#i usually do not feel much other than discomfort . at the thought of raising children

[twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat]

i trieddddd i tried i swear i tried </3 to stick to tags <///33 but i ran out …. so here i am …… sorry dilly T_T

(disclaimer: read the tags before reading this… ok…….)

’sorry’ said very softly and quietly bc i feel u would probably yell at me for it </3 i’m actually not sorry at all i was hoping i’d have no choice but to stumble my way here :3c HHHHHHH there is just too much to say and too much to mention …… too much i love about this fic :’< ofc i have to start with . the infamous …… ”the sky’s blue because daddy’s eyes are blue!” <- SOBBED!!!!!!!!!!!!! TAT this whole moment was somehow even cuter than i remember it being LMAO i feel so lucky . to be able to experience it again :’3

i love . the moments jumping in time ….. how this fic is about gojo washing his daughter’s hair . but also so much more than that ….. it is his love manifesto. it is the weight of everyday moments translated into writing in such a beautiful way i cannot describe it…. it is gojo grappling with time and love and the fact not even the most beautiful things stick around forever (cough cough cough. u know who i am thinking of) but that they’re worth cherishing all the more because of it …… gojo is such a sentimental person. and that is a faucet of who is that i feel is hardly explored even though it is part of his ’core’….. to me. he is a man who can’t help but reminisce. who is only allowed the luxury of chewing on memories over and over again …… so for you to give him such a picture perfect life . in this. makes me weepy :’3

aughhh TAT just. when i think of this fic i think of bubbles . and sunlight. and markers and colours and sweet scents …….. something so lovely that i feel envious i can’t reach out and touch it. that i can’t see the bathtub or feel the water trickle through the gaps between my fingers. i know you were a little nervous about reposting this dilly but truly it is one of my favorite gojo pieces ever ….. and i do not even subscribe to papa gojo most of the time but when you write him like this i can’t help but think he was born to be a father (<- proof of your immense power) ….. i can’t help but feel that . if canon gojo tried to picture a life without sorcery he would see just a sliver of this scenery ….. a sliver of the sun. sobsob

back to the Actual Fic … (one of the reasons i try to stick to tags is . if i make it Here (what do you call it anyway ….. the main…. something ?? i don’t know. the promised land (to Me)) i always end up rambling and then i get off track …. forgive me…….) i just had the genius idea to screenshot my favorite quotes and leave them here . i will do just that :3c i really want you to Feel how much i love this fic ….. if at all possible …………… can you feel my love ………….

^ TAT …. his very precious girl . SOBBED. she is his all his and yours all yours ……………

^ THIS WHOLE MOMENT WAS SOOOOO CUTE DILLY i know i said it already but u just . capture gojo so perfectly PDHKDJDJD …… he is so silly and cute here 😭😭😭 also !!! sunshine ….. she is the sun latching onto the big blue sky …………..

^ gnarls and whines . as i read this …… sniffles… this is one of the quotes that just made me go. i love how dilly writes …. i love how i can practically hear her voice. does that make sense at all …………… :’3

^ THROWS UP BLOOD !!!!!!!!! your satoru carries the big blue sky wherever he goes ……. T____T such . a beautiful quote wahhh . and just so Him. i love the little peeks we get into gojo and reader’s love for each other ….. this fic is about their love just as much as it is about their baby. tho i guess she quite literally is their love personified ……….. anyway. something something satoru is atlas, he has no choice but to carry the sky on his own, but fluffy clouds and the glow of the sun make it bearable …. you know.

^ already mentioned it but You Know. obviously

^ THIS WHOLE SEQUENCE . ACTUALLY 😭😭😭…. i soooooobbed dilly i love . him . HE WANTS TO BE A GOOD PAPA …… the dynamic between him and his baby is also just sooo funny and cute he is a true girldad ………… i love them ………….,,,,,,

^ firefly of a husband …… quote that made me explode into pieces . and bits

^ GRRRRRR GRGR this made me cry . T_T UR WRITING DILLY!!!!!! ILL BE SICK!!!!!!!!!!!!! it doesn’t feel like enough……… yes, you know this ……..

^ and finally . this :’) as i was reading it was so fun to read lines that i have a vague memory of and others that i don’t remember at all ….. but i do remember this final line. because i remember just how Much it made me feel the first time around ……. just the perfect little cherry on top. the Point of it all.

i love this fic …. i’ll love it forever . in the same way i will love you forever and gojo forever and your writing forever ….. thank you for posting this my angel 🥺 i will keep it so close to my hear . forever and ever <3

THAT FUNNY LITTLE GIRL ♡ GOJO SATORU

he hopes this lifetime will be enough to love.

papa! gojo washes his baby’s hair, what could go wrong! jumping thru the timeline, multiple times. sfw, fluff. approx. two thousand word count. he is filled to the brim with love.

“daddy?” his baby calls for him, satoru, who happens to be sitting right beside her bathtub— criss-crossed legs, paying less and less mind to the cold tile floor that’s making his skin shiver, and more on what she has to say.

“yeah baby?” he’s just down the hall, but you’ve begun to pick apart how his voice, with every syllable, sounds so fond when he speaks to her: his very precious girl.

you hear the gentle hum she hums for a quick second, the mumbling, jumbling of her words as she sorts out what she wants to say and then, “why’s the sky blue?”

★ ‎

there’s a bathtub marker in her hand when she asks, the very same ones satoru was so incredibly persistent on buying at your last shopping store run—

“bathtub markers?” he hears the quirk in your eyebrow before he has a chance to see it, holding the pack of eight in his hand like it’s the greatest invention yet.

“yup! we need them!” he stands side by side with his mini me— matching pairs of silly puppy dog eyes appear on their faces and a dramatic pout fixed to both their lips.

he whispers what he thinks you won’t hear, covering his lips behind the palm of his hand as he kneels to her side. “pst…” he hisses comically loud, “we need to say please, sunshine.”

“pease!” no please, (she’s much cuter about this whole ordeal than he is—) she nods her head as she swings her feet back and forth, fluttering without a sound.

could you guess what’s harder than saying no to her? satoru would vote it’s probably saying: goodbye!

your heart aches lovingly, too impossible to resist— “‘toru, it sounds like you want them more than she does.” grabbing the bundle of markers, you flip them to the side, skimming through its directions and their warnings.

“me?!” he says in the least dramatic tone he could possibly mutter, “are you denying our baby of an artistic future?” and then there’s a hand over his face again. he covers the gasping motion he’s currently molded into, “that she’s not destined to be the next picasso?”

“she’s three! how would you know?” funny grins paint over both your faces because it’s a bittersweet thought: her future, who’ll she be and what’ll become of her.

“there’s an artist inside that little heart, i can feel it.” he’s determined to stick to the skit, crossing his arms over his chest and puffing with a promising certainty for it all.

it’s even funnier when he knows he’s won too: when you hand over the markers to your baby’s pudgy fingers, he has that face plastered on. same one as every other time he’s won you over on something hilariously trivial.

“so honey,” focusing, you decide to actively ignore the cutest dimples on the corner of his smile, “what will you draw when you get home today?”

“f’owers” she points at the red marker, “more for you!” an obvious reference to the dozen roses she’s seen on the dinner table.

“you’re so sweet! i know you’ll draw me the prettiest flowers, my love!” you kiss the tip of her nose as tiny pearly whites form a cheeky smile in return— “ahem.” satoru follows slowly behind you both as you begin to stroll down the aisle again.

“and for daddy,” the coast is clear so you take the chance to stop and spread your arms as wide as you can, “you draw him the biggest, blue sky that matches his eyes!”

she giggles at the dramatics, your stretched out arms and satoru’s loving gaze directed toward you— she mimics these two things. “big sky ‘nd daddy!” and it’s true, your satoru carries the big sky wherever he goes.

★ ‎

“uhmm..” he thinks hard about it, rubbing the nape of his neck, setting his glasses down to the side— how exactly do you explain the color of the sky to a toddler?

he scoots in a little closer now, splashing sounds echoing around while she fidgets with the other toys in the bath, “so, the light from mr. sun is made of all the colors of the rainbow. do you know which ones?”

satoru picks out the markers in the same exact pattern he’s memorized— red, orange, yellow, green in her hand, blue, and the purple that seems the closest to violet.

she doesn’t sound very interested, yet. but you doubt it as long as there’s paddling turtles wound up and clicking across the bubbly water; her attention’s obviously elsewhere.

satoru uncaps the yellow marker first: forming one big, rigid circle against the shower wall that represents the sun— followed by streaks of all the other colors in his hands stretching away from it, representing light.

“like this,” he says, “all the colors of the rainbow.” he returns the green marker she had at first, happily holding onto the object again.

“but ms. earth,” a cake of blue forms as the felt tip rolls around in one spot, “likes blue the best. so, she makes her sky blue.” and with that, your baby blinks up at him like a doll— eyelashes pinched into the perfect curl, and he wonders if he’s only confused her even more.

“oh.” it’s funny how somber-toned she sounds— oh, the same tone you’d use after hearing the most unbelievable truth (or a lie!) the utter shock, the disbelief… that oh.

“just kidding!” he gleams brightly now as she watches. apparently, it had been enough to grab her attention even for the slimmest second.

satoru drops the markers back in the bathtub net where she had placed them, settling within her reach.

“the sky’s blue because daddy’s eyes are blue.”

and if he gleams, his baby does too, “i knew it!”

(he promises to explain himself to you a little later. surely, hopefully, you must forgive him and his little, white lie!)

“oh, you did?” satoru settles his knees as close as he can to the tub now, minimizing all the space he can as he reaches for the shampoo bottle on the edge of the tub, “isn’t my little girl so clever? yes, the smartest!”

she giggles, water splashing around as she moves closer towards her daddy’s arms— completely used to this routine by now, “mm, like papa.”

once he squeezes the bottle, he thinks his heart’s being squeezed too. watching chamomile-scented soap pour onto the palm of his hands, he smiles. “you think i’m clever, sunshine?”

“sometimes.” but she’s off in her own little world again, drawing on the wall with her favorite turtle beside her.

he supposes he will take what he can get.

with a gentle rinse to her hair, satoru begins to form a gentle lather along the crown of her head, “i want to be a clever daddy for you,” he says.

you know it comes with no thought, as if the words have simply fallen out and onto his tongue before they’ve finally reached his head, “a good papa.”

and it’s happened so frequently, he jokes with you about how she must have some sort of technique to pull out the honest truth from anyone— even without trying to.

“you just love her, satoru.”

★ ‎

amidst the grogginess of the morning and eyes closed shut, you tell him that much. it’s all you can grumble out when your firefly of a husband rises before the sun.

he claims it’s early morning clarity— when your mind is filled with everything and nothing. all you can do it spill your heart out. not much you can do to help it.

he loves this part of the day with you.

“i do. a lot.” he says in one lasting breath, just before shifting from being your big spoon to peek over at the baby monitor on his bedside table for the… nth time.

if she didn’t make him feel like his entire life was worth it, maybe he wouldn’t look at her so often. but she does, not even aware of it, with a leg dangling off the bed. plushies used for pillows rather than the pillows themselves.

it doesn’t scare him as much as it used to: the act of loving, and the acting of expressing it— the act of admitting just how much he does.

“she loves you too.”

★ ‎

with the soapy suds spilling over his knuckles, between his fingers and the strands of her hair, satoru notices something new.

he twirls a finger around the ends of her hair, strands strong and smooth— as he realizes they’re starting to curve around the shell of her ear on its own, when he doesn’t remember it doing that before.

and as he lowers his gaze, the soapy lather following along, he sees the longest strands of his baby’s hair are bound to meet the back of her neck. nape, ears and shoulders all meeting someone new.

satoru forgets that time goes by fast, especially when you’re filled with love to spare. “when did you start growing up so fast, sunshine?”

she shrugs.

the strength in his knees give out, landing him right back down onto the tile floor; feet tucked underneath his body. “it’s too fast.” he murmurs so lowly, you can barely catch on to what’s been said.

too fast to watch her go— but don’t say it out loud, satoru doesn’t have the heart to finish or hear the rest.

she’ll be able to say please, even without him asking her to. she’ll be able to pronounce her l’s until she loses her two front teeth. she’ll hold onto his hand, and he’ll hold onto her.

then, it’ll be time for school. and she’ll be leaving his side as a big girl now, with a lunch bag he’s packed and a slipping backpack over her shoulder— yes, inevitably, that’s going to happen too, just as he has before.

and if that’s right around the corner, then so is every other phase, inevitably— and the rest of her life from then on. it’s going to happen one day: where satoru’s baby is no longer a baby and he will have to let her go.

“‘toru.” he turns to you, towel in hand, pressing weight against the wall’s edge. “what’re you weepin’ about now, baby?”

your daughter turns to face him in a heartbeat, curious.

“crying?” voice trembling, he nudges his cheek into his sleeve in attempts to hide any evidence, big hands still in need of rinsing along with her hair. “who’s crying?”

stepping closer, you hang the towel over the hook before sitting right next to his side, “because you never cry, especially at random times.” you poke once at his ribs.

“you’re starting to get me, sweetness.” then, he dips his fingers into the water, bubbly foam parting ways from his skin. it falls down her shoulders when he rinses her off, all done with the bath, and having a little time to play.

you watch him for a while, trying to identify the cause and while trying to make small talk— you mention something without much thought, “her hair has gotten a lot longer now.”

his voice, it’s tinier than you’ve ever expected it to be, “i know…” a sniffle divides his sentence, a proper pause, “she’s growing up so fast.”

“ah… so, that’s what this is about.”

you rest your head over his shoulder, still feeling as in love as ever, “you’re cute, you know that?” he rests his in return. “we still have hundreds of days together.” you watch the way she draws on the wall, enjoying her happiness as if it were your own.

“it doesn’t feel like enough.” he says.

“i don’t think it’ll ever be enough.” no, it never will. “maybe we’re greedy like that, honey.” yes, you know this.

he knows he is. because there’s a bright sun in the blue sky with red roses to bring it all together, just like she promised.

“finished!” she looks back at you two, hands in the air in celebration of her brand new masterpiece being born.

“oh! they’re so pretty!” sweet enthusiasm in your voice, you give her all the attention in the world. “just perfect!”

you begin to ask her the little things, every detail you could think of and she could find an answer to, all while wrapping her in the warm towel you hung up earlier.

satoru’s gotten up from the floor too, taking it all in until she calls for him again, “that’s you, daddy.” she points at the blue on the wall as you carry her back to her room.

his heart screams though he’s no longer crying and he hopes this lifetime will be enough to love.

satoru hears your footsteps trickling further down the hall when your voice resounds again, “come on daddy, we need help picking out today’s pijamas!”

“pease, papa hurry!”

his heart screams though he’s no longer crying as he listens to the water flow down the drain, capturing her first piece of art on his phone, he has very little to say.

but if he had to say it and if his baby asked him to, satoru would confess: “i’m so happy. i’m so happy to love you.”

hello friends! this is a repost from my previous blog, mysugu. in the case you recognize this piece, that is (hopefully) why! thank you for reading this bit, (a second time?) he is so loved.

[chitty-chitty-bang-bang-bang]

Vladislav’s Fluff alphabet

Original template by @eekshade

Requested by @rthounasty (you’re right, Vlad deserves more love)

Warnings: Occasionally vulgar language

Author’s note: The reader will be human here. The whole fucking edited draft of this got deleted bc of my bad WiFi and I had to redo it… Perks of living in a shit hole ig.

_____________________________________________

Admiration. (what do they admire about their S/O)

Vladislav admires the fact, that you see him for what he is. You’re not intimidated by his past or reputation and he doesn’t have to keep up this front around you, because you see him right through and it is such a peculiar feeling to have someone who loves him for him.

Boldness. (how bold are they in regard to their S/O? who confessed first?)

Funnily enough, I feel like you would be the one to confess first. He is a very proud vampire and the thought of a rejection subconsciously scares him way too much to hit it off with you. But after you two are already dating, he’ll be the more bold/initiative one.

Comfort. (how do they comfort their S/O?)

Vlad is very observant. Much more observant than you think. Even if you try to hide it, he always notices when you’re down and starts a conversation with you. Usually on some random unrelated theme, but it slowly gets you to open up and talking about what’s got you so bothered. He’ll just listen and let you get it out of the system.

Dates. (do they prefer going out or staying in? do they prefer fancy or simple?)

Staying in is a more plausible option in Vlad’s eyes, because you get to relax in privacy together. In public, there is still some level of discomfort that might prevent you from being that affectionate together or having deep personal conversations. Usually you go out on the town, if some of your/Vlad’s friends call you along.

Equal. (are they more dominant or passive?)

Once he really gets comfortable within your relationship, he starts taking initiative and mostly volunteers to make the decisions. However, if you have a more persuasive type of character he’ll probably slow down a bit. It is quite refreshing for him to not have any competitiveness in a relationship.

Family. (do they want to start a family?)

I think, that if you don’t initiate this yourself, it wouldn’t be in his plans. Children are quite complicated creatures and he’s not sure, if he’s cut out to handle one, especially considering that the child in question will be from a completely different world, that he struggles to understand. But if you end up raising a child together, he turns out to be more than a decent father figure.

Goofy. (how serious are they when it comes to a relationship?)

Vlad takes your relationship very seriously. He has rather clear intentions on one day making you a vampire and living together forever. But that doesn’t mean he’s constantly dwelling on it. The best part of having a partner is getting to be laid back and genuinely unwind.

Hugs. (how do they hug?)

Two words: bear hugs. He straight up scoops you up and squeezes the last breath out of your lungs in the most affectionate way possible. Sometimes you have to remind him to be gentler, because he legitimately can crush your ribcage (he won’t though, I promise).

Interests. (what Interests do they want to share with their S/O)

You really inspire Vlad to create. He already creates a lot, but after you appeared, his amount of poetry/art done almost doubled. He doesn’t show you everything he makes. Instead he carefully picks out the best works to present. The other “rejects” will forever stay swept under his coffin or tucked away somewhere in a cupboard.

