgust for him and just mentioned him on occasion, but at that point only the slightest mention would send me in a bad mood. And then there were the lapses of time I didn’t know where she was. She said she was going out to the store or out for a walk, but all I could imagine was her talking and giggling with that man with the blue eyes. When I mentioned it to her, she said that I was paranoid. The feeling was similar to that of right before one gets a head cold. You can sense something is off, but can’t quite put your finger on it.   I remember my growing anxiety that I might lose my house, my wife and my kid along with everything I worked so hard to accomplish.  

 That day Robert Nostrum showed up at my door looking for her. It was in the middle of the day and I was working from home at that time taking my lunch. Stacy took Talyor, our daughter, on a playdate, and would not be back for hours. He said that he was dropping off a mums, and a giant pumpkin plant that she had been eyeing. I remember looking at the plant and thinking that I was the only man that should be giving Stacy gifts. I led him down into the basement where I said I had electrical problems and needed another man’s eyes on it. From there it was quite simple, while he was looking at the electrical work I hit him on the back of the head with a crowbar. There was no struggle as he seemed to be in shock. He fell to the floor and as I bludgeoned his face until it was unrecognizable.  From there wrapped his body in an old carpet and put it in a wheelbarrow. It was in the middle of the day and I knew that most of the neighbors were at work in upper class suburbia. I emailed work quickly citing a family emergency so I could deal with the remains. My backyard also had a thin veil of trees from one property to the other making it difficult to see adjoining properties unless one was intent on looking. I dug a deep grave in the freshly tilled soil of the garden rather fast. Where the tiller did not reach I used a pick ax to loosen the dirt, the wet spring soil easily breaking under my shovel . I dug it much deeper than anyone would ever uncover. I knew I would tell Stacy next year that the garden would have to be moved next year and make some excuse that there was better light in other places of the lawn, but changing the location of the garden now would be too much work without a better cause. After digging the grave, I simply dumped the body in with the pumpkin plant that he came with. It was almost chilling to see that after I put back the earth around the grave, that it looked no different than the garden surrounding it. I cleaned the mess in the basement. Taking his car and I drove it to a local deserted park wearing plastic gloves to make sure I left no fingerprints. By the time Stacy was home with Taylor, so I told her that I had taken a short walk around town and I would be back in a few hours. That was the last I thought Robert Northstom would bother me, my wife or my daughter but I was horribly wrong.  

Chapter Two

 Stacy 

Stacy looked outside the french windows as the crisp fall air touched her face. It wasn’t really cold, but the air was definitely getting drier and she could feel a sense of autumn wrapping its arms around her. Stacy could hardly believe it was autumn. It seemed like just yesterday that it was the start of the season at the store and she was laying out new plants that had just sprouted. That was when Robert kept her company at the store. He was nothing more than a friend but a real close one and his absence along with the socialization that Stacy got from working made Stacy feel uneasy transitioning back home. Stacy always found the adjustment back to full time stay at home mom overwhelming, but this year it seemed to hit even more. Taylor and her family were her life but Andrew had a tendency to be distant and Taylor could be a handful. Work sometimes seemed a lot less complicated than her home life. 

  Stacy savored the few moments before Taylor, her five year old, woke up and started creating havoc in the house with her toys. She could hear that her husband Andrew had already started working upstairs on his computer. He didn’t say a word to her this morning, but that was the way things usually were. He wasn’t distant when they first started dating, Stacy couldn’t really put her finger on it when they stopped saying good morning to each other, but now that was just the way it was. Stacy walked into the kitchen and started making breakfast with Edgar, the cat closely at her heels. Stacy was barely done with the eggs when she heard Taylor clomping down the stairs. 

“Mommy!’ Taylor cheered as she entered the kitchen. She squatted down near Edgar and gently pulled his tail. Immediately Edgar scrambled out of the kitchen. 

“Taylor, don’t pull his tail. That hurts him.” Stacy said. 

“I’m sorry Mommy.”  Taylor muttered, sitting in her chair. 

“What do you want to do today? We could go to the farm and go for a tractor ride. Does that sound fun?” Stacy asked. 

“Scarecrow!" Taylor exclaimed, pointing out the windows towards the garden. 

This year the garden was a bust. Every plant Stacy planted died almost immediately as if the land was intentionally salted. The death had also creeped a little in the yard right up to the house resulting in a horrible looking yard. Stacy was sure it was just a bad grub problem this year, but then, in the middle of July, a pumpkin plant started to flourish in the garden. It soon consumed the barren garden with cascading leaves and pulsating veiny stems. 

Since it was the only plant growing in the garden the pumpkin plant demanded the attention of the garden. In the middle of the vegetation lay a single pumpkin. It was not a huge pumpkin, slightly bigger than one’s head.

“Ok, we can do that.” Stacy knew Andrew should probably be included in the family activity, but he never seemed interested with any of the plants this year.

He even mentioned killing the plant and starting afresh making a new garden, but Stacy and Taylor would not allow it.

Stacy and Taylor walked out into the garden. The strong early autumn sun warmed the air but the dryness was still there. Taylor pranced out in the lawn already distracted by the sunshine and the earth. Stacy went into the garage grabbing paper, a pencil, cutting utensils, an old flannel shirt, jeans and gloves. Walking back to the house Stacy grabbed paints and a paintbrush. Painting was much more safe than carving knives. 

“Andrew, we are going to make a scarecrow. I was wondering if you were free to help me cut off the stalk?”

“Umm.. sure. I will be there soon” Andrew mumbled.

Stacy walked out in the yard and helped Taylor gather leaves for the scarecrow’s body. Andrew came out to the yard a few minutes later with a knife.

“Daddy!” Taylor ran to Andrew. Andrew threw the knife a safe distance away and grabbed Taylor spinning her in the air.

Stacy looked at both Andrew and Taylor with the backdrop of their house. Everything about their life was picture perfect at this moment as she joined her family in an embrace.

 “We are going to make a scarecrow today?’ Andrew asked, dropping Taylor and picking up the knife again.

“Yes, Scarecrow!”  Stacy cheered.

Stacy noticed Andrew's face became firmer when he looked at the garden. He picked up the knife in his hand and walked towards the pumpkin. Sitting down, Andrew sliced the stem.

Errikkk

A distant scream cried out that sounded like it came a few houses over.  The knife barely made an abrasion on the stalk.

“Mommy, I’m scared.” Taylor cooed.

“It’s ok baby.” Stacy said.

Andrew readjusted the pumpkin and tried again.

Ahhhh 

Another distant scream seemed to vibrate out of the ground. This time the knife made a cut an inch deep.

“Stop!” Taylor shrieked, running towards the house. Stacy looked toward Andrew.”

“Is that noise coming from the pumpkin?” Stacy questioned. 

“Don’t be silly, those sounds aren’t coming from the plant. I will get it.” Andrew grumbled.

Stacy turned to get Taylor back in the house listening to the continued screaming coming from outside until she entered the house. In the house, Taylor was in the living room watching Andrew cut the pumpkin.

“It’s ok. The pumpkin plant can’t feel anything.” Stacy reassured Taylor.

They watched Andrew cut the pumpkin off it’s stalk and cut a hole for the pole. The way here was something rough about him when carving the object, the way that he even held the pumpkin like a severed head caused Stacy shivers. After doing his diligence, Andrew walked back to the house and went back to work in his upstairs study, without saying a word

“So, paint time?” Stacy suggested.

“Yes!” Taylor squealed.

Stacy and Taylor went back to the yard with the paint supplies.

“He could be a friendly pumpkin. He could be a friend to the trees and birds.” Stacy suggested.

“Yes, he will be friendly! Here Mommy I did it.” Taylor said

Stacy gazed upon her child’s artwork. Perhaps it was friendly to a five year old, but to Stacy it had a creepy edge to it. The pumpkin had a bright red grin that reached half the span of the pumpkin like a clown mouth. His nose was a lopsided yellow triangle and above that were huge blue eyes with black pupils.

“Looks great sweetie.” Stacy said, trying to hide her aversion to her daughter’s artwork. Taylor seemed oblivious to Stacy's thoughts.

“Hello, Mr. Scarecrow.” Taylor chirped as Stacy hammered a post on the edge of the garden and assembled the body. When she was finished it was 3:30 in the afternoon.

“Ok Taylor, time to clean up and go in. I’m going to start dinner for Daddy now.” Stacy said.

“But I want to play with Mr. Scarecrow now. He has to have friends”.  Taylor protested.

“You can be his friend tomorrow.” Stacy said handing Taylor paint supplies. Taylor sighed and started helping Stacy clean up.

That evening after dinner the family set down to watch TV. The sun was setting earlier and already at 7 o clock the inky blackness of night had set in. Having little attention for TV this week, Stacy wandered into the kitchen. Passing by her French windows, she noticed Edger the cat transfixed with the outside world.

“What is it Edger? Do you see a mouse?” Stacy said. Edger looked back at her, now seeing that he got her attention, Edger began crying to the outside.

“Stop it, there's nothing out there.” Stacy said as she put the dishes in the dishwasher.

Nevertheless, the cat began crying more and more, like Stacy had not heard before.

“What’s up with Edger?” Andrew asked.

“I don’t know.” Stacy said, grabbing a mask and shooing away the cat from the windows.

Quickly frisking the darkness with a flashlight Stacy didn’t see anything new in the lawn, but as her flashlight hit the pumpkin,  for a split-second, Stacy could have sworn that the pumpkin had narrowed its eyes.

 Chapter Three 

Stacy

The next day, Stacy was rushing to clean the house. Taylor’s friend, Amanda, was coming over.

“Is Amanda here yet? I want to show her Mr. Scarecrow today!” Taylor announced, holding a few stuffed animals in her hand.

“Ok, but you need to get dressed in the clothes I laid out for you and brush your teeth.” Stacy said, feeling overwhelmed. Andrew went to get coffee for himself a half an hour ago and hadn't come back yet. She can’t really blame him; Amanda’s parents were not their favorite people. There was no one reason why she disliked Amanda’s parents, but they could be rude at times. Stacy just would rather prefer dealing with them and her daughter together rather than alone.  Hearing a door slam, Stacy turned her attention to the street to see Amanda being dropped off by her parents at the curb. Stacy breathed a sigh of relief. At least the feelings she had toward Amanda’s parents were mutual. Amanda clamored out of the car and rang the doorbell.

“Amanda!” Taylor squealed. She still was in her pajamas.

The two jumped around the living room with a loud greeting.

“Ok Taylor, get your clothes on and you two can play outside.” Stacy said.

“Yes Mom.” Giving Stacy an exaggerated salute Taylor raced up the stairs to her bedroom.

Waiting for Taylor, Amanda went to the kitchen overlooking the backyard.

“What’s that?” Amanda asked

“That’s a scarecrow we made.” Stacy explained.

“Wow!” Amanda exclaimed, transfixed by the garden ornament.

“You can go out there and I’ll let Taylor know.” Stacy offered.

Amanda ran out to see the scarecrow, soon followed by Taylor after she got dressed. At first, Stacy watched the pair talk next to the scarecrow, but eventually they were prancing around him and playing with stuffed animals with him.  Stacy noticed that the children never touched the scarecrow, and that he  remained perfectly still like a statue.  Stacy found it rather amusing. Of all the toys she had purchased for Taylor, a scarecrow made out of old clothes provided hours of entertainment. Andrew came back from his coffee run and helped clean the house. It was nearing the time that Amanda had to go, but Stacy still wanted to play with the kids before she left.

“Let's go play with the girls.” Stacy offered hugging Andrew.

“Sounds like fun, let’s do it.” Andrew replied, kissing her on the forehead. They walked out of the house to the lawn across the lawn where Stacy could only see the profile of the scarecrow still facing the house.

“Hey kids, do you want to jump in the leaves?” Stacy announced. More had fallen than yesterday and there was enough for a small child to jump in.

“Yeah!" Taylor and Amanda raced toward Stacy leaving their playthings near the scarecrow. They ran towards Stacy’s pile of leaves screaming with delight. Stacy looked at her watch Amanda’s mother would be here any minute.

“Girls, go get your stuffed animals, Amanda your Mom should be here any minute.” Stacy said.

“Ugg! Already? I want to stay.” Amanda protested.

“I am sure you guys can pick up where you left off next time.” Stacy said as she noticed Amanda’s mother come in the backyard, her eyes not moving off the phone that she had in her hand.

“Mommy, Mommy! I had so much fun!” Amanda cried to her mother.

“Mhmm that’s great honey. Come on, we have to go.” Amanda’s mother started giving a quick wave to Stacy’s family and then turned around.

“Mommy, I want to go inside. I don’t think that Mr. Scarecrow likes it that we are playing without him. We should probably stop”. Taylor announced.

“Nonsense, it's just a scarecrow. If you are tired, we will play more tomorrow,” Andrew said.

“Ok” Taylor said, running back to the house, very unlike a child that was tired.

“She left her animals out here." Andrew pointed out.

Stacy followed his gaze across the yard, to notice that the scarecrow’s head was turned, and his blue eyes were staring at them. She also noticed that the wide grin on his face started to run downwards,  creating the appearance of cheeks making him more human-like.

“Was it turned in this direction the whole time?” Stacy asked.

“I don’t know. I wasn't paying attention. Amanda’s mother could have moved it.’ Andrew replied.

Stacy walked into the garden to get Taylor’s stuffed animals, but she could not shake the feeling of another being’s presence. She thought about it, then straightened the pumpkin’s head back facing the house. Leaving the pumpkin man in the yard, Stacy ran back into the house without making a second glance.

Back in the house, Stacy washed her hands and started making dinner as Taylor played with her Legos.

“So Taylor, how was playing with Amanda?" Stacy asked.

“We mostly talked and played with Mr. Scarecrow.” Taylor said uninterested in the conversation.

“What did he say to you?” Stacy questioned.

“Well, he said that he likes the eyes that I gave him but he still can’t see well. He said that Daddy is a bad man and he wants to take things from Daddy the way he took things from him. I didn’t understand it. I told him that Daddy was nice and that Daddy can share because sharing is good. Then we played but I think he got mad when we started playing with Daddy. That’s ok, I will play with him tomorrow.” Taylor said still focused on her Legos.

Stacy furrowed her brow.

“Well, I want you to play with Daddy as much as you can.”  Stacy said. After she was done in the kitchen, Stacy balanced though the Legos to talk to Andrew.

“That was very strange stuff.” Stacy said.

“Children have a very active imagination, but if you want to take it down you can.” Andrew suggested. He was reading a book upstairs by himself, just as interested in talking to Stacy as Taylor was.

“But she's attached to it, I can’t just destroy it.” Stacy said.

“I don’t know, destroy it, leave it up. Doesn’t matter to me.” Andrew said not looking away from his book.

Feeling frustrated, Stacy left the room. It had always been like this- Andrew was reliable when it came to having fun with Taylor, but uninterested when it came to actual parenting.

Back downstairs, Taylor was still playing with her Legos, and Edger started his odd behavior of crying at the French doors. Stacy scooped up the cat and put him in the basement, too emotionally drained to deal with him. She told herself she would give the scarecrow three more days and then tell Andrew to get rid of it.

 Chapter Four 

Andrew 

I have had nightmares of Robert Nordstrom ever since I killed him. Sometimes he is there in the corner of my mind, just staring at me with glittering blue eyes like his scarecrow stands in our yard. In my dreams when I try to destroy him he seems to take something of mine, like an eye or a limb. After killing him the dream would continue but I would live out my life suffering as an amputee or blind. These dreams led me to roam the house at night. I wanted to destroy that scarecrow, but I knew that it would take it’s revenge, if not on me than on my family. So I will just watch it for now. My hope is that he will rot into the soft earth he came out of, and I would never have to deal with Robert Nordstrom or his ghost again.  

Chapter Five 

Stacy

The next day the ground was encrusted in a light frost. Unable to sleep well, Stacy slept in the living room downstairs. The morning sun woke her up and Stacy looked out at the lawn. The first thing that drew her eye was Mr. Scarecrow, although there was nothing more different with him this morning that she could see from this distance other than the fact that one of his gloves came off. Suddenly she heard movement from upstairs and the sound of little feet.

“Baby, what are you doing this early?” Stacy asked.

“I had nightmares. You were not in your room.” Taylor replied, clutching one of her stuffed animals near her face.

Stacy scooped up Taylor and put her on her hip.

“It’s ok. I could not sleep either. What do you want to do today?”

“I want to talk to Mr. Scarecrow.” Taylor said pointing at the backyard. 

“Let's do something else today. How about a hayride?” Stacy suggested. 

“No, I want to talk to him”. Taylor protested. 

“Err, ok, but only for a few minutes and then we are going to go to the hayride.” Stacy said, walking out the back yard as Taylor skipped next to her. 

When they reached Mr. Scarecrow, it was obvious things had changed. His round pumpkin face had rotted away to reveal a more human-like skull making his eyes more sunken in. When Stacy put Mr. Scarecrow’s glove back on the stake she noticed that the wood on the stake decayed in the shape of a wrist. Taylor started to whimper and hide behind Stacy. 

“Mr. Scarecrow is more angry today. He wants to hurt Daddy.” Taylor whispered to Stacy. 

Stacy didn’t want to bother Andrew anymore during the day with the scarecrow.

“Let's go to the farm and take a hayride, then when we get back I will have Daddy talk to Mr. Scarecrow, Ok?” Stacy said. 

She grabbed Taylor’s hand and guided her towards the driveway, frequently checking her back. 

When they got home, it was almost sunset. Stacy quickly busied herself with dinner. As soon as the sun went down, Edgar started crying at the French windows. 

“Edger, stop it.” Stacy muttered, grabbing the flashlight and pulling back the curtain. The night was bright and she could see the gleam of the scarecrow's head against the moon. 

“Mommy, what's going on?” Taylor whined. 

“Nothing babe. It’s just Edger. It’s time to go to bed.” Stacy scooped up Taylor and led her towards her room. Up on the second story, Stacy got Taylor ready for bed, opening the windows to let in the perfect autumn sleeping weather. 

Thump Thump Thump 

“Mommy, what's that? Is that Mr. Scarecrow outside?” Stacy looked out the window. It was hard to make anything out, but in the place of the pumpkin man there was only a stick left where he once stood. 

‘Yes he is out there somewhere. Here go to bed now.” Stacy tucked Taylor in. 

“Mommie”. Taylor whined. 

“Taylor, nothing is going to get you here. Now go to bed,” Stacy ordered, giving her daughter a kiss on the cheek. 

“Everything will be alright.” Stacy said, closing the door behind her. The house was well lit as Stacy walked down stairs. Grabbing a flashlight Stacy walked outside on the back porch and showed it to the dark lawn. Frisking the flashlight over the lawn Stacy now saw clearly the face of Robert Norstrum in the garden.

“Bob?” Stacy screeched, dropping the flashlight in the house. The light scattered and fell onto the floor breaking the bulb. Stacy raced back in the house and fumbled for a new flashlight in her cabinet, frequently keeping her eye on the yard behind her. Grabbing the flashlight in her hand Stacy undid the lock on the french windows and stepping out into the night, not noticing her husband watching her from the kitchen. 

Chapter Six

Andrew  

I heard her yell his name and run out into the dark. At this point there was no doubt that the pumpkin contorted to the shape of a man’s face though decay and now resembled a man with blue eyes, whether that man was Robert I had my doubts. Nevertheless, the scarecrow was bothering everyone in this house, so I had to do something.  I did not intend on hurting Stacy as I walked slowly behind her, crowbar in my hand to destroy the creation that was on my property. It was only when I stopped a few yards away when I saw her reach out the thing and touch the pumpkin man’s rotten flesh. My mind raced as I realized that by removing Robert from the picture, it did not replace me in her heart. My wife was the precious thing that Robert took. As this occurred to me a numbness came upon me as I ran toward the scarecrow to destroy it. I must have tripped on a massive root in the yard  while I was running toward her because the crowbar landed squalry on top of her head. She yelped in pain or surprise as she fell toward the scarecrow. The light was low,  but I could see that she lay motionless around a thick spray of dark red liquid. There was no running from what I had done. Even if she were to be still alive, I would have to try to explain to people what happened - the police or the hospital or something. She was too far away from the house to claim that she fell from our bedrooms.  Suddenly I saw vines emerging from the pumpkin wrapping around her body. I hurled the crowbar again and again at the pumpkin destroying it’s rotten grotesque face. I missed a few times creating a soggy pile of brains and pumpkin at my feet. When the task was complete I buried her in the garden and tilled in the pumpkin plant as much as I could. The next day I tilled the garden and called 911 to report a missing person.  It wasn’t until Taylor woke up to discover that her mother had disappeared in the night that the thought of raising her alone came to me. 

After a few years had gone by it was clear that Robert took more than my wife that day. Like my dreams, I now walk around mentally suffering and disfigured. My lawn is filled with pumpkin sprouts that I constantly hack with a fear that a pumpkin will appear again. On May 16, 2021 I thought Robert Northstorm was out of my life, but now he haunts me every day. 

[evengayerpanic]

Sophie and the Troll [1 of ?]

I’m just going to warn everyone that this story is going to get very dark in some places. In many ways it is very much a light and airy story of a little girl on an adventure, but in other ways, while dealing with everyone else... It has a lot of feelings of grief, angst, and hurt. I apologize in advance for these moments.

_________________

Losing a child is a horrific thing to go through. It can devastate Mothers, shock and silence families, and even cause a divorce or two. Especially when you have no idea what has happened to that child... The what if’s surrounding their disappearance are ruining.

Five years go by without a single hint on where tiny Sophie Jones has disappeared to. She vanishes into thin air, in a sense, and despite their best efforts, not a single person in either realm can find her.

Zelena is baffled, she’s felt an earthly connection to her granddaughter since the moment she was born, and so the woman was certain that she could help.

Not even Zelena, Regina and Emma working together can find a wisp of where the young child has been.

Hook is furious, he’s spent most of his daughter’s life trying to save her from her evil mother, only to lose his granddaughter to the same wench of a woman.

All of his earthly travels only tell him that.

Gothel has Sophie, and not even all of the good men he’s hired to look into it can find hair or trace of them.

Henry is determined, he is King now, and with all the responsibilities of being King, he knows his first and foremost dedication is to his family, all branches of it.

He has his knights scour the fairytale realm, doing what the alternate version of his once-Stepfather has done for the Hyperion Heights realm. They look high and low, Henry leading the search, and still come up with nothing to find and no further than Hook has.

Emma is disgusted, she hasn’t known Robin long, at least, not this version of her. She acknowledges that this Robin is not the baby that she helped save, and that Alice is not the daughter of HER Hook, but still, she feels for them. But still she knows what it’s like, from the opposite side, being a child that was taken.

So she helps Zelena and Regina try to locate baby Sophie. She searches her own home realm of Storybrooke, she enlists her Father, Mother and anyone else she can. Emma tries to help, and is disgusted when she can’t find Sophie.

Robin is devastated, years of watching her wife with amusement as she went through her routines of door checking and mirror destroying... To think that something that seemed kind of unnecessary to her, could have been the thing that saved her child from going missing. It digs straight into her heart.

They keep Sophie’s room just the same, certain that they are going to find her, find her and bring her home. A year goes by, then two... Sophie’s bed grows musty, her furniture thick with dust, Robin is ready to admit that she’s gone for good, especially as her whole family come back with nothing new to report.

She’s ready to admit it, except she can’t...

She can’t because of Alice, because of her beloved.

If Robin is devastated, then Alice has completely broken... shattered into pieces that the blonde isn’t sure if she can put back together, not without Sophie.

Robin watches as Alice falls more and more into despair, and everyone is so concerned about finding Sophie that they all fail to see how the happy, if yet slightly quirky, woman has turned dark and brooding.