Jealousy. (do they get jealous?)

Vlad can’t help, but sometimes view your friends as potential rivals. These are just intrusive thoughts, that can never leave his head, even though he knows it’s stupid. He never acts on them, to be sure. But just the feeling itself is very unpleasant to him.

Kiss. (how they kiss/favorite place to be kissed, and vise versa.)

Vlad loves neck/shoulder kisses both on the giving and the receiving end. He finds these especially romantic and intimate. To him, the fact that you let him kiss your neck really shows how much you trust Vladislav to not hurt you. Also, I have to mention that Vlad is probably the best kisser ever, since he had a lot of time to practice.

Love Language.

Quality time is definitely Vlad’s main love language. Nothing shows his love and devotion more than just sitting together for hours and talking about anything and everything. Sometimes you don’t even have to talk. Even being together in one room, being close to each other, it means so much to both of you.

Meals. (kitchen dynamics.)

Vladislav doesn’t cook, obviously, but he’s willing to try for you. He might cook something in your kitchen, using some old recipe he found in Viago’s library and it’s probably going to taste absolutely inedible, but it’s the thought that counts, right? But honestly, with time he actually gets really good and can cook a legitimately tasty meal for you.

Nicknames. (what do they call their S/O?)

He is very straightforward in that way, I think. He either just calls you by your actual name or “My Love” / “Dragostea mea”. He might occasionally use some other pet names like “Darling” / “Lubi”. But overall, sticks to the classics.

Openness. (how open are they about their past/emotions with their S/O?)

Vlad takes his time with opening up to you. He slowly shares random snippets of his thoughts and watches how you react to them. When he knows you well enough, he’ll be completely transparent about his present and past experiences/feelings.

PDA.

He is rather hesitant with public affection. To him this sort of stuff is private, not something to be shared with the world. But simple gestures like holding hands or leaning into each other are totally okay with him.

Quarrel. (how they apologize/ how long it takes them to forgive their S/O?)

It all depends on you. Vladislav is a very proud vampire and even if he knows, that he’s in the wrong, it takes him a while to apologise. If you give him time, he will come around to it on his own, but if you confront him about it really speeds up the process. He doesn’t really hold grudges on you for mundane arguments and forgives you easily.

Rules. (boundaries they have.)

No violence. He’s got enough of that in both his normal and romantic life and he’s sick and tired. Vlad just wants something sweet and peaceful for once and having these aggressive outbursts is the exact opposite of his ideal relationship.

Security. (how protective they are of their S/O.)

Vladislav seems to be a bit more on edge when you are around people he doesn’t know. Even if they are your friends, it takes a while to get him to trust them. He remains very vigilant and observant, as if he’s expecting some kind of a catch. This tension disappears after a bit of time spent with the new people.

Time. (how long does it take to fall for their S/О?)

Vladislav is all about slow burn, I think. Only after he truly gets to know you close he starts to develop romantic feelings. It’s the little parts of your personality that are hidden from most people that really make you special to him and Vlad wants to have this personal connection, before a romantic one.

Upset (what things upset them in a relationship?)

He is really upset, if you are afraid of him. Of course, you’re not terrified. Otherwise you two definitely wouldn’t date. But if you flinch when he gets close to your neck or fidget uncomfortably at the sight of his fangs it makes Vladislav so angry about his own nature. He really wishes he could be human sometimes.

Vacation. (what kind of traveler are they with their S/O?)

Vlad is pretty spontaneous with this sort of stuff. One day he may just wake you up and say you’re going to Transylvania with zero explanation. He does prepare himself for travelling somewhere he has never been before, but it’s usually done by reading books with very very very outdated information, so please do your research too. Don’t let him plan the whole thing by himself.

Words. (promises they make to their S/O.)

He promised to keep you safe. Vladislav has lost way too many close people throughout his existence and he’s not about to let you be one of them. The world is full of dangers both for the living and the undead and if he can provide you any sense of security, he will.

Xenial. (how they make you feel welcome/what makes them feel welcome?)

Every time you walk into the room, you are greeted with this signature toothy grin of his, that just can’t not make your heart swell with warmth. Such a small gesture, but really shows Vlad’s true feelings towards you. And when you reach out to hug him anytime he’s close enough to you to do so, it makes him feel like the most important person in the world.

Yearning. (do they miss their S/O easily? what do they do about it?)

He doesn’t look like someone, who gets separation anxiety… but he does get it. He doesn’t like to be away from you for too long, because it makes him feel lonesome. Sure, his flatmates are still there and that is great, but it’s just not the same feeling. He knows it’s not entirely healthy, but what can you do?

Zzz. (sleeping habits/how they cuddle.)

Vladislav likes, when you lay on top of him. He sleeps in a rather straight position, so he’s stable enough to use him as a second mattress and he just enjoys your weight on top of his chest. It calms him to feel your presence so apparently. If you get cold from his body temperature, he first lays a blanket over himself, then you go on top.

[cassidyafton]

REIMAGINATION: CHAPTER 3

Summary: A dark reinterpretation of the events of the Mr. Hopp's Playhouse series.

Chapter summary: Before Esther can tell her friends about her nightmares, she's intercepted by the orphanage's coldhearted head.

Chapter content warnings: Physical and emotional abuse against children, beginning at "Esther leaned her head down" and ending at "Esther nodded, taking the chance to not make a bad situation worse for herself".

Esther gasped, snatching her hands back from the table like she expected Mr. Hopp to grab them. She rubbed her eyes, rendered thoughtless by shock. Surely, she hadn't just seen what she thought she had. She just needed sleep. These nightmares... they'd been getting to her.

Nightmares. Right. Maybe she should tell Molly and Isaac about them, or at least Isaac. She scanned the room for them, among the crowd of kids going to put their empty plates away- a crowd Esther should join, she figured, with no other excuse to still be sitting at the table- but figuring out who was who from the backs of their heads was far too difficult. She'd reunite with them later, once she put her plate away.

The water in the sink was hot, as usual. Esther could feel the warmth emanating from the sink as she approached. A pit was forming in her stomach. So much heat, so much burning- Esther could feel the heat creeping up on her skin, and she oddly found herself shivering, trying to shake off the discomfort. She didn't want to raise any issues. She didn't want to make a scene.

Instead, she just dropped her plate into the hot water and ran before anyone could notice what she'd done. She couldn't do the hot water. She couldn't wash her plate. She was still sweating from the heat by the time she made it out of the kitchen. She needed to talk to Molly and Isaac, but first, she needed to ask Sister Gladys about having her temperature taken. Maybe she was getting sick? Whatever she had, she hoped it couldn't spread to the other children, or they'd look at her even worse than they already did.

She turned and opened her mouth to tell Molly and Isaac she'd meet with them later, but of course, they still weren't there.

Well, that was fine. Esther treaded slowly through the manor to Sister Gladys's room anyway.

Sister Gladys's office, of sorts, was a bit akin to the children's bedroom. It was a decently sized room, but it lacked any decoration. All that was inside it was a desk and a chair on either side, three chairs lining the wall, and two twin-sized beds on the far end of the room from the door with a thick, heavy curtain that blocked them off from view. It was colder than the rest of the manor, too, though that wasn't saying much. The whole place was cold and a bit empty, with a rather desolate ambiance, even with twenty-nine people in it. But Sister Gladys's office was the worst of it. Not even clinical, just cold, unwelcoming. Esther shuddered as she entered, which she had to admit, was a welcome change from that burning sensation.

"Sister Gladys?" She started, and the woman in the chair on the other side of the desk turned around.

"What is it, Esther?"

Though none of the matrons were particularly kind, per se, Sister Gladys- the only other fully-fledged nun in Blacklands Manor aside from Sister Beverly- was at least less harsh, and you almost couldn't tell when you went to speak to her that she really did not care what you wanted or needed. She tapped her fingers against the desk. Esther's eyes darted up from Sister Gladys's face to the crucifix on the wall.

"I think I've got a fever. Could you take my temperature?"

"I suppose I can, yes," Sister Gladys replied, and she turned around to find a thermometer. Esther kept her eyes on the crucifix. The image of Jesus up on the cross, exposed and weak and left to die, made her sick. Something about the story didn't sit right with her. Why had Jesus had to die for humanity? Why him? He wasn't at fault for a second of it. Why did he have to suffer the consequences so no one else had to? Did he want to? Esther had a hard time believing that. She knew she should probably want to accept others' faults. She knew that would make her good.

Sister Gladys tilted her chin up to get a better look at her mouth and gently pushed the thermometer under Esther's tongue.

"Sister Gladys?" Esther started again.

"If you drop that thermometer I'm sending you out," The older woman warned. "What is it?"

"Was there anything in the Bible about burning people to death?"

Sister Gladys frowned.

"Excuse me?"

"Burning them to death," Esther repeated. "Like on a stake."

"No," Sister Gladys replied. "The bodies of sinners were often burned, but that was after death, Esther. Never are we told to burn our own alive. Those were the acts of the pagans- you might recall this much- the pagans who sacrificed their children to Moloch."

"Why did they do that?"

"They were ungodly," Sister Gladys replied. "Men without God in their lives can only destroy, Esther."

"But men of God... they would never burn someone at the stake," Esther murmured. "Especially not children?"

Sister Gladys's face turned to horror. "Good heavens, no! Never a child, Esther! What on Earth are you on about?!"

"I just, um... I was reading something. In... the library the other day?" Her mind raced as she tried to think of a way out of this. Suddenly, it had dawned on her how awful it would sound to say she'd been having dreams about a random girl being burned to death, screaming threats of Hell at the people around her as she melted. "And I read about a little girl about my age who was burned at the stake. Hundreds of years ago, I think. She had burned down an almshouse. And the town rounded up and burned her at the stake. And it was a priest who oversaw her execution. And I've been having nightmares about it ever since."

"Oh, Esther." The horror was gone as soon as it appeared. Sister Gladys spoke in some combination of condescencion and concern. "You can't be picking up such horrible things."

"Sorry."

There seemed to be nothing more to say about that. Sister Gladys pulled the thermometer out of Esther's mouth.

"You're fine, Esther," She said. "You've just worked yourself up with thoughts of horrible ways to die. I suggest you take a nap after lunch."

"Thank you, Sister Gladys. I'm going to go find my friends now."

Esther shut the door behind her as she left, and about three steps out of the infirmary, Matron Ruth intercepted her.

"There you are, Esther." Matron Ruth narrowed her eyes. "Sister Beverly wants to talk to you."

Esther's stomach sank.

"I spoke to your friends about why the three of you missed grace this morning," Sister Beverly said. Esther nodded. "They told me it was because you slept in."

Esther nodded again.

"I'd think you would know by now that you're not allowed to do that, Esther," She continued. "And on top of that, they told me that it was because you slept in because you were up in the middle of the night and you woke everyone up as a result."

"I couldn't help it," Esther insisted. "I was just having nightmares! I didn't mean to wake anyone up!"

"Don't talk back to me, Esther!" Sister Beverly hissed. "Who on Earth do you think you are?"

"I'm not-!"

"Enough, Esther!"

Esther leaned her head down.

"Hands on the desk," Sister Beverly instructed, back turned as she searched through the filing cabinet behind them. "Come on. Let's not make this difficult."

She complied with a tired sigh, resting her hands on Sister Beverly's desk.

Sister Beverly came back with a flat, long ruler. Esther took a breath in, getting ready to hold her breath and prepare herself for the beating to come.

She didn't even get the chance to before she felt Sister Beverly whip the ruler down against her knuckles. Without any control over it, she cried out in pain.

"OW!" She wailed, yanking her hands back.

"Put them back!" Sister Beverly barked. "And be quiet."

Esther could barely force herself to comply this time. Her hands trembled and shook as she slowly forced them back onto the desk.

Another smack. Louder and harder than the last. Esther gripped the desk, lurching forward in an attempt to stay quiet.

The ruler clattered against the desk.

"Look at me, Esther," Sister Beverly said. Her voice was quiet now, level, but still demanding. Esther lifted her head. "And tell me you're sorry."

"I'm sorry," Esther repeated.

"For what?"

"I'm sorry for waking everyone up."

"And?"

"And for waking up in the middle of the night."

"And?"

"And for sleeping late and missing grace."

Sister Beverly nodded. "This is your first strike, Esther. You'll be rightly punished if you do any of this again. Third time and you'll be sleeping in the cellar."

"Yes, Sister Beverly."

"You're free to go."

Esther nodded, taking the chance to not make a bad situation worse for herself, and hurried out without another word.

It wasn't until she was out of Sister Beverly's room that she felt the hurt creeping in- not just into her knuckles but her chest. That heat was growing. That burning heat Esther had come to hate. The old paintings of people Esther didn't know and images of Jesus nailed up against the wall seemed to mock her as she walked through the manor as fast as she could. She hated this place. She hated Sister Beverly and Matron Ruth. She hated the beatings and the warnings and the punishments. She hated this creepy building. She hated Molly and Isaac. She knew she was overreacting- I don't hate them, I just wish they were kinder, that's different, that's very different- but it was all she really knew she could do. She hated being beaten and ridiculed like this. That, she really, truly hated.

The dining room was empty when Esther entered. The only sign of life- if she could call it that, really- was Mr. Hopp on the table.

She picked him up, despite the too-large music box in his torso poking and jabbing into Esther's chest, and hugged him as tight as she could. She nuzzled her face into the nape of his neck, his little plastic head tilting out to accomodate her.

"It's okay, Mr. Hopp," She murmured. "It's going to be okay."

[kinglyisms]

♚ — @mythcaels ;; Wyatt & Ellinon. ❛  i caused this, and i'll be the one to fix it. no matter the cost.  ❜

   “How can you fix this!?” 

   Wyatt never raises his voice to Ellinon, not even when he wakes up married to the man accidentally. Too much alcohol, intense sex apparently and then marriage. Who knows in what order that actually happened, but it was the life they lived. And he knew, he very much knew, the sort of magic that Ellinon could do. Like a genie outside it’s bottle, whatever someone wanted he made came true but with a terrible twist that sucked the life out of the person he sold them to. Not literally, if someone wants wealth they’ll get it–and they’ll lose it just as quickly. Fame comes with the price of your personal life being ruined and intense hatred from the world around you. 

   There is a price to everything and he found the type of magic, the things Ellinon sold, as entertaining. Ruining people's lives? He was all for that. Wyatt wanted to watch the world burn, he wanted to see people hurt, he wanted Luka Reid to die. Wyatt has long since essentially sold his soul away or just long lost it during his time as a slave. 

   This is the kind of people they are and they make it work. Wyatt has no idea what happened though. 

   Maybe he was talking in his sleep, maybe Ellinon’s magic was leaking out, maybe he lost control. It wasn’t impossible, he’s seen him magically drained before certainly the opposite can happen. When he woke up wrapped in Ellinon’s arms, which was usually the highlight of his morning, he found something was very much off. Wyatt didn’t feel alright, but worst of all the feeling in his chest just kept getting worse. Like a dread, like someone had reached inside his chest and gripped at his heart. Crushed his insides. 

   When he got up from the bed and made his way around it, looking for the source of his discomfort–he found it. 

   More than anything, what Wyatt ever wished for, was his family. He had wanted them back, had wanted to see his mother again, had wished that what destroyed them never happened. His greatest wish in life was always–family. And apparently, Ellinon’s magic had decided to take that wish and make it a reality. As he did with all of his clients, as he did with the people that he butchered and left crying for salvation. 

   In front of Wyatt, wrapped in blankets on the floor, fast asleep and tiny fists clenched around each other. Are two babies. 

   BABIES. 

   Wyatt has never considered himself the parent type, has never wanted children, had honestly thought his life and his personality would make raising children cruel. He was just not the type of person that should ever have children. Yet, there they were, with Ellinon’s hair color and if he checked–he was sure would have his own eye color. Babies. Twins. Little lives that he were going to depend on him. 

   Wyatt very nearly had a panic attack. 

   He could feel the panic that gripped at his chest, like he was right back to that place in the basement and his siblings and mother begging for their own lives. Wyatt had lost his own twin that night, their entire worlds shredded, his life and family ripped from him. His chest is aching, his breathing is rough, and Wyatt knew he was spirling as Ellinon finally woke from the bed searching for what was probably some enemy. 

   That was when the babies wake up, when they start sobbing, when those blue eyes stain with tears and panic. Wyatt flinches and steps away, his heart clenching in his chest as he tries to bite down the panic. And Ellinon finds the children, he sees the way Wyatt is spirling and he can piece the things together. Wyatt’s undying desperate wish, his own magic taking the reigns. 

   And his only answer is–❛  i caused this, and i'll be the one to fix it.  no matter the cost.  ❜

   There was no fixing this. Fixing it would mean making them go away. He created life. He made children. To undo that would be to rip life from babies and that wasn’t alright. Giving them away? An even worse option. To be forced to feel unwanted, given up because the parents that created you were too weak and pathetic to raise children. Because you were unwanted. He’s felt that before, in a different way sure, but it was horrible.

   There was no fixing this. 

   “I can’t be a father.” He chokes out, his fingers gripping at the night shirt that cling to his forearms. His eyes clenched shut and he takes another step back, as if the would actually vanish, never have been real, if he doesn’t look at them. But he can still hear them crying and he’s absolutely terrified of that. 

   This wasn’t Wyatt being an asshole, it wasn’t him trying to hurt Ellinon again, he was genuinely and completely terrified of a couple tiny babies.

[heliads]

Disappearance of a Dreamer

There’s a young girl who visits Neverland in her dreams, who comes all the time until she mysteriously vanishes one dark night. Pan doesn’t know what to think of it, until a familiar girl shows up to Neverland years later in the company of pirates.

masterlist

Trees rustle gently overhead, small slips of emerald waving in the wind. The night is just beginning to cast aside the day, the moon taking its place on the horizon. Neverland is a glorious place during the day, but come nightfall, it seems to double in magic, double in splendor. It is home, home for so many, and you can feel it especially so right now.

Pan stands, watching the crackling bonfire. The Lost Boys are beginning their usual revelry, cloaks flying around them as they run and jump in a chaotic mess of racing hearts and beating heels. It’s a disorderly, confused mess, and it’s everything you could ever want. Yet there’s something pulling Pan away, something that causes him to slip away into the forest and out of view of the other Lost Boys.

He wanders for a moment before the feeling sharpens. He senses the new presence before he hears the sharp crack of a twig underfoot, and he turns around with deliberate ease. He’s lived long enough to outgrow startled reactions, and anyways, fright is something utterly unbecoming of the King of Neverland. Besides, when he turns around, he is not faced with a pirate or an Evil Queen. Instead, standing before him is a young girl, maybe twelve. She doesn’t seem truly present, though- there’s a faint mist hovering around her, like she’s being seen through a dusty window. Not quite here, but not quite there either. She’s seeing him through the in-between of sleep, dreaming up the shores of Neverland like many others before her.

Pan smiles at the girl. “My name is Pan, Peter Pan.” The girl watches him through wide eyes. “I’m Y/N.” Pan nods slowly. “Do you know where you are, Y/N?” The girl turns in a slow circle, eyes raking over the tall stands of trees and the shadows of night. “I’m in a forest, I think.” Pan follows her gaze over the drifting horizon of green. “You’re in Neverland. It’s an island in the middle of the sea where you never have to grow old.” The girl looks back at him. “Never?” Pan shakes his head. “Not if you don’t want to. Do you think you’ve been here before?” The girl frowns. “I don’t think so. I think I’d remember.”

The roar of laughter and talk from the Lost Boys’ campfire draws the girl’s attention, and she turns to Pan as if waiting for approval. He motions towards the fire. “Go ahead. They won’t hurt you.” The girl beams at him, then races away on footsteps too light to be real. This Y/N isn’t the first dreamer to find themselves in the wooded glens of Neverland, nor will she be the last. She’s the first one in a while, though- as time passes, fewer and fewer children hear about Neverland, and their minds never attempt the journey.

Pan’s not surprised that this girl made the trip, though. She has this look in her eyes, a wisdom too aged for a girl of her youth. She looks like she’s lived a thousand lives, sat through a thousand sunsets. She’s not magical, certainly, but she does remind Pan of himself, of the child he’d been long ago. Pan’s technically still a child, could never be anything but, though he does tend to stay at around sixteen or seventeen. Makes things a lot easier when your legs are long enough to run for great distances without stopping.

The girl disappears later, when the dawn is just beginning to encroach upon the island. All dreamers have to wake up eventually, although the girl shows up a few nights later. She ends up becoming a regular fixture on the island, in fact. There’s something about her, some innate sense of curiosity and vindictive challenge that makes you want to start a race or embark on an adventure towards the darkest of caves and sunniest of shores. She could be a Lost Boy herself if she wanted to, if she ever discovered how to find her way to Neverland outside of her dreams.

Pan’s come to accept her as just another facet of the island until one night, when the stars are hung over with clouds and the island is shuttered up in darkness. The girl is later than usual, so he had assumed that she wouldn’t be coming that night until he heard a shout from behind him. When Pan had found her, the girl was standing before him as usual, although his eyes still widened imperceptibly at the sight of her. She looked far more vivid than ever before- if it weren’t for the slight traces of fog clinging to the edges of her clothes, Pan would have thought that she were actually standing before him instead of still in a dream.

What’s more, her eyes are alight with panic. Pan reaches out a hand as if to steady her, and he’s surprised when his fingers find traction with her shoulder. Dreamers shouldn’t feel so solid, but he can feel muscle and bone right under his fingers. “What’s wrong?” The girl just shakes her head. “Something is about to happen. I need your help. I need you to-” And then she’s cut off, and a slight cry escapes from her lips before she disappears entirely. She’s gone in the blink of an eye, as if she’d simply woken up unexpectedly, yet Pan still stares at the place where she’d been for a long time.

He has no way to find her in reality, no idea where she could possibly be, and so Pan can do nothing except wait for her to return. She does not show up again, not that night or even that week. It’s as if she had forgotten the way back to Neverland. By the end of the first year, Pan’s thoughts drift to her once every week or so, concerned that she might have been hurt. By the second year, he only thinks of her once or twice. By the third and fourth years, her face only appears in his head when he hears a name that sounds somewhat like hers. By the fifth year, he did not think of her at all, except once every now and then he would be filled with this feeling that something had gone wrong, that somewhere in the world there was someone in trouble. 

It is day once more, those last few golden hours of afternoon before dusk crept in on the island with its sweltering fingers. Pan’s pacing back and forth listlessly. There’s a ship of pirates just arriving in the bay, and although they’ve been flying the white flag of surrender ever since they came in sight of Neverland, he’s still hesitant to trust them. There’s a strange discomfort of having enemies on his island- they almost feel like ants crawling back and forth on his skin. For every minute that the pirates remain on Neverland, Pan wants nothing more than to swat them all away. However, he can’t deny that he’s curious as to why any pirate would want something to do with the Lost Boys, and so they’re allowed to stay. For now, at least. Their chances of hospitality decrease by the hour.

After about fifteen minutes, Pan signals to Felix, and the rest of the Lost Boys disappear into the forest. Pan’s scarred second-in-command stays by his side, and they watch as the pirates begin to lope into the clearing. The captain is the first of the men to see Pan, and he comes to a halt. The rest of the pirates clump up behind him, pulling cutlasses and pistols out of their belts to show that they’re not to be messed with. Pan raises an eyebrow. “I hope that’s not meant to intimidate me, because you’re doing a poor job of it. What are pirates doing on my island?”

The captain shuffles forward, spits onto the dusty ground. “We’ve been sent to investigate. We’ve heard rumors of a power source on the island, and we’re meant to see if it’s worth our time.” Pan eyes the captain coolly. “And why should I let you take another step?” The captain grins toothily and pulls out a metal seal from his pocket. Even from this distance, Pan can see that it’s emblazoned with the sign of the Evil Queen. He laughs. “You’ve been sent by Regina? Fascinating. How long do you think you have until she kills you all for knowing too much?”

The pirates stir restlessly amongst themselves. Evidently they’ve been sharing Pan’s doubts for a while. In this sudden flurry of movement, the ranks of pirates shift and Pan catches sight of a new figure, one that was previously hidden by the captain. They seem younger than the others, maybe about Pan’s age. Then the young pirate turns to face Pan once more, and he stares. 

He knows this girl. No, he had known this girl. Surely it couldn’t be her, surely that one girl who kept dreaming her way to his island wouldn’t have grown up into a pirate of all things, and a pirate who stares at him as if he’s a stranger. Yet she’s got that same look in her eye that Pan remembers from all those years ago, and she looks the same, albeit years older. The worst thing about her is that she glances at the island and even at Pan himself as if she’s never seen any of it before.

The captain is speaking to Pan again, and he forces himself to snap out of it. Idly, Pan gestures for the captain to go on his way. Let him try to find Regina’s ‘power source’- there’s no chance he could make it to Skull Rock, and even if he did, he would have no idea what to do with it. The pirates will just end up chasing their tails for hours, and give up after a while. Pan has yet to meet a pirate with enough discipline to stay at something once it fails them, although if he were to bet on an exception, it would probably be the girl now walking away from him alongside the other pirates.

Once the pirates are gone, Pan turns to Felix with an expression bordering on paranoia. “Did you see that girl? You know, the one with the other pirates. Behind the captain.” Felix nods slowly. “She didn’t say much. Kept looking around.” Pan stares at the place in the dusty ground where she’d just stood, where the prints of her boots still mar the soil. “Do you remember that girl who used to visit the island? Y/N or something, came around all the time until she stopped out of the blue?”

Felix’s eyes widen. “You think that’s the same girl.” Pan nods. “It doesn’t make any sense, but they look too similar for it to be a coincidence.” Felix contemplates this. “But she looked at you, us, even the island like she’d never seen it before. Any dreamer, even one that hadn’t been here in a while, would still have some sense of recognition.” Pan tilts his head in acknowledgment. “That’s the problem. It has to be her, but something must have happened to make her forget everything.”

You methodically sharpen the twin knife blades that hang at your belt, shine them until they’re practically mirrors. The guffaws and hearty talk of the pirates swells around you, but you pay it no mind. Even if you wanted to, you find you can’t focus on them. There’s something about this place that unsettles you. If you didn’t know better, you’d almost say it felt familiar, but that couldn’t be possible. You grew up in the Enchanted Forest, and the only times you’d left the many villages behind were to exchange it for the rocking of your father’s ship. He was the captain, after all, and so you were dragged along on any and all voyages. It’s not like it was so bad, though, you’d been able to see many new places. However, none of them ever called to you the way that Neverland does.

Once the sky fades away to the blackness of night, you find yourself slipping away from the pirates’ camp. You couldn't sleep if you tried, so you might as well explore the island. Maybe you’ll find something that explains this strange familiarity burning away in your heart. As you walk, you find your feet intuitively guiding you between the trees and across the island, as if walking down an invisible path. Before long, you find yourself at a cliff looking out over the water’s edge. You’re not sure how you managed to get here, but somehow it must have been your best destination.

You lean against a nearby tree, watching the light of the stars reflect against the waves. It’s peaceful, quiet, feels like home even though it shouldn’t. You hope your father and his men can find the power source soon, because with every second you spend on this island your mind practically tears itself apart trying to find the lost connection between yourself and this eerily familiar ground.

There’s a quiet sound behind you and you whirl around, knife already in hand, to face a boy emerging from the trees. He has light brown hair and striking green eyes, which flicker between you and your weapon. “Put down the blade, I don’t mean you any harm.” Pan says, for of course it is him that has found you. After a moment’s hesitation, you lower your arm, although you refuse to slide the knife back into its sheath. You’ve heard the stories of Peter Pan, and even if he has enough magic to wipe out this entire island you’d rather have a chance to fight before you die.

“It’s a nice view, isn’t it?” Pan gestures to the ocean rolling deep from the shores. You turn back to the waves, to the cliff falling away before you. “It is, although I have a feeling you didn’t just come here to discuss the merits of a pretty landscape.” Pan chuckles. “You’d be right about that. I’m here to ask a question instead, one that I was hoping you wouldn’t tell the others. Although I have a feeling that you won’t want to speak a word of this to them.” You raise an eyebrow. “And what question could possibly be so important that I would keep it from my crew?” 

Pan’s eyes flash in the light of the moon. “You’ve been here before. Am I wrong? You’ve been here before, and you know it, but you can’t figure out why everything seems so familiar if you can’t remember anything about it.” The knife darts up again. “How did you know that?” Pan idly pushes your blade away from his throat with a single finger. “You seem familiar. I just can’t figure out why you can’t remember being here.” You turn away from him, back towards the cliffs. “Strange things happen around here. I’d be surprised if you think everything that happens on Neverland deserves an explanation.”

Pan walks to stand beside you. “What things happen on Neverland that would be so confusing?” You jerk your chin towards the smaller island off the coast of Neverland’s bay, the one shaped like a skull with some sort of golden light emanating from the empty stone eye sockets. “You’re willing to let my father prance about the island in search of the power source when it’s right there to be seen. You’re hiding something, or else you’d have told him about it directly, but you also feel confident that it won’t be discovered, or you would never have allowed our ship to approach the island. What’s on that rock?”

Pan’s eyebrows raise. “You’re perceptive for a pirate. I’m afraid I can’t tell you what’s there, not yet. Not until I figure out what you’re hiding first.” Your eyes drift over the golden light spilling out from the skull. “An hourglass.” You didn’t realize you’d spoken until Pan turns to stare at you. That’s the first signal that something is wrong- every moment before this, Pan has been sure to hide his true emotions. Now, his face is warring between satisfaction and shock, like he’s stunned that you would know about the hourglass, but he’s not entirely upset that you do.

“How do you know about that?” Pan asks, and you shrug. “I have no idea. The thought just came to me. I think I knew it before, but I don’t know how.” Pan’s eyeing you with an intrigued expression, as if trying to unpiece your memory, layer by layer. “Have you ever met Regina in person? During the deal that sent you here, or before that?” You shake your head. “What, you think she cast a spell on me or something? No, that was all my father, and even if it wasn’t, I’m not important enough to warrant a mind wipe.” You chuckle to yourself. “We’re just the middlemen she can send out for information. Maybe Regina’s the Evil Queen, but her real power is delegating.”

You look up and realize that Pan’s eyes are still on you. You feel a slight heat rise in your cheeks, and do your best to push it away, but it lingers despite your best efforts. Your voice turns quiet. “Have I been here before? I’ve never felt so tied to a place before. It feels like-” Pan cuts you off. “It feels like home.” You nod. “Exactly.” A cold wind blows across you, and you pull your arms close to your chest, trying to stay warm. Your movement must have shifted the neckline of your shirt slightly, because Pan suddenly steps away from you to frown at your back. “What’s this?”

You realize what he’s looking at and duck away hurriedly, but it’s no use. He’s already seen it, and he’s already reached out a hand to hold your shoulder in place. He steps behind you, and you feel his finger lightly tracing the beginning of a scar on your back. It’s long, far longer than he thinks, and curls around your throat before disappearing down the back of your shirt. Pan’s fingers are cold against your skin, and you shiver slightly. His hands pause. “Where did you get this scar?” You try to turn away from him, but he wraps his arms around your waist, holding you still. Your eyes meet his, and you glance to the side. “It’s nothing. Just some cut that wouldn’t heal.”

Pan shakes his head. “That would have been a deep cut. It could have killed you.” You raise an eyebrow. “But I’m still here, aren’t I? Anyways, I wasn’t sure that the wellbeing of a pirate mattered so much to a Lost Boy.” Pan’s jaw clenches slightly. “You’re still on my island, that means that I should know whether or not you could be hurt again.” Your calm facade flickers slightly, and you can tell that Pan notices, so you feel immensely grateful at a sudden noise echoing from the trees.

You instinctively turn towards the sound of loud snores coming from the pirate camp. “I’d better go.” You take advantage of the broken moment to slip out of Pan’s arms still encircling you, and start to walk away, but then turn back to Pan and speak one last time as a goodbye. “And Pan? I heard your flute earlier. It was good.” You’ve disappeared into the forest before Pan has time to react, although you hear him trying to catch up to you as you vanish into the night.

Peter doesn’t know what to do. It’s Y/N, no doubt of that. And he’s certain now that she belongs to the island, that she keeps remembering parts of her life here. Why else would she know about Skull Rock? Why else would she be able to hear the flute? He had tried to find her again after she had mentioned the flute, but she had already managed to lose him among the trees before he could make her stay. He supposes that’s another piece of evidence that she’s still a Lost Girl at heart- even after years of being away, she traverses the island like she never left.

There’s another thing that’s different about her, other than the lost memory or even the fact that she’s suddenly just as old as he is. There’s the scar, carefully hidden away. She’d tried to hide it when he first caught sight of it, tried to explain it away as nothing, but he’d seen it. From his brief glimpse, Peter had seen a jagged cut, like a blade, that seemed to run deep through the skin. There’s a sudden rush of anger that burns through him at the thought of someone hurting her, of someone quite literally stabbing her in the back. He’s not sure why this makes him so angry- the damage is already done, there’s nothing he can do to fix it, but he still doesn’t want to see Y/N hurt.

The pirates stay for another couple of days. Y/N still walks away from the pirate camp at night, sometimes to that same cliff or sometimes to wander amongst the trees. Peter’s not sure if she’s doing it intentionally, because sometimes she looks up, startled, as if she hadn’t expected to find herself moving so surely through the island. Peter visits her from time to time, and they talk quietly. He makes sure to avoid the topic of the scar, and Y/N does not bring it up.

On the fourth or fifth day, the pirate captain and his men storm into the same clearing where they’d first met. Peter looks up, unconcerned, though the pirate captain seems enraged. Y/N lingers in the crowd, a wary expression on her face. The captain strides up to Peter. “Where is the power source?” Peter spreads his hands. “If you can’t find it, that means it must not exist.” The captain glares. “I know what you’re hiding, Pan. There’s nothing you can do.”

Peter sighs. “If it makes any difference to you, there was no way that you would ever find it in the first place. I mean, what do we always say? Peter Pan never fails. You never had a chance.” The captain scowls, and seems about to draw his sword to run the Lost Boy through when Y/N steps from the group of pirates, a troubled look on her face. Peter’s eyes dart to her, but she seems distracted. “What did you say?” The captain turns now, sees his daughter standing alone. “Go back with the others, Y/N. This doesn’t concern you.”

Y/N brushes away his comment. “I’m not talking to you. What did you say earlier?” Peter straightens. “Peter Pan never fails?” Y/N nods. “I’ve heard that before. I’ve heard you say it.” For some reason, the pirate captain seems uneasy, almost nervous. “No, you haven’t. You’ve never been to Neverland before.” Y/N shakes her head. “That’s not true. I’ve seen this island before, and I’ve said that very phrase myself.” The captain turns away from Peter, walks up to Y/N. He begins to pull her back to the others. “Stay quiet. You know the rules.” But Y/N shakes off his hand.

“You know I’ve been here, and you’re trying to make me forget.” She stares at him suddenly. “You were the one to wipe my memory. You’re the reason I can’t remember Neverland.” The captain’s gaze turns stormy. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.” Y/N laughs suddenly, the sound clear and bright. “But I do. I kept visiting Neverland, and you had a problem with it, even though it was only in my dreams. You tried to stop me from coming, and when all else failed, you-”

Peter realizes what she’s saying now, and his pulse starts to thunder in his veins. Y/N continues speaking. “You stabbed me. You almost killed me that night, but it didn’t matter. I was injured beyond repair so you went to Regina, who healed me and took my memories. You wanted her employment, and you wanted me to be a quiet little seaman who would stop fighting you all the time. You were willing to injure me to the point where I almost died, and it never troubled you once.”