Her ‘quirks’ are not about locking doors and windows anymore, or taking weekly trips to a troll statue with marmalade sandwiches and a story of magic.

Alice now obsessively checks missing person databases, news channels, online obituaries, anything that might tell her what has happened to her child.

She goes to the Hyperion Heights police station almost daily, begging for help, begging for news, and Robin is sure that if Alice’s own Father wasn’t a part of that police station, then the blonde would find herself behind bars for the hysterics she goes into.

Crazy Tilly, absolutely mad... It’s like she reverts back to what she was like before the curse broken. 

Robin has no choice but to watch as Alice self-destructs, not sure how to help her, other than to keep looking. And so Robin pours herself into it.

Five years goes by without a single hint, their family suspended by a thread, dangling over completely broken and still has a slight chance at coming back.

And then a discovery cuts the thread.

_________________

In spite of being held captive away from her parents, Sophie Jones manages to grow up into a bright, resilient and for the most part happy young child.

Gothel is not around much, something that the seven year old is thankful for. The woman may insist on Sophie acknowledging her as her Grandmother, but the young girl only sees her as an evil, ugly, old witch.

At first it takes some adjustment, being alone, Sophie is only two when she is abandoned in the same tower that her Mother called home for years...

Independence does not work for a toddler that hardly knows how to feed themselves, much less how to take care of the rest of her important daily needs.

She learns quick though.

Gothel leaves her bread, and fruit, and vegetables, and so toddler Sophie is able to feed herself those things. She knows how to dress and undress herself as well. In a divine moment from the powers that be, Sophie was potty-trained early, and so her hygiene needs consists of washbasins and cloth.

She becomes independent, her ‘grandmothers’ visits coming few and far between, especially as Sophie grows and discovers all of the things that she never knew she could do all on her own.

Sophie remembers helping her Mama hang their clothes out on a line in their garden, and so the growing child is able to slowly figure out how to wash not just her, but her clothes as well.

She looks at books where Goldilocks eats porridge off of a stove, and so, after a few failed attempts (ones in which she got burned) she learns how to make things, very basic things, out of the food that Gothel brings.

Over five years, Sophie, who is proven to be a very bright child learns how to; make up her own games to pass the time, keep her tower nice and clean, tell herself stories from the pictures in the books Gothel reluctantly gifts her, and recount all of the things she remembers from before she was taken.

Getting chased around the living room by Uncle Henry, before getting caught and tickled by him.

Sitting on Mommy’s shoulders and walking down the streets of Hyperion Heights, saying hello to everyone.

Getting tucked in by Mama, and lots of kisses.

Over five years, Sophie, who is proven to be a very bright child... comes up with a plan to escape.

It starts with an easy step, don’t let herself forget.

And so she tries not too.

Little things fade from her memory, like what her Mama’s face looks like, or what her Mommy’s voice sounds like... but she doesn’t forget the big things like how they made her feel, or how much they loved her.

It’s actually her Mama that helps her escape, or at least, in a way it’s thanks to her that she’s able to.

_________________

Sophie has studied the window of the tower over and over again, dropping little things over the edge to see how far they fall, how hard they land, how much they break. She knows it’s her way out, but she knows if she jumps, she won’t make it the ground in one piece.

She tries to make ropes, tying sheets together, but they all unravel before she can put them to the test.

She tries to call for help, screaming as loud as she can out the window, but she’s too high up to be heard.

It’s a bright, sunny spring morning when she’s seven years old (she thinks) that the idea hits her. It’s not even a thinking day, when she brainstorms ways to get out, nor is it a learning day, where she tries to figure out what else she can do.

It’s a remembering day, a sad day, where she thinks about her Mama and Mommy and wishes with all her might that she could just go home to them.

She’s curled up into a ball, whispering to herself. “Orange sandwiches, and the troll statue. Mama said the troll would help her. She always hugged it goodbye and so did I.” Everything Sophie remembers from their Thursday picnics. “Mama said that the troll saved her... I wish he would save me too.”

THUUUUUUD!

The sound has her jumping from where she’s curled up, a crashing follows the loud thud, the sound of broken trees and there’s knocking on her tower wall.

The tower shakes, the remains of her mother’s belongings, books and toys and clothes, knocking over and crashing to the ground as she shrieks

“Who’s th-there?” Sophie calls, fear pumping through her veins. She’s never had a visitor before, especially not one on the outside of the tower. “Hello?”

“Allliiiiceeeee.” A deep grumble can be heard, before a giant eye presses against the hole of her window.

At first Sophie wants to scream again, until she recognizes it, or at least recognizes it from her Mama’s stories. “Troll? The troll statue, my Mama’s friend!”

The eye blinks and stares, the grumble is back and it shakes Sophie to her bones as it booms. “Mama?” Then it steps back in confusion. “No Mama.”

The troll turns to step away, and Sophie lets out a scream of desperation. “No, wait! Please, wait!” He stops and looks back at her, the girl has tears running down her face, her face a mixture of helplessness with tinges of hope running through the mixture.

“Alice is my Mama.” Sophie explains, running to her window, trying to get the troll to come back. “You can take me to her, please, help me get back to her!”

Sophie climbs onto the ledge, holding to it tightly as another tremble hits the tower when the troll speaks again. “Alice Mama?” He shakes his head, causing a gust of wind to nearly blow the little girl back into the tower.

“Please! I just need your help to get down, that’s all I need.” Sophie begs again, trying with unsteady feet to get herself standing on that ledge again. The troll is close, almost close enough that she could jump, but she doesn’t want to make any rushed decisions that could harm her.

“What if I climb to you? What if I climb the tree branch to your shoulder, you can help me down?”

“Not safe!” The troll demands angrily, shaking his head again as Sophie reaches for a branch just above her head. When the tree was standing, it was too far for her, but now that he has knocked it over, it’s just the right height for her to use to climb out of the window. 

“If you catch me, it will be.” She reasons with him, heart racing at the idea of finally being free.

She’s got her hands wrapped around the tree branch and she’s dangling feet from her window when the sound of other shaking off in the distance stills her. That’s when she understands why he refuses to help. 

“Troll eat children!” 

That wasn’t in Mama’s story.

She watches as the trees in the distances are sent flying, getting knocked down and trampled by the swarm of other trolls. These one are bigger, scarier, they don’t remind her of the troll statue at all, they’re something worse.

Her troll bows his head, Sophie suddenly aware of how precarious her situation is as she’s hung a hundred feet over the forest ground with a horde of trolls on it’s way. “I not eat Alice Mama. Troll do.”

A loud roar is heard in the distance, hungry, angry and booming. It takes Sophie by surprise and she lets out a scream and lets go of the branch she’s clinging to.

She’s falling to the ground, so rapidly that she’s sure there will be nothing left of her afterwards. All Sophie can do is close her eyes and brace for impact, but impact doesn’t come, not in the way she’s expecting.

Sophie falls against something hard, and it knocks the wind out of her, but she’s still alive. She’s still alive as the troll brings his hand up to his face and he stares at her with concern in his eyes. “Alice Mama okay?”

“My name is Sophie.” She manages to wheeze out, laying in his palm stunned. “Please help me.”

As the crowd of trolls gets closer, and louder, the one holding Sophie seems to finally understand. He closes his hand around her, just enough to conceal her, and he begins to run (as much as a thousand pound beast can run) away from the horde. 

“Hold on.” He grumbles. “Me save Sophie.”

And as the two of them leave the remains of Sophie and Alice’s tower behind, a ripple of magic courses through the area, crumbling the stones and rocks holding up the tower, until the area is nothing more than a ruin of past lives that have moved on.

[pennys-th0ughts]

Robert Gray - The Origin of Pennywise 🤡 Chapter 1

Papers were scattered all over the desk and the dim light coming from an old oil lamp was fluttering in a lonely corner of the room. It was raining outside one cool November night of the year 1873 and the cobbled streets of Derry were almost empty. The sky was black ink like and the moon was bigger than usual. I was sitting on my armchair next to the window watching the last persons leave the street heading to the warm refuge of their homes.

The rain drops crashing against the window were falling down the glass getting thinner and thinner until the rain became a light drizzle. My eyes were focused on an old naked tree which had been stripped from all its leaves; it seemed to be dead since a crow was holding onto one of its branches looking erratically sideways. A seemingly endless night had woken up from its brief nap time, wet weather made it longer but sometimes the fresh breezes get to cool down my unstoppable mind from overthinking.

Stores were closed and finally the silence took over the sidewalks as insomnia used to take over my tired body and restless mind. I was twenty five years old and I suppose it was an advantage to be that young and have no commitments yet while being the sole heir of the only medicinal store in town. I could use my freedom at will and do whatever I pleased, managing my times since I was my own boss at work. The burden of such responsibility fell down on my shoulders when my father passed away, a couple of years after my mother decided to leave us because of a serious case of fever that my father couldn’t cure. I guess he felt defeated for not being able to cheat death this time and the corrosive feeling of guilt was what finally submitted him one night during his sleep.

The formalities concluded and after an orderly ceremony, the family’s lawyer made me sign some papers, then it all became in some kind of beneficious curse I needed to keep on going in order to survive. My father was the only apothecary in Derry and he began teaching me from an early age the art of mixing drugs to create specific medicines, so my grandfather did with him and so on.

Business flourished when a new disease wave attacked the small town leaving many fatal victims and several people in a critic health state. The only hospital was packed and people who couldn’t get medical attention in this facility had to stay indoors to prevent spreading the illness. There is when I stepped in. During a whole month I wouldn’t stop preparing thousands of dosses commissioned by the hospital and many other wealthy families. I would end up working night and day to fulfill the town needs for medicine to cure diphtheria, soothe the pain and reduce the fever. I got to really enjoy my work, but one day I couldn’t take the overwhelming pressure anymore that made me snap, so I started looking for an assistant to help me out with the preparations and also someone to deliver them. Speeding up the delivery could definitely save other people’s lives.

Shadows of death were still lurking and swallowing everything in its path, turning the alleys darker and the houses emptier. The plague was spreading faster than we could cure it and the atmosphere in Derry was getting heavier with sadness and hopelessness. During the nights, streets looked like pathways to afterlife and the little oil lamps hanging at the entrances were like golden eyes, always watching and waiting.

Two days passed and interested people didn’t make themselves wait much longer and started to come to the drug store asking for the jobs. They were all willing to help but none of them fit with the qualities I was looking for. Until one day I finally found her, or perhaps she found me. Her features were as I imagined them and even better; she had little hands and long fingers, she was meticulous and careful. Her name was Charlotte Wise but she was known in town as Ruby, a well-deserved nickname since her hair was red as the stone. The day she came into the store everything changed, as if a sudden peacefulness had taken over the place. My new assistant would transform not only my work but also my life from that moment on.

Spring arrived after the dark days left Derry and its people slowly tried to get back to normal. Charlotte and I began having more time to spend in each other’s company so I decided it would be a good opportunity to teach her something new related to her job. We were still working as usual but the environment inside the shop had some kind of magic that was making it springier. Andrew, Charlotte’s younger brother, took the delivery job and he was doing very well, we didn’t receive any complaints about time or packages delivered in bad conditions. The boy was attentive and helpful, just like his beautiful sister. Agility was on his side and he was making a great use of it with the bicycle he got for the job. When work increased we bought a new mean of transportation so the boy wouldn’t get caught under the suffocating heat or merciless storms.

That year ended with a happy ending for Derry and we started a new one even happier. Charlotte and I had gathered enough money to begin a new life; she wanted to live with me so we bought a small but modest house two blocks away from the shop. Her brother would inherit his sister bedroom in their mother’s house so things couldn’t have settled down any better. I proposed Charlotte to be my wife one hot summer morning to which she merrily accepted. We got married at the chapel and later we had a delicious brunch under the willows of the park. That day and the ones that would follow would be memorable.

August, 1875

Charlotte’s contractions were getting more often and she will soon start her labor. We found out she was expecting later that summer which to me was like more wonderful news. I was in the middle of a preparation to help diuresis when someone came to the shop and let me know that my wife was in the operations room. I left Andrew in charge of the shop until I got back and rushed to the hospital taking the carriage; it will get me there faster.

I got to the Derry Public Hospital just in time to hold my wife’s hand and help her with her labor. Although she wasn’t looking so well she was doing an amazing job, showing her braver side, as always. The nurses were extremely careful and gentle; they were coming and going, taking wet cloths and other objects to the room.

After a long struggle Charlotte finally delivered a beautiful baby girl into this world. The doctor cut the cord and put her on my wife’s arms; he turned around and made me to a side to talk privately.

– Congratulations Mr. Gray – the literate man said squeezing my shoulder-. Your daughter is in perfect shape – he made a pause and, with a lower tone of voice added- but I'm afraid your wife is in delicate condition now. She has lost too much blood and she will require an intensive iron treatment to overcome the anemia she might possibly develop.

The doctor gave me a prescription with the steps to follow and a food diet, I thanked him for his advice and went back with my wife that had fallen asleep cuddling our child. The little girl was oddly quiet, she seemed confused and curious yet she was paying attention to her surroundings very carefully. I came closer to take a better look at my tiny wonder and took her little hand with my fingers that she immediately held on to firmly. My heart was pounding inside my chest like a machine out of control, making me sweat almost profusely. Nervousness, excitement and curiosity were a complex mixture, as the ones I was so used to prepare with the only difference that this one was totally out of my knowledge.

Charlotte was indeed exhausted and very pale but I could see the joy sparkling in her face. She made a huge effort to open her eyes which eyelids seemed too heavy. Once she could finally fix her eyes with mine, she grabbed my hand and made me sit next to her. She looked at me in silence for some minutes as if trying to dig up my feelings somehow and figure out what was going on inside my head. Slowly the light in her eyes started to fade away, like a candle about to be completely consumed.

– Promise me you will always look after her, Robert – she pleaded in a whisper.

I nodded bitterly without saying a word knowing that, deep down inside she was, in some way, asking me to do something she wouldn’t be able to do and she just wanted to be sure we would be okay. I stroked her cheek so tenderly that the very contact with her smooth skin made the tips of fingers ache. I hugged them both as if I was trying to protect them from the world and the coldness it owned, but my arms seemed not to be enough. Nothing seemed to be enough to replace the turmoil of divided feelings I was being prey of that very moment so, I did what I was the best at, I began mixing them just to find the balance between happiness and sadness, wholeness and emptiness.

Five years later

Snow was covering Derry like no other time of the year and streets looked like unpolluted highways to heaven. There were some children playing in the front gardens of their houses, some were throwing snowballs at each other and some others were building snowmen. Augustine was having a hard time building her snowman since the snow kept on crumbling or the little branches didn’t stop falling from their holes. I was watching her through the window and her persistence was one of the many reasons of my smile. I grabbed my coat and went outside to help her finish what for her seemed to be a colossal monument. She was almost six years old and her mother and I had the chance to pick a name for her which I will always be totally grateful for.

Christmas was near and I had already bought Augustine her present. Andrew would spend the holiday with us since I started to enjoy my brother’s-in-law company and her niece loved her uncle very much. He became a great help when Charlotte passed away and our daughter was still a baby, he would take care of her while I was working and making the deliveries from time to time.

After Charlotte died I didn’t feel the need to bring another woman to work to the shop and less to start a new relationship, the hollow she left inside me was big enough to be impossible to be filled with somebody else’s presence and the fact was I wouldn’t ever try to replace my wife no matter how alone I could feel. My queen left her throne and I had a princess making her way to occupy it someday and that, for some unexplainable reason, was already a whole challenge that I had gladly accepted the very moment I looked at this little girl into her eyes.

To be continued…

[albapuella]

How to Lose a Lover in 10 Days or Less: A Comprehensive Guide to Becoming a Future Romantic Failure (Chapter Two)

AO3

Fandom: Homestuck

Summary: How To Lose A Guy In 10 Days AU Dave needs to win a bet; Karkat needs to write an article. Shenanigans ensue.

Tags: Humanstuck, alternate universe - no sburb session, POV switches galore, implied/referenced child abuse Author’s note: This story is the result of a jam session I did with aceAdoxography on the davekat thirst federation discord server. This one's a little out of my usual wheelhouse, but I hope you will enjoy reading it as much as I've enjoyed writing it. New chapters every Saturday/Sunday. Didn’t bother with the formatting this time: You want the fancy formatting, go to AO3 :D

Day 1:

Despite his slacker appearance (and life-style, to be honest), Dave was always punctual. He'd even made an effort to look the part of a guy going on a date with another guy: jeans with only a few holes at the knees, his favorite record shirt, and a red hoodie—all freshly cleaned. So freshly cleaned that the sweater was still very slightly damp. Well, whatever, it'd be fine. They were having dinner first, and that meant he'd have plenty of time for the thing to dry out before they went to the movies where the main thrust of Dave's doki-doki plan would commence.

Karkat arrived a few minutes later. He wasn't dressed to the nines, but it was at least to the sevens. It occurred to Dave, as he watched him approach, that he hadn't known how tall Karkat was. The answer was slightly shorter than Dave but with a more solid build. Stocky. Or maybe that was just the black sweater he was wearing. Then again, his legs looked pretty solid in the black pants he was wearing, too. Either way, he looked good.

Dave gave him an appreciative whistle which made Karkat's eyes narrow. Not the reaction he'd wanted. “Looking good, Karkat,” he said quickly, hoping to smooth over any feathers he might have inadvertently ruffled. “I'm digging the whole sexy college professor thing you've got going.”

“Uh, thanks,” Karkat said with evident disbelief. “You, uh, you look good, too.” He straightened up. “You said we were doing dinner first.”

“Yep.” Dave held out his arm. “I’m taking you to my favorite place. A lot of people think it’s wack, but I’m buying, so if you really don’t like it, at least it didn’t cost you anything.” When his date didn't immediately take his offered arm, he shook it invitingly. “It's not too far from here.”

Karkat looked from Dave's arm to Dave, suspicious. Then he sighed and laid his hand on Dave's arm, his hold tighter than Dave had expected it to be considering his earlier hesitation. “Okay. Fine. Sounds great. Let's go.”

---

The first thing Karkat noticed when he took Dave's arm was that his sleeve was damp. Then he noticed the feeling of the arm beneath his fingers. Despite looking thin enough to break, there was some muscle here. As they walked to what was apparently Dave’s favorite restaurant, Dave just kept talking. If Karkat had been offered a thousand dollars, he doubted he could have remembered any specific details of the inanity he'd been subjected to. A nervous talker. He'd have to put that down in his notes.

Dinner went much the same. Dave talked at him while Karkat sat there trying to eat his food (overpriced, faux Italian—of all the places Dave could have chosen, he'd picked a fucking Olive Garden? That was going in his notes, too.). In all honesty, Karkat tried not to pay too much attention to what was being said. First, he'd already determined that most of what came out of this man's mouth was completely meaningless nonsense, and second, if he actually listened to any of it, he'd be hard pressed not to respond to the idiocy. While Dave had no evident compunction about swearing, Karkat wanted to get through at least this first date without screaming.

All right, so that was an exaggeration. Some of what Dave said was actually pretty funny. In a hopelessly awkward sort of way. Karkat hated that Dave's clumsy compliments were making him blush. Clearly, the man had brain damage... which also explained the rapping that Dave kept doing (completely unprovoked!). By the time dinner was over, Karkat was only too grateful that their next destination meant that Dave would have to stop talking.

---

Since Dave had picked the restaurant, Karkat had picked the movie. Some romantic comedy chick flick Dave couldn't be bothered to remember the title of. Still, it gave him an opportunity to sit right tight next to Karkat and eat his weight in popped, buttery goodness, so he really couldn't complain.

“What’s the deal with that dude?” Dave whispered. “I thought he was already tight with that other chick. What gives? Is he cheating on her?”

Karkat made a noise like a cat being stepped on but softer. “Dave,” he whispered back, his tone full of the same sing-songy patient impatience that Rose would use when she thought Dave was being particularly dim, “if you were paying attention, you'd already know that that 'dude' is that 'other chick's' cousin. They are probably not romantically involved. I know you're from Texas, but that's not how it works above the Mason Dixon line.” Then he ducked his head and took a long drink from his soda. “Sorry. Just-just watch the movie and be quiet.”

Dave blinked. He'd been starting to think Karkat wasn't going to open up at all. At least, he'd had fuck all to say during dinner. Even if it had been an incest joke at his expense, it still was nice to hear Karkat say something. Something that wasn't just non-committal noises or unenthusiastic agreements. He leaned against Karkat's shoulder to whisper, “It's not true, you know. About Texas. We don't fuck our cousins; I mean, we do, but not first cousins. We're strictly second cousins only. It's a rule. Of course, none of my second cousins are as hot as you, so I'd be willing to make an exception. Just this once.”

This earned him a light elbowing to the gut and a low growl, but Karkat didn't push him off.

By the end of the movie, Dave had gotten five more elbows to the gut, three startled bursts of laughter, two creative insults (quickly joined by muttered apologies), and one “Will you please just let me watch this movie?” Over all, Dave felt like he'd succeeded in charming the hell out of this motherfucker, thank you very much.

They'd walked out into the open air, a nice breeze whisking away the smell of popcorn and sweat from the movie theater. “I had a lot of fun, Karkat. Thanks for coming on this date with me. Do you think we could do this again sometime?”

Karkat blinked at him, a clear look of surprise on his face. “Oh, uh, sure.” He shook his head. “I mean, yes, I'd love to go on another date with you.”

Dave's heart leapt. “Awesome. You can hit me up on Pesterchum. Or I can hit you up. How about I hit you up?”

“Fine, that's... that's fine.” Karkat's smile seemed uneven. “I'll be looking forward to it.”

Although Dave was tempted to try for a kiss, he didn't think he ought to press his luck so far on the first date. Karkat had loosened up some while they'd been in the theater, but out here under the streetlight, he looked nervous again. The last thing Dave wanted to do was chase him away. “Okay then. I guess I'll see you later?”

A slow nod. “Yeah, later.” Karkat was stilted and contained again. Restricted, like a hermit crab stuck in a shell that was too tight. It wouldn't do. It wouldn't do at all. Dave had caught a few glimpses of the real Karkat tonight, and the sight made him hungry to see more.

Dave watched him walk away, admiring the view with a new goal in mind: he was going to get Karkat Vantas out of his shell if it was the last thing he did. Getting to rub him in Rose’s face at her wedding was only going to be a bonus.

---

* Never shuts up. Not even during movies. Especially during movies. Attention span of a gnat. From Texas. Doesn't know how to use a dryer. Finds me attractive. Probable brain damage. Funny. Charming. Obnoxious. Never takes off sunglasses. Olive Garden.

Karkat sighed and set down his pen. He'd tried his best to be as cordial as he knew how to be, and he still hadn't managed to last for the entire four hours without insulting his date. Multiple times. Oh well. At least Dave was apparently brain damaged enough to find rudeness terribly amusing (if the way he'd kept bugging Karkat during the movie had been any indication).

He'd been surprised when Dave had actually asked if they could go on another date. Karkat knew he hadn't made the best impression, and yet Dave wanted to spend more time with him? He looked over his notes, trying to ignore the surge of happiness that filled him at the thought. It didn't mean anything: Dave was clearly an idiot, and after a few more days, Karkat was going to start on the offensive. Whatever meager promise there would have been in this fledgling romance, it was still doomed from the start: like all of Karkat's relationships.

Day 2:

It was all Dave could do to wait until the next day to pester Karkat. He didn't want to come off as too eager, after all. Didn't want to put Karkat off. But Dave was only so strong.