She rips her arm away from her father and walks to stand next to Peter. Suddenly, he feels more powerful than he’s ever felt before. Something about the way she’s chosen him over everything makes Peter feel incredible. The captain looks at her with scorn. “If that’s what you want, be my guest. Stay on this island, give up your future. We’ll have everything soon enough, and you’ll be dead.” Y/N stiffens beside him, and Peter cuts a glare to the captain. “No, I think you’ll be the dead one.” 

Peter signals slightly with his hands and the Lost Boys come pouring out of the woods to surround the pirates, forcing them back to the ship. In the midst of the commotion, Y/N turns to Peter, a slight smile on her face. “Thank you. For getting rid of him. For helping me remember.” Peter lets a quiet wave of happiness roll over him. “If it means you get to stay with me, I’d rid the seas of a thousand of them.” Y/N reaches over, wrapping her hand around his. Peter watches as the pirate ship hurriedly departs the bay, then looks back to Y/N once more. She has finally returned to him, and at last they don’t have to worry about being separated.

[soulmate-game]

part 2 (of that new bio!dad fic)

Dick whipped his head over to Bruce, who could feel the heavy gazes of all his children as if they were physical. If they had had heat vision like Clark, he would have already been reduced to a puddle of mush. Bruce shifted, the only sign of his discomfort, but he recognized that the middle of a gala was no place for this discussion. There were too many busybodies trying to listen in for the latest gossip. So he plastered on a smile that he couldn’t quite feel, and held a hand out to Marinette. He was careful to keep a good distance though, and left the choice for contant purely up to her.

The young woman looked down at his hand, then back to his face. Damian had been shocked silent by what she had to say, and perhaps even more by the all too telling way that Bruce hadn’t so much as implied that she was lying, and the look he was giving her was making her a little uncomfortable. Yes, she hadn’t planned on interacting with her father more than just the years-overdue confrontation she had just done, at least not while at the gala… but her plans always left room for improvisation. She could make this work.

With a soft sigh, Marinette extended her own hand— half the size of Bruce’s, he noted almost immediately with a rush of illogical fondness— and grasped his lightly. She couldn’t help but notice the way his impossibly blue eyes brightened, no different than her own when she was particularly happy, or the way his mouth twitched with a barely suppressed beam. Instead, he controlled himself enough so that the only smile he gave would look professional and entirely in character to the nosy socialites still spying on them, and led them out onto the dance floor.

What everyone else saw was the unfairly charming Bruce Wayne giving his young guest of honor a simple dance. Just a basic swirl around the floor that every other social elite had learned when they were five. Clearly he was taking it easy on the self-made girl, who probably didn’t have experience with such dances. Humoring the accomplished young woman with his approval for a moment before he would slink back to his family or patrol the crowds and make the necessary greetings and meaningless chatter.

What his family saw was Bruce taking time to slow his steps, not for Marinette to keep up but rather to prolong the event. What they saw was the grace in Marinette’s steps as she never once faltered, and that Bruce was careful to take his cues from her instead of the other way around. He only led the dance in technicality, Marinette had all the real control.

What they saw was a father’s first dance with his daughter.

“Eighteen,” Dick whispered, eyebrows drawn low. “She said she’s almost eighteen.”

“Well, that lines up doesn’t it?” Jason asked gruffly, his own gaze never leaving the dancing duo. “We were planning on doubling up your big thirtieth birthday party as your eighteenth adoption anniversary,” he reminded his brother, who just made a slightly distressed noise in the back of his throat. Whether it was at the reinforcement of his adoption coming only months after Marinette being put up for adoption, or the fact that he was turning thirty, nobody could really tell.

“Hurt,” Cassandra spoke up from behind them, looking incredibly concerned as she watched the dance. “Uncertain.”

Stephany rolled her eyes, fidgeting from her quickly building energy. Anger was making her restless. “Of course she’s hurt. Bruce replaced her, with a boy he knew virtually nothing about, not even that long after she was born. How do you think that made her feel, when she found out?” Stephany let out a little growl, grabbing a flute of champagne from a passing server and downing it in one gulp. She ignored Dick protesting that she wasn’t of age yet, which made her wrinkle her nose. “Only one more year, Dickhead. Get over it, I need the buzz.”

“Well,” Barbara sighed and maneuvered her wheelchair around the group so that everyone could see her. “Nothing we can do right now but be supportive and watch Bruce like a hawk so he doesn’t make this worse,” she stated easily, not looking even the least bit ruffled by the news despite the disturbed glitter in her eyes.

“... Guys,” Tim spoke up, not looking at any of them. “Who wants to volunteer for Damian duty?” At first glance, it might seem like Tim was thinking about his own first disastrous meeting with the younger boy. Once everyone paid attention though, they could see that the truth was that Damian had snuck away and Tim was pointedly looking at a slightly hidden-away staircase to the second floor.

“Shit,” Dick muttered, but before he could say another word Jason shoved him back and started towards the stairs.

“No, not this time Dicky. I’ll talk to the brat.”

Back on the dancefloor, Bruce and Marinette broke away without any fanfare at the end of the song. If Bruce tried to hold her eyes for a moment too long, nobody noticed besides his observant children, and two of Marinette’s protective friends.

Then, just to make sure that nobody caught on with the help of hindsight, Bruce said something vaguely polite and praising, which Marinette accepted with flawless, distant poise. And they went back to their own groups, Bruce quickly noting that two of his sons were missing. He raised an eyebrow, about to ask why when a presence behind him caught his attention. Unlike Marinette and Chloe, this newcomer was not at all trying to hide their approach or be sneaky about it, even though Bruce couldn’t hear any footsteps that were close enough to belong to the mysterious entity. Closing his mouth, Bruce turned around only to be greeted by yet another vaguely familiar face. Bright green eyes bore into his, unreadable.

“Mister Wayne,” the newcomer greeted, voice warm but stiff. If the Waynes hadn’t all had years of recognizing when a person was only pretending to be cordial, they never would have suspected that the boy was anything but pure-heartedly happy to be there. But they did have that experience, and thus they instantly honed in on the very well-hidden fact that he had a bone to pick with them. Or, more probably, with Bruce.

He cut an impressive figure, for all that he was lithe muscle instead of bulk. Hair that was lighter than Chloe’s, less like cloth-of-gold and more like sunlight glinting off of wheatfields. It somehow hung in gravity-defying tufts, yet perfectly arranged to evoke a calming aesthetic. Like the fluff of a long-haired cat, almost, and it looked just as fluffy and hypnotizing. It contrasted with his emerald eyes, impossibly vibrant in their gleam. And the suit he wore was decidedly top-notch, much like the other two they had met from his class. He was daring, in a dark silver suit that slightly shifted in the light, green accents that matched his eyes standing out strikingly against the collars and trim, and coiling in tantalizing swirls at the cuffs. The lining of the suit jacket was done in a dark green that could almost pass for black in the right lighting, adding a layer of both drama and mystery as it peeked out at the back of his collar, the insides of his sleeves if he moved just the right way, at the bottom hem of the jacket when he turned or bent just so. And with his notoriety in the modeling world? He always knew exactly how to move or place himself to get the reactions he wanted. And he was clearly showing off the craftsmanship of his suit just then as he faked adjusting his cufflinks and lifted his head just the right amount to both look challenging and let the dark green on the back of his collar flash in the light in such a way that Bruce and those nearest him wouldn’t be able to miss the brief reveal of color.

“Adrien Agreste,” Bruce greeted back, eyebrows pulling down in slight confusion. Normally the topic of clothing was far from his genuine interest, but in this particular case it was an intriguing, and possibly even concerning, observation. So he said next; “That suit is not of your father’s usual style of design.”

Adrien scoffed, straightening out his suit’s jacket and making the obsidian buttons glint. “Of course not. I’ve started my rebellious phase— or, well, I finally started being blatant enough about it that my father noticed anyway,” the way his lips curled was decidedly not very attractive, but painted a vivid picture of a son who despised the way he was treated. Adrien quickly wiped the distasteful expression away and replaced it with a camera-ready smile. “I’m wearing one of Marinette’s designs, much to his chagrin. She insisted on making this for me as soon as she heard that my father was planning on sending me in a white suit.”

Bruce quickly caught on, and sighed. How long would the gala go on for, again? He didn’t remember what time it was anymore. “Your friend Chloe already got a pretty clear warning in. I suppose you know as well?”

Adrien’s grin darkened with mischief, and he nodded all too happily. “Of course! Marinette told me almost as soon as she found out, a few years ago. You see, we had to put down a very solid rule about secrets between the two of us. She has a bad habit of trying to shoulder the entire world’s problems and not tell anyone about it, if you don’t pay close enough attention,” his voice was deceptively light but his eyes were hard, warning. “And let’s just say, I have a lot of experience with bad father figures. I can recognize them a mile away by now. The signs of neglect, of apathy,” his eyes suddenly lightened when he saw how Bruce’s throat visibly caught, how the man didn’t seem to realize he had stopped breathing. Maybe he was being a little to mean, Adrien thought. So he let the dark slip out of his eyes, and his smile turned more genuine. “You don’t have those signs. You looked at Marinette like you were both the happiest and most miserable man in the world at the same time. But you can’t change what you did to her, Mister Wayne. If you want some advice from Marinette’s oldest friend?” Adrien held out a closed fist.

Bruce took a second to realize what was happening, too busy trying to recover from his situational whiplash and wave of relief. Once he caught back up to the present, however, he held out his open palm and let Adrien drop something into his hand.

To his shock, it was a pen, engraved with the name he recognized as Marinette’s biological mother. He also recognized it as a popular model of pen-knife. He raised his eyes to Adrien, who winked.

“Marinette doesn’t know I had this made. And she has a lot of tricks that might surprise you, but what she wants more than anything is stability. If you try to give her that, show that you care and you want her safe— and then prove that you’re gonna stay— then maybe you can repair the damage you’ve done. It won’t be easy though, Mari is the single most stubborn person I’ve ever met. And I grew up with Chloe.”

Bruce closed his hand around the pen, swallowing a lump in his throat. He couldn’t quite figure out why, but Adrien’s faith in him and his help… somehow felt significant. He nodded to the young model.

“Not to worry, I have experience with stubborn,” he glanced back at his other kids with a small smirk. None of them were the least bit repentant. “And I do want to stay. Thank you for the advice.”

Adrien shrugged. “Don’t thank me. If you hurt her again, you’ll never see my revenge coming. It can be rather… catastrophic,” with that ominous threat, Adrien bowed dramatically and turned to leave and do some rounds charming the elites. Bruce tucked the pen in one of his hidden pockets, but stayed silent after that. He had a lot to mull over.

—*—*—*—*—*

Damian leaned on the railing of the balcony, looking out over the gardens behind the gala’s venue. He was glaring at nothing, and his hands trembled from where they gripped the rail. It was five minutes, a little longer than he had expected but not that odd considering everyone’s distraction over Marinette, before he heard the glass doors behind him creak open.

“Yo,” Jason greeted, knowing it was better not to catch the boy off guard. None of them were good with surprises anymore, for good reason. It was always best to announce their presence before they made someone react violently on accident. Damian’s shoulders relaxed a little— not a lot, but enough for Jason to notice. The older man sighed, walking up and leaning on the rail next to his little brother. “What’s on your mind, kid?”

“That could have been me,” he almost instantly blurted. It was still hard talking about his feelings, but certain things were easier with Todd. This was, apparently, one of them. “If Mother hadn’t kept me a secret.”

“I don’t think so,” Jason disagreed, shrugging. “There are several big differences here. For one, Marinette was born three years before you were. By the time you were born, he already had Dick and he would have only been a year, max, away from taking me in. Which means he already had built up his problem with taking in kids, and nothing would have gotten him to give up a chance at raising you. With or without Batman getting in the way.”

“But then why—” Damian growled. “Why did he give her up?”

“Because he’s an idiot,” Jason remarked bluntly. “You know how he is. He didn’t have a kid at the time. Hell, Bruce would have only been twenty-two back then. He only adopted Dick on impulse because Dick reminded him of himself, but before all of that shit? He probably made a million excuses about not being able to raise a baby and be Batman at the same time. About his life being too dangerous for a kid. Which, yes it is, but that clearly didn’t stop him later.”

“She’s older,” Damian muttered, this time softer.

“Yup.”

“Her mother wasn’t an assassin, probably. She designs. I hate to admit it, and you are never to repeat it to anybody, but her work that we’ve seen so far is impressive. She can clearly charm even the most stuck-up of gotham’s upper crust.”

“Yeah,” Jason agreed neutrally, his eyes never leaving Damian.

“Father won’t need me. He already doesn’t have much patience—” Damian was cut off by a flick to the nose. “Hey!”

“Not my fault you’re being stupid,” Jason defended himself. “Look, B’s actually been real patient with you these past few years. I mean, when was the last time he yelled at you? Or told you that stupid ‘justice not vengeance’ line?”

Damian opened his mouth, then closed it. After another moment, he replied; “Almost two years.”

Jason nodded. “It might take him way too long, but he can still learn new tricks. Especially after that mess with Heretic, he’s been trying really hard to be better to you. He still screws up, because I think we all know by now that he’s a bigger mess than any of the rest of us and that’s an accomplishment, but he’s trying. He doesn’t keep you around because he needs you. He’s got plenty of us around if all he wanted was soldiers— though none of us would stick around if we thought that’s all he wanted.”

Damian flexed his jaw. He was still the most violent of the kids, besides Jason. He saw Bruce rubbing his forehead or pinching his nose far too often at some of his decisions or comments. He was stubborn, impatient, reckless.

But hadn’t Bruce himself told him on several occasions that he wasn’t trying to make him a perfect soldier? Hadn’t Bruce himself said that he just wanted Damian to grow into himself?

It was just really hard to swat away those stupid voices in Damian’s head. Voices of the past, mostly, old dialogue he had never actually forgotten. That he merely pretended had never affected him. The “you’re too violent”s, the “that’s not how we behave, Damian”s. All the old lectures, the old fights. They echoed like stupid little gremlins of doubt.

“...Marinette has his eyes.”

“Don’t beat yourself up over something like that,” Jason’s voice was soft, but gruff at the same time as he cuffed Damian over the head. “You didn’t choose to be born, idiot. And despite being a little demon, none of us would reverse it, You’ve saved all our skins at least once. And besides,” he nudged Damian a little with a grin. “You’re not half bad, nowadays.”

Damian chuckled. “That makes one of us.”

“Hey!”

@peterxwade24 @mizzy-pop @maskedpainter @ladybug-182 @khneltea @itsmeevie01 @fusser90 @woe-is-me0 @lolieg @moonlightstar64 @jayjayspixiepop

[someonestolemyshoes]

Hi! Have u done any pregnant Hanji and overprotective daddy Levi already?? Yep i think im craving for more domestic levihan family, im sorry 😭

Im a bit new here in the community, and when i read ur works, i fell in love with it already, thank you for existing!!! 💖💖💖

Hello anon! Thank you so much, I’m so glad you enjoyed my other fics :3 Sorry for the very long wait for this one, I've been struggling to find the time/motivation to write lately, but I'm feeling a little better and I figured I'd get to work on some of my prompts. Starting here!!

It ended up a little less domestic and a touch more angsty than I had originally planned, but only for a moment--happy endings all round! 

Warning: this does start off with non-graphic depictions of nausea/vomiting, I hope that doesn't bother you!

Hange had been feeling unwell for days.

It wasn't an uncommon occurrence—Hange tended to wake up feeling nauseous some days, most often when she'd neglected to eat a decent meal the evening before—but this was the fourth morning in a row now, that Hange found herself bent over the toilet bowl in the early hours of the morning, heaving up nothing but acid and empty air. 

She retched until her stomach ached. There was nothing left to bring up, but her gut still rolled unpleasantly and there was a telling tremor under her tongue that warned her it might be best to stay in the bathroom a little while longer. She settled heavily against the wall to catch her breath.

It didn't make any sense. For most of the day, Hange felt fine. A little tired, maybe, but that was only to be expected after spending half the night every night on the bathroom floor. Tonight, no doubt, would follow the uncomfortably familiar routine: Hange would dry-heave a little longer, until the queasiness abated enough for Levi to convince her to come back to bed, and then she would toss and turn, too warm beneath the bed clothes, until she could fall into a restless sleep. She'd wake up feeling a little groggy, a little bleary, unreasonably hungry, but after a coffee and some breakfast she would feel well again. Perfectly normal.

Like clockwork, Levi appeared in the doorway just as Hange had flopped herself back over the toilet. She felt his palm, cool and soft, press against the back of her neck. Hange gathered her hair back from her face with both hands, braced her elbows on the toilet bowl, letting out a groan of discomfort as her stomach twisted, threatened to revolt again. Levi's thumb rubbed soothingly against her neck.

Sure enough, she brought up nothing more, but she gagged plenty, and found herself gasping for breath by the time she leaned back against Levi, aching and exhausted. His lips pressed into her damp hair.

Levi was as silent as always. His touch was pleasant, his presence welcome. Hange needed the hand he offered to pull her to her feet, needed his reassuring grip at her hips as she brushed her teeth and rinsed her mouth out. Her quaking knees felt unstable beneath her. 

He lay facing her after they got into bed. Hange was sprawled out atop the covers, shifting restlessly to find the coolest patches on the bed. Levi watched her for a moment, then said, "This isn't normal."

Hange only grumbled.

"You said you'd book an appointment with the doctor."

Hange grumbled again. Levi ticked his tongue and rolled to lie on his back, staring at the ceiling.

"Call tomorrow."

"If I didn't know better," Hange said sluggishly, "I'd say you were worried about me."

He scowled and rolled onto his other side, his back to her now.

"No, just sick of waking up at half four every morning to drag you back to bed."

Hange managed a small, wicked snicker, but shuffled across the space between them and pressed an apologetic kiss to the back of his neck.