TG: so i was thinking TG: if youre not busy TG: we could go to the park this afternoon TG: watch the grifters and maybe get robbed TG: or you could come to my place and hang TG: is it too soon to do that? TG: asking for a friend TG: this is dave by the way TG: i dont know how many people youre talking to TG: not that its any of my business TG: i wouldnt want you up in my grill asking me who im talking to CG: IT IS SIX O'CLOCK IN THE MORNING ON SUNDAY. TG: yea and youre up anyway CG: BECAUSE YOU WOKE ME UP. WITH YOUR TEXTS. THAT YOU SENT JUST NOW. TG: oh shit sorry CG: IT'S FINE. I NEEDED TO GET UP ANYWAY. CG: YOU WANT TO HANG OUT WITH ME? WHY?

Dave frowned down at his phone. Was Karkat fishing for compliments or was he being serious?

TG: because its fun to hang out with you TG: thats how this works right? TG: i thought we could watch another movie TG: at my place TG: or your place i guess if that works better for you TG: ive got popcorn if that sweetens the deal at all CG: YES. BECAUSE THE WAY TO MY HEART IS MICROWAVED POPCORN. TG: fucking called it CG: … CG: FINE. I'LL MEET YOU AT THE PARK AT 2:30PM. IS THAT ACCEPTABLE? TG: perfect ill meet you by the giant yo CG: YOU MEAN THE OY/YO. TG: tomatoes tomotoes karkat

Dave watched the little “CG is typing” message run for almost a minute, feeling his nervousness grow. What had he said that required a novel length response? He managed to reign in the impulse to apologize preemptively, but it was a struggle.

CG: OKAY. WHATEVER. I'LL MEET YOU THERE.

He let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. Fine, good then. Nothing was wrong.

TG: im looking forward to it TG: its not hard to intuit TG: when we come out to debut TG: sit by the yo then well go round TG: downtown get the lowdown TG: before we get busy in the hissie TG: partake of the fizzie cause we got a duty TG: to watch the fuck out of this movie CG: RIGHT. SEE YOU THEN. BYE.

Dave shrugged. He couldn't expect Karkat to really appreciate his off the cuff rhymes so soon after waking up, he supposed. Maybe they'd land better later. Flat reception or not, the important thing was he'd gotten Karkat to agree to come to his apartment. He looked around, frowning. Maybe he should clean up a little.

---

Jesus Fucking Christ. Karkat tossed his phone on the bedside table with a groan. It had been all that he could do not to curse out Dave like there would never be a tomorrow. Considering the fact that he was currently planning to go to the apartment of a practical stranger, that much might just be true for him. He lay in bed a little longer, out of spite mostly—he could never get back to sleep after being woken up—, before getting out from under the covers. First things first: notes.

* Inconsiderate asshole. Horrible rapper. Calls the OY/YO “the YO”. Doesn't know the right way to express “tomatoes, tomahtos”. Wants to spend time with me. Insane. We have that much in common.

Thanks to Dave's wake-up call, Karkat had plenty of time to eat a hearty breakfast and start his article.

“How to Lose a Lover in 10 Days or Less: A Comprehensive Guide to Becoming a Future Romantic Failure” BY KARKAT VANTAS

Since you have decided to read this article, I will assume that you are looking to learn the art of ruining your relationships without the mess of all that trial and error. Maybe you enjoy breaking hearts. Maybe you are the kind of masochist who enjoys getting their heart broken but is at a loss as to how to properly sabotage your relationship yourself. If you can manage to follow these simple steps, you will be well on your way to the same bitter loneliness that usually only the most unlucky in love get the privilege to experience. 

The first step is the victim. For the purposes of this article, I picked one that is particularly obnoxious and brain dead. You may have different qualities you are looking for in a potential short-term partner. Ultimately, the most important thing to consider when you plan to lose a guy (or gal or enby) is that you make certain they are one you do not mind losing. That way you can start the process without any regrets.

The second step is the hook. Laugh at their dumb jokes; accept their stupid compliments; ignore their mangling of the English language (in my case, his horrible rapping); and generally be as agreeable as you can manage. A severe lack of intelligence in your short-term partner can be a boon here, though you will find most people are not immune to flattery. You need to make certain that you have your short-term partner well and truly interested in you before you attempt to lose them. If you try to lose them too soon, you will miss out on the full relationship ruining experience.

A little too informal, maybe, but a fine start. Depending on how well this afternoon went (assuming he wasn't murdered and stuffed in a closet), maybe Karkat would be able to start on step three. He was able to stomp down his nascent guilt with ease. After all, Dave wouldn't have been interested in him after the novelty wore off anyway.

---

The afternoon was a little warmer than the evening had been, but Dave still wore his hoodie. It felt lucky, and it was still clean. More the latter than the former, but the point stood! He sat down on the bench next to the giant yellow YO installation and waited. While it was tempting to shoot a message to Karkat, he decided against it. He’d be seeing him in less than ten minutes, and he didn’t want him to think he was clingy. Which he wasn’t. Totally not. Dave Strider had never clung his whole life. Ask anyone. Except Jade. Don’t ask her. 

He noticed his leg was bouncing and put a stop to that noise. He was a cool operator. He had this thing on lock. The date yesterday had gone good, right? Karkat wouldn’t have agreed to see him again if he’d had a terrible time. He pushed back his hood and ran a hand through his hair. Nothing to worry about. He’d have a date for Rose’s wedding and continue sorting out the mystery that was Karkat Vantas.

Dave heard the crunch of gravel and looked over to see Karkat approaching. Another sweater combo, but gray this time. The guy had a style he preferred, clearly. It was fine: he looked great. He stood and closed the distance between them. “Hey, Karkat.”

“Hey,” Karkat returned, frowning. Of course, that seemed to be his default expression. “I brought a movie to watch,” he said gruffly. 

Although Dave had been hoping he’d be able to pick the movie this time, he wasn’t too cut up about it. It might be a little early in the relationship to bring out The Room anyway. He wouldn’t know. “Sounds great. My place isn’t too far from here.” He held his arm out. “Shall we?”

Again, Karkat regarded his arm with suspicion. “Why do you do this?”

“Do what?”

Karkat opened his mouth before seeming to think better of whatever he’d planned to say. “Never mind.” He took Dave’s arm. “Let’s get going.”

As they walked to his apartment, Dave tried to keep the conversation flowing, but Karkat’s subdued responses quickly killed his enthusiasm. “I feel like I’m talking too much,” he said finally. 

Karkat mumbled something which sounded suspiciously like “You think?” before he shook his head. “No, of course not. I’m just a little too tired to, uh, participate, that’s all.”

Dave winced at the reminder of his first faux pas of the day. “No problem, dude. I got us covered. I got words for days.”

“Months even,” Karkat added before ducking his head. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have--”

Nudging Karkat’s side, Dave laughed. “Nah, man it’s true. I’ve got words for fucking years.”

Karkat smiled slightly. “Decades.”

“Centuries.”

“Eons”

“Until the next motherfucking epoch, I’ve got words, Karkat. So many words. All the words even.”

Karkat snorted, covering his face with his free hand. “Damn it, Dave. Stop making yourself likeable.”

“I think that’s the point of this whole thing,” Dave pointed out reasonably. “Dating, I mean. It’s not like the old days where your dad and my dad decide if you’re worth enough chickens to trade me for, you know. These days I get to decide for myself how many chickens I want to be traded for.” He gave Karkat a mock critical eye. “How about it, Karkat? How many chickens could I get for you?”

“I don’t know,” Karkat said, his mock serious tone almost too close to a serious tone for Dave’s comfort. “Let me look in my pocket.” He made a show of staring down at the pocket containing his free hand before sliding the hand out and flipping Dave the bird. “Is this enough for you?”

Dave laughed. “I’m sorry, Karkat. You must have at least five chickens to ride this ride.” He felt his face flush but pushed onward. “I guess you’ll have to settle for a movie, and maybe some pizza.”

Karkat was grinning, and Dave decided right then and there that he wanted to keep seeing it. “Maybe next time.” As though to intentionally spite him, Karkat frowned again. “Are we almost there?”

“Yeah, man, just a little further.” As they continued their journey to his apartment, Dave felt himself frown. What was Karkat’s deal? He was a lot more fun when he let himself be himself. Dave didn’t like meanness for meanness sake, but he enjoyed a good joke. For some reason, Karkat seemed to think he shouldn’t joke around? Why? His frown deepened. Karkat also apologized a lot. And he was so often deferential even when it was obvious he had OPINIONS he wasn’t sharing. The pieces were adding up to a disturbing picture. 

Maybe after he was done hanging out with Karkat today, he should hit up Rose. She’d know what to do.

---

Karkat’s expectations for Dave’s apartment had been fairly low, and he’d been pleasantly surprised. While not as meticulous as his own apartment, there at least weren’t empty food containers on every surface or dirty clothes everywhere. There was an overall shabbiness though: the feeling that the occupant didn’t care overly much about the apartment’s upkeep. The futon in front of the television was ancient and threadbare as were the carpets. The posters hung on the walls were dusty and faded, and there was a sort of mildewy smell. Still, as previously mentioned it was clean (more or less), and there were no obvious signs of a hidden murder dungeon (not that there would be if there were one, naturally). 

“Nice place,” he said for politeness’ sake. 

Dave beamed like a little boy who’d gotten just what he’d wanted for Christmas. “Thanks. It’s not much, but it keeps the rain off.” He gestured towards the futon. “Make yourself at home. Do you want anything to drink? I’ve got apple juice. And water from the tap, I guess. I could go pick up some beer if you want to go that route, or--”

Karkat held up his hand, hoping to stem the tide of suggestions. “Water’s fine, thank you.”

“You’ve got it,” Dave said before tilting his head and making twin awkward gestures with both hands involving his pointer fingers. “I’ll be back in a flash.”

It wasn’t until after he’d disappeared into, presumably, the kitchen that Karkat realized he’d been making finger guns. What a dork. Not that Karkat was any more suave, but he liked to think he was at least less childish. He tried to supplant the rush of fondness he felt by recalling just how pissed he’d been with this manchild this morning. It was not one hundred percent successful.

Dave returned with two glasses: water for Karkat, and apple juice for himself. “Take a seat,” he insisted as he set the glasses on the coffee table (sans coasters). “It won’t bite.”

Gingerly, Karkat took a seat on the ancient futon. The padding was so thin, he could feel the bars beneath. It was going to take a while to become unbearable, and he hoped this hang out? date? didn’t last long enough for that to happen. Just as he’d been about to reach for the water, suddenly uncertain whether he actually ought to drink anything Dave gave him, Dave flopped down onto the futon beside him like a sack of gangly flour. “Dave!”

“S’up?” Dave asked, grinning. 

“Don’t ‘s’up’ me--,” Karkat managed to stop himself from calling Dave an asshole, but only just. “Just don’t ‘s’up’ me. Speak like a normal person.” He realized he was making a mistake as soon as the words were out of his mouth. “Sorry, I--”

“Dude,” Dave said, his grin dropping away, “Karkat, you don’t have to apologise for every kind of mean thing you say. I’m a big boy: I can take it.” 

Karkat supposed he shouldn’t be surprised: he’d never been good at pretending to be a good person. If he could have managed that feat for any length of time, he wouldn’t be in this position. “I’ll keep that in mind,” he said as dryly as he could. 

“I’m serious.” Dave sat up and turned to face Karkat head on, and Karkat saw his own annoyed expression mirrored in the black lenses. “I haven’t known you very long, and maybe I shouldn’t say anything, but--”

“You’re right,” Karkat interrupted, feeling his tenuous hold on his temper slipping. “You shouldn’t say anything.” After taking a moment to make sure he wasn’t going to say anything he didn’t mean to, he spoke again. “Let’s just watch the movie and eat some microwaved popcorn. Does that sound like something we could do? Or would you like to keep pretending you have some deep insights into my character as though we’ve known each other longer than three days?”

Dave raised his hands, and Karkat realized he’d sounded far more aggressive than the situation warranted. At this rate, he wouldn’t even get a chance to lose this asshole! Nice job, Vantas: stellar work. “No, you’re right. I’ll step off.” Dave said softly. He got off of the futon with far more grace than he’d flopped onto it with. “You just put the movie in, and I’ll, uh, I’ll make the popcorn.”

Karkat watched him go before putting his head in his hands. Well, fuck. As though this whole situation hadn’t been awkward before. He should just leave. Just leave, forget about his stupid article, and stop dragging this stupidly likeable idiot down with him. He should. 

He stayed where he was. 

---

Dave took maybe longer than he absolutely needed to to prepare the popcorn. As much as he liked to consider himself a smooth operator, he could tell when he’d made a mistake, and he wanted to give the guy in the other room a chance to cool down. What made it made it worse was that Karkat had been right to get mad at him: Dave barely knew him. In his place, Dave would probably be pissed, too. 

Even so, Dave didn’t think he was wrong about the conclusions he’d come to. It was obvious that Karkat was, for whatever reason, putting on a show for Dave’s sake. Honestly, it was kind of creepy. If he understood why Karkat felt the need to do that, he’d feel better about it.

But it wasn’t his business. Not yet. Maybe you had to reach a certain level on the boyfriend echeladder before that kind of thing was something you talked about. It would probably help if they were actually boyfriends and not just newly dating, too. There seemed to be at least one obvious solution to that problem.

Dave could be patient. After all, he still had eleven days or so to get Karkat to at least like him enough to be his plus one at Rose’s wedding. It wasn’t all he wanted anymore, but it'd be enough to start with. As Rose had so often told him, start with small goals. 

He poured an obscene amount of butter over the popcorn in the bowl and headed out to the living room. Karkat was bent over, fiddling with the DVD player, and when he looked up at Dave, his mouth was curved somewhat upwards. “What movie do you have for us?”

Karkat stood. “Coming to America.” He made his way back to the futon and sat down as though worried he might fall through if he sat down too quickly. “It’s more comedy than romantic, so I thought you might enjoy it more.”

That sounded vaguely familiar. “Okay.” Dave joined him on the futon, taking care not to startle him this time. “Let’s get this party started.”

---

Karkat had hoped bringing a comedy would hold Dave’s attention enough to keep him from talking through the whole thing. He’d been mistaken. Yes, a lot of what Dave said was funny, but it just never fucking stopped. Finally, Karkat couldn’t take it anymore.

He grabbed the remote and paused the movie. Then he very deliberately set the remote back down. “I want you to listen to me, Dave. Are you listening?”

Dave looked confused, but he nodded. “Yeah, I’m listening. Do you have something you want to tell me? I’m all ears. Lay it on me.”

God, he couldn’t even listen without rambling! “Would it kill you to shut up?” He saw Dave’s eyebrows peek over the tops of his glasses. A part of him told him to reconsider his current course of action, but naturally, Karkat could never abide by a piece of good advice. “Would it literally cause you to drop dead if you couldn’t expel your idiocy out of your mouth like a goddamned septic pipe full of half-formed metaphors and bullshit? Would your head explode? Can we try that experiment and see what happens?” Karkat felt his fingernails biting into his palms and realized he’d clenched his fists. “What do you say, Dave? Wait, I’ve changed my mind: don’t say anything. Let me bask in the gentle ethereal glow of silence for a moment. Can you do that for me, Dave? Can you let me bask? Will the endless flow of words finally cease?”

‘No’ was clearly the answer to that question since Dave was already opening his mouth. Then, to Karkat’s utter shock, he shut it again. His expression wasn’t ever easy to read with those douche shades he insisted on wearing all the time, but now it was completely closed off. Even the eyebrows had lowered back to their original position.

Silence stretched between them. 

Karkat felt sick to his stomach. Shit. Shit. He really just couldn’t do it, could he? Couldn’t pretend even for a few hours that he was a normal person. Well, so much for this experiment. Time to write off this little adventure. Was it worth even trying to apologise? Before he could decide, Dave made the decision for him. 

He was clapping. “Damn, just got owned,” he said, a wide grin splitting his face. “You owned me, Karkat. You should feel proud. Not everyone gets own this,” he gestured to himself. “I just hope you know what you’re getting into: I’m barely house trained.”

For an embarrassingly high number of seconds, all Karkat could do was blink. “You’re not mad?”

“Fuck no,” Dave said, still grinning. “I’m a big kid now. I’ve graduated from diapers all the way to pull ups. It takes more than a finely crafted, well-deserved take down to take me down.” The grin softened. “This is what I was trying to say before: I want to date you, not some weird super agreeable version of you. If you want to tell me off for talking too much, fucking go for it. You’ve got a way with insults--it’s a gift. Frankly, I’m insulted you’ve been keeping it to yourself.”

“There’s more where that comes from, asshole,” Karkat said before he could stop himself. To his amazement, Dave still seemed more amused than anything. A strange mixture of anger and fondness welled up inside him. “Stop grinning at me, and watch the fucking movie.” He picked up the remote and hesitated. “You don’t have to be silent,” he said, still feeling a little guilty over his earlier outburst, “just maybe less talking?”

Dave made a big show of running a zipper over his lips. Then he immediately ruined it by saying, “Scouts honor, Karkat. My word is bond. You can cash that shit at the bank.”

Karkat tried to picture Dave as a boy scout and failed. “Right.” He pressed play and the movie resumed. Of course, Dave still talked during the movie, but the sheer volume of words had slowed to a moderate stream rather than the full-bore blasting Karkat had been subjected to earlier. As he sat there on the futon, occasionally answering Dave’s stupid comments with barbs of his own, he felt warm in a way that was only nominally connected to the temperature of the arm he was leaning against. He felt… content.

---

Overall, Operation Hang Out had been a big success. It had been rocky in places, but again, overall, Dave felt like he’d hit his major mission objectives. A movie was watched, pizza was consumed, and Karkat finally, finally, did something other than apologise every time a hint of the person he’d met at the cafe had come through. He didn’t necessarily want to keep pissing Karkat off, but that bitch fit he’d thrown had been epic. 

Karkat wasn’t the kind of guy Dave had expected to find himself interested in. At least, he’d never thought he’d have a grumpy asshole kink. Not that he hadn’t enjoyed the more quiet parts of Karkat’s visit, too. It had felt nice to sit on the futon with someone leaning against his shoulder. Dave wasn’t a sap, no, not a suave guy like him, but he couldn’t deny he’d like to do it again some time. 

He considered texting Rose as he’d planned to earlier before deciding not to. After all, he’d managed the first crisis all on his own, and she might consider it cheating if he got her help. No, for now at least, this bird was flying solo.

---

* Clean apartment. Finger guns. Puts too much butter on popcorn. Also talks during movies outside theater setting. Likes getting insulted. Kink?  Wants to date the “real” me. Delusional. Comfortable arm. Had a nice time. Had acceptable time. Clothes in his shower??? 

[thejokersenigma]

Loki x Reader - Runes - Part 2

Hi guys, I wrote this yesterday and spent most afternoon and a lot of today trying to edit it... I think its basically done? So I’m leaving it here haha

Let me know what you think!

WARNINGS: None really - minor description of violence?

Let me know if you want to be tagged in anything!

MAIN MASTERLIST

RUNES MASTERLIST

The place was chaos.

Smoke rose from the buildings – homes and businesses – closest to the large, usually unbreachable wall and you could hear the shattering of glass as windows smashed under heat and brute force. It became apparent to you, upon your arrival, that the hole created in the city’s boundary was not a large one – barely wide enough, in fact, for a single frost giant to scramble through – and yet scramble through they had and still did, only made more clear by the small groups of armoured guards that continually trooped past you, shields already raised as they charged towards the battle.

The city was lucky really though, the nearby armed patrols had clearly been alerted quickly to the imminent attack and stationed themselves around the crumbling stone before the first giant had shown its ugly head. Now, even after what felt like hours of fighting, though the beasts kept coming, the men were able to keep them largely contained to the cavity they created in the wall. Only a few stronger – perhaps slightly smarter ones – managed to break away, though these were quickly dealt with by a small party of soldiers that had set up a perimeter a few streets up the cobbled roads.

You had arrived once the fight was already in full swing, your limited supply of healing salves and medical skills immediately set to work. You had set up base at the opposite end of a small, open courtyard about five rows of back from the combat. Behind you, a low wall separated you and the courtyard from the graveyard garden, famous to the eastern corner of the Asgard’s city. No bodies lay in this patch of nature, ofc course – that was not the Asgardian way – but amongst the beautiful flowers, shrubbery and well-kept paths and benches, small plaques, trinkets and memorials were scattered - often hidden away from anyone who did not know where to look – all in memory for those now feasting and residing in Valhalla. A place to talk to those no longer on this plane.

It would be a terrible thing for it to be desecrated by the brutes that poured through the city’s weakened defences.

In the back of your mind, you almost considered yourself to be the last line of defence to the beautiful garden beyond, despite your lack of weapon or defence. You had been warned numerous times that it was best for you to move away from area - even forcibly dragged a few steps by some guards before they had been urgently called back to the battle. Each time you had made you refusal loud and clear. This was the best place for you to be to help after all - even if you did feel quite vulnerable this close to the front line without any form of protection.

You murmured a silent prayer to the stone you had left for your grandfather under a weeping willow tree at one of the outer edges of the plot, then bowed your head back to your basket of supplies you had propped on the wall.

Most civilians had cleared from the nearby area by now - you having handed out small pots of the ointment you had made up to those you had noticed with the worst burns and wounds, telling them to pass the remainder to on to anyone they saw that might need it.  

A few people that were limping particularly bad, you had seen to yourself, pulling them into the shelter of a nearby doorway or helping them to the bench next to your bag. You bound their injuries as best you could until a more skill healer could see to them once the - hopefully short - attack was over and the city was able to return to some semblance of normal.

You finished tying off the dressing on an older gentleman’s leg, leaning back from where you knelt and wishing him and his young son good luck as they offered you hurried thanks. The boy kept casting frightened looks back towards the battle noises as the elder steered him hastily away, and you pushed yourself to your feet, offering the small boy a forced, reassuring smile despite your weariness.

Once the child was out of sight, you too glanced back towards the noise, the roars of monsters and shouts of men clear even over the ongoing rumble of falling building structures. You were sweaty, dusty and covered in blood - that largely wasn’t your own - and you couldn’t deny the sounds issuing from the direction of the city’s walls were enough alone to frighten you. As well as that though, it was hard to miss the soldiers that had already been forced to leave the battle – those who had limped or been carried away. Some of the local men had wanted to stay and fight as well – out of some insane pride they seemed to have - despite their lack of weapons or armour – or the protests from the guards. They were, of course, the worst ones hit – the lucky ones being those that merely suffered a strong degree of frostbite.

A frost giant was no easy foe.

But you had tried not to let yourself dwell on any of it too much, instead focusing on being there to aid those who needed you – or at the very least sending someone else if you were already too busy. You didn’t like the current lull in your services, it was giving you too much time to think and you were worried it would all begin to overwhelm you to the point you may even breakdown into a useless mess. You could already feel a warning sting of tears as you stood there, and you felt weak, angrily brushing at your eyes. You didn’t have time to let shock kick in, you might be needed at any moment.

As though to illustrate this, all other sounds were drowned out for a moment by a sudden loud crack – not unlike thunder – and then you thought you saw a figure fly backwards through the air over your head. You were sure you had caught a flap of a red cape, and maybe even a glimpse of a familiar mop of blonde hair, but you couldn’t be sure. You stood in place, stunned, for a moment, before you came back to yourself and quickly reached for you basket of supplies, ready to run to wherever the poor solider had fallen. That wasn’t necessary though, and you were stopped in your tracks as – your previous suspicions confirmed – Thor Odinson now came charging back down the cobbled street directly in front of you, a look of pure loathing on his face.

You were ready to step aside and out of the way of the prince, when a something scarlet on his arm – other than his cape – caught your eye. “Thor!” You cried as loudly as you could, hoping he’d be able to hear you other the noise of battling blades and roaring giants behind. Even if he did though, Thor ignored you, continuing to storm past. You did something which in hindsight might have been completely stupid given who he was and his current temperament – throwing out a hand to catch the burly prince’s arm and attempting to pull him to a stop.

This, however, didn’t go at all according to what you had planned, Thor not even seeming to notice that you had grabbed him. Instead the god continued to stalk on, dragging you - half stumbling and clinging onto his muscular upper arm with both hands - several paces before he realised he was carrying any extra weight. When he did, he glanced down at you, faltering surprise.

“What are you doing women?!” Thor demanded furiously, “Release me!”

“You are injured!” You scowled at his attitude, glancing down at the arm you held and the large gash which you were trying desperately not to touch. Your grip on him didn’t relent though, worried that if you release him he’d simply charge off again.

“Unhand me!” Thor growled, ignoring your reasoning. “I cannot waste time! I must rejoin –“

“Wait –“ You protested desperately as the prince now began to pull away from you, knowing your grip definitely wouldn’t hold against that. “Just-“ You panted at the exertion of digging you heels into the cobble underfoot, trying to hold him back.

“Brother.” Thor suddenly stopped in surprise at the voice, making you stumbled backwards slightly as the force you had been pulling at now stopped, finding yourself hanging off Thor’s arm. You glanced up to where Thor now looked, seeing the other prince now striding quickly down the street appearing to have just come from the battle.

“Why are you not fighting, brother?!” Thor demanded hotly.

“I broke away to look for where you had been thrown.” Loki explained with a frown, not appreciating Thor’s tone, and his brother had the decency to look slightly sheepish, his face lightening somewhat in apology. “Do as the lady says, brother.” Loki said calmly.

Thor’s face darkened determined again now, “I cannot Loki,” He growled, “Those creatures back there threaten my kingdom and many still that have not yet tasted the wrath of my –“

“You can kill a dozen more frost giants today and find yourself bedridden for a month,” Loki pointed out, “Or sit still for a moment, take out a final few and live to be back defending Asgard tomorrow.”

Thor scowled at the logic, though knew him to be right. “Curse your wisdom, brother.” He grumbled, and Loki smirked triumphantly as Thor finally allowed you to lead him to the nearest length of low wall, sitting him down and examining the wound before reaching for your supplies. The gash wasn’t too deep that the god couldn’t return to battle once you were done – not that you would have recommended it, though – but you had a feeling no matter what conclusion you would have drawn, Thor would bear it no heed. He had his heart set only on murdering monsters and demons in that moment - the fire still smouldering behind the blue of his eyes as he stared determinedly down the cobble street towards the noise of the raging conflict that continued without him.

You made Thor sit long enough to apply a layer of your balm to the wound and then wrap it to the best of your abilities in the cleanest linen you could get a hold of. Finally, you allowed the prince to leave and he did so more than eagerly, barely sparing you even a thanks before he charged back down towards the broken wall with an enraged battle cry.

Loki raised an unimpressed eyebrow over his shoulder at Thor as he watched his brother’s back disappearing behind the crumbling buildings. “He is grateful,” Loki assured you, turning back with a small apologetic smile, “Though he does not show it…” He glanced back towards the fight as giant now bellowed in what could only have been interpreted as a cry of pain. “I should best ensure he does not make things any worse for himself - or for Asgard…” The prince now sighed tiredly, turning to follow a lot less enthusiastically after his brother.

“Wait!” You suddenly blurted out, and Loki stopped in surprise, slowly turning back to you with a questioning frown. “M-my prince,” You added, bobbing your head apologetically for your lapse in manners, “I – uh – I noticed your head.” You now pointed up at where you had noticed the scrape against his pale forehead, likely only from a piece of fallen rubble, but bleeding rather profusely none the less.

Loki reached up a hand to touch the wound, examining the blood that came away on his fingers. “It is nothing.” He concluded, brushing it off.

“Please do not make me quote you to yourself, your highness.” You told him, your cheeks warming at your slight cheek, your lips twisting. Loki seemed surprised at your impertinence, but returned your smirk, slowly raising his hands in silent surrender taking a seat on the wall that his brother had vacated so readily only a moment ago. You marvelled slightly at the difference between the two brothers – almost complete opposites, Thor so big and powerful next to Loki’s slight and grace.

You mentally shook yourself back to reality and got to work, the prince’s forehead an interesting place to try to treat as it required you to lean rather closely into him - by far invading the usual personal space boundary for any person – especially where concerning a member of the royal family which should mean, if anything, this margin should have been increased.

You felt the blood rush to your skin with your raising pulse and a measurable thrill ran through you as you couldn’t help but breathe in the scent of his skin – something cool and almost minty mixed with the smoke and sweat that came from battle.

Loki kept incredibly still as you patched him up, but that didn’t make you any less aware of just how close he was, his breath at one point brushing the skin on your arm and making you startle – something you had to quickly hide as an intentional move to brush a strand of hair from your face.

You tried largely though to ignore your body’s oddness though, forcing yourself to focus on your task instead. Up to now you had tried to be sparing in the amount of your salve you used on any one person’s wound, but for the princes you made sure to be generous, even possibly providing over the recommended dosage. It wasn’t that you had intentionally wanted to work sub-optimally on others, merely that you wanted to provide everyone with at least some care with your limited resources. The princes, however, were another matter – if they ended up bedridden with infection, you would be held responsible and you feared the consequences of that greatly.

It was as you were applying a final small square of dressing to the wound that it happened.

There were only a few creatures left at the wall by now, still determined to push their way through despite the number of giants that lay over the cobbles in front of them. Some guards tackled these back, but a few monsters had already managed to scramble over the rubble and were within the city, now engaged in battle with either a small group of soldiers or Thor alone. One of these however, now broke free, having swung its huge barbaric hammer in a single powerful, rage fuelled, stroke to crumple the three armoured men in front of it like they were no more than children’s toys.

In a moment of brains for what you had been taught as a relatively mindless creature, the giant turned its cold eyes down the street towards where you and Loki were - your back still to the battle as you now replaced your equipment in your basket and Loki’s gaze on your movements. The monster released an unearthly roar before it then charged - with a speed that could only be seen as terrifyingly fast for such a heavy creature - ignoring the spears and swords that pierced its thick icy hide either side as other soldiers tried to bring it down before it got too far.

Loki noticed the creature dashing towards the two of you over your shoulder before your brain could even start to comprehend the change in volume of the familiar roar. In a movement so you’re your mind could fathom it straight away, Loki had wrapped one arm around your waist and pulled you around to his side. In the same moment, he used his other hand to conjure a sword in a shimmer of gold, already plunging his arm upwards before it had fully materialised, ramming the newly formed blade straight under the blue monster’s ribcage and into its frozen heart.

The giant let out a strangled cry of surprise before its weapon fell from its hand, its body slumping forward over the blade requiring all of Loki’s strength to keep the large creature from falling on you. He braced himself and cried out as he roughly shoved it away, the sword in its chest vanishing as it fell. What neither of you had factored in though, was the long, icy arm that followed its owner’s movements and now swung out towards you. You couldn’t help the cry that escaped your lips as you instinctively lifted your up to protect your face, gasping as the large dinnerplate-sized hand collided into you, the weight knocking you to the floor and making you land painfully on your hip, the back of your hands stinging. You were lucky to have another presence of mind to curl yourself up into a foetal position as you hit the floor because, a moment later, the giant’s arm thudded onto the cobble stones above you.

“[Y/N]!” You heard Loki’s voice above you, anxious and urgent, but your eyes stared wide at the huge dead monster in front of you, its blue skin reflecting like diamonds – or ice – in the daylight sun. “My lady, are you alright? Are you hurt?” He crouched down next to you and his light touch on your arm brought you back to yourself. You pushed yourself up quickly shaking your head, though tears of shock prickled in your eyes. Then something caught your eye.

“Oh, no!” You gasped in horror and Loki urgently begged what the matter was, his eyes scanning over you hastily for any sign of broken bones or severe skin burns from the giant’s freezing touch. “The balm, Loki, I’m sorry!“ You practically sobbed, your eyes on the shattered dish, the contents now sprayed over the cobbles and mixed with dirt. Each drop was so precious at the moment, had could you have been so clumsy?! “I didn’t mean to –“

Loki blinked, glancing at the ruined bowl before turning back to you with a confused frown. “You are not hurt –“

You shook your head quickly, dismissing his concerns. “I’m sorry, your highness, I know we are ration as it is - “ You exclaimed, till a hand on your shoulder made you jump – your frazzled nerves half having expected another giant to be behind you - and immediately breathed a sigh of relief when it was only Loki.

The prince didn’t miss the fear that flashed in your eyes in that moment though, now getting to his feet and offering his hand to you. You took it, blushing profusely when you realised just how silly you might have sounded after having nearly been killed, but you couldn’t a last sorrowful look at the ruined ointment.

“You truly are pure, aren’t you?”

“I beg your pardon, your highness?” You asked, blinking in surprise as you snapped your gaze back to Loki, his eyes on your face as, frowning as though he was both surprised and confused by you.

“You were nearly crushed to death by a frost giant moments ago, and yet you are worried about everyone else but yourself…” He shook his head in amazement, “None of whom are even in immediate danger.” He added sounding half amused and exasperated by you.

“Well, I – uh -” You ducked your head sheepishly realising just how ridiculous it probably was, “I just –“ You faltered, unable to find the words to try and explain something you simply couldn’t explain to the prince. You kept your eyes down, but lifted your head and, just as you went to speak, any words you had found were quickly swallowed as Loki’s lips suddenly met yours.

Tags for Everything: @thatwriterizzy @arkhamsurviour @sheldonsherlocktony @angelicshinigami @wanna-see-my-lease @minahraven @adaliamalfoy @beautifulbows924

Tags for Loki: @drakesfiance  @vanyali07 @frostymoon11  @hakuoyuki @imagine-that-100 @lexiiiii28 @vgurl18

[kivaember]

Prompt #19: Gelid

(CW: Implied child neglect) 

Mom hadn’t left them any food.

Aza eyed the empty pantry with no small amount of worry, peering into the empty coldboxes and squinting at the bare shelves like food would miraculously appear if he wished it hard enough. Alas, the pantry remained empty, and he sat and contemplated this problem with an uneasy squirming in his belly.

Normally, this would be fine. It wasn’t the first time Mom disappeared and left them to fend for themselves a few days – Aza knew how to snag rabbits and forage berries and roots and stuff, enough to feed him and Ala for a week at most; but he never had to do it in winter before and…

Aza chewed his bottom lip anxiously, shoving himself to his feet and leaving the empty pantry behind. The kitchen looked equally bereft, and when he hopefully prodded at a bowl of berries he found them to be soft and overripe.

Eh, they’d do.

He snagged the bowl, padding into the living room where he left Ala in charge of the fireplace. His little sister was too young to worry about cooking or hunting, but she was old enough to be left alone with a log burner for a while. He did when he was seven.

“Here you go, Ala,” he said with forced cheeriness, “Breakfast!”

Ala, who was bundled up in her blanket, practically sitting in the hearth with how close she was to the crackling fire, looked up hopefully… only to wilt when Aza presented her the bowl of overripe berries, “Berries?”

“They’re good for you,” he said firmly, hoping that these ones wouldn’t give Ala the shits like the green ones did, “They’re only a little soft anyways.”

Ala grumbled, but she took the bowl, her hunger clearly winning out. Aza sat next to her on the floor, soaking up the warmth from the fire. The pantry had been freezing.

The lone window in the room was stained completely white, and occasionally a bitingly sharp draft would rattle through, making the fire flicker and Aza shiver right down to his toes. If this snowstorm continued, he’d have to dig their way out through the roof again… and it didn’t bode well for food later today either. Aza chewed on his thumbnail, gnawing on the soft skin around the nail to try and dampen his hunger.

He wished Mom left them some cold meat at least…

But no, Mom needed it more. Food was so scarce on their little island nowadays, she needed the energy to travel to the other parts of the archipelago to bring back more food. She always delivered on that front – maybe this time she’d come back with a whole deer and they could have meat that wasn’t fish for once!

His stomach audibly gurgled at the thought of it.

“Are you hungry?” Ala asked him through a mouthful of berries, her lips and fingers stained a deep purple. She held up the bowl, “Want some? They’re actually okay!”

“It’s fine. I’ll go fishing in a bit,” Aza said quickly. Out of the both of them, Ala needed the food more.

“But… the water’ll be all frozen,” Ala said, blinking up at him with those large, round eyes of hers, “And it’s snowing lots outside!”

“Mm, well… I’ll be okay.”

Ala stared at him for a bit, pressing her berry-stained lips together and giving him a very suspicious squint, “Hmmm…”

“What?” Aza grumbled, bristling a little at the clear scepticism on Ala’s face, “I’m the big brother here! I’m always okay!”

“Mom was mad last time,” Ala said simply, turning away and sticking her nose in the air slightly, “’Cuz you gave all the food to me and, um, starved.”

“I didn’t ‘starve’, it was three days of fasting,” Aza muttered. That hadn’t been fun, though. He felt all woozy and sick and hungry – he’d sooner go digging in the garden for worms and eat those, then go through that again.

Oh. Idea!

“Speaking of, I better go get something, before I ‘starve’,” he stuck his tongue out at Ala, smiling when she did it back with a dark purple tongue, “Don’t burn the house down, tiny.”

“I’m not tiny!” Ala squawked, but Aza was already on his feet and moving to the door.

He yanked on his boots, pulled on his hunting coat with a scarf thrown on top, and grabbed the gardening trowel on his way out. The snow was up to his waist when he wrenched the door open, hissing when snow piled inside the hallway, but he managed to close the front door behind him and squint against the white, blustery wind cutting against his face.

“S-S-S-Soooo c-c-c-cooold…” he whined, clutching the gardening trowel tight between his small, gloved hands as he waded through the snow, over to where their vegetable patch was.

‘Was’ being the keyword. They tended to it between spring and autumn, but this deep in winter? It was just a patch of frozen soil half the time, as dense as iron and all but barren. But worms lived in vegetable soil, right? And they didn’t all die in winter, because then there’d be none in spring, so, that meant…

Aza squatted down in the vegetable patch, spending a good ten minute digging himself a hole to actually see the dark, hard soil. Then it took him a further ten minutes to penetrate the frozen topsoil, his arms burning with exertion and his fingers aching from the cold starting to seep through his gloves. It really was cold, that even the work out of digging wasn’t warming him up any.

“Arrgh…” he groaned when another blustery, cold gust swept over him, hunching lower in his squat as his teeth chattered together so hard it hurt. His gloves were covered in soil, and there were clumps of black dirt over his boots and- he dug more and more, aimlessly, just hoping until-

“Hah!” he tossed the trowel aside and started digging into the softened soil with gutso, pulling out one, two, three, four… five worms! Triumphant, he leapt to his feet and raced back to the house, abandoning the trowel in his haste to get back inside to warmth. He wrestled with the front door, almost slipped on the half-melted slush that he let in earlier, and stomped his way to the kitchen, still clutching his fitful of squirming worms like they were the most precious thing in the universe at that moment.

“Ala! Come get some meat!” he yelled, dumping the dirty, pink squirmy worms on the kitchen counter before hunting for a bowl, “I got worms!”

“Worms are gross!” Ala yelled back from the living room.

“Fine, I’ll have them aaaaall to myself!” he returned, and rolled his eyes when Ala just let out a loud ‘eeeewwww’! He didn’t get her aversion to eating creepy crawlies sometimes. They were food, just… crunchy or squishy, depending.

Still, they weren’t the same as spitroasted venison or wild boar. Better than starving, though.

Grasping one squirming worm and dashing it under the water from their water-crystal rigged tap, Aza really did hope Mom came back soon, with proper food. He was so sick of fish, so sick of roots or roasting acorns when things got desperate enough… just… really sick of never having enough.

He was beginning to forget how not being hungry felt.

[water-hates-learning]

But It Was Home

Monster Kids AU that @mushroomminded started is too adorable. It’s so cute it’s sweeter than my Halloween candy. So naturally I had to write a thing.

******

Matt screamed for hours when Tom’s first baby tooth fell out.

Tom thought it was fascinating and kept poking his purple tongue into the hole where the tooth had been. Edd spent half his time consoling Matt and the other half making sure Tom didn’t aggravate his gums with his little claws.

He’d finally managed to get Matt to calm down when Tom asked what you were supposed to do with baby teeth.

Matt started screaming again at the idea of a little fairy sneaking into their rooms at night to take their teeth.

———

When they were small, Edd had fretted endlessly about their health. There were plenty of books and sites about defeating monsters, but very few on taking care of baby ones. It had taken a lot of digging and favors to find out how to take care of them.

Matt was the hardest. Tom could eat ground up and softened meats, usually soaked in honey or milk to make them easier on his baby fangs. But Matt needed fresh blood, right from a living vein.

Edd felt he should have been disturbed by how easy it was for him to roll up his sleeves and dig a knife into his skin.

———

They were a rambunctious pair.

Sometimes Edd wondered what insanity he suffered under to think he could raise two monster children, one whose species he didn’t even know. But damn it all if he didn’t care about the little shits. They were enduring, in their own ways.

Tom was curious about everything, always sticking his nose into every corner he could reach. And then often sticking whatever he found there into his mouth. Good lord, the things that child tried to put into his mouth. Edd almost wondered if Tom saw better through his sense of smell and taste than he did with his pitch black eyes.

Matt was more subdued but just as troublesome. He liked to collect things and stash them in places he thought Edd couldn’t find—under the couch cushions, in the kitchen cabinets, beneath the bed, etc. And he was a terribly messy eater. Edd had to burn bloodied clothes at least once or twice a week and he could not convince the vampire child to wear a bib to spare his garments.

And they both bit. A lot.

Tom was constantly chewing on something; so much so that Edd went so far as to buy several dog toys for the monster boy to sink his baby teeth into. Matt just…bit everything. He bit everything at least once just to see if he could. And then usually dissolved into tears when he realized what he was trying to bite either didn’t taste good or was too hard for him to bite in the first place.

Yeah, raising two monster kids was…an adventure.

———

Tom found out he could change into a four-legged, dog-sized tower of terror and everything went to shit.

When he didn’t get to eat dessert before dinner, he’d shift and throw a tantrum, spitting smoke and clawing at the walls. When Matt took his favorite toy, he’d shift and tackle the other boy to the floor, snapping his jaws and battering at the vampire with oversized puppy paws. When he wanted to go outside but it was too dark or too late or too rainy, he’d shift and flop down on his side and yowl like a husky dog, dead weight whinging the loss of his outside time. When he had to take a bath, he’d shift and tear around the house, crashing into walls and tripping over his too big paws until Edd would finally manage to catch him.

Sometimes it was involuntary. If he was frightened, he’d shift and snap and snarl and breathe puffs of acrid smoke into the air that would set off all the smoke detectors and frighten him even more. He slipped and slid on the linoleum in the kitchen, crashing into the fridge more than once (there was now a Tom sized dent in the thing that Edd couldn’t be bothered to fix).

While Matt’s response to fear was to scream and cry, Tom’s was to fight back. As small and scrawny as he was, he refused to take shit from anyone. It’d be admiral if he wasn’t a stubborn little brat.

———

There were sloppy crayon drawings stuck on the door of the fridge.

Most were indistinguishable scribbles in vaguely human shapes, overlapping haphazard grocery lists and forgotten reminders to water the herb garden. Some of the paper was torn from little claws or smeared with snack time blood.

But they were all lovingly displayed, no matter how messy they were.

———

Tom liked music and often sang along with songs he recognized.

Matt liked soft things and made piles of his favorite stuffed toys to bury himself in like a nest.

Once, Tom caught a bad cold and was bedridden for days, sniffling, coughing, vomiting, and absolutely miserable. Edd did his best to keep calm, if just for the sake of the boys, but Matt panicked. He asked through gasping sobs if Tom was going to die. Tom, overhearing this, burst into tears and cried about how he didn’t want to die. It took several reassurances and a careful explanation about germs, bacteria, and sickness to calm them down.

Later, when Edd came into Tom’s room to give the poor boy a bath, he found the monster child half asleep. Matt was sitting at the end of his bed, singing a song in a soft, tentative voice.

———

Edd made sure to keep his workshop door locked and emphasized to both boys that they were not to go in. There were too many plants, potions, stones, and other spell components that could potentially harm them.

He should have known better.

Tom came barreling into the kitchen one afternoon on four legs, all scales and panic, tears and smoke dribbling down his features.

The workshop door was open and Matt was dry heaving onto the lacquered floorboards. Edd only needed to see the toppled and shattered jar of ground up blackthorn to know what had happened. He quickly scooped the vampire into his arms and hurried out of the room. Tom whined and thumped his tail on the floor pathetically as Edd helped Matt clear the veritable poison out of his system.

When they had recovered, he took them both by the hand and showed them around his workshop so they understand exactly why they were not to play in there.

———

Tom asked why he looked different than Matt and Edd.

Edd told himself that the lump in his throat and the burning in his eyes was from working with hawthorn and not because he could feel his heart wrenching in his chest.

———

It was fine when Matt made friends with the little boy next door.

It was fine when the little human boy came over to play.

It was fine when Edd and Eduardo found the mutual ground of being single fathers.

It was fine until Matt sank his fangs into Jon’s neck at Jon’s insistence.

It was fine until Edd had to explain that Matt had just turned his best friend into a thrall.

It was fine because Jon still wanted to be Matt’s friend.

And it had nothing to do with magical mind control.

———

Matt picked up speech far faster than Tom did. In fact, Tom didn’t really start talking until he was almost six. Most of his communication came from grunts, growls, whines, and roars. Edd was worried about his development and spent many a late night reading up on it until he gave up. Monster children were not human children.

And then one day, a five and half year old Tom toddled up to his adoptive father, tugged on the sleeve of that worn out robe, and said in a small but stubborn voice,

“Da’. Food.”

Edd gaped at him for a full minute before crowing with happiness and sweeping the boy up into his arms.

———

Edd and Eduardo definitely did not compare their whose children were better in feats of epic, dad rivalry.

And they definitely didn’t drag Eduardo’s housemate Mark into it.

And they both most certainly did not fall over each other gushing when they found all three boys curled up in a pile, napping together.

———

Ringo was a tentative edition to the house. An adoption that Edd couldn’t say no to. He’d seen the kitten in a box outside the grocery store and the poor little gray thing had mewled at him. And the next thing he knew, he had a kitten in his pocket and was wondering how on earth the kids were going to react.

The answer was very well.

Tom instantly took a liking to the tiny gray furball and trundled around with it on all four, his tail in the air, batting at her playfully. Matt was more apprehensive but eventually warmed up to her as well.

When Ringo crept into his workshop and settled comfortably on top of his foot, he knew he’d made the right decision.

———

The house was usually in some sorry state of disrepair. Between Edd’s failure at proper house maintenance, Tom’s destructive habits and temper tantrums, and Matt’s messy eating, the place didn’t looked all that cleaned up.

Edd did the best he could to keep it livable and presentable. But it wasn’t until Eduardo came by to drop Jon off that he really had any idea how bad things were.

Eduardo took one look around at the claw marks in the floor, the chunks taken out of the walls, the blood stains trailing from the kitchen and promptly said the place looked like a murderer lived there. Then he put a hand on Edd’s shoulder and told him seriously,

“I’ll help you make this place monster kid proof. But only because you’re obviously too pathetic to figure out how to do it yourself. And also I need to make sure Jon stays safe.”

Edd gave him a breathless thanks and tried not to cry from relief.

———

The house down the lane with the weird garden and strange symbols in the door was noisy and messy and sometimes smoke came pouring out of the open windows while the smoke alarms wailed. The yard had holes dug in it by eager claws, the fence between the yards was cracked from impacts, and there was a suspicious looking dark stain on the walk up to the front door.