"Must be dreadful," she said. Her voice sounded raw, hoarse. She buried her nose into his hair and took a long, deep breath. Levi grunted, but reached back and pulled her arm loosely over his hip. He knotted their fingers together loosely.

"Call them, Hange."

Hange gave his fingers a gentle, reassuring squeeze.

"I will."

**

Hange prided herself on being a reasonably intelligent person. She had two degrees, was working towards her doctorate, and already had her name on a small handful of peer-reviewed research papers. She spoke multiple languages, read dissertations for fun, kept a (in Levi’s words) disgustingly realistic human skeleton in a box under the bed for study purposes, and had spent the better part of the last 26 years of her life studying human biology and physiology.  

How she had not predicted that she might be pregnant was almost unfathomable. 

She left the doctors office in a daze with an appointment card and several pamphlets in hand. She had been referred hastily to a midwife and the hospital would soon be sending out a date for an ultrasound—“As soon as possible,” the doctor had said, “since you’re not sure how far along you are.” 

The thing is, Hange had been on the same birth control pill for years now. Forgetful as she may be about many, many things (like eating, and bathing, and washing the dishes and taking out the garbage and and and), Hange was religious in taking that damn pill at the same time every single day. She had never missed it, not even once. Without a regular cycle, Hange had no way of predicting when they had conceived, and the doctor was eager to make sure no essential landmarks in her antenatal care were missed, if they could possibly help it.

The thought had never even crossed her mind. It seemed ridiculous now, in hindsight. The sickness was one thing, but now that she thought about it, there were a whole host of small oddities that Hange could easily attribute to pregnancy. Lethargy, and bloating, heartburn, and she had been peeing more than usual—Hange groaned, and scrubbed her hands over her face. She should have suspected, at least. Should have put the pieces together sooner. 

But, stupid and naive as it may be, she hadn’t thought it possible. Why worry about it, when Hange had taken consistent precautions to avoid it? 

She felt queasy the entire bus ride home. 

It wasn’t that she was against the idea of having children. One day, maybe. When she had finished her doctorate, got herself a steady, well-paid job. When she and Levi had moved out of their tiny, cramped apartment into somewhere bigger, somewhere more suited for a family. 

And god. Levi. 

This was something they’d never really talked about. For his part, Levi never seemed all that interested. He was good with Hange’s nieces and nephews, and Erwin’s son adored him, and he hadn’t showed any express dislike for children, but—well, tolerating other peoples little brats and raising your own are two very different things. 

What if Levi didn’t want the baby? What if he did? Hange wasn’t even sure herself what she wanted to do about the whole situation—what if she didn’t want it? What if, after some reflection, Hange decided now wasn’t a good time? Could they even afford a baby right now? Hange’s money was tied up in her education, while Levi was just making ends meet at the office. They got by well enough with just the two of them, but add in a baby? A whole other person, entirely dependant on them for support? Hange could barely feed and bathe herself, some days, never mind responsibly care for a child. 

By the time the bus pulled up near the house, Hange felt more distressed than ever. Levi, at least, was at work until the evening, so she had a few more hours to herself to mull everything over, but the entire situation made her stomach clench and churn unpleasantly with every new thought. 

The prospect of having a child was terrifying. The prospect of not having this child was nauseating. 

Levi had left the flat in pristine condition when he had left for work, but Hange barely had the energy to feel even a little guilty as she shrugged off her coat and kicked off her shoes, leaving both strewn about the floor. She dumped her bag and made her way sluggishly through to the bedroom. 

Levi had made the bed. The sheet was stretched flat over the mattress, the pillows perfectly fluffed and set against the headboard. Hange’s nightshirt, one of Levi’s old, baggy shirts, too stretched and threadbare for him to wear, had been folded neatly and left on her side of the bed, her slippers lined up smartly with the bed frame. For some reason—hormones, she told herself—her eyes watered, and a lump swelled in her throat. She sniffled pitifully as she stripped off her clothes and pulled on the shirt, clambering into the bed and tugging the sheets until the cocooned around her. 

Hange passed the rest of the day tossing and turning in bed. She tried to nap, but her mind was too restless, occupied with thoughts of the baby, with the concept of having to tell Levi when he came home. She could try to lie, say the doctors had done some blood work, that she was waiting on the results of some test or other, but Levi knew her too well. She could never lie to him, and her despondent state would give her away before she had the chance to say anything. 

The sun was beginning to set by the time she heard Levi’s keys in the door. She felt exhausted, head aching with all the thinking, considering, weighing up her options; with running over every possible outcome she could imagine. Keeping the baby, getting rid of the baby, Levi not wanting the baby, Levi leaving over the baby—every scenario she could imagine was worse than the last. There was only one idea that she had hardly dared entertain, in fear of disappointment if things didn’t work out. 

She heard Levi call out for her, but gave no answer. She listened, curled up in a ball on her side, as he shuffled around, no doubt picking up her coat and shoes from where she had abandoned them. And then he made his way towards the bedroom, steps soft on the plush carpet. The bedroom door creaked open. 

“Hange?” 

She made a small, warbled noise under the bedclothes. Levi came to sit on the bed, the mattress dipping beneath his weight. His hand found the curve of Hange’s hip. 

“How was it?” 

Hange made another noncommittal sound. She wiped her nose and eyes on the sheets, but didn’t dare show her face just yet. She wasn’t ready. She had never prepared for this conversation, never even imagined it before today. It was too soon. Not enough time to rehearse. 

Levi’s hand moved to her back, rubbing lightly up and down her spine, before dropping to the mattress behind her. He leaned over her, and she felt his lips press warm and gentle to the point of her shoulder. A fresh wave of tears poured over the bridge of her nose and down the side of her face. 

She tried to be quiet, but something—the shake of her shoulder, perhaps, or the shudder of air as she tried to take a steadying breath in—gave way to her crying. Levi moved off the bed, but Hange felt his fingers prying lightly at the sheets, pulling them down until he could get a good look at her face. He was kneeling by the bed now, face level with her, and he looked at her with worry pinching deep creases between his brows. 

“Oi, what’d they say?” 

Hange bit the inside of her lip and rubbed her damp cheek on the pillow. If Levi was bothered by her using their bedding as a tissue, he didn’t show it. He simply looked at her, eyes darting over her face, searching. It occurred to Hange then how this must look to him. She had gone to the doctors due to unexplained, violent sickness, and now she is in bed, hours later, still crying about whatever news she had received. 

“I’m fine,” she said. Levi’s tense shoulders relaxed a fraction, but his face remained pinched, frowning and concerned. Hange wanted to tell him quickly, simply, like ripping off a plaster, but the words would not come. She opened her mouth, but her throat constricted painfully. 

Eventually, she said, “my bag. There’s some stuff in my bag. Have a look.” 

Levi gave her a somewhat quizzical look, but stood, dropping a quick kiss to her temple before going to fetch the bag, and dipping his hand in to fish out the contents inside. 

Hange watched with her breath held and her stomach clenched as Levi pulled out the handful of leaflets and turned them over, looking at each one in turn. His eyes widened fractionally as comprehension dawned on him. His lips pressed into a thin line. Leaden weight settled in Hange’s gut. She curled into a tighter ball, pressing the bedsheets over her mouth and nose, waiting for him to gather himself enough to say something. 

After a moment, he spoke. 

“That’s all?” 

Huh? “Huh?!” 

Hange disentangled her arms from the sheets and sat up, staring at him. Levi moved to sit on the edge of the bed again, a scowl back on his face, though there was an intriguing flush high on his cheeks as he whacked her lightly on the top of the head with the leaflets. 

“Stupid four-eyes,” he said, exasperated. “Crying like that. I thought you were dying.”  

“I’m pregnant.” Hange said the word slowly, carefully, in case Levi had somehow misunderstood. He had the audacity to look at her like she was stupid.

“I can see that.” 

“And you have nothing more to say about it? That’s all?” 

Levi shrugged a little at her. Aside from the small patches of colour in his cheeks, Levi seemed wholly unfazed by the revelation. 

“It’s just a baby. We can handle a baby.” 

“That doesn’t terrify you?” 

Levi scrutinised her for a moment, before he said, “are you scared?” 

“Yes? Yes! How are you so calm? We can’t afford a baby—we don’t have the time for a baby? Where will they going to sleep? We don’t have a spare room. Can we get time off work to take care of a baby? How will we pay for childcare when we can’t be around?” 

“Hange,” Levi said, putting a stop to her rambling. He watched her with a pinched stare. “Do you not want it?” 

Hange had spent the majority of the day mulling over this same question. Staring a family was a huge, life-changing commitment, something that required  careful forethought and planning. They had not had that luxury. Hange was pregnant now. She had doubts and fears, more than she could ever express, but the idea of simply having a baby—of having this baby—wasn’t upsetting. In the small, brief moments she had allowed herself to imagine a future where she and Levi were parents, where they weren’t wanting for money or time, where things were well, she felt happy. Giddy. The prospect was almost exciting. 

“It’s not that,” Hange said earnestly. “I do—I’ve been thinking about it all day, and I—I do want it. But I just—we had no time to prepare. We have no savings, we have no space, I’m a mess. How are we supposed to take care of a tiny person? Babies are hard work, Levi.”

“You’re already hard work.” 

Hange laughed weakly, and wiped at her face again. Levi pressed a kiss to her raw cheek. 

“We’ll figure it out,” he said.

Hange leaned into him, sighing quietly. 

“Is this the kind of thing we can just figure out?” 

Levi hummed, shrugging his shoulder. His fingers skimmed up beneath Hange’s shirt, splaying over the small of her back and pulling her closer. 

“Why not? We’ve done a good job bullshitting our way through everything else.”  

Hange laughed lightly and bumped the side of her head against Levi’s.  

“This is different, Levi. This is a person. A tiny little person who is going to need me and you to do everything for them. What if we can’t do it? What if we mess up?” 

“Hange.” Levi pulled back a little and his hands came up to grip either side of her face, forcing her to look at him. “Stop. I know all that. But if you want the brat, and I want the brat, we’ve got no choice but to get on with it.” 

“I know, I know, but—wait, you want the baby?” 

Levi maintained eye contact with her, but it seemed to take a concentrated effort to do so. The flush of his cheeks deepened a little and his lips quirked at the corners. No doubt to compensate for the show of emotion, he pulled his face into his customary frown. 

“It’s fine,” he said. Hange fought the urge to roll her eyes and caught his hands as he lowered them from her face, pulling them into her lap. 

“Are you saying that because it’s already too late, or do you want to keep it?” 

Levi’s face took on a look of constipated strain. He curled his lip as though in distaste, then hooked a hand around the back of Hange’s neck and pulled her face to his abruptly, smacking a kiss to her lips. He let his forehead settle against hers and stroked his thumb over the hinge of her jaw. 

He fought to keep his tone neutral, but Hange could hear the happy tremor in his voice as he said again, “It’s fine.”

For the first time since hearing the news that day, Hange allowed herself to feel excited. To accept the idea that she and Levi were about to start their own bizarre little family. That Levi was still with her felt incredible enough, but to know that he was pleased—it was more than she could ever have hoped for. Hange gave a wet laugh and kissed him again. 

“Are you allergic to looking happy?” Hange asked as they broke apart. Levi clicked his tongue and pulled back to flick her square between the eyebrows. She laughed a little louder and leaned to wipe her runny nose on his shoulder. Levi muttered under his breath, but didn’t push her away.  

“Okay,” Hange said, after a moment. She sat back and pushed her hair back from her face. “Okay. We’re having a baby, then.” 

Levi’s rubbed the smile from his lips with the back of his hand, nodding. “We’re having a baby.” 

Hange sunk down to flop back over the pillows. Levi looked down at her, head tilted, chewing the inside of his lip. Hange reached up to brush his fringe off his forehead, warmth spilling in her chest when he held her hand close and turned to kiss her palm. 

She smiled a little playfully, and freed a leg from the sheets to dig her toes into his ribs. 

“If I’d known you wanted kids I would have been significantly less stressed, you know.” 

Levi quirked a brow at her. 

“I’ve told you that before.” 

“No, you haven’t.” 

“I have. At your sisters wedding.” 

Hange racked her brain, searching for the conversation. She remembered the occasion, and she remembered that she and Levi had somehow ended up babysitting Hange’s family brood. She remembered Levi, wrestling to keep her youngest nephew on his lap while the eldest, still only five or six at the time, was clambering up the back of his chair, sticky hands tugging at Levi’s collar. Hange fought hard to recall more of what was said, but could remember nothing at all of Levi announcing that he had wanted one of his own. 

“You said these brats aren’t so bad,” Hange said slowly. 

Levi nodded at her. Hange waited for him to elaborate, but he didn’t, only looked at her like there was nothing more he needed to say. 

“That’s it? That’s your idea of telling me you want kids?” 

“The hell else could I have meant?” 

Hange dug her toe at him again but Levi caught her foot this time, pushing it firmly down onto the mattress. Hange reached for him with both arms instead, curling them around the back of his neck and tugging him down quickly. He toppled over her with a quiet oof, and Hange rolled them quickly, straddling his waist and dropping her weight down onto him. 

“That is the kind of thing you say clearly, Levi! These brats aren’t so bad—you’re ridiculous!” 

Levi wrestled with her arms a little longer before giving up and bringing his hands instead to rest low on her hips. He watched her with a curious expression on his face, something open and soft, and then his eyes roved down to her abdomen and his thumbs brushed inwards, beneath the hem of her shirt, stroking over her lower belly. 

This time, he didn’t fight his smile. 

He reached up and pulled her down by the neck, and kissed her soundly. Hange melted against him, welcomed the press of his tongue between her lips, shuddered pleasantly when he nipped at her bottom lip. She went with him willingly as he rolled them both over, nudging a knee between her legs and settling his weight against her. 

She was spreading her legs to make space for him, when he paused suddenly, and pulled back, leaning over the bed and scooping through the discarded back of leaflets. Hange, winded and dishevelled, watched him incredulously as he flicked through the contents of one, then tossed it aside and opened another. 

“What are you doing?” 

Without looking up, Levi replied, “Checking.” 

“Checking what?” 

“I wanna know if we can still—” he waved a hand between them, and went back to searching. 

“We’ve been—” Hange mimicked his gesture, “—up until now anyway.” 

Levi looked up at her, looking mildly horrified. He held up one his open leaflet and said, “You’ve been drinking alcohol, too. You’re not supposed to do that. And look, here—you’re not supposed to overwork. You’ll have to take on less hours at the university. And you’ll eat. Proper damn meals. Every day.” 

Hange flopped back against the pillows, eyes rolling, watching as Levi picked up each new leaflet in turn, pointing out every little adjustment that Hange would have to make. 

“This one says you should get eight to ten hours sleep per night. Every night. And not so much coffee, the caffeine’s bad for the baby.” 

The baby. It sounded surreal. It sounded ridiculous. Levi shifted to sit against the headboard beside her after opening the chunky little What to Expect While Expecting volume Hange had been handed while leaving the doctors. He seemed thoroughly engrossed, and seemingly unaware when one of his hands reached out to pull Hange’s hair free of its ponytail and sink into her hair. She hummed happily as his nails scraped over her scalp. 

Things were still scary, and Hange was still uncertain about how this whole adventure might turn out. But Levi was still with her, and Levi was happy, and that—

—Well, that was good enough. 

[with-my-murder-flute]

Sometimes you just have a really intense week and can’t stop thinking about how much trauma Lan Sizhui experienced by the time he was 5 and how being the Very Best Boy isn’t always healthy and then you need to write Lan Wangji the child psychologist and his incredibly anxious foster-son, y’know?

---

Bunny is on time-out again.

"You have to behave,” A-Yuan says in the voice of the potato-head, packing accessories into its body and shoving it into the bed of a soft plastic truck. “You get in the car now.” The Barbie van is already full, with a dinosaur and a fingerpuppet and one of the new larger Lego figures, and all their carefully packed luggage. A-Yuan does that. Over and over again, for each of his toys, he methodically packs and unpacks luggage. It’s his most common form of play, but not the most enjoyable.

A-Yuan’s breathing is rapid and shallow, so much so that he takes little gasps when he talks to himself. Routinely, predictably, he’s calmer when he turns away from the dollhouse. He’s most collected when selecting items to put into luggage, deciding on pieces of felt and Barbie shoes, but even with the vehicles he can lose himself enjoying the movement and progress of the cars. But underneath it all, there’s a jerkiness to his movements and a certain disconnected quality in his speech and body language that tells Lan Wangji that he’s pretty distressed.

It’s a step forward that Bunny is out at all, Lan Wangji knows. A behaviour therapist at A-Yuan’s last preschool made it a point to extinguish comfort-seeking behaviour towards the toy, which was becoming both careworn and grubby. A-Yuan’s had it at least since he was fourteen months old; it was with him when he came into care. Maybe his birth mother gave it to him. A-Yuan has obediently derogated the toy; if it’s left lying out, he can usually be trusted to throw it into a corner to prove what a big, grown-up boy he is.

Lan Wangji has very carefully gauged his son’s limits of tolerance for some things. When the car ride begins, he waves slightly and says, “Have a nice trip,” which makes A-Yuan glance back at him nervously, but it’s just mild enough, just unemotional enough, just tolerable enough, that it doesn’t provoke too much emotion. A-Yuan can keep pushing his vehicles around, and feel safe enough to drive one into Lan Wangji’s foot. He doesn’t persevere at that point, though; the trip has culminated and he gets up and walks to where he can see down the hallway to the front door, then wanders over to the slide.

A hundred million years ago, Lan Wangji thought he’d be a genetics researcher, like his uncle. Then he thought he’d be a neuroscientist, like his undergraduate thesis advisor. Then he thought he’d be a psychologist like his brother, who focuses entirely on assessment and the development of psychometric tools. For a little bit in grad school, he thought he’d counsel adults, like Wei Wuxian, until a classmate told Wei Wuxian that Dialectical Behavioural Therapy was “objectively badass” and he developed a fixation Lan Wangji could not follow. In retrospect his career path is absolutely obvious, resonating clearly through every bone of him, but it took him a very long time to realize he ought to work with children. It’s a little shocking that he, who was so bad at being a child, feels so prepared to be a father.