It was crazy, but it was home.

[hii-raeth]

A Warm Impression, a Naruto One-Shot

Summary:

Minato is only seventeen years old, and in no way prepared to face Konoha's legendary White Fang. Particularly not if it involves explaining that his five-year-old son got hurt during an innocent training exercise. Or, the one where Minato meet Sakumo and finds something unexpected. Unadulterated fluff and family feelings. Background MinaKushi.

Links: A03 | FF.net

Story under the cut:

For the first time in ages, Namikaze Minato was feeling nervous.

According to Jiraiya-sensei, visiting a student's parents wasn't that big of a deal. It was a formal visit at best, a sort of "hey, I'm sorry if I get your kid killed, but I'll do my best to stop that from happening," thing. That seemed plenty terrifying to Minato, and if he remembered correctly his own mother hadn't particularly appreciated that particular visit from Jiraiya, but Jiraiya's nonchalance had helped him calm his nerves a little.

Because the thing was, if Hatake Sakumo was anywhere near as terrifying as his five-year-old son (magnified by thirty odd years of fighting experience), Minato would rather be swallowed up by the sun than have to explain getting the kid injured.

Just one week of acquaintance was enough to inform him that little Hatake Kakashi was many things, but normal wasn't one of them. The adjectives evil, brilliant, and brat had first come to mind, but the evil part Minato had buried after watching the boy stop mid-training to pet a nearby dog.

The brat part was still firmly present.

Minato swallowed past the lump in his throat. At his side, Kakashi was looking perfectly harmless. He was small for his age, with large dark eyes and a frankly rather adorable face (though Minato had learned early on that commenting on said face was a bad idea). There was also the hair, which… Well, Minato could empathize.

As for the boy's character, well… That's where the problems began. Right now, as they strode through Konoha's streets, at a remarkable speed given that one half of their party barely reached past Minato's hips, Kakashi was pouting. The reason for his upset was also the reason Minato was upset: the little sling that kept his freshly injured arm tucked against his chest.

The boy had gotten over the shock of the fall pretty quickly, and had also decided that the brand-new experience of feeling pain was "pointless, really", after which he had come to the conclusion that the only thing left to do was to be disappointed in his body's tendency to break when strained.

Trying to explain to him that this was a natural thing that happened to everyone, and he really couldn't blame himself, had just resulted in a deeper frown.

Which, for just a moment, had made Minato wonder whether the boy had other reasons to be angry. A disappointed parent, perhaps?

Hatake Sakumo, Jiraiya-sensei had said, was a little bit mad. Only in the good sense, of course; he was the kind of mad you'd want at your back. It was supposed to be reassuring, but it didn't really help.

Neither did Kushina's refusal to explain how Sakumo had once tested her and her genin team (in a way that involved dogs,  an inexplicable amount of yarn, and some kind of romance novel belonging to Sakumo's wife; how exactly that constituted a good genin test, Minato wasn't sure, but the horrified look on Kushina's face lingered). She'd laughed at him this morning, when he'd asked, and given him one of those affectionate looks she liked to give him when she thought he was being particularly stupid.

"Sakumo-sensei is a good egg. He won't eat you alive, so long as you behave," she'd said.

They hadn't exactly covered what the man might do in case of child-related emergency, though.

"Is it much further?" He asked Kakashi.

The boy looked up from where he'd been staring at the street to kick at every nearby pebble. "It's near the wall, next to the Koi Park. Why, are you getting tired?" The last he said in a particularly challenging tone, as though Minato was the injured five-year-old who'd just gone through chakra surgery.

Minato gave him an awkward smile and decided the best step forward was to just ignore any and all aggravating remarks. "Are you sure your dad will be home yet?"

Kakashi nodded. His fringe had a habit of slipping in front of his eyes whenever he did, and he wiped at it impatiently with his good hand. "He came back last night, from his mission. It was a big mission," he added, peering up at Minato with calculating eyes to see if his response was appropriately impressed.

"I bet he aced it," Minato said obligingly.

The frown finally cleared up a little. "Of course. He always does," the boy said, with the kind of surety only a child who has never been disappointed by their parent could possess.

Another tally for the 'Hatake Sakumo is probably, most likely, indubitably, a Doting Father' camp. Which, under any other circumstances, would have pleased Minato greatly. As far as he could tell, Kakashi didn't have a lot of friends his own age, but at least he had his father in his corner.

For beating up inexperienced seventeen-year-old jonin sensei's, for example. There were times when being the youngest jonin sensei in the village was fun, and then there were times when it just made him feel very, very small. Such as when he had to tell a living legend that his only child had been injured while under Minato's supervision.

Not that it had actually been Minato's fault, but he couldn't be sure Kakashi wouldn't openly blame him. The boy was already sneakier than most shinobi ever managed to become.

A small hand grabbed his own, and he looked down startled. Kakashi was pointing at a lane that disappeared into the park. "I know a shortcut," the boy said, and dragged him along.

At some point during this day, Minato would surely have to accept his certain doom, but this wasn't it. He swallowed again, and wondered why his mouth felt so dry. For all he knew, Sakumo was a perfectly reasonable human being who would understand it hadn't been anyone's fault at all. Except of course, but Sakumo was an experienced Konoha jonin, and all experienced Konoha jonin were certifiably insane. Particularly those of Jiraiya-sensei's generation, which Sakumo more or less was, give or take a few years.

Kakashi led him to a quieter section of the park, and then past a series of huge oak trees which likely dated back to Shodaime's time. Behind it, just past the tree line, sat a middling sized house built in the traditional style, with a porch out front and a small stone garden. There was a large dog on the porch, which gave away its owner's identity.

"Hime!" Kakashi sighed, and smiled for the first time since his accident. He stretched out his healthy arm and the dog came running. She was a large mutt of some sort, with the fluffy muscular body of an Akita, and the broad, intelligent face of a shepherd. Her coat was thick and white, with creamy yellow and slight gray mixed through in pale patterns.

Judging by the clear intelligence in her eyes, she was a summons, but for Kakashi she was perfectly willing to play the big, fluffy pet who tried to lick his face and bowl him over. The boy was practically sitting on her back before she suddenly whined and sniffed at his injured arm. Worse still, she followed it up with an accusing look aimed at Minato.

Kakashi made an exasperated groaning sound that made him sound more like an annoyed teenager than someone barely out of toddlerhood, and pushed away from the dog to go to the porch. "I'm fine!"

Inside the house, a large chakra signature stirred. It felt a lot like Kakashi's, but where Kakashi's was adorably small and prickly (if one ignored the fact that he had a developed signature at all, which was unheard of at his age), Hatake Sakumo's was huge and looming.

Minato pulled his shoulder blades together and tried not to let his own chakra fire up in instinctive defense. Sakumo's chakra was big, yes, but it had the calm, slow feeling of someone who was still waking up.

He came home last night, huh? This had probably been the only moment in the day Sakumo had to catch up on some sleep. Minato's vaguely guilty feeling grew stronger.

Kakashi led him up the porch and into the hallway, where Minato helped him take off his boots. By then, Sakumo's chakra was neatly pushed down and back into shape, as most top-level shinobi did while in company.

"Is that my son? Are you home already?" A deep voice said, and then the man Minato had been dreading for the last two hours appeared around the corner wearing only sweatpants and an old tank top. His hair was still down, but as he spoke he pulled it up into a loose tail.

"Dad. I broke my arm," Kakashi said promptly.

Sakumo froze mid-movement, one hand still up and in his hair, the other hanging awkwardly next to his head. "Broke it?" Sakumo repeated, and glanced from his son to the dog and back.

"He didn't tell me it could do that," Kakashi said, and pointed directly at Minato.

If there was ever a time Minato had wished he could use earth style to dig himself a neat little hole, this was it. He stood frozen on the spot as both dog and man turned to look at him. If Kakashi had been Tsunade's or Kushina's child, they'd probably have beaten him until he cried. If he'd been Sandaime's, Minato would probably have been subjected to the most disappointed look known to man.

"Oh, is that so? I seem to remember telling you bones can break, myself," Hatake Sakumo said, putting his hands in his side and looking down at his boy. After a moment he smiled, and then bent through his knees to inspect the offending arm. "Did it hurt very much?" At his side, the dog pawed at Sakumo's thigh and made a keening sound.

Minato held his breath. That... Was not the response he had expected.

As he watched, Sakumo touched his son's shoulders with big, reassuring hands, and brushed a thumb across the boy's cheek. "Did you try that double corkscrew with the doton jutsu again?" He asked calmly.

Kakashi turned his head to avoid his father's case abruptly. "No," he said defensively.

Sakumo raised his eyebrows lightly. "Kakashi..."

There was the disappointed look Minato had have been expecting, aimed full-force at the little boy.

Kakashi fidgeted. His lower lip wobbled a little, and then he suddenly nodded.

Sakumo sighed with what Minato suspected was just a bit of theatricality, and shook his head in mock disappointment. "I told you to wait until you were bigger. What am I to do with you?"

Kakashi bent his head far enough that his chin nearly touched his chest. "I'm sorry," he said, in the smallest voice Minato had ever heard him use.

Sakumo sighed again. "Thank you. I'm glad you're okay. Now, go inside and greet your mother."

Kakashi nodded frantically and ran past his father, his bare feet padding quickly across the wooden floor.

Sakumo righted himself and offered Minato a tired little smile. Minato could suddenly see the clear exhaustion in the line of his shoulders, and the heaviness of his eyes. "Quite the handful, isn't he?" Sakumo said.

Minato's spine went rigid. He felt his seventeen years of age very keenly all of a sudden. Things had been perfectly all right when Sakumo's attention has been focused on the boy, but now it was focused on him. Here Minato was, in the White Fang's own home, speaking to the living legend himself. "Yes sir, definitely sir," he blurted out.

Sakumo laughed. "Namikaze Minato-kun, isn't it? Don't worry, I know my son. He's very good at getting himself into trouble. I take it you took him to see a medic?"

Minato slowly unfroze. Sakumo… Didn't blame him? "The hospital. The medics said there was a small fraction into his ulna bone, but she healed it on the spot… Young bones fuse easily, she said," he trailed off.

Sakumo nodded knowingly. "A week's rest, I take it?"

"Yes, sir."

"Please, call me Sakumo. Or Sakumo-san, if you insist on being so formal," Sakumo said, smiling, and beckoned him into the living room.

It was a rather nice room, as traditional as the outside of the house, but cozy and well cared for. It was the kind of house that was obviously filled with love. And, as it turned out, a surprising amount of books, scattered across the room in piles and stacks and unsorted bookcases.

Kakashi was sitting on his knees in front of a small shrine to the left, a butsudan, head bowed reverently. Aside from the usual objects found on a shrine of that kind, it held a framed photograph of a dark-haired woman. Before Minato could see it properly, Kakashi had already gotten off his knees and was running towards the kitchen, probably to get something to eat.

Minato's eyes automatically returned to the picture, as though drawn by magnets. The woman was beautiful, with familiar sleepy gray eyes and a birthmark on her cheek, although her nose looked like it had been broken at some point. More than anything, she looked happy, and far too young to be on top of a shrine.

When Minato looked away, he caught Sakumo giving him a sad smile. Renewed guilt shot through him. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to –"

"it's okay, I don't mind. I wasn't sure whether you'd been told, but..." One corner of Sakumo's mouth tilted up, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. He walked over to the shrine and brushed the back of his knuckles across the frame. "Four years ago, now. I try to keep the memory of her alive for him, but sometimes I think Kakashi doesn't quite understand."

"I'm sorry," Minato said again, more genuinely this time.

Sakumo shrugged. "I'll tell him more when he gets older. For now, she'll just be a warm impression in the house to him. Maybe that's enough." He smiled tightly and straightened up. "Speaking of warm impressions, I didn't mean to be so gloomy. Would you like to stay for dinner tonight? I would like to get to know you myself, after my son and Kushina have talked about you so much."

Minato went bright red. He stumbled over the words. "I – I'd be honored, thank you. Wait, they did?"

Some of the sadness left Sakumo's eyes as he laughed. "Neither of them will admit it to you, but you've left quite the impression. I've already caught Kakashi pretending to use that Rasengan of yours once. I'd quite like to see it myself."

The White Fang of Konoha wanted to see his brand-new jutsu. Minato felt a bit faint. "I could show you after dinner," he suggested weakly.

Sakumo laughed again and padded Minato's shoulder with enough force to make him wobble. In the kitchen, something crashed, and the distinct scent of things burning drifted in. Sakumo's face turned almost comically. "Kakashi – what did I tell you about playing with the stove?!?" He shouted, and legged towards the kitchen.

Minato smiled faintly as he watched him go. Kakashi was a little weird, yes, but also adorable and promising and all kinds of interesting. His father, despite his fierce reputation, no longer felt like a cold and terrifying stranger.

Perhaps the dinner would be a little bit awkward, and maybe showing off his new jutsu afterwards was a bit much, but as Minato watched Sakumo pluck his son off of the countertop as the dog nipped around his knees, he had a feeling he wouldn't mind much.

His gaze drifted back towards the woman on the shrine, and it seemed to him her eyes suddenly held an amused sparkle. A warm impression? Yes. I understand.

  AN:

So this is completely cheesy and self-indulgent, but it was terribly fun to write these three being happy for once. If you like this, please let me know with a comment!

Notes:

This is loosely set in the Uneasy Lies the Head/Fool's Gold 'verse, check out my profile to find it!

I aged up Minato by two years for the sake of realism. Well, relative realism anyway.

The idea that Kushina was Sakumo student comes from Silvershine's brilliant The Girl From Whirlpool. Go check that story out if you haven't already! Sakumo's characterization was partially inspired by Blackkat's, whose Sakumo is wonderful and warm and good.

A butsudan is part of Japanese buddhist culture. I'm not sure Kakashi would be actively religious, but I wanted to add a cultural element here. Try looking it up!

[cherriegyuu]

Who We Used to Be | six

(cr.)

Sumarry: In her dreams lies the keys to her past. In her hands their salvation.

genre: angst, fluff

word count: 7.2k

preview, one, two, three , four, five

Then

I never thought that living at the Palace would be like this. I didn't think that I would be so out of place. I wasn't stupid enough to think that it would be like being home. I simply never thought that I would feel like an outsider or even more accurately: a servant.

Ever since I got in the Palace I have two functions: make sure that the Prince’s food doesn't get poisoned again and care for the sick. Although it doesn't seem like much it's a lot of work, it is. I spend most part of the day in kitchen, when I'm not in kitchen I'm outside in this improvised tent where I'm supposed to take care of soldiers and Palace workers.

I didn't have any fantasies that coming here would be like a fairy tale, I just didn't expect to be such an outcast.

Perhaps the Prince brought me here for a reason, I kept thinking on the first few days. But then I realized that the only reason why I'm here now it's because he doesn't want anyone to know that someone is threatening his life. And maybe because I brought up the fact that he is being poisoned.

The only familiar face I see often is Jimin. He is always around, always making sure that I'm not in need of anything. He is sweet and caring, not like anyone I have ever met. Once I saw him practicing with his sword and bow and arrow, and I remember thinking that he must have been born with those weapons in his hands.

But the same thing could been said about the other five. All of them are highly skilled. Watching them practice together always makes me wonder if one of them will end up dead. But they always pull back just before they could have caused any harm.

“You seem to be lost somewhere else”

I look up, my eyes half closed because the sun is too strong today. I gasp when I see the Prince standing by my side. I hurry to stand up but end making a fool out of myself when I trip and fall down.

If I could dig a hole and hide inside, I would. The Prince makes matters worse by laughing at me and kneeling down to help me.

If it were anyone else I would probably push them away and refuse their help. But this is the Prince, I can't exactly do that.

It also doesn't go unnoticed how close we are. His hands are still holding my arms in place. I can't barely take the way he is looking at me. His eyes staring straight into mine. My breathing becomes heavy and I'm forced to look away.

“Thank you, Your Highness�� I say with my head down.

He smiles and takes a step back so that we are not so close anymore.

I have never been this close to someone before, much less a man. The only person I have ever been close to was my mom, but this is not the same. Not by a long mile. I'm a woman and he's a man, but above that he's the Prince. This one simple, yet huge, fact makes everything that much more complicated.

“Are you okay? You were looking at the same stop for at least five minutes”

Were you looking at for five minutes? I want to ask but I keep quiet.

“Oh, I'm fine. Just thinking” I smile up at him.

I can't keep myself from looking at his eyes. His beautiful brown eyes that look almost as light as honey with the sunlight. I know that I shouldn't be looking at him this directly, into his eyes. This is actually one of the first “instructions” I received when I first entered the Palace. In case you do see the Prince and the King do ever look directly at them.

No one at the Palace knows that I came here with the Prince. On that day the Prince went in through the main gate, while the knights and I walked in by a side entrance, so no one really knows. Jimin said that the story they told was that I'm a physician who they found wondering around, so they brought me to the Palace because I had nowhere else to go.

They certainly changed everything about how we've met. But it wouldn't look good to say that the Prince was attacked on his way home.

“What were you thinking about?”

A glint of curiosity in his eyes, his smile is the biggest I have ever seen on him and I can't  help but smile up at him. Hi starts to walk slowly and I follow him.

“I was wondering if you still have an occasional fever. I haven't been able to see you these days” I say quietly.

I don't want to sound like I'm complaining, when that's exactly what I'm doing. The Prince and the knights were in my house for almost two weeks and suddenly I'm in their home but I rarely seen them. It makes me miss them in a certain way.

Especially the Prince.

I got used very easily to being around him most of the day, something that I certainly shouldn't have done. I got used to seeing his face whenever I wanted to; I got used to his smile when he thought that I wasn't looking.

During those thirteen days I fell to the Prince. Fast and unstoppable. I wish I could have prevented myself from it. I knew from day one that I shouldn't have, that the chance of my feelings being reciprocated were tiny and even if they were it could never happen between us. My father is a simple man, no noble blood runs through his veins. Certainly the King would never allow his only child to marry a nobody.

I am sure that people would call me predictable Look at her falling for the Prince, it's stupid. Maybe they are right, maybe I am truly pathetic. But one cannot always control their feelings. And in this case I don't really want to. I have never felt this way towards someone before in my life, not once, so I don't want it to stop.

I want to feel it completely with every part of me, in its entire plenitude, before I'm forced into something I don't want to be part of.

“I've been really busy with” he looks around before leaning in and whispering to me “someone from the Palace trying to kill me”

The Prince it's too close now, closer than before. His face is close that I can feel heat radiating from it, his breath tickling  my ear. My heart starts beating faster and it's so loud against my ears, in my hands and all the way down to my toes.

He is so close now, yet so far away.

“It's fine” I whisper back “I would wait longer if I had to”

I'm not sure where this boldness it's coming from but i want to hold onto to it with both hands and never let it go. Maybe with it I’ll be able to  say things for myself instead of being quiet and letting people stomp all over me.

I take a step back when I hear someone shout my name twice. The fog of the Prince’s smell and his heat are now gone and I feel my cheeks getting red. I look around to see where the voice is coming from and I’m surprised to see Taehyung running towards me and still shouting my name like I hadn’t heard him the first couple of times.

The Prince is still on the same spot, unmoving. I want to say something at him, get him to act normal before Taehyung notices that something is wrong. Luckily enough he stands up straight and pretends that nothing happened just in time.

“Soo Yi” Taehyung says out of breath.

He stops in front of me, hands on his knees, heavy breath. He is trying to pull air inside his lungs but for a moment it’s just like can’t.

“Kim Taehyung, what is the meaning of this?” The Prince asks, his voice loud and full of authority.

Just like magic Taehyung stands up straight, his breathing back to normal. It’s like he wasn’t dying just a second ago.

I have to stiff a laugh, so I turn my head slightly to the side and pretend to sneeze.

“Your Highness” Taehyung says with a deep bow.

“Why were you calling for Soo Yi?”

This time the Prince’s voice is much lower and he doesn’t sound angry anymore. This time he is complete control.

“We need her assistance. Jungkook is hurt, his arm is in position it shouldn’t be”

Taehyung says all of this still bowing down. I want to tell him to stand up and talk while look at me but I can’t. I can’t just tell him that this is wrong in so many ways, he is the Prince so he can do whatever he wants.

“Let’s go” I say quietly.

I turn to the Prince and bow down to him quickly but I don’t get very far. The moment I turn my back at him The prince moves around me until he’s standing in front of me.

“I’ll come find you later” his words are low enough that I’m the only one who can hear him.

I look up at him, his eyes are looking directly into mine. I know that this isn’t something he would simply say, words without meaning. His eyes are honest. I nod at him and watch in leave, all the while Taehyung still has his body bend forward in a angle that I couldn’t stay for more than one second.

“Where is Jungkook?” I ask already moving in the direction Taehyung came running from.

I’m not sure what happened but whatever it is it was bad enough for one of them to come and find me. Last time one of them had any kind of injury the solved the problem amongst themselves and refused my help when I offered. So really having Taehyung come look for me, running like his life depended on it was a bit of a shock.

“He’s in… Training…”

He can’t finish his sentence so I turn around and raise my hand in front of his chest.

“First you need to breathe. I can’t go help Jungkook if you collapse in front of me.”

I should probably be rushing to Jungkook right now but Taehyung just said that he is training, I'm sure nothing too bad must have happened to him. So I don’t feel all the guilty for making him wait.

It takes Taehyung almost a full minute to breathe normally but when he finally can he starts to guide me through the gardens.

We find Jungkook and the others sitting on the ground. Actually Jungkook is the only one sitting down. The younger one is trying desperately to stand up, telling at the other two but neither of them are having none of it. I know for a fact that Jungkook could easily walk past them if he were on normal conditions.

Jungkook’s right hand is holding his left arm in place and it’s clear that something happened to that arm. As I approach them I notice that his arm is actually hanging. Either Jin or Yoongi took his armor and clothes off, exposing his chest.

“Why did you get her? Namjoon put my arm back in place before” Jungkook complains once he sees me.

I roll my eyes at him and pull his hand away from his left arm. He hisses in pain once his injured arm moves the slights bit. His arm isn’t actually broken and it’s just out of place, which can be a lot more painful than a broken bone.

Looking at Jungkook you couldn’t tell that something is wrong with him, he looks more like a child who throwing a tantrum because he isn’t getting his way.

“She is a Physician, Namjoon isn’t” Yoongi says irritated.

“Oh, yes. A great one indeed” Jungkook’s voice is full sarcasm “She did an excellent job almost killing the Prince”

I’m not sure if he is being like this because he is in pain or if this are his actual thought of me. Either way it doesn’t matter. I look over at Jin and back at Jungkook, a silent request for him to hold the younger knight down. He gives me a small nod and puts both of his hands on Jungkook’s good arm.

“Your words are so kind Jungkook. Are you in love with me?” I tease him.

But my words are just a distraction from the hand that’s wrapping around his shoulder slowly. In a swift movement I put his arm back in place, with an audible sound.

For almost a whole minute Jungkook curses at me, his eyes are closed and his body is bent forwards. I wrap a piece of cloth around his neck and pull is all the way down to his injured arm, making a sling to keep his arm in place.

“I know that my words will be of no use but try not to move your arm too much, though it’s not broken it needs time to heal” Jungkook looks at me like he wants to kill me so I take a protective step back “Use that arm only if completely necessary”

All the Jungkook does is stand up and rambles something before walking away while holding his armor with his good arm.

“We’ll make sure that he does that, Soo Yi” Jin smiles at me, for the first time since we met “Thank you for today”

I nod at him, returning his smile. I watch as all of the follow after Jungkook. Yoongi stays behind though, standing right by my side. He only turns to looks to me when the other three knights are far away from us.