He smiles when A-Yuan looks at him anxiously from the slide, the moment of uncertainty as he lets go and begins sliding down triggering the need for reassurance. Lan Wangji is always waiting for that glance, waiting to return it. At A-Yuan’s last placement he’d been assessed as having an avoidant/dismissing attachment style, and despite its uncharitable and parent-shaming nature Lan Wangji can’t help but agree with what his husband had muttered over that one: “Were the parents even trying?”

The most vital task, and the hardest, is being present in the moment with a child. Not worrying about the future, not concerned with the past, not preoccupied with an external standard. He’s surprisingly bad at performing objective assessments with children, because he can see how unfair they all are. His greatest facility is something he built for himself, brick by painstaking brick: the willingness to sit with discomfort, and have faith that the chaos will not remain chaos. All his years of meditation have cultivated a still eye to see the world from, and the faith that patience and compassion will see him through.

Still smiling, still watching A-Yuan, Lan Wangji moves closer to the dollhouse. He carefully stars arranging its contents, righting knocked-over furniture and returning blankets to little wooden beds. He takes out a shark figurine, a couple of doll clothes, then puts Bunny on the floor near his shin. When A-Yuan comes close, magnetically drawn away from the slide, Lan Wangji reaches behind himself for the tea set they were using earlier, arranging cups and plates in front of him as though they’re going to have another tea party. He leaves the placement of the cups ambiguous; it’s not like Bunny is specifically invited, but there is a suggestive proximity, the way the other cup is in proximity to the shark. A-Yuan takes the teapot, and Lan Wangji solemnly holds his cup out while A-Yuan pours. For the sake of the ritual he accepts milk and refuses sugar and mimes stirring his invisible ingredients before taking a sip.

When A-Yuan is done drinking, Lan Wangji turns to Bunny, lifting a cup, and asks, “Would you like some tea?” A-Yuan noticed the moment that Lan Wangji’s hand moves, but as he addresses the rabbit A-Yuan seems to lose interest, which is to say, he slightly dissociates; blink and you missed it, but his eyes go a little glassy, he looks away, and then he acts on the adrenaline and gets up and wanders away.

The current theory about Bunny is like the theory of gravity, which is to say, it’s definitely pretty certain but it never hurts to be humble when it comes to knowledge. It’s honestly a little more speculative and psychodynamic than Lan Wangji is truly comfortable with, and A-Yuan’s case manager, possibly a little defensive over the last preschool placement, absolutely refuses to consider the possibility. But it still feels as essential and true as which way is up that Bunny performs the vital task of holding all the parts of A-Yuan that he blames for making the adults he cares about disappear. Bunny holds both the neediness and the hope for comfort that were so painful, his son shut them down in order to survive. Bunny was how A-Yuan mediated that desire, the source of his comfort, until he was three and a half, and the behaviour therapist.

A-Yuan knew his foster parents didn’t like him being disorganized and distressed and clingy, that they’d rather he behaved more like a six-year-old than four. Which he could, sometimes, because he had a ferocious intelligence which put him cognitively ahead of his emotional development. But he, well... adapted a little too quickly, one might say. Learned his lesson a little too well. Now they’re trying to reignite the behaviours that were extinguished.

Lan Wangji takes a risk, while A-Yuan is pulling picture books off the lower shelf, and lifts Bunny to his shoulder like a colicky infant. He doesn’t do anything else, aside from stroking the rabbit’s fur. He leaves it in place, with a little guiding help from his hand, when A-Yuan brings a Franklin book over and climbs into his lap, demanding to be read to. With interest he notes, halfway through the story, that Lan Wangji holding and petting Bunny doesn’t distress A-Yuan; as the story arc gets as exciting as Franklin books ever do (which is not, to be clear, a criticism) A-Yuan turns in his arms long enough to distractedly reach up and pet Bunny too, before turning back and trying to grab the book for himself.

Wondering how far he can push this, he keeps Bunny in place on his shoulder when they leave the room to check the clock, and A-Yuan goes to the living-room window to watch the street for Wei Wuxian. He looks curiously when Lan Wangji leans down to dig the remote out between the couch cushions, but easily redirects when Lan Wangji turns on the TV and goes to prepare dinner. Having the show on limits his anxious glances out the window to three or four a minute only, instead of sustained attention followed by a meltdown if he had to wait more than five minutes.

Lan Wangji thinks it would be easier to keep Bunny in place, on his shoulder like a dishtowel, if he had weighted plastic beads in his extremities, or if he was velcroed. He’s wary of changing anything about such a strong comfort object, though, so he just learns to move and stand differently to keep the rabbit from constantly falling off.

A-Yuan greets Wei Wuxian with the kind of terrified delight that looks like general indifference if you don’t know better; he runs over, stands uncertainly within arm’s reach of Wei Wuxian’s legs, and then dodges away before Wei Wuxian can reach down to him. Lan Wangji helpfully muted the show when he heard the door open--it gives A-Yuan the space to sit with his back to the room and self-regulate while the adults say hello.

“New friend?” his husband asks finally, an eyebrow raised.

“Modelling it as appropriate,” Lan Wangji says. “I thought perhaps he could tolerate us demonstrating that it is not discouraged.”

“Nice rabbit, Lan Zhan,” Wei Wuxian says seamlessly, in a voice meant to be heard from the couch. “I like it. Makes me wish I had a rabbit.”

“They are very good friends,” Lan Wangji agrees. “This one is not mine, but he is keeping me company.”

“Nice,” Wei Wuxian agrees. “Maybe whoever you borrowed him from will let him hang out with me sometime.”

Their audience does not comment on this, but they didn’t need him to. Wei Wuxian sets the table while Lan Wangji cooks. A-Yuan’s palate is still pretty limited, so he’s used to making three separate elements of one meal, and can live with cutting up cooked hot dog into little coins so long as he doesn’t have to eat them himself. They just supplement their kid’s diet with a multivitamin.

A-Yuan looks askance enough, when dinner is ready, that Lan Wangji takes Bunny off his shoulder and asks, “Where should he sit while we eat?”

There is a fourth chair, albeit completely out of proportion, but he doesn’t dare try it. Instead A-Yuan thinks for a minute, and points to the kitchen counter behind the table. Lan Wangji props Bunny up against the wall, observing dinner if not participating, and after a second to think, A-Yuan accepts this as normal and climbs into his chair. He is meticulously well-behaved.

Lan Wangji aches for his son, and hopes one day he’ll feel confident enough in their love to break the rules around them.

They eat.

[the-dream-team]

Chlorine

A fluffy little one-shot for @efkgirldetective's summer of jily week two prompt: swimming with friends // Today we're younger than we're ever gonna be <3

“What in Merlin’s name is that smell?” gagged Sirius, bringing his towel up to cover his nose.

Mary swotted him with a bright green foam noodle. “That’s just the chlorine, you knob. It’s a chemical Muggles use to keep the water clean.”

“The water’s not clean?” squeaked Peter, his beady eyes widening.

“Take a look around Pettigrew,” laughed Mary, gesturing wildly. “There are about a trillion little kids running around with saggy trunks and juice-stained mouths, it’s not exactly the Prefect’s bathroom here.”

The group of teenagers took a moment to survey their surroundings. Sirius was right, the thick summer air reeked of chlorine wafting from unnaturally electric blue swimming pools, packed with screaming children, brightly colored floaties, and haggard parents. Behind the main pool, reaching up to the sky, stood two impressive slides, winding and bending in every direction before opening up into a smaller basin. Once every minute, the slide discarded a new, squealing child into the water with an eruptive splash.

Lily eyed the Muggle kids with some trepidation. “Are we too old to be here?” she asked, eyes shifting as she clutched her copy of Herbology for Potioneers a little closer to her chest. “It feels like everyone else is about a decade younger than us.”

“Don’t worry too much about that, Evans,” said James, a bright smile aimed in her direction. “Today we’re younger than we’re ever going to be, anyway!” He nudged her affectionately, resulting in a rosy hue that spread across her cheeks as their bare shoulders made contact.

“Alright,” announced Remus after barely dodging a rogue beach ball, “let’s find a place to put our towels before these buggers realize we’re easy targets.”

They managed to snag a row of plastic lounge chairs beside the wave pool to dump their belongings on before Sirius set his sights on the towering waterslides across the park.

“You said these slides were crazy fast, right MacDonald?” Sirius asked, a dangerous gleam in his eye.

“They’re the fastest in Britain,” grinned Mary, tossing her sunnies aside. “And you get some serious air on your way out, it’s the closest thing Muggles have to flying, I’d argue.”

Lily tensed and quickly diverted her attention to her book, though her eyes remained still as she stared at the pages. Almost no one noticed her sudden discomfort.

“That’s bloody brilliant,” grinned Sirius. “Last one to the top has to buy us a round of those mushie drinks.”

“They’re called slushies, Padfoot.”

“Call them whatever you want, Moony, but I want a blue one.” Sirius discarded his t-shirt onto a chair and kicked off his sandals in preperation. “Prongs, do you think we could convince the lifeguards to let us go down the slides together?”

But James wasn’t paying attention to Sirius. “Nah, go ahead without me,” he said, eyes trained on Lily as she continued intently staring at her book. “I think I’m gonna start out a little slower with the lazy river. Evans, care to keep me company?”

Lily’s eyes snapped up to see Sirius’ dropped jaw, Mary’s raised eyebrows, and James’ steady smile.

“Oh,” she said, her voice finding a higher octave than usual, “sure, I could join you.”

“Fine,” grumbled Sirius, pulling the others along with him, “but I’m coming to find you at that dopey river after our first round on the slides. I won’t let you be boring all day, Prongs.”

James shrugged, barely paying the others any mind as he extended a hand to Lily. She watched their friends saunter off before accepting his help to stand up.

“Hold on there, Evans,” said James, plucking her book from her hands and tossing it back onto their pile of towels, “I can’t have you doing homework; today is all about having fun!”

“Then why aren’t you going with the others to the slides?”

He paused, considering her question with a smile. “Because you’re way more fun than a couple of waterslides.”

Before she had a chance to respond, James pulled her away from the chairs and towards the center of the park, their bare feet slapping against sizzling cement as they navigated around young children and indifferent lifeguards.

The lazy river lived directly across from the concession stand, perfectly situated for parents who wanted to keep an eye on their floating kids while they enjoyed a cool beer and a basket of hot chips. The river wound itself around an impressive structure resembling a fairytale castle, complete with canons that sprayed water onto passerbys and waterfalls that poured over plastered mountainsides and into its surrounding moat.

At the water’s edge sat a pile of tubes, growing hot under the unrelenting midday sun. James released Lily’s hand to secure them two floats, missing her subtle disappointed huff at the loss of his grip when he turned his back on her. But by the time he handed over her tube, she’d managed to rearrange her face into a neutral smile.

“After you, Evans,” he said with a little bow, extending an arm towards the gently rolling river.

She rolled her eyes at the exaggerated chivalry, but stepped forward nonetheless, carefully placing her tube in the water and lowering herself into the center. The water, cool and refreshing, lapped against her backside and kissed her heels as she hung her legs over the tempered rubber.

James took a different approach, choosing to throw his own tube unceremoniously into the water before giving himself a running start to cannonball onto it. Lily screeched as he nearly jumped directly on top of her.

“You prat!” she laughed, splashing water on his face, covering his glasses in little droplets.

“You know you love me,” he teased, a glint in his eye.

The pink glow that spread across her cheeks could have passed as a light sunburn, but the way James’ eyes flashed suggested he’d picked up on the truth. His dimples appeared despite the attempt to keep his grin at bay.

“So, Potter,” she started, choosing to change the subject, “what drew you to the lazy river, other than the obvious similarities you share?”

James drove an imaginary dagger into his chest. “You wound me, Evans! But if you must know, I thought it’d be the perfect place to chat with you.”

If the river’s current hadn’t continued pulling them along, Lily might have thought time had stood still. “To chat?”

“Yeah,” he responded as though it were obvious, “the playground would be too noisy with all the kids running around, it seems like we would’ve spent more time underwater than above it at the wave pool, and the hot tubs are simply not weather appropriate.”

“With me?”

It was finally James’ turn to look surprised. “Of course! I’ve spent my whole summer mucking about with the boys, but I’ve hardly seen you since Peter’s party and I missed talking with you.”

Lily tried passing off her pleased burst of laughter as a scoff. “I always forget how forthright you are.”

“I’m an open book,” he replied, sticking her with a pointed stare she couldn’t see as she averted her own gaze, attempting to hide her growing blush he had already clocked.

“I wish I could be more like that,” she spoke to the distance, to the cloudless expanse of sky, hoping it would relay the message to the boy whose intertube continued bouncing rhythmically against her own as they traveled in endless circles.

“As a kid,” she continued, “I loved playgrounds. Gravity melted away when I sailed off swings and soared through slides, when my magic took over before I even knew what I was. But the uncontrollable flying always scared my parents, so when my family visited parks, I’d be kept on the sidelines, hidden away to avoid causing a scene. I guess I got pretty good at hiding.”

“Do you want help practicing?”

Lily jerked her attention back to James and his easy eyes, his ruffled hair. “What?”

“Do you want help practicing being an open book?” he repeated simply. “I happen to be an expert and I’d be happy to lend my talents.”

His cheeky grin earned him a light splashing and an only-slightly-exasperated huff. “You know what, fine. Teach me your ways, Potter.”

“Alright,” he said, eyes brightening as he adjusted his position on his tube to face her more fully, “we’ll start with easy questions and then get gradually harder from there. The only rule is that you have to answer honestly.”

Lily sunk slightly into the hole of her intertube, but nodded, resting her chin on her folded arms, fingers mindlessly dipping in and out of the passing water below.

“First off, who is your best friend?”

“That’s your easy question?” Lily guffawed.

“What?” asked James, watching her curiously. “I already know the basics. Your favourite colour is forest green, you like chocolate biscuits best, and your sister is a piece of work. Now, who is your best friend?”

“Mary, I guess?” said Lily, brows furrowed slightly. “We immediately clicked since we first met, what with us both being Muggleborn, and after Sev was out of the picture…”

“I’m familiar with this part,” James grimaced, his focus shifting to his fingernails. “So, next question. If you had to be sorted into a different house, which one would you choose?”

“Hufflepuff,” she responded without blinking. “Closest to the kitchens, obviously. Next question.”

“Respectable,” he chuckled. “How about… do you prefer Butterbeer or Firewhiskey?”

She paused, catching his eye for longer than she’d planned. “You probably already know the answer.”

The corner of his mouth twitched upwards with a jolt of hope. “Butterbeer spiked with Firewhiskey?”

“Butterbeer spiked with Firewhiskey.”

James leaned forward slightly, his arm extending absentmindedly to reach for the cloth handles on Lily’s tube to pull her closer. “Like the ones we made at Peter’s birthday party last month?”

Their hands mingled together in the water between their tubes, pruned fingers brushing against each other as the current pushed them together. “Exactly like the ones from Peter’s birthday.”

He was near enough to count every sunkissed freckle spattered across her nose. She could practically fall into his growing dimples.

“Oi, Prongs!” came the disappointing voice of Sirius Black from the concession stand’s picnic tables. “You can’t hide from us all day, mate!”

“Maybe not,” James called back, a lopsided smirk sliding across his face, “but I can try!”

Before Sirius had a chance to respond, James sunk through the center of his intertube and disappeared under the water’s surface. Lily peered into the river, wondering if he could have possibly brought his Invisibility Cloak with him to the park, but her thoughts were quickly interrupted when a hand grabbed her ankle under the water. It tugged lightly, willing her out of her tube and into the depths of the lazy river.

Once fully submerged in the water, Lily squinted her eyes open to see her new surroundings, blue like the sky with ripples of sunlight refracting through the flowing stream, circular shadows overhead from the tubes they left on the surface, roaming away like drifting clouds searching for different horizons. A hand found her arm and spun her around, bringing her face to face with James, his glasses attempting an escape into the river’s flow, tiny air bubbles escaping through his nose and growing smile.

He pulled her across the width of the river, through a shower of bubbles from the underside of a waterfall, and into still water again before finally leading them both to the surface. They broke back into the world with gasping breaths and laughter, finding themselves in a dark, quiet alcove behind one of the castle’s waterfall features. The lazy river continued on as they stood together in their hidden cave, separated only by a wall of tumbling water. Despite no longer being pulled by the river’s current, the two found themselves drifting closer and closer to one another.

“Do you have any more questions?” asked Lily, her whisper echoing around and joining in with the soft roar of the waterfall.

James tried to control the beating of his heart, which must have been reverberating all around their little retreat based on how loudly he heard it pounding in his ears.

He cleared his throat. “Did you want me to kiss you that night at Peter’s party?”

She inhaled sharply. “Yes. Next question.”

“Do you want me to kiss you now?”

“Yes.”

She barely got the word out before James’ lips found hers, crashing down like a wave against the shore, pulling them into a riptide of racing hearts, fluttering eyelashes, and sighing breaths. They kissed and kissed and kissed until their heads spun, either drunk off the thrill of new beginnings or thoughts of Firewhiskey-spiked Butterbeer. Or possibly it was the intoxicating combination of magic mixed with chlorine.

[writingindulgence]

Illumi x F.Reader - Expectation

Pairing: Illumi x Female Reader

Story tags: Arranged marriage, typical Zoldyck behaviour, angst-ish, heavy manipulation, ILLUMI, unhealthy one-sided dependence : ) my guy just toxic

3,200+ words and why? I don’t even like the dude. Also, two points of view.