“The Prince has been doing so much better. You were right all along”

Yoongi looks at me differently from the other times before. While we were still in my house Yoongi used to look at me like he was ready to take me down at any given moment, now it’s like he’s almost friendly. I think that the boys starting to get used to me. All of them expect Jungkook, of course. I don’t think he will ever get past that first impression on me.

“I’m glad to hear that”

“How did you know about the poison?”

We start to slowly walk down the path back to the gardens.

“My dad is a physician and so was my grandfather. I learned from my dad, who learned from his dad. It’s the family work, you could say”

I have no other reason to know about the poison. I just do, I saw it in action before.

“Well, it doesn't really matter how you know about it. What matters is that you know and that helped us save the Prince”

I give a small smile to Yoongi and we continue to walk.

  Just like the Prince had promised he found me and it wasn't like I was trying to hide myself from him. I sat down through most of the day in the place they said I could use to work and waited and the worst part was that today no one got hurt or needed my help. So, in reality, I spend the day by myself trying to organize things that were already organized.

I smile up at him and walk out of the room. It surprised me when he gives me his arm but I don't complain, the small gestures actually makes me really happy.

“How was your day?” he asks

He seems genuinely curiosity about it.

“It was good and calm” I am not about to tell him how boring it was because I was waiting for him the whole day ��Jungkook broke his arm and cursed at me for a little bit. Nothing out of the ordinary”

The Prince gives me a bright smile and laughs a little. He probably knows just how much his knight dislikes me and maybe that's even a little amusing to him because I am, apparently, one of the few people in the palace who isn't afraid or completely in love them.

“Jungkook can be a little verbal when he wants to be”

I nod at him and we continue to walk in silence. We go around the palace for a few minutes until we reach this isolated room, empty of every sort of furniture. He walks inside and sits down on the middle of them room, his head is tipped back staring at the ceiling. I sit down in front of him and look up too. A small gasp leaves my mouth when I realize that the ceiling is made of glass and we can see the night sky.

“What is this place?”

I look down and focus my eyes on The Prince. His eyes are already on me and he smiles.

“This is the place no one else knows about, except for the guard outside and now you”

My eyes go slightly wide and my mouth hangs open.

“Why?”

“I know that you haven't been your happiest while being here, mainly because you spend most of your time on your own. I wanted to show you this place because I wanted you to know that I really appreciate you being here, that you left just to help me”

I feel my cheeks getting red so I lower my gaze. I don't know how to react so I keep quiet because that's the safest thing I could possibly do.

“Many people don't know this but I wasn't raised in the Palace” the Prince says after a few seconds of silence and I look at him, surprised by his sudden words “Everyone thinks that I have been here my entire life but that that's not the truth. As soon as I was born there was a threat against me so my father sent me away to live with mother's parents and they put someone in my place to pretend he was me. That's why when I stayed in your house I wasn't all that bothered by how simple everything was because everything at my grandparents were also simple, not that much luxury, nothing compared to Palace actually”

I don't understand why he is suddenly telling me about his life, about things that no one else should know about. Do I look that much trustworthy to him? The least I could do is share something with him, right?

“You know, I haven't asked anyone to take me home yet. I know that I could and you would let me but, honestly, I don't really want to go back” I take a deep breath before continuing “My dad went away to find me a husband, though I asked him many, many, times not to do that but he insists in it. My mom got married to him on the same way, so did his parents and he thinks that is the best way to find love. But I want to do it my own way, with someone that I choose"

I feel embarrassed to be telling him all of this when he didn't ask and because he is the Prince, he had no reason to hear my babbles.

“Do you already like someone?” he asks slowly.

He is being careful and I don't know why. I wish I could be a little more bold, wish I could just reach out and take his hand. Show him, with more than just words, that he is the one I like. No, not simply like. It is so much more than simply liking someone. I never knew that it was possible to like someone this much, so wholeheartedly. It's true that I always dreamed of falling in love, have the same feeling that my parents had between them but it was something that I've always seen it as unlikely. At least until I met the Prince.

“I…”

How am I supposed to say that, yes, I do love someone? How do I tell him that that someone is him without making a fool out of myself if he doesn't feel the same way?

“That was probably rude, my apologies. You don't have to answer that”

A shy smile creeps up his face, his cheeks turning a light safe of pink. Not once, even in my wildest dreams, I would have dared to imagine the Prince blush.

“No, it's fine. I don't mind saying it” I'm terrified to say it “Yes, there is someone I like. Someone that I love, actually”

He leans forward, a teasing gleam to his eyes.

“Is it Jimin? There is a rumor going around that you and Jimin are in a relationship”

I couldn't control the laugh that escapes my lips. Being with Jimin is something that never really crossed my mind.

“Though I am sure that he would definitely be someone that my father approves of, he is not the one”

I try to pretend that the relief that I see crossing his face is something that's only my mind, that's it something that I'm making up so I don't feel so silly for liking someone that doesn't like me back.

“Is it one of the Knights? Please don't say that it is Jungkook”

He is only teasing and I know that but how I wish that his words were true or maybe had a difference meaning. Does he wish it isn't Jungkook because he wants it to be him? Right now, looking at him when we are this close I wish he wasn't the crown Prince, I wish that he didn't have to become King in a few years, I wish that he was just a man who was found hurt in the woods, I wish that I could tell him the truth. I don't want to regret this in the future, don't want to be an old and think about what could have been different had I told him the truth.

But this is also so scary. Being rejected is not a pleasant feeling. It's not the kind of thing someone wants to go through.

“No, it's not Jungkook though I do believe that he is decent person when he isn't cursing my ears out. It's not any of the knight either. But I… I met him on that same night”

I watch the Prince's expression carefully, watch it as it changes from teasing to seriousness in a blink of an eye, watch as he no longer smiles and his eyes are no longer crescent moons. I want to take it back or force myself to smile and say that I am joking. But I can't find it within me to do such things. Once in my life I was brave and it felt good.

“Your Highness, I…”

“You have to stop calling me that” he said before I could finish whatever it was that I wanted to say “I hate it when you call me that”

“What am I supposed to call you then?”

He slides forward until the outside of thighs are touching mine, until there isn't much space left between us.

“Hoseok. I want you to call me by my name”

I can't look away from his face, his eyes. There was something about them, since the first time I saw him, that simply kept me watching. When we were back at my house I would wait for the moments I would be able to see him for a little while. To look at him for longer than a brief glance as I walked through the hallways.

“Hoseok" I said tentatively, liking how it sounds.

“Soo Yi”

When he says my name there's a tone of possessiveness and reverence in his voice, something I had never heard before until this very moment.

I'm ready to say something else, maybe a stupid joke but the words never get to leave my mouth. Hoseok presses his lips firmly against mine, though his touch is strong it is also is soft. It's like he wants to take it all but at the same he is afraid to have it. His hands are on my face, his thumb going back and forth on my jaw. I hold on to his arm and move my body forward as close to his I possibly can.

  Every day after that feels like a dream. Stolen glances and touches where people could see us but when we were alone things were completely different. The room that until not long ago was completely empty now it is filled with furniture and plants, it became a place both of looked forward to be at. Despite the situation the both of us are in, the hiding and sneaking around, everything just seems right. When we are together it feels like something that came straight from the mouth of a storyteller. The way I feel when I look at Hoseok is something that I could have never imagined, even in my wildest dreams.

When we're not together I miss him, I keep searching for things to do and, as bad as it sounds, I wish for someone to get hurt just so I can have something else on my mind, something to do with my hands instead of just sitting around waiting for night to come so Hoseok and I could finally see each other again.

“That's a dangerous path both of you are trailing” someone says by my side

I put a hand to my heart trying to foolish calm it. Just until a few seconds ago I was completely alone and suddenly Jin is by my side, his arms folded across her armored chest. His eyes are focused straight ahead and I know where he is looking at, it is the same place I was looking. Hoseok is walking with his councilmen and Namjoon, his hand behind his back as he looks at the ground. I wish I could ask what is on his mind, what had got him so worried that he can't even look forward.

“I don't know what you're talking about, Jin”

It is an agreement between Hoseok and I, no one is supposed to know about us. By doing what we're doing we are breaking many of the King’s rules and I know that when the times comes I'll be the one to pay for we have done.  But I can't seem to give up, can't seem to simply walk away from him. He promised, Hoseok promised that he would find a way for us to be together.

“You and the Prince” I turn to Jin, my eyes wide. He wasn't supposed to know, no one was supposed to know. We've been careful, I am sure of it “Not all of us know, just Yoongi and I. For now, anyway. Maybe Jungkook knows too, God knows that he is smarter than what he seems"

“You can't tell anyone, Jin. We'll figure it out but we need more time”

For the first since he arrived Jin looks at me. He has somewhat of a sad smile on his lips and his eyes stay on me for only a second before he looks back the Prince.

“If we can see everyone else can see it too. You have to be more careful. If the King thinks, for even a second, that this is happening it won't be pretty. And we both know who is going to suffer the most”

I can only nod at him. What am I supposed to say? Every single word that's leaving Jin’s mouth I've thought about. I never said then to Hoseok, didn't want to burst the little bubble we created. Just for a little while I wanted us to feel like normal people, wanted to pretend like we weren't being watched. But I knew all of those, of course I know. I wasn't naive enough to think that we would be together, that we were actually going to get married and live happily. Hoseok was well aware of his duties to the people, knew that if he stepped away and someone took over everything that his dad had built would fall to the ground. So in the light of all of that I was happy with little time we have together.

“I'm going to leave soon, Jin.  Just let me enjoy this for a little longer”

He nod at me for a second before smiling, that same sad smile he had on his face just a few minutes ago.

“Just remember to be careful"

  I sit down in middle of the room, my head tipped back as I look up to the sky. As soon as Hoseok showed me this room it became my favorite.  It's not as though I know the many beautiful places of the Palace but out of the places I've seen this one is definitely my favorite. Even when it was completely empty.

“You seem worried" Hoseok says from behind me.

I smile even without seen him face, just his voice is enough. He sit behind me, his arms going around my waist.

“Jin knows, Yoongi too. Maybe Jungkook, I'm not sure”

At my words Hoseok takes a deep breath, his body going stiff against mine. He knows that this is bad, really bad. No one was supposed to know anything about us.

“I'm almost there, just give me a little more time. I'm  going to make this work, trust me. Just trust me”

  I should have left when my gut told me to; I should have left when Jin told me that he knew; I should have left when the Prince was no longer sick; I should have left before anything at all happened.

But I didn't.

I stayed in the hopes of a future that I knew that we could never have but even then I allowed myself to dream.  

Being with Hoseok was a dream, something I never thought that I could have but was lucky enough to experience it for a little while. But I knew that it was going to end and when the day came I wasn't surprised. When a maid knocked at my door and said that King wanted to me I wasn't surprised, my body was filled with fear but not surprise.

Hoseok tried to convince that he was going to find a way, that there was a way for us to be together without us having to hide it or lie to people. I truly think that he believes in those words, that he really thinks that his father would let us be together without any sort of complaint. But that was just wrong. The King, as merciful as he is, would never allow his only child to marry a simple girl - even if he did the exact same things years before.

“It has come to attention that you requested a physician for yourself a few days ago" it's the first thing the King says to me.

No pleasantries are exchanged. I don't expect him to be polite to me but I expected him to let me be towards him.

“I… yes, I did”

My hands start to sweat and I run them nervously on the side of thighs. It was a mistake, a very foolish one when I already knew what was wrong with me when I asked for him, even more so because I knew that the King would learn about it. But maybe that was what I wanted when I called for him. Maybe I wanted give a reason for King to throw me out, or maybe make me stay.

“You're a physician yourself, a very skilled one considering how you easily saw what was slowly killing the Prince. I don't understand why you would request for someone's help in doing something that's so easy”

I nod at him. He is right. I knew what was happening, it didn't take a genius to know.

“I wanted to make sure" I answer him honestly “I wanted to know that I wasn't just imagining things"

“And tell me, what is it that you thought that you were imagining?”

“That I carry the Prince's child"

  The King gave orders to one of the knights to take me home and from there to take me as far away as possible from his lands. So when Jungkook knocks on my door telling me that it was time to go I didn't fight him, I wasn't even surprised.

“Don't you want to say goodbye?” he asks.

It think it is the first time that I see Jungkook being anything close to a decent human towards me.  Before, it was like he had every single reason in world to hate me but right now, when I look at him I almost feel like he is sad. I know that it isn't the case but I'd like to pretend that it is, just for a little while.

“It's best if I don't.  I think that if I look at him I wouldn’t be able to leave”

He nods at me, like he somehow can understand what I'm going through. I know that he can't though.  While talking to the others knights I learned that Jungkook never had a girl in his life, he never had someone to love like that. But I do appreciate his efforts.

“We should go then. The King ordered us to leave before nightfall”

It was easy to tell why the King chose the time. He knows that Hoseok and I don't seek each other out until night comes, until almost everyone is already asleep.

I start to follow Jungkook quietly. I don't know what I'm supposed to say or if he expects me to say anything at all.

“Do you know where we're going or are you supposed to dump me anywhere?”

It's a joke but I can't help but wonder. The King had some place in mind when he told Jungkook to take me away, a place he would know where I am the entire time so I can't play any tricks on him or he just wants me to be as far away as possible from the Palace, and the Prince.

“I'm not taking you to your house, like you think. I'm supposed to take you somewhere far away, take you to your… husband”

I choke when he says this. I'm getting married? The entire reason why I never went home after the Prince and his knights brought me to the Palace was because I didn't want to get married blindly to someone, I didn't want to get my future put in front of me. I wanted to have a choice, I want to do it on my own.

But maybe this is where my choices led me. I chose to stay with the Prince. I chose to allow myself to love him. I did many things that I shouldn't have and all those things made me walk down a path I didn't want to. All of this that is going on with me is no one else's but my own fault.

“You don't have to worry” Jungkook says after a while “This man won't have any expectations for you, he already knows that this wedding is simply to keep you away from the Prince”

“So he knows? About all of this?”

I don't want to say it out loud, don't want to mention my child. I'm  not sure just how much Jungkook knows. I would think that the King didn't want to tell him anything, the he wouldn't want people to know - especially people who are so close to the Prince.

“I don't think he does but the King doesn't tell anyone his plans”

I nod at him and keep walking. We aren't walking for long when we hear it. It's like an explosion, a sound so loud that I turn from side to side trying to figure out where it comes from but I see nothing. Jungkook does the same thing and just like me he sees nothing.

“Jungkook...”

I cry when I look back. All my eyes can see is the smoke, high in the sky and dark, coming from the Palace. Slowly I make my way back, wondering just what is happening and then we hear it again, another explosion. This one is followed by screams.

Jungkook is the first one to run back. His legs are longer and he is much faster. Try to keep up at the same time that I try not think about whatever is going on. I don't want to let my head, and my heart, go to such dark places. I don't want to imagine what could be happening, I can't let myself drown in those sorts of thoughts inside my mind. Jungkook waits for me at entrance.

The gates are open and not a single guard can be seen, something that is very unusual. The King gave orders to never let the gates unguarded, not to let anyone enter without permission.

“You wait here” Jungkook says “I'll go inside and see what is going on. Don't move”

I watch as Jungkook runs inside, easily moving away from the people who are just standing there watching as the flames get higher, thicker.

Is Hoseok still inside? I can't help but wonder He should be gone by now. I'm sure that he is. Under no circumstances the Prince would be the last one to leave in case of a fire. But what this fire isn't an accident? There was someone trying to kill the Prince. Since we got to the Palace nothing has happened, not one single thing that could even hint that there was still someone who wanted his death. But I know that it isn't that simple, I know that whoever tried once will try again and again until the finally succeed.

What if he is still in there, looking for me? He could be hurt.

I know that I shouldn't move, know that shouldn't go inside. Jungkook knows best in this kind of situation and I should trust his words. But before I know what I'm doing my legs are moving forward, my feet taking me to the one place I know Hoseok is probably at, the one place he look for me.

It's hard to walk, too many people are running, screaming. A few of them run into me, not even bothering to apologize. I freeze when I finally see why all of them are running, why they look so scared. Three soldiers are lying to the ground, clothes and armor soaked in blood. Their own blood.

I run to them, momentarily forgetting about finding Hoseok. All I want to do is help them, is take them out of the Palace, somewhere else, somewhere safe. But I can't, I can't even tend to their wounds. Despite their armor the wound is deep, the sword that cut through it was far too sharp, nothing like anything that I have ever seen.

“I'm sorry" is all I can say to them.

These men, I've seen them before. I watched as they trained with the knights, watched as they drank when they weren't working, laughed at their jokes when they came to see me when Jimin had gone too hard on them during training. These men were good people, people who had their own lives outside the Palace, they have wives and children. And I can't to one single thing to help them.

“The Palace is under attack" one of them says to me, his words are slurred and he coughs blood, some of it on my dress “They are looking for the Prince"

His words are meant to warn me away, to get to run outside and wait, just like Jungkook said that I should. But if anything, his words only seem to make me move further inside the Palace. And for a while things are quiet, nothing but the sound of my steps can be heard, the screams fading in the background, like the noises you learn to ignore.

I don't want to shout his name, don't want to draw attention to myself for to Hoseok. I know that he is probably safe right now, know that is as good as any of the knights; know that he can protect himself and others. But at the same time I wonder just how can I find him.

The sound of wood burning gets louder, the smoke makes my eyes water and my throat get dry. I bend down and rip a piece of cloth from my dress, tying it on my face, trying so should myself from the smoke.

It's weird to think that the Palace is under attack, this was supposed to be the safest place, it was supposed to have the most competent soldiers. But it is also weird because I don't see anyone, not one single soldier or attacker.  Everything is just so quiet, impossibly quiet.

I make my way to the room Hoseok and I shared. I know that something is wrong even before I walk in. The door I  open, the floor is covered in glass, there's someone lying on the floor. I get this feeling at the pit of my stomach as I approach the room.

I can't help the scream that leaves my mouth when I walk inside.

Hoseok is lying on the floor, his clothes are ripped off on the chest, blood all over his body, his face and the floor. A sword firmly stuck on his chest

“Hoseok, please” I cry.

I press his wound, trying to make the bleeding stop but I can't. It seems that the more I try to stop it the more it bleeds. Around us the flames start to approach, yellow and loud. My body gets hotter, sweat start to drip at my hairline.

“How do I fix this? I can't… I don't know…”

All I can do is cry, all I can do pray that someone would walk in and help us, and scream. I scream so much. I scream for someone to help us, I scream at God, I scream at the people who did this to him.

“Soo Yi!”

It's Jungkook outside, screaming my name. His voice sounds just as desperate as mine.

“Jungkook, we're inside"

In one second he is inside, his arms going around my waist pulling me away from Hoseok. Dragging me away would be better world.

“What are you doing? We have to get Hoseok out”

He doesn't listen to me, Jungkook simply tightens his grip around me and keep pulling me away. The blood on my clothes transferring to his armor, Hoseok’s blood. I watch as the fire takes over the room, fellow and blue. It all happens so fast, suddenly all that I can see are the flames taking over, lighting up his body until I can't tell the difference between them. Until I can't look anymore, until my eyes finally close and my mind and darkness become one.

[imagine-loki]

Like Father, Like Son

TITLE: Like father, like son.

CHAPTER NO./ONE SHOT: 1 of 2

AUTHOR: greeneyedgirls4

ORIGINAL IMAGINE:

Iris and Loki have been friends since childhood. One drunken mistake leads to her getting pregnant and the end of their friendship. When Iris tells Loki it doesn’t sit well but what she doesn’t know is a complicated chain of events have already begun.

RATING: General

NOTES/WARNINGS: No warnings. I hope you all enjoy and feedback is always welcome :) Sorry if this isn’t my best work but my cousin’s wife was in labour while I was writing this so I was a bit worried for her.. I do have a healthy little second cousin called Archie now though. 

Iris steps into Loki’s room. The large wooden door already open.. like he had been expecting her. The last time she was here that door was pressed against her back as Loki kissed her passionately. A few drinks too many, a one night stand and a friendship ruined was all that was left of her life now. She knew her first time may have consequences but she never thought this would happen.. after all Loki is the master of magic.

She sits on the edge of the bed. The thick mattress welcoming her. The green and black room had hints of gold under the candlelight. A large fire roars in the corner when the bathroom door opens.

“Loki?” Iris whispers and Loki appears in the doorway as if by magic. A small smile playing on his lips.

“I thought you’d left Asgard.” Loki replies, his Asgardian armour magically appearing on his body as he sits beside her.

A creak rings out when his body weighs the bed down more. “I thought about it but Odin offered me something that I now can’t refuse.” Her voice is low, she can’t meet his eyes as her heart beats wildly in her chest. Her hands clutching the edge of her short yellow dress.

She feels Loki’s finger gently lift her gaze to meet his. Green meeting green in a complicated cycle. “What did he offer you?” His own voice low, he keeps a single finger under her chin.

“That doesn’t matter.. I came to tell you something.” Iris replies, standing up so she can pace. Maybe that will calm her. Her hands still clutching the dress, she sees Loki stand out of the corner of her eye. Just say it, just say it. “I’m pregnant.” 

It’s barely a whisper but Loki hears it. “W-What?” He grabs her arms stopping her mid-step. Her tearful eyes meet his.

“Odin found out we slept together. He called for me this morning when Eir couldn’t keep her mouth shut about me being pregnant.” Iris whispers, she tries to get out of his grip and he lets her. His arms falling to his side. He looks towards the floor when she steps forward. “I had to tell you.”

“Get rid of it.” His voice is harsh. He can’t have a child now. He’s too young. Loki always thought he would be married to Iris before they had children. Due to his frost giant heritage he could only have one mate for life so as soon as they had slept together Iris had automatically been chosen as that mate. His mate.

“Excuse me?” Iris swallows hard as the tears fall from her green eyes. Emeralds shining in the darkness.

“Get rid of it!” He repeats, spitting the words like a bad taste.

“I-I.. L-Loki..” She tries to voice her objections but the words fail her.

Loki takes a glance at Iris. Her brown hair partially covering her face. Her green eyes filled with tears as her thin body shakes. She watches his eyes travel from her eyes to her feet.. not before he catches a glimpse of something sparkling on her ring finger. “What’s that?”

Iris’ head snaps up when she sees Loki’s eyes trained on her ring. “That’s what Odin called me here this morning for.. I’m engaged too.” She watches as Loki takes a shaky step back. His hand going to his chest. “He found out about the pregnancy but apparently I’m not good enough for a Prince so he’s wed me off to some warrior. It’ll help disguise the baby’s real father and you won’t have to live with a child outside marriage.”

Loki feels his chest tighten at her words. She just keeps digging that hole. Piercing his heart over and over again. “So we can never be together?” His voice shaky but filled with curiosity. Iris shakes her head and Loki feels the anger rise deep in his throat. “I’m going to kill him!”

Iris reaches for Loki but he’s out the door before she can stop him. Her fingers brush against his metal sleeve but soon meet empty air. “L-Loki..”

–

*5 years later*

Loki watches Fandral tackle some of the best warriors in the nine realms. He always was the gifted one. Loki was considered Asgard’s best warrior but Fandral would come a close second.. maybe third after Lady Sif. She would kill anyone that thought they were better than her. Thor and Sif stood arm and arm watching the show too. 

When Fandral won he came straight over to the group. “I can’t wait for this feast tonight.. what’s it celebrating again?”

“Odin knows. We never have to have a reason to celebrate do we?” Thor calls out, his voice vibrating around the arena.

Loki follows the group as they make their way back to the weapons room. Fandral laughing at Thor when a heavily pregnant Sif hits him for trying to help her.. even though she clearly needs it.