The sound of fancy porcelain tea cups clinking against the glass table is soothing, along with the warm rays shining on your face. Times like these are what you are thankful for. The smell of purposely picked flowers, arranged to please the eyes. Not the stench of trash dumped for the sole convenience of other countries. Colourful butterflies and bees, instead of flies and disease ridden rats. A home cooked meal ready for your consumption rather than scraps of rotting food that you more often than not nearly died for.

Kukuroo mountain is infinitely more beautiful compared to Meteor City.

“(Y/n) dear, it’s unbecoming of you to make noise with your tableware,” a powerful feminine voice chastates your mistake. The woman sitting opposite you is none other than Kikyo Zoldyck. Or as she forces you to call her, mother.

Your heart flutters in relief, an apologetic expression weaving onto your face. She must be in an agreeable mood since her fan hasn’t struck your hand. Sometimes you are let off with a warning if she spots a blunder on your part. Sometimes, she resorts to physical punishment. It always depends on whether or not a family member said anything to ruin her day. In fact, any matter concerning Killua will set her off in a positive or negative direction.

Just like Illumi whenever you bring up his younger brother.

“I apologise mother, I’m too excited because Illumi is returning,” you proceed to take a sip and this time around, gently settle the tea cup down.

A content hum comes from her direction, her visor flashing for a split second. “Oh (Y/n), you’ll make such a good wife one day.” She picks up a fork gracefully and stabs it into the cake she asked for from the family cook.

The compliment ignites a multitude of feelings in your chest. It spreads out, only one thought in your mind.

How immensely grateful and happy you are to hear it.

Many of your friends from when you were young, starved to death. Some were beaten up by other desperate residents. Others lost their will to fight, a state you threaded on a magnitude of times.

Being taken away by the mafia one day was what gave you back the spark, a life in the city no more out of your reach. Until you figured out what type of work they wanted to sell you and other kids for. Stories from the older girls back in Meteor City came rushing back.

Your bloodlust and instinct to survive are what happened to change your life for the better. Out of all the line-up of children, you were selected by the Zoldycks. Instead of being the pet of some old pervert, you found a home within the assassin family.

There were many times when you felt like giving up. When the training you went through was worse than simply dying. However, you promised yourself to never throw away the chance you received all those years back.

You were indebted to the Zoldycks.

Hearing words of encouragement from one of the people you looked up to the most brought tears to your eyes. You wiped them away with your thumb.

Mother is a role model to you. It helped when you found out that she originates from Meteor City too. In a sense, it is easier to place yourself in her shoes and strive to achieve what she did. Being an amazing assassin, wife and mother.

A sudden scraping of a chair brought you back to the presence, startling you into a defensive pose. The knife under your sundress clasped in your hand.

Out of the corner of your eye you notice Kalluto coming out from behind the bushes, his paper fan also ready for action.

“My Kil, what is he doing?! Quick, we have to stop him. Kalluto go call for Milluki right now!,” she orders shrilly before running into the mansion.

Without hesitation, you rush after her. It is expected of you. A nagging feeling in the back of your head also foreshadows that whatever is going on, it will have dire consequences if not stopped.

Killua is in the foyer, being kept idle by the servants. But not for long. You can see the irritation growing on his face, his muscles tensed.

You’ve known Killua since he was a baby, having been inducted as a future family member when mother was pregnant with him. There’s no doubt that if something wasn’t done, it would lead to a messy aftermath.

A few seconds after you make it inside, Milluki shows up and the servants are all dismissed.

“Kil, my little Kil, what’s wrong? Why did I hear that you’re leaving to take the Hunter’s Exam?,” mother’s voice is aghast, the idea of her favourite child abandoning the nest filling her with pain.

You too are taken aback at the news, a protective sensation coursing through you. Your fingers flex at your side.

“It’s boring here and I heard that the Exam is difficult so I’m going to test my skill,” he shrugs her worry off and spins his skateboard. Your heart begins to pound uncontrollably.

Hearing the disrespect, Milluki steps up and lashes out at Killua. “You brat, what’s with that arrogant attitude you-,”

“Stop that!,” mother’s voice sharply cuts him down.

She begins pleading with Killua to stay, her voice cracking multiple times. It pains you to watch someone you respect growing so desperate.

Killua is too young to understand what he’s putting the ones around him through. Of course, a rebellious phase is healthy-

A prickly discomfort surges through your head and you clutch it. Your unexpected movement grabs everyone’s attention. You try to brush it off, not wishing to be a burden.

It isn’t expected of you to be one.

“Killua, you should stay here. The world is a dangerous place,” your words try to reach him. “Illumi is coming home today,  why don’t we-”,

“I don’t want him around! Just leave me alone,” he angrily interrupts. The air grows heavy. Heavier than it’s been since the beginning.

Mother gasps in shock at his behaviour since Killua never really yells at you. Yes, he gets annoyed as much as any other kid but when he shouts, he doesn’t really mean it.

It’s expected of you to coerce him into calming down.

“You’ve changed during the past few weeks (Y/n), after Illumi came back before leaving again. Anyway, I will kill you all if you try to stop me,” Killua promises in a cold voice, his blue eyes a piercing ice.

This rouses an onslaught of insults from Milluki and a mix of agony and happiness from mother.

However, you’re currently stuck in your own mind, reflecting on Killua’s comment. It is true that during the past three weeks you doted on him more than ever before. Usually you try to split your attention between him and Kalluto when you have free time. What changed?

Nothing should have changed, Killua is the priority of the family.

A high-pitched scream echoes around the foyer and your clouded head awakens. The sight in front of you freezes your blood and it takes immense strength not to bite your tongue.

Mother is kneeling down on the ground, her hands covering her bloody face. Before you can take a step, Milluki rages and charges at Killua. The young boy bounces back and proceeds to plunge the knife into his older brother. Milluki curses and grabs his wound.

On impulse, your hand is already equipped with a knife and you’re ready to protect yourself as well as mother Killua.

Killua mistakes your movements as an attack and strikes his own knife across your arm. A long gash appears on your skin, the blood seeping out moments later. You take in the pain as punishment. Punishment for letting it get this far and failing.

You’re a failure.Failure.Failure.Failure.Failure.Failure.Failure.Failure.Failure.

Taking the chance to escape, he kicks his skateboard up and runs out.

And you were helpless to stop him.

*

It’s been a while since Illumi has been back home on Kukuroo mountain, his previous mission requiring him to travel across multiple locations. The target was a cautious person so they moved from place to place, leaving lousy decoys. That did not impede Illumi at all, it was simply an inconvenience at worst.

After all, nervous-wrecks are the ones who put their emotions out on display. They are the first to slip up due to the fact that they care about others.

Which is concerning because Killua is at a stage where he is showing his rebellious streak more often. It is crucial that he can snuff it out before his dear brother falls further down the slope of idiotic fantasies . In which case, it is a slight relief that (Y/n) is here. She tries to keep Killua in check in a subtle way instead of hanging over his shoulder or perpetuating his moody behaviour.

Though the last time he visited there were hints of her growing soft and losing her devotion of raising Killua to be the next head of the family. He is ashamed to confess that it irked him to some degree. It’s expected of her to put her desires down for what he wants. And he wants Killua to be the next head.

Even so, he thought that he dealt with this the last time.

However, imagine the surprise he felt when his mother came wailing to him, begging him to follow her little Kil to the Hunter’s Exam. To think that instead of a joyful family reunion, the news of his stray younger brother reached his ears before anything else.

That won’t do.

Currently, it’s close to midnight which is the time (Y/n) comes to his room to say goodnight. Why she even bothers is beyond him. The effort of keeping up with formalities could be used for better activities. It’s already indisputable that they are arranged to marry in the future at the request of his parents, so there is no reason to be close together in any romantic sense.

In fact, Killua will succeed as the head which is why there is no point in thinking about his own future.

A sigh leaves his mouth.

There is only one positive outcome that came out of this whole arrangement. He has an extra set of eyes and he’s sure that she will listen to him without question. All he has to do is play into these formalities and she’s wrapped around his finger.

An affectionate hug here, a tiny smile there...Normally he’d be concerned that a future Zoldyck , even if not by blood, would be so easy to deceive. However, since every carefully planned step is coming from him he’s not surprised in the slightest.

It’s expected of (Y/n) to be loyal, just as much as it’s expected for Killua to take over the family business.

The wooden clock hanging opposite his bed strikes 12 but there is no sign of (Y/n). She never runs late.

The fact that she hadn’t even greeted him when he came back is also unusual. Normally she’d be pacing in front of the entrance door but today his mother took over that role. He heard that she got injured by Killua but (Y/n) has experienced worse so what’s the fuss?

It’s not his problem, he’ll just take a bath before bed. She’ll come running eventually.

~

Illumi’s right arm is beginning to grow numb. He hasn’t moved from the water in over an hour. Not because he needed a break to relax, taking time off for yourself is inefficient. No, he hasn’t moved because he’s been waiting for the familiar steps and hesitant knock to come from outside his room.

Discerning who someone is from the sound of their footsteps and how they carry themselves is second nature to any professional assassin. For instance, Milluki hovers in one spot when walking while Kalluto creates soft patters with his toes.

On the other hand, (Y/n) always shuffles her feet forward just before his door. It takes her approximately 2 seconds to knock when she’s unsure, 1 second when she’s in a normal mood and 0.5 whenever she has news deemed worthy enough for him to hear. Reading the mood of someone before they see you face to face is important.

Coming to terms with the fact that today she won’t pay him a visit, he steps out of the bathtub, water dripping down his naked body. He throws on a plain black bathrobe and leaves the bathroom. Giving his bed a quick-over, he walks out the door.

Guess it’s time for him to pay a visit instead.

If he actually bothers and gives it some thought, it’s not a mystery as to why he hasn’t even seen her shadow today. She’s ashamed. Ashamed of being a failure for letting Killua go.

Her scrambled mind is most likely trying to piece together what she should say. How she should ask for forgiveness and repent.

He wonders if she’s starving herself or if she’s contemplating about going to the self-confinement room.

Normally he’d push her into whatever she makes up but a stick approach by itself won’t be enough. There needs to be a push and pull factor involved if he wants her to listen to him unconditionally.

And what better way than to appear before her, disheveled and still wet in his robe? She’ll jump to conclusions.

Further guilt will set in, how she unnecessarily worried him by skipping the usual goodnight. His state will continue feeding her imagination, connecting unrelated dots to make her believe that he cares for her.

Truly, a puppet and its real master.

Soaking footprints follow behind him on the floor, the dim candlelight making them difficult to notice. He knocks once before letting himself in and shutting the door, back turned to the only other person inside.

A small gasp penetrates the silence and a rush of steps follow suit, stopping just behind him.

“Illumi, welcome back,” (Y/n) is the first to speak. He stays silent.

A nervous shuffle. “Is..everything okay?”.

The voice quietens downs the more she speaks. That should be enough for now.

He turns around and looks down at her concerned face, with no emotion of his own. Her eyes widen a fraction after registering his condition. Before she can open her mouth to question him further, Illumi crinkles his eyes and smiles.

“It’s nothing. I was just worried since I didn’t see you today,” he gazes away, giving her enough time to fix her expression. It’ll be harder for him to get her to open up if she thinks that he sees through her lack of control.

“I missed you too-,”

Presumptuous to think that he missed her.

“-and I’m sorry for not saying anything. I just…,” she stops right before confessing her shortcoming.

He doesn’t provide her with any more time to compose herself, a full day is already generous. Grabbing the door handle he gives it a slight tug but her hand shuts it and pulls his sleeve. That’s new. (Y/n) rarely takes the initiative.

He allows her to drag him over to the bed, slightly curious about her next move. Is she trying to entertain him as an apology or simply trying to put distance between him and the door?

Both tactics aren’t half bad when it comes to simple targets.

He sits down on the covers and analyses her.

A long white nightdress, face ready for bed, barefoot, and a long knife wound going up her arm.

A shred of pride for Killua’s work passes through his head but he doesn’t showcase this. If by any chance she spotted the look, it would demolish the picture he wants to paint.

(Y/n) kneels down in front of him and takes his hand into hers. It’s warm, though not as soft as it used to be. Her breasts rest atop his knees.

His attention migrates from the sudden action to her face, looking for answers. He made sure that she will only expect affection coming from him, not the other way around. It would be too tiring to keep up a loving demeanour- no, scratch that. It wouldn’t be tiring but the expectations would eventually rise and it would result in less time spent on bringing up Killua.

Oh, he zoned out.

(Y/n)’s eyes are full of regret and desperation, the hand holding his trembling just enough to tell him that today’s event is eating at her. Is she waiting for him to say something?

Finally after what feels like an unprecedented amount of time, the scene unfolds.

Her smaller hand pulls his to her face and rests it against her cheek. The second his skin touches hers, he detects slight heat radiating. She must have not treated the cut. The knife was probably dirty too, Killua slacks off in that regard.

“I’m sorry for being a failure, I’m very sorry Illumi. I have no excuse,” the apology flows out of her mouth, bottom lip quivering. The pain of looking at someone she disappointed forces her eyes to shut close. Her free hand latches onto his thigh and she digs in before continuing.

“You can slash my other arm as punishment. Or hang me upside down in the self-containment room,” she throws out. “But please, please don’t give up on me. I can do better Illumi”.

And as if to prove how determined she is, her eyes open up again, staring deeply into his own. Unwavering. Confident.

Though the thumb that he has under her jaw gave the hammering pulse away.

1,2,3. 1,2. 1,2,3.

He stretched out the silence, pretending to ponder over his answer. The unsettling emotions influencing her thoughts will prove beneficial when he flips her assumption around.

He removes his hand from her cheek and moves the one on his thigh to her side. (Y/n) adopts a look of relief, believing that he agreed to her conditions of punishment. What he’s about to do is infinitely more cruel though.

She catches her breath when he follows her example and kneels in front of her. He pulls up the sleeve of her nightdress that’s slipping down before grabbing her shoulders, gently.

“How can I not give up on you when you give up on yourself,” he lectures her, peeking down at her wound. Make the target question their actions.

An expression of remorse adorns her face, a downward tug of the mouth.

He pulls her in, arms encircling and resting on her lower back. The material of the nightdress is light enough for him to make out the feeling of skin.

“Though I won’t give up on you.” Affirmation and a moment of reassurance.

One of his hands travels deliberately slowly up to her neck. It rests on the back of her head, fingers entangled in her hair. Illumi locates the present that he left her the last time he visited and pushes it back into her head. It has moved slightly out.

This prompts (Y/n) to hug him in response, her previously hanging arms now resting comfortably around him. Good, as for the finishing line.

“Though your failure is a disappointment, I know that you will not repeat the same mistake, because you

love me, right?”.

Her head moves to rest between the crook of his neck, nodding in agreement. She doesn’t ask him if he loves her.

It’s expected of her not to.

[ashdoesfandomarchieved]

of all i am made of (perhaps you are too)

ao3

Hugo does not believe in soulmates.

To be fair, he doesn’t much believe in anything but the feeling of coin in his pocket and the clever bite of his dagger. What use has he for god and destiny when he carves his own path of lies through time, with a sharp tongue and a cocky smile.

Why should Hugo believe the universe would gift him a soulmate when it already has made it perfectly clear that nothing is free?

Besides soulmates are rarities of the past--legends and folktales on the lips of elders and religious fanatics; the former clinging to superstition from the od era, the latter feeding false promises and hope to the instupid masses.

Soulmates are for hopeless romantics and tiny children. Not for Hugo.

“That does not surprise me,” Nuru says, the beginnings of a smile forming on her face.

She’s lying down in the golden field where they’ve set camp for the night. The contrast of the bright yellow against her dark skin is stunning-particularly in the moonlight, with her dark hair fanning out about her head.

Hugo, who is sitting upright a few paces away and playing with his daggers, frowns.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he asks, unsure if he should be feeling defensive or not.

Nuru folds her arms beneath her head, propping herself up enough to make eye contact with him. “Even if you had a soulmate, you wouldn’t know what to do with them,” she scoffs.

He snorts. “ You believe in soulmates?”

“Is that so surprising?”

“Yes, actually. I thought you were the rational one in this party.”

Nuru gives him an expression that indicates how stupid she thinks he is. “I might be the only person who can keep their head in a crisis, but that doesn’t mean I can’t believe in a higher power, Hugo.”

She rolls over, so that she’s laying on her stomach, facing him. “Burning stars fall in my homeland every year. There are stories of a sun princess who’s tears heal the dead. Varian somehow hasn’t strangled you yet. I think you’d better start believing in a god.”

“Or soulmates apparently,” Hugo mutters.

“Or soulmates,” Nuru says. “Would it really be that far-fetched?”

“Do I believe there’s someone out there who shares my dreams? Or has my name written above their heart? Hard pass, Princess.”

“Alright then, how about sharing the same soul?” Nuru asks, folding her hands together and resting her chin on them. “You’re telling me that doesn’t sound at least a little romantic?”

“I don’t have a soul.”

“Now that,” she says, a grin stretching across her face, “that I can believe.”

___

“I think Anya’s my soulmate,” Yong says dreamily, staring at Varian’s redheaded cousin like she hung the fucking moon.

Hugo, despite secretly adoring the round child, rolls his eyes. Hard. “Do you even know what that means?”

“It means we share the same time threads,” Yong replies distractedly.

Varian and Anya are nerding out over something-something Hugo would find interesting or fun to mock them over, but right now, for some reason, he’s more interested in Yong’s adorable-if not misguided-crush on Varian’s little cousin.

“Time threads,” Hugo laughs, cracking his knuckles. Yong winces at the noise, momentarily taking his eyes off the two babbling alchemists. “Alright, color me curious. What are time threads?”

Yong frowns. “You’ve never heard of time threads? Every child in Koto learns about them.”

Ah, must be some religious poppycock only spread in the fire kingdom.

“Well, I’m not a child living in Koto, am I?” Hugo replies lightly. “Spill, little pyro.” He pokes the kid in the shoulder repeatedly until he gets swatted.