“Oh I was meaning to ask.” Fandral suddenly says causing Loki to jump slightly. “Is it ok if I bring my wife and son to the feast?”

Thor answers. “Of course. I’ve only ever met them a handful of times but Loki is yet to meet them.” Thor turns to his brother. “You will love Edvard, he’s just like you when we were young.” Loki just nods before looking at the ground again.

“I’m glad. Iris can’t wait and don’t even get me started on Edvard.” Fandral’s low voice brings Loki around again. Iris?

“Iris..” Loki whispers, his voice low but not low enough for Fandral not to hear. Could it be the same Iris? No! She wouldn’t stick around Asgard.. but she was getting married.

“Iris yes. She’s my wife. Exactly five years married seven months ago.” Fandral replies, his voice full of joy as he speaks about her. “Edvard actually turns five in a few days. Early baby.” 

–

Iris watches Edvard run towards the food table. His raven hair cut short so she could spot him in the crowd. Green eyes sparkling with mischief. She stands near the door waiting for her husband to join her. She hadn’t been to a feast in years.. five to be exact but she can’t hide from Loki forever.

Loki enters the golden doors with Fandral, Thor and an increasingly annoying Sif tagging along behind him. He spots a woman smile wide at them when they enter before running into Fandral’s arms. Iris! Her brown hair and green eyes illuminated under the candlelight. How could he ever forget those eyes. Eyes that haunted his dreams. 

“Dear this is Prince Thor, his wife Sif and Prince Loki.” Fandral says in a high pitched voice. Pointing at each person. “This is my wife Iris.. our son is about here somewhere.”

Loki watches her shake Thor and Sif’s hands. His heart skips a beat when her eyes meet his. A small smile spreads across her face. “Nice to meet you Prince Loki. Fandral speaks so highly of you.” He shakes her hand before pulling away just as quick. Her soft skin tingling his cold hand.

“Nice to meet you too Iris. This is actually only the second time I’ve heard of you.. a pleasure.. a real pleasure.” He replies, his voice turning husky when he returns her smile.

“Mammy..” Loki turns, his eyes spot a little boy with short raven hair running towards them. The child grabs Iris’ leg. “Look they have apples here.” He whispers, holding a ruby red apple. His child-like voice causing Loki to freeze. 

“Well don’t eat it too quickly. I don’t want a repeat of yesterday. You were blue when you started choking.” Loki hears Iris say, her voice dominant as the little boy nods before looking at Loki himself.

“Your new.” The little boy whispers, holding his hand out for Loki to shake. How polite, Loki thinks. “I’m Edvard.”

Loki can’t help the smile that escapes him. The little boys eyes are so green. It’s almost like looking at himself in a mirror. “I’m Prince Loki, nice to finally meet you Edvard. I like apples too.” He says, taking the little boys hand before jumping back. Magic! “I need to go.” Loki whispers, walking away from the group.

Iris’ heart beats that fast that she can hardly breath. When Loki jumps away from Edvard it hits her. He knows.

She follows him outside. The small balcony on the far side of the room enough cover for them to talk. “Loki.” She calls out but he ignores her. “Loki!” She repeats, he turns to face her. His eyes filled with unshed tears.

“When were you going to tell me?” She can see Loki’s hand grip the balcony railing. “He’s my son!”

“I don’t know.. you made it perfectly clear you wanted nothing to do with us when I told you I was pregnant.” Iris says, her voice low so people won’t hear them.

“He’s powerful you know.” She hears Loki whisper as he turns away. His green eyes focused on the lights of Asgard. “Magic. Too much like me.”

“I know.” Iris replies, she steps forward so she is leaning on the railing beside him. “Frigga teaches him how to control it.”

Fiery green eyes meet hers. “My mother. Does she know?” Iris nods. She watches Loki’s eyes go wide. “She sensed it didn’t she. My magic running through him.”

Iris takes a deep breath. “On the day I told you I was pregnant I met Frigga in the vegetable shop. One touch of my skin and she knew. She raised you so obviously she would know your magic.” Iris whispers, hands gripping the railing for dear life. “She told me as soon as Edvard turned one that I was to bring him to her every few days for magic training.. I’ve been doing that ever since.”

Loki was speechless. For the first time in his life the silver tongue had no words. “I-I.. what happened yesterday?” The blue comment popping into his mind.

Iris freezes. “Edvard chocked on some apple. The running up and down the garden while eating it didn’t help. He turned blue.. your blue. His skin went ice cold. He had these markings across his forehead.” She watches Loki touch his own forehead. “I thought he was dead.. Fandral ran out and got the apple up. He didn’t seem to notice the blue as by that time it had faded.” Iris reaches for Loki’s hand but he pulls away. “Please don’t take him from me.” She could feel tears form in her eyes.

Before Loki could answer Edvard came running out. His little feet making low tapping noises. He wore a white shirt, black tie and trousers. Small suit type shoes graced his feet. “Mammy is he really a Prince?”

Iris turns to her son. “Yes he is.. clearly why he’s called Prince Loki.”

“Frigga said I’m so much like him. What did she mean?” His innocent child-like voice causing Loki to smile involuntarily.

“I wouldn’t listen to Frigga dear. Now go get more apple.” She shooed the child away before calling out. “And no running while eating!” She turns to face Loki who stands watching Edvard leave, his eyes never leaving the child.

“I need to think.” She hears Loki whisper before he disappears altogether. Leaving Iris alone with her thoughts once more.

[ja-jimenez]

The Fishing Trip - ‘04 (For my abuelo)

The rain stopped and the thunder finished its mournful roll through the countryside.  There, on a large oval rock which resembled a turtle's shell sat my abuelo.  His old, weathered khaki pants which had seen many fishing trips clung to his aged, but still strong legs.  He looked skyward seeking out the rejuvenating rays of the warm, wonderful sun, hoping to dry out from the early morning diluvio.  Lake Amatitlan, which I'm sure stands for something or another in the old Mayan dialect, always seemed at its most serene after the rainstorms.  To look out into the lake and see the hundreds if not thousands of colors dancing on its many ripples was always a sight to behold.  Imagine, a lake carved from the basement of time, surrounded by dormant volcanoes on its four sides.  It seemed like the volcanoes themselves reached the very peaks of heaven and somehow disappeared into nothingness.  I always felt tiny and insignificant when I beheld those sites, but being with my abuelo always made me feel safe.  He always made me feel like somehow, he and I belonged among those volcanoes, standing daring at their base.  My abuelo, many years before when he was but a young man, had found this beautiful little spot.  Hidden among the enclaves and vines of the forest he found what came to be - nuestro escondite, our hiding place.  There among the scattered volcanic rubble we would sit and fish together.

Today was no exception; we both had been eagerly anticipating this trip.  It would be the first of the summer season and I being but a child of five or six could hardly contain my youthful anticipation. ��This would be the second season in which I was finally old enough to take the long ride on the back of my abuelo's motorcycle.  The ride on the back of his bike and the roar of the small engine was half the thrill of going on those fishing trips.  I remember there was nothing like the feeling of the rushing air running through my hair or the way the engine made my legs jiggle.  We would leave the house before sun up, to the good-byes of my abuela.  She would get up early in the morning and fix us some mixtas to take on our trip.  Of course there was the hot thermos filled with café con leche that was always at my abuelo's side.

He would wake me up in the early morning, letting me sleep as much as possible before heading out.  He would always make sure everything was ready for our trip.  Abuelo would tie the bamboo fishing rods to the side of his motorcycle and get the hooks and lines ready.  One part of the preparations that I never missed out on, even when I was still too small to go, was the previous evening's worm hunt.  Two weeks before the first fishing trip Abuelo would pour some fresh black earth into the garden.  Religiously he would water it twice a day.  The night before the big event he would take two large empty coffee cans and make tiny holes on their sides and removable tops.  Abuelo would fill them with a little fresh dirt and we would go digging for the worms that would catch our bounty the next day.  That was our routine, our ritual and there was no straying from it.

The trip itself was always a treat and it never in my youth seemed to be very long at all.  We would ride the early morning thoroughfares avoiding the traffic which was customary on Saturday mornings.  Everyone was either coming into the city for shopping or heading out for a bit of relaxation.  We would ride across Belize bridge out into the countryside.  I would cling tight to my abuelo, digging my face into the small of his back to give it a little protection from the cold wind.  Winter was over and with spring came the rainy season.  My abuelo always said that was the time when the pescados would fatten up for us.  Still, spring was not yet in full bloom and the early morning wind was still cool enough to make my face red and my eyes water.  In the span of what seemed like minutes the sun would awaken gloriously and its rays would fill every inch of space around us.  The birds, awakened by the sun, would sing their early morning lullabies and somewhere in the nearby milpas, I could hear the cackling of a rooster.  I would look down at the road and see the blur of speeding white lines being left behind by the steady pace of our journey.  In a matter of minutes, or so it would seem, we would pull off the road and unto an unmarked dirt trail.  Abuelo and I would travel up a ways and the dirt trail would start to make a steady climb.  The little motorcycle engine would whine as it struggled to carry its load up the trail.  Eventually the road would even back out, and coming to a jocotal Abuelo would bring the little motorcycle to a halt.

Excitedly I would undo the belt which held me secure to my abuelo's back.  Jumping off the motorcycle I would begin undoing the ties which held the bamboo rods secure.  The rods being easily three or four times bigger than I would make me lose my balance.  My abuelo, as always, would reach out with his large hands and grab hold of one end.  He would take hold of the bamboo rods and actually carry them, but he always made me feel as if I was the one doing the chore.  We would walk down the footpath worn by the many previous trips he had made.  We would follow the trail past the tall trees, until the vegetation would grow less dense and the lake would finally come into view.  I could always tell when we were getting close to our escondite.  There were violetas growing wild all around our little hiding place.  The fragrance of the violetas would be the telltale sign of our approach and it would let loose the  months of anxious anticipation.  I can still close my eyes and to this day my mind's eye can conjure the images of our little Eden.  The wild violetas growing all around the neatly matted grass, the mango tree that always provided us with a mid-day snack was always there.  At this time of year there would be an assortment of mangos at different stages of development.  There were the small green ones; you know, the kind that when you split them in half, the pit would still be white and soft.  Those were my favorite; a little salt and it was a child's delicacy.  My abuelo preferred the big red and yellow mangos, the kind that all you had to do was bite a little hole on the tip and literally squeeze the fruit without breaking the skin.  Those seemed to be his favorite.  We would get to our escondite with our simple fishing gear.  No rod and reel, just simple bamboo canes with fishing line strung along the length of the rod and secured at the tip.  A quick inspection of our equipment and it was fishing time.

Abuelo would always make for the big oval rock, the one that resembled a turtle's shell.  At first we would start fishing together.  He would string my line and get my hook in place.  I had my little silver coffee can full with my worms and sometimes, if I was lucky, grasshoppers.  Grasshoppers seemed to be the pescado's favorite.  I would hook my worm and together, Abuelo and I would fish endlessly.  We would stop only to eat Abuela's mixtas and drink our café con leche.

The diluvio had come suddenly and without warning.  It drove down sheets of rain and up in the volcanic heights there was the rumbling of thunder.  I had run off under the mango tree to avoid getting wet.  Abuelo on the other hand just sat there, line in hand, not a care in the world.  The rain ended as suddenly as it came, in those days it was not uncommon for it to rain hard and steady for ten or fifteen minutes and be gone as quickly as it had come about.  Once the rain stopped and the sun made its triumphant return, I came out from my place under the mango tree.  I was a little wet, but not nearly as wet as my abuelo was.  He looked at me with those weathered eyes and smiled in his complacent manner.  Going about the business of fishing he would dive into stories from his youth.  The way he left home when he was only twelve to make a life for himself.  How he joined the police force when he was nineteen years old.  He would tell me about his hunting and fishing stories throughout the day.  I would sit there, spell bound, hooked by his every word, mesmerized by the mischievous twinkle in his eyes.  Together we would spend hours fishing and telling stories.

Many seasons came and went.  Many fishing trips were enjoyed between Abuelo and myself.  Those were the best days of my childhood, the days spent fishing with my abuelo.  I look back now at those times and I remember all the wise tales that unavoidably came with all those fishing trips.  I remember the many lessons he taught me under the mango tree.  There were many lessons learned, not only about fishing, but about life itself.  My abuelo, with his sun beaten face and his worn khaki fishing pants was always eager to pass down something more valuable than money, than gold... memories.  Memories of a time long since passed.  He gift wrapped memories of a time when I and the world seemed somehow more innocent.  Sometimes, if I concentrate hard and long enough I can still feel the pull of a fish as it strikes the line, I can still smell the violetas in the air.

[mellicose]

The Sea Inside - Act Four, Part 2

Fandom: Broadchurch, Alec Hardy

Pairings: Ellie x Mel (OC)

Word count: 5850

Warnings: Mentions of various sex crimes, copious angst

Read previous chapter | Read on Ao3

Summary: After Tess’ fateful visit, Alec looks to Ellie for moral support and understanding. With her help, he finds the courage to take a closer look at Grace’s past.

Contains w|w erotica - BROADchurch forever!

Ellie’s phone rang out and went to voicemail. 

Oy, this is Ellie. You know what to do.

“Ellie. Call me back as soon as you get this. I’m headed over now.” 

Interlude

The phone didn’t even ring on the other side.

“Yes?” it was a smooth male voice. Although the call was encrypted and the screen read ‘unknown caller’, he knew exactly who it was.

“I’ve found some unusual activity.”

He man chuckled. “Is that so? Took long enough this time.”

“Yes. For the last three years, there’s been the usual traffic - interpol and police agencies local to the case, but I just saw some activity from the UK. From Northern England.”

The chuckle turned to a full-throated laugh. “And?”

“Login is  t.henchard at a local constabulary. Tess Henchard, a D.S.  She googled the case, then did some serious digging around. Looks like she found things, too. More than the other one. Way more.”

“Of course she did. Silly bitch. She doesn’t know with whom she is fucking. But she’ll soon find out. Thanks a bunch,” the man said in extreme good humor, then hung up.

“Do what you do best, little bird,” he said out loud at the walls. “Fly.”

The girl sleeping beside him stirred. “Is everything okay, baby?” she said. She lay her head on his chest. She was young. Painfully young.

“Just peachy, honey,” he said, kissing the top of her head. “And getting better. Now up you go. We have somewhere to be.”

His voice was gruff with tears, and he realized she would hear it. Oh well. Broadchurch was only an hour and a half away from his and Grace’s town, but he didn’t want to show up at hers pinched and miserable and surprise her.

He watched the sun set again, but the colors did not inspire. Instead, they mocked. He thought he finally had his life together. Yet here he was, nauseous with sadness and running, again.

It was a far too familiar feeling.

He looked at the dashboard clock. 6:23 PM. Ellie would most probably be preparing dinner for the children. He didn’t know whether Melissa was also home, but he hoped not. He wasn’t up to her also asking questions that were too painful to answer.

He took a deep, shuddering breath. The car still smelled like her. Like both of them. The phone rang. He pressed the button in his steering wheel.

“Ellie.”

“Oh God. You sounded so serious in the voicemail. You were doing ever so well this morning.”

“Where are you?”

“Home, of course. Mel’s here too.”

He groaned.

“What’s wrong?” She was serious now.

“Tess. She was waiting for me at my house. She had some information about Grace. From before she came to the UK.”

“For God’s sake, why did you let that woman in your house? Crazy bi-” she stopped herself before she swore in front of Freddie. “And?”

“She brought a USB stick. And she, uh...” he couldn’t quite catch his breath. His eyes burned with salt.

“Yes?”

“She called Grace a whore. A hook-a hook-” the word stuck in his craw. He couldn’t get it out.

“I would’ve snatched her hair right off her head. Did you look at it?”

It burned a hole in his pocket. “I couldn’t.”

“Ahhh,” she said.

“I didn’t know what else to do,” he said. His voice wobbled dangerously.

“You did, actually. How far out are you?”

“I’ll be there in about 20 minutes.”

“Perfect. We’re having shepherd’s pie. Your favorite.”

It really wasn’t, but it was the only food Ellie had ever seen him eat with any enthusiasm.

“Be careful,” she said, and hung up.

He pulled into her driveway behind Mel’s Skoda. Summer was coming, and the climbing roses were growing so thick that he couldn’t see to the door. The plants were heavy with buds.

Oh, the memories.

She emerged from the greenery and made him jump.

“I was waiting for you. Come in,” she said, her lips tight with sympathy.

“Unka Alec!” Freddie shrieked happily. He latched onto his leg and jumped up and down. Alec bent down to give his curly head a pat.

“How’s my main man Fred?” he said, holding out his hand for a high five. Fred gave it a resounding slap. Something spattered on his face.

“Oh no, Freddie! You’ve still got finger paint all over your hand,” Ellie said, giving him an apologetic grin. She handed him a kitchen towel. He wiped red from his hand and face. His pants had a tiny red handprint he would have to wash off.

Tom was watching TV in the living room. He looked up at him and nodded. It was a rare acknowledgement, for him.

“Come into the kitchen!” Ellie yelled. He took a deep breath and walked in. Mel was on the desktop by the garden window, her glasses perched low on her nose.

“Melissa,” he said, nodding at her.

“Hardy.” She gave him one look then went back to whatever she was doing on the computer.

“Sit,” Ellie said, pointing to a small table by the computer. She put a glass of red wine in front of him. “Dinner will be ready in five.”

Ellie flitted around the kitchen, chatting happily as she took out dishes and set the table as if nothing was wrong.

Her curly hair was in messy ponytail, and she wore a dusty blue top that only accentuated the healthy rose of her cheeks. She put down a bowl of salad in the center of the table, then the steaming casserole.

“Salad?” he said.

She scrunched up her nose. “Mel likes it, and now she’s got Tom eating like a rabbit.”

“He’s a wrestler, love. It’s good for when he needs to cut weight in a healthy way,” Mel said.

“Right, then. Tom! Freddie! Supper’s ready!”

They ran into the kitchen and sat down before she finished pouring them juice.

“Those are my boys.” She sat down and looked at all three of them with love. “Who wants the crunchy corner bit?” she said,  digging into the pie.

Dinner was difficult. As lovely as everything was, he couldn’t swallow. Even the wine was bitter to him. Ellie kept up a steady chatter, with Mel occasionally adding a decorative word or two. The boys ate quickly, had seconds, then begged to be excused.

“Go on,” she told Tom. He disappeared and ran up the stairs three at a time. 

“And remember to wash before you get in that bed!” His bedroom door slammed.

She turned to Hardy. “His sheets get frightful. I forgot how smelly boys are are that age. I suppose I didn’t notice, since I was most probably smelly too.”

Mel cleared her plate and kissed the top of her head. “Nonsense. You’ve always smelled like flowers.”

They waited in silence as Mel cleaned up around them and poured them each another glass of wine.

“It looks like Tom’s postponed his shower. I’m gonna give Freddie a bath and get him ready for bed,” Mel said. Her eyes drifted to Hardy’s sallow face. In a rare show of affection, she patted Hardy’s shoulder as she walked out.

He waited until she climbed the stairs with Freddie before speaking.

“Did you tell her?”

“A little.”

He rolled his eyes.

“Just the bit about the USB. She heard you were upset, and it’s all over your face. You look like a ghost.”

He dropped the drive on the table. “Here it is.”

“And you really didn’t look?”

His jaw tightened. “I couldn’t, Ellie. I’m scared.”

“Of what, exactly? You know her, don’t you?” she said. It was still on the table. “Don’t you trust her?” Her tone was not judgmental. After all that she had been through, she had no room to do so.

“I do. Ellie, she wouldn’t lie to me.”

“Then why didn’t you throw this back in her smug little face?”

“Because Tess is very good at what she does. And she acted like she found something.”

“About the abuse?” Ellie knew about Grace. At least, what Alec knew.

“No. Beyond that. She kept using these terms.” He tried to say them, but his mouth refused to form around the words.

“Alright, I’m not having any more of this shit,” she said. She plugged it into the desktop. He sat silently, facing her so he couldn’t see the screen. Ellie understood, and nodded. He trusted her with his life.

She clicked on it and her eyes scanned the screen. There were a couple more clicks. She scrolled quickly, her brow furrowing more deeply as she moved down whatever she looked at. She clicked into something else. Her eyes widened.

“Oh no…” she said. Her hand went to her mouth. “Shit.” She clicked in and out of things faster and faster. Her big brown eyes filled with tears. “God.”

He was drowning. He jumped up, ripped open the back door and ran into the garden, but he couldn’t make it past the trellises. He panted, bent double with his trembling hands on his knees.

Oh Jesus. Not again. Not lies. Not her.

He looked back and saw her, still going through whatever was on the drive, her skin pale blue in the screen light. He teetered into a garden chair. There were no stars, and the sky was orange with impending rain.

He looked down at himself. Fred’s red right hand marked his leg.

Just this morning, she alluded to children. She said she would’ve risked suspension or even arrest to make his heart beat true again. He ran his fingers through his hair and bit back a sob.

He heard something behind him. It was Ellie. Her characteristic smile was gone. Her eyes were red.

She sat down by him and put her hand over his, steadying his shaking. “Let’s go back inside. It’s about to pour down.”

“Ellie…”

She squeezed. “Come on. Inside.”

They walked back together to the computer. She shut the door and pointed to the chair. “Sit.”

“I don’t think I’m ready,” he said.

“If you truly love her, no amount of time would make you ready,” she said.

He sat down. On the screen, there was a mug shot of a dark man. He had Grace’s cheekbones. Or better said, Grace had his.

Carlos M. Zamora the mugshot read. He had a sensual mouth and heavy-lidded amber eyes. It made him sick. He looked up at Ellie.

“Keep going,” she said.

He was currently serving 25 years for sex trafficking. There was mention of child pornography. Possession with intent to sell class B drugs. Assault and battery. Rape, multiple counts of it.

His chest burned.

Grace had once offered to tell him her real name, but he had told her no after the things she confessed to him. He was his Grace. That’s all that mattered.

But her real name was Clara.

“Clara,” he said out loud, reading out the name of the last victim who had accused him of sexual assault. She had dropped the charges, stating that she lied because she was ‘angry at her father’. The rape kit showed evidence of recent vaginal and anal sex, but it was not forced, and there was no semen - he had used a condom.

When asked, she said she had a boyfriend. She didn’t volunteer any additional information, and since the girl was 16, they did not investigate further.

If they had, they would’ve quickly discovered that her ‘boyfriend’ was Dr. Frank Lazone,  a 37-year old family physician and amateur photographer.

His mug shot, although unflattering, did not change the fact that he was an incredibly handsome man. His temples were graying, but he had the thick-lashed, clear-skinned, cut-jawed look that wreaked havoc on the hormones of young women.

“Fucking Frank!” he said, popping up. “Bloody hell.”

“What?” Ellie said.

He sat back down and hunched in front of the screen.”Her ex-husband. She told me about him.”

“Apparently, they married shortly after the charges were dropped. She was 16.”

His face twisted with disgust. “Daisy’s older than that, and she’s still a child.”

Ellie looked over his shoulder. “He colluded with Carlos by seducing underaged girls - runaways and sex workers he found during his extensive charity work in the community - and offered them money to perform live sex shows for an exclusive audience, usually in closely guarded private venues.” she read softly.“Clara was originally implicated as a lure, but after intense questioning by police and psychiatric professionals, it was determined that she was, in fact, just another victim, made even more tragic by the fact that her father used her in his live shows since the age of 13.”

“Jesus.”

“In later questioning, Clara admitted to not remembering all the circumstances surrounded her servitude in her father’s business. She did remember that she was the top draw due to her experience. She said that her husband never let her perform with men -”

“Stop. Please.” He rubbed his eyes.

“Regardless of her unusual home life, Clara possessed above average intelligence, and enjoyed school. She graduated with honors a full year early, then attended the University of Chicago. She would still occasionally perform, but once she entered medical school, she confessed to Frank that she no longer wished to do it, and filed for divorce. Shortly after, she was raped so brutally-”

“I said stop!” he yelled, getting up and running to the powder room nearby. She heard him retching and coughing.

“Ellie.” Mel whispered from the top of the stairs. “Everything okay?”

Not even close she mouthed, biting her lip.

“What’s going on?” She went down the stairs and hugged Ellie, rubbing her back.

“Grace. Oh my God, poor thing,” she said, burying her face in the crook of Mel’s neck.

Tom cracked open the door.

“No!” Mel said.

His door slammed shut.

Ellie’s hands were fists on Mel’s crisp white dress shirt. “I need to see about Alec.”

“But are you okay?” Mel whispered in her ear. She was intensely protective.

“This is not my pain, Melly,” she said, wiping her eyes and looking up at her. “But he was very good to me. You understand, right?”

Mel’s jaw tightened, but she nodded. “I know.” She caressed her. “Maybe he should stay here with us for the night. I’ll prepare the sofa in a bit.”

“I’ll ask,” Ellie said. She offered her lips for a kiss. Mel didn’t drink, and she tasted like berries. Ellie leaned into her, eager for more. She always helped her forget.

She gave Ellie a final squeeze and let go. “I’m gonna go check on Freddie and get ready for bed. I’ll be down in a bit.”

Ellie tapped gently on the bathroom door. “Alec?”

He moaned.

She tried the door and it opened. She looked in. He sat on the toilet, looking at his hands. His pallor was nostalgic. It frightened her.

She leaned against the sink and stood by him, silently, for a few minutes, but it was maddening.

“Why didn’t she tell me?”

Ellie was afraid to say anything. She feared saying the wrong thing.

“Sex parties. Since she was a child. For her father. How did she not run away, tell someone?” He grimaced with horror.

Tears dripped off her chin. “It, um…”

He looked up at her. His eyes seemed to glow in the pale skin around them.

“Her mother was another of those girls. She was 14 when she had Grace-Clara. She died shortly after childbirth due to infection, per Dr. Lazone’s report,” Ellie said.

He pulled at his hair.

“He’s all she ever knew. Him. Frank. The girls. Maybe, she didn’t want to run away. Maybe she loved her father.” Ellie’s words were stilted, difficult to spit out, but he had earned her honesty. “You once told me that people are unknowable. I don’t think you could’ve guessed, or even believed it was so horrific. And maybe, just maybe, she might’ve not told you not only out of shame, but to guard you from it. She loves you, I know. And it’s obvious you would not have taken it well.”

He started to weep again. His body trembled with sobs that he tried to bite back unsuccessfully. She put her hand on his back.

“I’m so sorry,” she said. Tears fell freely from her eyes, but she refused to weep. She put her arms around him and let him cry. Her chest ached with second-hand sorrow. She wondered whether he had felt like this with her, after Joe.

If so, she was sorry for every time she refused a hug, or a sympathetic word.

His tears wet her neck. She plucked a towel from the rack over the sink and handed it to him. He rubbed it on his teary-red face and hiccupped. She sat on the floor opposite him, hugging her knees.

“Grace is lovely, but she’s fragile. It’s hard to believe all that happened before. How does she function?”

“By getting out of bed every morning, then putting one foot in front of the other,” Ellie said. She spoke more of herself than Grace.

He noticed and squeezed her hand. “I’m sorry for bringing this here to you. But I didn’t have anywhere else to go.”

“I’ll be fine,” she said. “And it’s obvious that she’s not nearly as fragile as you think.“

He looked at her, then nodded slowly.

She stood up. “But what about you? Isn’t she going to wonder when she gets home and you’re not there?”

“There is a reason she didn’t tell me everything. Look at me. What will she think? I won’t be able to keep it from her.”

“Then you’ll have to find a way. Tess is life-sucking cunt. Maybe if you explain what happened-”

He cut her off. “-Oh no. She will spin out. That won’t work.”

“Then pretend.”

“I can’t.”

Mel knocked softly on the door, then looked in. “I fixed up the sofa bed for you. You shouldn’t drive in your condition.” She was customarily frank.

“Okay,” he said.

“I’m gonna get you something to sleep in,” Ellie said, and stepped out.

Him and Mel stared at each other silently. Mel was nearly as tall as he was, and just as serious. He walked past her and into the living room.

Ellie dug impatiently in Mel’s bureau for something to give him. Mel put her hand on her shoulder.

“For fuck’s sake! You’ll scare the life outta me,” she said, picking out dark blue pants with tiny ship’s wheels on them and a clean white undershirt.

“I’m sorry,” she said. Ellie looked up her long, shapely legs and tugged on the hem of her shorts. It was hard to believe she hid such beauty in baggy dress pants every day.

“This is horrible, Melly. I can barely stand it,” she said, hugging the clothes to her chest. “Are the boys okay?”

“Tom’s hiding in his cave which is his MO, and Freddie’s sleeping the sleep of the just,” she said, helping Ellie to her feet. “They’ll be fine.”

“Alec’s a mess. It’s hard to look at.”

She hugged Ellie again. The scent of sorrow clung to her, and it made her frown. “Give him the clothes and come back up quick. He most probably needs time alone more than anything.”

“Right,” she said. “Would you like something from the kitchen when I come back up?”

Mel climbed into bed, giving Ellie an enticing view of her ass. “No. Just yourself.”

She found Hardy loosening his tie in the dark. She went to flick the lights on, then stopped. 

“Here.” She threw the clothes on the bed beside him.

He shook his head and lay back.

“You’re not sleeping in those dirty street clothes in my house!” she said, surprising herself by nearly yelling. As hurt as he was, she refused for him to regress into where he had once been.

He raised an eyebrow, picked up the bundle and went into the bathroom, returning with his face washed and his street clothes folded in his arms.

“When does she get off?” she asked.

“Midnight, barring an emergency surgery.”

She looked at the digital clock by the television. “You should call her so she doesn’t worry.”

“Right,” he said.

“If she doesn’t believe you’re here with me, gimme the phone. I’ll set her straight,” Ellie said, trying to be funny.

“As if she’d be afraid I’m with another woman,” he said.

“Don’t be down on yourself, Hardy. Lots of women are into grouchy and thin,” she said, tugging on his beard.

“But I just want her.”

“Then ask her,” she said, referring to their previous, much happier conversation. “Talk it through. Anyway, I’m going upstairs. I’ve been up since quarter past six this morning with Freddie.”

She was climbing the stairs when he whispered loudly.

“Ellie?”

“Yeah?”

“Thank you. For being kind.”

“Nonsense. And you better be here when we get up in the morning. I won’t have you slipping away without saying goodbye,” she said cheerfully. She winked at him.

He nodded and gave her a rusty smile. “Night.”

“Get some rest,” she said, and went upstairs.

Ellie took a quick shower. She refused to lay down with Mel with Alec’s tears still drying on her skin. She tried not to think, but more than anything, she wished she could scream. Why was it that their pain seemed so inescapable? It was a mystery to her.

She dried herself off and rubbed lotion into her skin pensively. Regardless of the fact it hurt, she was glad that he had trusted her enough to share something so sensitive. It was almost as if the universe had made things flush between them. Their lifelong friendship was sealed.

She stepped softly across the hall and into their bedroom. Mel was doing some reading. Although she loved technology, she refused to read books on her iPad. “Books are sensual things,” she said often. “I want to feel them, smell them, turn the pages as I experience the story. It’s all a part of the pleasure.” She was a delicious mix of salty and sweet that intensely attracted Ellie from the first moment Alec introduced them.

It had taken months to settle into the fact that the warmth she felt whenever she and Mel spoke was desire and not admiration, and even longer to admit it to anyone. Mel was openly gay, but so serious Ellie feared she would be horrified if she admitted her attraction, since she was her boss.

Instead, she had sought her with a tenacity that still made her blush.

She shrugged off the flowered robe and crawled under the covers. She didn’t bother Mel - she didn’t like to be interrupted from her reading unless it was an emergency, but Mel put the book on the bedside table and took her into her arms, kissing her hard enough to take her breath away.

“Oh my God,” Ellie said, pushing her away. Mel’s hands traveled down her body to her ass, cupping, then squeezing.

She moaned into her neck. “I want to be here,” she said, her long fingers going between her legs from the back and into her pussy. Despite her heavy heart, she coated Mel’s fingers with wetness. “Did you lock the door?”

“No.”

Mel rose and did then, then took off her clothes and threw them on the floor. Her small breasts bounced as she crawled between Ellie’s legs. Her nipples were already hard. The hair between her legs was deliciously dark against her pale, flat belly.

Ellie’s mouth watered. Even after two years, it wasn’t even close to getting old. She still felt the same almost dizzying excitement at the sight of Mel.

Mel yanked the sheet off her, wanting to bury her mouth between Ellie’s legs, but she pulled her up, wrapped her long legs around her waist and sucked her nipple, swirling her tongue on her tiny pink areola then biting it.

“Ellie…” Mel said softly, but her hungry mouth just moved up to her neck to suck on the firm flesh there. She pushed her on the mattress and spread her legs. There was red on her breasts from her eager sucking, and a red spot bloomed on her long neck.

Ellie bit her lip and looked at her, feeling her heartbeat increase. Although she had lost her virginity at the normal age and had sex the normal amount of times, nothing could top the exultant desire she felt when she looked at Mel. Just looking at her aroused her more intensely than full sex had ever done before she came along.

Perhaps it’s because she had always been bisexual, or maybe it was just Mel. She didn’t know. And she sure as fuck didn’t care.

Mel’s eyes settled between Ellie’s legs, where her hand moved, very slowly. Ellie’s soft belly jumped with the sensation. She sometimes liked to touch herself, warm herself with her own thoughts before they made love. Mel had learned to love it. It made her feel desired in a way no other woman had made her feel. If even the sight of her made Ellie long to touch herself, what did it say about her touch?

She wanted no one else.

Mel spread her legs further. Ellie licked her lips at the expanse of smooth thigh, and what lay between.

“Come here, honey,” Mel said softly, crooking her finger. “Taste me.”

Ellie lay on her stomach and rubbed her lips on her thighs. First one, then the other, and then between them until Mel’s wetness made her cheeks and chin slick. Her musk made Ellie groan, but she did not taste. She wanted to feel her for a bit - the silky wet hair and her hot flesh - so hot, and getting hotter.  

Mel tried to rub her own clit, but Ellie bit her finger and moved it away.

“No. Mine.” she said, and spread her open. She was pink and wet. Her own lips tingled with blood to kiss, but she only slid her hand between her belly and bed and touched herself as she licked clean the wetness that that spread to Mel’s thighs.

“Unfair,” Mel said, looking at Ellie’s ass, which jiggled as she ground her hips against her hand.

“Very,” she said, and sat up. She hooked her leg around Mel’s and sat until their pussies touched. Ellie’s eyes rolled back.

Mel giggled. “Oh come on. You know that fake lesbian porn shit doesn’t actually feel good,” she said. “Don’t be a tease. Not tonight.” She caressed up Ellie’s thighs, and rubbed her belly. It was her favorite part of Ellie’s body - soft and silky and inviting. Ellie’s nipples hardened with the caresses. She gently tugged on one. Mel’s lips pursed to suck, but Ellie was between her legs.

“I like the way it feels anyway,” Ellie said, rubbing her own naked cuntlips over Mel’s. “You’re so wet.” Their lips actually made wet kissing sounds against each other. Ellie’s cheeks were flushed. She gave Mel a wicked grin. “Don’t you?”

She loved the silky roughness of Mel’s hair rubbing on her smoothness. She twisted her hips and one of Mel’s lips slid between her own. She moved back and forth slowly, rubbing her swollen clit against her.

Mel tightened underneath her. “Oh. This is new.” She put a guiding hand on Ellie’s hips and looked between her legs. Their shared arousal wet Ellie nearly to her belly button. “Shit.” She longed to lick.

“Uhuh,” Ellie said, moving her hips in quick little moves over her. She felt the pinpoint heat of Mel’s clit on her flesh and moaned. She rode her slowly, just enjoying the wetness and the movement, and pinched Mel’s nipple between her fingers as she squeezed her breast. She was so firm - she had never and would never have children, would never nurse. She had been self-conscious about her own fuller, softer breasts until the day Mel had touched her. A suck, a squeeze, and a groan later and she never doubted her appreciation.

The flush rose on Mel’s cheeks as well. “Honey, I want you,” she said, but she didn’t stop her gyrations.

Ellie moved to get something from the bedside table drawer. It was a bullet vibe. She lifted herself off Mel and pressed it into herself. She was so wet her pussy swallowed it easily.

Mel smiled. “That’s good for you, but what about me?”

“Hush,” Ellie said, and turned it on. She gasped, then settled back between Mel’s legs. Mel rubbed on Ellie’s swollen clit with the pad of her thumb as she moved over her. “Do you feel it?” Ellie said, throwing her head back.

“No not really.”

Ellie pulled on the little cord that connected it to the remote.

“Wait-” Mel rose to her elbows, her brow furrowed. “There. I feel it now.”

Ellie began to move her hips in slow circles over her. “Good.”

Mel exhaled forcefully. She grabbed Ellie and ground her hips into her. Her thigh and belly muscles tensed with the effort.

“Is it pointless now?” Ellie said, caressing down Mel’s belly. It was slick with sweat. Mel rubbed herself against Ellie’s vibrating flesh. Her toes curled and she whimpered.“You’re a sucker for a vibrator.” She pressed her pussy hard against Mel’s. Soon, she mewled softly and twitched with orgasm, but she didn’t fall back to the pillows.

She pushed Ellie to the bed and wrestled her way between her legs.

“I’m gonna lick you clean then make you wet again,” she said, pulling the vibrator from inside her and sliding her tongue in its place.

Ellie was greenapple tart and Mel’s fingers bruised Ellie’s thighs in her eagerness but Ellie loved it, she loved the touch of pain with the pleasure because it felt more real. Her wet pussy slid so easily against Mel’s chin, and her tongue finally flicked over her clit but she didn’t lick, she sucked until it felt like Ellie’s swollen flesh could fill her mouth.

Ellie curled into herself and panted. Mel could taste she was close, that sudden burst of sharp sweetness, but she flipped her on her stomach and bit the firm flesh of her ass, then raised it. She shoved her arm under her hip and slid three fingers inside her, curling them to catch her g-spot with every thrust.

Ellie bit her lip to quiet her moaning, but Mel pumped harder, biting the tender flesh right below her hairline at the nape of her neck. She bucked her hips over her Ellie’s ass so her fingers went in as deep as possible. Ellie tightened around her in warning and Mel increased her rhythm. She wanted Ellie to wet the sheets. Although it was just her fingers wrapped in her heat she felt it everywhere - her nipples her mouth her belly her pussy - and she found herself suddenly close to coming again. She groaned in her neck.

“Go ahead,” Ellie panted.

Mel ground the palm of her hand on Ellie’s clit as she fingered her, deeply, knowingly, until she trembled underneath her. “You first.” She licked the shell of her ear and moaned.

“Bloody hell,” Ellie said under her breath, and squirted copiously around Mel’s fingers, squeezing around them so tight it she could no longer move them. She mewled into the bed as Mel rubbed every last spasm from her, then turned on her back. Mel lay beside her and plucked her orgasm hard nipples, then licked. Her areola tightened again on her tongue.

“Oh no. If you keep going I won’t be able to keep quiet. You’ll have to wait until the kids are out.”

“You know, we fuck more during the day then at night. I’m running out of excuses to pop out randomly during the day at work.”

“You’re the boss, you can do what you like. And until you, I didn’t know I was a screamer,” Ellie said, pulling on Mel’s short thick hair. “I don’t want to traumatize the kiddies. They’ve gone through enough,” she said, becoming suddenly serious.

Mel stopped teasing and took Ellie in her arms. “It’s not about us, is it?” she said.

Ellie kissed the tip of her nose and shook her head. “Never. They love you. Some things are just difficult to forget, especially when people refuse to let you.” She spoke of the sometimes still suspicious town folk. But she refused to leave Broadchurch. She had grown up there, found love there, and she wanted to die there after growing old and wrinkly with Melly.

“I want to help you. I will. Every day, just a little.” Mel kissed Ellie’s still sweaty temple. Their shared scent ensconced them, and they fell asleep in each other’s arms.

Haryd turned yet again on the uncomfortable sofa bed.

He couldn’t sleep. How could he? He looked at his wrist watch. It was after midnight. She was most probably driving home right then, expecting to find him in his usual place in front of the window, reading.

After the last 24 hours they had shared, she wasn’t going to take him being gone well.

Sweat made his scalp itch. Ellie’s house had the smells of all love-filled houses with children - cooking, clean sheets, and flesh-warm stickiness of spilled juice on baby flesh.

First a plant, then maybe a dog. If I can keep both healthy and alive for a while, then maybe I can try for something bigger.

She wanted the same thing Mel and Ellie had - not just a flat, but a home. What he and Tess had tried, and failed at so spectacularly.

He looked up at the stains on the plaster ceiling.

[gif by tennydr10confidential.tumblr.com]

He dreaded the time when he would have to tell her that Tess had talked him into a vasectomy over a decade ago, but now, along with his own reservations of starting another family in his 40′s, it was not the biggest of his worries.

Could she handle it? Be a mother, when she never had one of her own?

His unconscious mind boiled and hissed underneath his thoughts. He loved her, but the woman he fell in love with was a careful construct - a front for who she really was.

He felt horrific for thinking it, but it was true. She was not just a victim of a sudden and vicious crime. She was trapped in her horror of a life for years and years, since she was young. And although she had escaped, her mind could still be in the same place. It was the difference between a tornado and a category 5 hurricane.

Rain began to plink against the parlor window. He rose quietly and walked out the back door, sitting down at the same chair he had mourned in before. He lifted his face, letting the fat drops hurt his cheeks and shoulders. Hot tears leaked out of his closed eyes, making the cold rain warm.

His phone buzzed insistently on the sofa bed, twice, then quieted.

[squiddlesandsopor]

Don’t Forget to Breathe

Chapter 1 

RivaMika

General Audiences

AO3

Chapters 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6

When she was five Mikasa loved to help with the gardening. She would use a small spade, or her fingers, digging into the loamy soil. The grass would tickle her bare feet, her knees, as she crouched over and gently placed the seeds her mom passed her into the holes she had so diligently made. A gentle swipe of her hand buried them - just like her mom had showed her. She dug deeper holes for the herbs they transplanted and she was allowed to place those too as long as she agreed to be very careful. She loved everything about it from the dirt under her nails to the soft sweet scent of growing things and the freshness to the air in the aftermath of rain. Her mom smiled at her as she danced around the backyard covered in dirt when they were finished.

“You’re going to make some boy very happy one day,” her mother said.

Mikasa’s face crumpled with disgust. Everyone knew boys had cooties after all.

When she was ten Mikasa loved to run. She would easily out-distance her friends, bare feet slapping on the sun-warmed concrete. With her hair flowing behind her and a smile in her eyes, she ran. She’d collapse into a chair in the kitchen at home panting from her exertions and her mom would bring her a glass of juice. Mikasa loved these quiet moments where she could just sit and listen to her mom talk. Usually they’d talk about the garden or school but sometimes her mom would talk about the boy she would marry one day and Mikasa would wrinkle her nose and roll her eyes and change the subject.

When she was fifteen Mikasa loved fighting. There was nothing that compared to the warm burn of muscle exhaustion. There was nothing better than the endorphin rush of besting a willing opponent. She trained her body at the gym the way she trained her mind at school and focused on turning herself into the best version of herself that she could be. Mikasa loved fighting but she hated confrontation so conversations with her mom had become difficult of late. Whenever possible she would remove herself from the situation, go to her room and listen to music for hours at a time as though the notes could tune out her mother’s insistence on what she considered an outdated tradition.

“Mikasa, I really don’t understand what all the fuss is about. Really! Your father and I had an arranged marraige and it worked for us. I’m telling you, this will be good for you!”

“He’s twice my age.”

“That’s only because you’re still young. I’m not asking you to marry him tomorrow.”

“Mom. He. Is. Thirty.”

“I know fifteen years seems like a long time when you’re young but trust me, when you’re twenty it won’t matter as much.”

“No! You don’t understand do you? I don’t want to marry some guy twice my age who I’ve never even met!”

“Mikasa,” her mother's voice was accompanied by a faint sigh, “You’re being unreasonable.”

“No you are!”

Mikasa was turning even as her mother gasped in indignation.

“Mikasa Ackerman! Don’t you take that tone with me! Look at me when I’m speaking to you!”

Mikasa ignored her mother’s raised voice and closed herself up in her room knowing she was in for it later but taking a small pride in her childish rebellion anyway.

When a knock came on her door a couple hours later it wasn’t her mom who came in after her grudging acquiescence but her dad. She planted her back a little more firmly against her headboard as she took in the tired lines on her father’s face.

“Mikasa, honey, you know your mother and I just want what’s best for you right?”

She let her eyes slide away from her father's and stared a hole into the wall just past his shoulder.

His sigh was nearly inaudible as he pulled out her desk chair and sank heavily into it, “Sorry, I didn’t come here to give you a lecture.”

“Yes you did,” she said, her eyes snapping back to her father full of reproach.

Her father smiled faintly, “Okay, yes, I did.”

Mikasa huffed and looked away again.

“The issue here is less your disagreement about our plans for your future and more about how disrespectful you were with your mom. You can’t treat her that way.”

“But you guys can treat me whatever way you want?”

“That’s not what I said but to a certain degree, yes. We’re the parents and you’re the child Mikasa. You might not always like it but that���s just how things work.”

“I don’t care what you say I’m not marrying some old dude.”

Her father chuckled, “Okay. I’ll drop it for now. Please think about it though. It would make your mother and me very happy.”

Mikasa kept staring at the wall long after her father had left, gently closing the door behind him.

When she was twenty Mikasa finally gave in to her mother’s badgering.

“Fine. I’ll meet him. But don’t expect me to like it.”

“Oh, Mikasa, you have no idea how happy this makes me. You’re making the right decision, truly.”

Mikasa stared impassively at her mother. She didn’t want this but if it would appease her mom she could at least meet the guy and reject him to his face. It wasn’t like she even had time for a relationship, let alone a marriage. She had school and work and training. Somehow she managed to fit time with her friends and family in the cracks. Sleep was the only other thing she made time for and she wasn’t about to give up any of those things for some guy in his thirties that her parents wanted her to marry.

She told her mother so and felt a faint hint of remorse as her mother's face fell slightly.

“Mikasa,” she hesitated, looking down and tucking her hair behind her ear, before continuing, “Mikasa you do know that we won’t insist on you marrying him if you don’t like him right? You do have a say in the matter. You’re not a child anymore so I trust you to make the right decisions.”

“Mom.”

“No, don’t interrupt, I’m not finished.”

Mikasa pressed her lips together at her mom’s sharp tone but let her continue.

“We won’t insist if you don’t like him but I want you to give it a fair chance. I know that you aren’t fond of the idea of arranged marriages but you do know that they can be every bit as successful as the marriages you’re more used to. You can’t know that it won’t work unless you at least put some effort in. I’m not asking you to fall in love but I’m asking that you at least consider the possibility that this could be a good thing for you. Despite what you might think of us your father and I just want you to be happy,” her mom took a deep breath and shot her a tremulous smile, “Okay?”

Mikasa took a steadying breath of her own before meeting her mother’s eyes, “Yeah. Okay.”