“Her lady, Odiyesi, spins a thread for each person,” Yong recites in a sing-song voice. “This thread contains the beginning, the middle, and the end of our lives. If she so chooses, two threads will be intertwined-maybe even beyond the Snip, if she wills it.”

“The Snip?”

“Oh yeah, that’s when you die,” Yong says, side eyeing Hugo.

Hugo ruffles Yong’s hair. “And you think Anya is your thread partner. That’s so cute .”

Yong ducks out from under his hand, scowling. “Why did you ask if you don’t even believe it?” he mumbles, face pink.

“You know what I think?” Hugo asks, pretending like he doesn’t hear Yong. “I think you should go right up to here and tell her all that. Give her a heads up about your eternally bound souls.”

“Your soul is eternally bound to the underworld,” Yong shoots back, with a surprising amount of fire.

Hugo bursts into laughter. “That,” he says, “is the first thing you’ve said all day that makes sense.”

___

“What do you think about soulmates?” Hugo asks mildly. He has a glass of wine in one hand, but he’s barely tasted it. Instead, he stands, staring out the stained glass window and into the courtyard.

Donella, sitting behind her desk, looks up from Varian’s Ulla’s journal-recently procured by Hugo.

The amount of deception and sneaking around he’d gone through to actually get it out of Varian’s line of sight had been painstakingly difficult. And it had been even harder coming up with an excuse to Nuru why he needed to spend the night somewhere other than their current lodgings.

He doesn’t really remember the lie. Just the trust in the Princess’s face when she’d briefly patted him on the shoulder, telling him to be back by sunrise.

Donella closes the journal with a snap, leaning back in her chair. “What a curious question. And from you, no less.”

When Hugo turns around, she’s smiling that sharp smile-the one that makes his stomach plummet with discomfort. Something in him churns at that dangerous expression now, unsure of what he’s suddenly gotten himself into.

He gives a casual shrug, raising his glass to his lips. “Just making idle conversation, I suppose.” The wine tastes terrible. Still, he takes another sip before setting it down on an end table.

“Hmm.” His mentor eyes him skeptically. “What do I think about soulmates?” she muses, tapping her chin thoughtfully. “I suppose the proper answer would be that I hate them.”

He frowns. “So you don’t believe in them?”

“You can’t hate something you don’t believe in, Hugo. Of course I believe in soulmates.” Donella must see the surprise in his expression because she laughs after a brief pause. “I would be hard pressed not to believe in them after seeing it with my own two eyes.”

Hugo blinks, startled. “You met someone with a soulmate?” he asks, disbelieving.

“You could say that.”

“How do-how did you know they were-”

She opens the stolen journal again, long scared fingers deftly flipping back to her reading place. “Because I could feel when she was in pain. Now shut up, Waif, I still have three quarters of this tedious reading to get through and only five more hours to do it.”

___

Even though Eugene has decided to make the conscious effort not to kill Hugo, the guy still shows mild animosity. And by mild, Hugo-of course-means that he drags him around, making him do tedious tasks and scowls whenever he gets close to Varian.

Whatever. It’s not as if Hugo’s going to complain, considering that it’s mostly his fault there was a demon monster briefly unleashed onto Corona that destroyed most of her capital city. As long as Varian isn’t blaming himself, Hugo calls it a win.

So he lets the Prince Consort drag him around the city and put his alchemy to work.

“You don’t have to stay,” Hugo says, at one point, when it becomes apparent that even though Eugene has no idea how alchemy works , he was still going to hover. “I’m not going to cut and run.”

The man had snorted. “Yeah, I already figured that one out for myself,” he’d muttered and then proceeded to not explain what that meant.

So here Hugo is, with an ever present shadow, hovering like he’s a fucking five year old. Hugo honestly doesn’t see what Varian sees in the guy-or Queen Rapunzel for that matter. She looks at the ex-thief like he hung the moon and all the damn stars in the sky.

“It’s because they’re soulmates,” Eugene’s buddy-Lance, Hugo thinks-had said when he caught him staring.

Hugo had scoffed.

Now, bored and overheated after a long day’s work, Hugo watches Eugene frown over some blueprints in the Queen’s study. Hugo’s not exactly sure why he has to be present for this particular part of the renovation project, but he’s too tired to protest.

“Are you and the queen soulmates?” he hears himself asking.

Eugene lifts his head, eyes alight with surprise. He glances back down at the blueprints once, before leaving the table to join Hugo by the open doors leading to the balcony.

“Weird question, coming from you,” he snorts, leaning against the doorframe and crossing his arms. “But yes. We are.”

Hugo doesn’t know what to make of that. “How do you know?”

The older man hesitates, something like understanding dawning on the man’s face. A small smile crosses lips. “Have you ever met someone that no matter how many times you tried to walk away, you couldn’t?”

Hugo swallows.

“That’s how I know. Now,” he claps Hugo on the shoulder. “If you’ll stop messing around, I need your opinion on whether Yong’s demolition idea or Varian’s solvent solution is going to work best for the lower district’s avalanche problem.”

___

At the end of all things-or perhaps the beginning-Hugo finds Varian on a rooftop.

It’s not hard to find him, as when Varian is brooding, he likes to perch. It’s a habit that the alchemist has either picked up from spending most of his time in a castle with high roofs or perhaps it’s born of chasing his dumb racoon into precarious positions.

Either way, Hugo learns early into his friendship with the darkhaired boy, that when he’s being introspective, he likes to pick a high roof and perch like a fucking woodland creature.

So when Varian goes missing in the middle of Corona’s lantern festival, it takes precious few minutes to find him.

“You are so predictable,” Hugo says, dropping down next to him. Heights don’t usually bother him, but the castle is impressively tall.

The other alchemist doesn’t really seem to mind, however. He lets his legs dangle over the edge, occasionally swinging in the air.

“Or maybe I wanted you to find me,” Varian replies easily. His head--tilted up, toward the stars that are mirrored in the constellations of freckles on his face-is wearing a peaceful expression.

Something in Hugo’s chest clenches tightly at the sight of it. There was a time, not too long ago, where he was convinced he’d never see Varian happy again.

But now, Varian turns his face toward Hugo and offers him a smile. “Or maybe I’m just predictable to you.”

The tightness in Hugo’s chest dissipates. What is left aches for something he can’t have.

“Or that,” Hugo says, instead of doing something stupid like trying to hold Varian’s hand or kiss the stupid expression off his face.

Varian turns back to the stars.

“You know, they say shooting stars fall in the direction of your soulmate.”

Hugo rolls his eyes. “Not you too,” he groans, eliciting laughter from his friend. “I thought out of everyone, you would be on my side here.”

“Aw, don’t believe in soulmates?” Varian teases, grinning boyishly. “Sun and moon, I should have expected that.”

“Yeah?” Hugo raises his eyebrows. “How so?”

“You’re so cynical. And not in the way Cass is-she’s like realistically -cynical. You’re just oh poor me I could never have a soulmate because my soul is made of garbage -”

Hugo clamps a hand over Varian’s mouth, shrieking when he tries to lick him. “I- stop -I don’t have to listen to this slander -”

“-and if you ever did find your soulmate you would be insufferable about it,” Varian goes on, catching Hugo’s wrist when he tries to silence him again. “You would spend the entire time trying to prove to yourself and everyone else that there was no possible way they could be your soulmate and when you couldn’t you would-”

He stops. Blinks at Hugo with realization dawning across his face.

Hugo’s wonders if Varian can feel his pulse racing where the smaller boy’s fingers wrap around his wrist.

“Yeah? What would I do?”

Varian’s lips purse. “I don’t know what you would do. I’d hope you would be smart about it.”

He lets go of Hugo.

Hugo immediately misses his warmth.

“And what would be the smart thing.”

“Well,” Varian draws out the word thoughtfully. He scoots close enough to Hugo that if the taller boy wanted he could wrap and arm around his shoulder. “Well, an excellent start would be telling them.”

“And how would you tell them? If it were you,” Hugo adds quickly, when Varian shoots him a questioning look.

Varian leans back on his hands, head tipped back, exposing his throat to the sky. “I would tell them my heart started beating at the same time as theirs when we touched. That there’s a silver dagger inked on my shoulder that burns when they’re angry and sings when they’re sad-”

“Varian.” Hugo’s heart clenches so hard he briefly wonders if he’s having a heart attack.

“-I would tell them that I dreamed in color the first night we lay side by side in the forest,” Varian goes on, ignoring him. “I would tell them that when we touch I see every color-even the ones that don’t belong here.”

“Varian.”

Hugo’s hand finds his soulmate's.

Varian turns his head to the side slightly, finally meeting Hugo’s eye. With his free hand, he cups the side of Hugo’s neck, tentatively.

“I would tell him that our souls are made of the same thing.” He smiles gently. “It’s just science, Hugo.”

Hugo laughs, pressing his forehead into Varian’s. “How is that the most romantic thing you’ve said yet?”

“Because you’re a closet nerd,” Varian says, right before he leans in.

Underneath a starlit sky, Hugo kisses the boy made of the same stuff as him.

___

[thebadgerclan]

SFW Alphabet: Severus Snape

Requested by Anonymous

A = Affection (How affectionate are they? How do they show affection?) Severus is quite possibly the most affectionate man to ever live.  I HC that his love language is physical touch, so he always has an arm around you, is holding your hand, has you in his lap, in his arms. Severus always wants to have you near him, always wants to be touching you in some way.  Kisses on your hand and cheek in public, on your forehead and lips in private.  He’ll also give you small gifts: a new quill when you need it, a book you’ve wanted to read, things like that.

B = Best friend (What would they be like as a best friend? How would the friendship start?) Severus is a loyal friend, regardless of your house or blood status.  He’s kind, funny, caring, always willing to help you with anything you need; homework, personal issues, he’s always willing to listen.  It starts after you’re partnered up for a potions project and Severus realizes that he has a bit of a rival in that class.

C = Cuddles (Do they like to cuddle? How would they cuddle?) Cuddles are one of Severus’ favorite things in the world.  Your arms are his favorite place, he loves holding you or being held by you.  When he holds you, he likes to lay on his back with you tucked into his side with your head resting on his chest, arms around your middle, or spooning you (he’s the big spoon)  When you hold him, Severus likes to be on his side, facing you, with his face buried in your chest, arms wound around your middle, keeping you close to him.  He also likes being the little spoon (even though he’s tall)

D = Domestic (Do they want to settle down? How are they at cooking and cleaning?) Severus does want to settle down with you, he dreams of a cozy little home somewhere with you, where you can just live your lives.  He wants to marry  you more than anything else in the world, he gets you a ring as soon as possible and pops the question.  The war keeps you two from having the wedding you want, but you make an Unbreakable Vow to each other, swearing to always love one another.

E = Ending (If they had to break up with their partner, how would they do it?) The mere thought of breaking things off with you almost gives him a panic attack, but if he had to do it, he’d likely put up his Occlumency shields.  If he didn’t, he would break down and sob through it, unable to get through a single word.  He’d be brief and to the point: “Y/N, I’m sorry, but I can’t do this any more.  I’m so sorry, love.”  

F = Fiance(e) (How do they feel about commitment? How quick would they want to get married?) Severus is a very committed lover: once he’s yours, he’s yours forever.  He never has eyes for anyone but you, you are the only person he will ever love.  After about 4 months into the relationship, Severus is thinking about marriage, but he knows it’s too soon.  He does start looking at rings at around 7ish months, and about a year or so into the relationship, he asks you to marry him.  The ring is simple but beautiful: a silver band with a princess cut diamond, flanked by a few small emeralds

G = Gentle (How gentle are they, both physically and emotionally?) Severus is so gentle with you, physically and emotionally.  You are one of the very few people that get to see this side of him: he could be raging about something Potter did, but he melts when he’s around you, sweetly taking you into his arms and holding you close.  He’s very emotionally available, he treats you with reverence and respect, never taking his anger out on you.  He does sometimes get angry, and sometimes, you make him angry, but he will NEVER raise a hand to you, NEVER hurt you.  He might shout a little when he’s angry, but he apologizes immediately after.  Severus tries to never shout at you, but he’s human, and it happens sometimes, but he never takes his anger out on you

H = Hugs (Do they like hugs? How often do they do it? What are their hugs like?) Oh yes, Severus Snape LOVES hugs, he hugs you at least 15 times a day.  He’ll legitimately get sad if he goes a day without hugging you.  Severus will pull you close to him, wrap his arms around your middle, and rest his chin atop your head.  If he’s feeling a bit more emotional (sad, angry, frustrated, anxious, etc.), he’ll stoop down and bury his face in your neck, still holding you tight.  HIs hugs last for at LEAST 40 seconds, and he’ll pout when you pull away.  His hugs are warm and welcoming, making you feel safe and secure

I = I love you (How fast do they say the L-word?) Severus wasn’t the one to say it first, mainly because he’s afraid you’ll leave him.  But when you say it, about 3 months into the relationship, Severus bursts into tears, burning his face in your chest.  “I love you,” he repeats over and over again.  “I love you, Y/N, I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you.”  After that, he tells you at least 20 times a day.

J = Jealousy (How jealous do they get? What do they do when they’re jealous?) Severus is a fiercely jealous man.  When he sees someone checking you out, chatting you up, or heaven forbid, touch you without your permission (and I mean arm, shoulder, hand touches).  He sees red, coming to your side immediately and wrapping an arm tight around you.  People know how jealous and possessive Severus tends to be, and he doesn’t even have to say anything, all he has to do is glare at the other person and they know they’ve overstepped

K = Kisses (What are their kisses like? Where do they like to kiss you? Where do they like to be kissed?) All encompassing, all consuming, world changing, that’s what Severus’ kisses are like.  He kisses with passion, with love, with devotion, yes, with lust too.  Obviously, he loves to kiss you on the lips, and when he does, he pulls you flush to him, kissing you with everything he is, pouring every ounce of his love and adoration into it.  You tend to wind your arms around his neck, sometimes threading your fingers through his hair.  Severus doesn’t do “pecks”, he either kisses you for 30 seconds straight or not at all.  The exception to his is when he kisses your hand around others.  He loves to kiss your forehead as well, as he can just bend a little to reach.  Severus will kiss your neck too, especially when things are getting steamy.  He likes to be kissed in the same places as he likes to kiss you, with the addition of his left forearm, directly over his Mark.  It just makes him feel extraordinarily loved

L = Little ones (How are they around children?) The way Severus acts around the students is completely different than how he’d act around his own children.  Severus would be a doting, adoring father, loving his children almost as much as he loves you.  He would cherish them with everything he is, crying the first few times they cry, sleeping on the floor next to their crib, showing pictures of them to anyone who will look.

M = Morning (How are mornings spent with them?) Most mornings are early because Severus has classes, but every morning, Severus wakes you with a kiss on your forehead before the pair of you dress in comfortable silence.  Breakfast in the Great Hall is spent with Severus’ hand in yours, pressing kisses to the back of it every so often.  After that, he walks you to your classroom, kissing you sweetly before going down to the dungeons

N = Night (How are nights spent with them?) Evenings are spent in your shared rooms, in each other’s arms, reading, grading, talking, or just enjoying each other’s company.  It doesn’t matter how stressful or bad Severus’ day was, having you in his arms (or being in yours if it was a really bad day) makes everything better.  Often, you’ll share a shower or bath (which may or may not lead to sex) before getting into bed and cuddling until you fall asleep

O = Open (When would they start revealing things about themselves? Do they say everything all at once or wait a while to reveal things slowly?) It takes Severus a while to be comfortable to truly open up to you, but when he does, it’s an hour and a half of Severus telling you every single detail of his life.  You listen to every word, taking his hand when he cries, offering console when he needs it.  And when he’s done, when everything’s laid out at your feet, you take him into your arms and soothe him as he cries.  “I love you, Severus,” you say stroking his hair.  “I love you more than anything in the world.”

P = Patience (How easily angered are they?) Once again, how he acts around the students is different from how he acts around you.  Around the students, he’s snippy and short, but with you, his patience is endless.  He hardly ever snaps at you, and on the rare occasion he does, it’s usually because something else is bothering him.  And this is because you, simply put, don’t piss him off

  Q = Quizzes (How much would they remember about you? Do they remember every little detail you mention in passing, or do they kind of forget everything?) Everything.  Literally everything.  Severus remembers every single thing you tell him, from your favorite shirt to your favorite books.  He does not forget, and he uses this to surprise you. ��You mention you want something for a snack?  It’s on the coffee table the next day.  You said you liked this book you read 4 years ago?  He gets it for you.  Severus remembers every little thing you tell him

R = Remember (What is their favorite moment in your relationship?) It’s not a super sentimental memory, it’s not connected to a major event, but it still makes his heart skip a beat.  Severus got out of bed at 2 AM to use the bathroom, and when he came back, you were tossing and turning, features twisted into those of discomfort and distress.  Severus was concerned, but when he got back into bed and pulled the covers over himself, you wormed into his arms, nuzzling into his chest.  At once, you relaxed, face going slack, sighing contentedly.  The fact that you not only noticed and missed Severus’ presence while asleep but made your way back into his arms and that soothed you while asleep makes him so happy.

S = Security (How protective are they? How would they protect you? How would they like to be protected?) Severus is a very protective man, as Voldemort’s servant, he has to be.  He hates letting you out if his sight, hates it when he has to leave you when he’s Called, hates the thought of anything hurting you.  Severus teaches you defensive and offensive spells, some of them Dark, so you can protect yourself if Severus isn’t there.  At the height of the war, Severus also likes for you to send him a patronus every hour or so (even if you’re both in the castle), just so he knows you’re alright, and he’ll do the same for you

T = Try (How much effort would they put into dates, anniversaries, gifts, everyday tasks?) Severus putsa decent amount of effort into dates,especially at the beginning of the relationship.  Nice restaurants, candlelit dinners, champagne,the works.  He doesn’t put as much effort as the relationship goes on, but not because he’s slacking; quite the opposite, he just knows that he doesn’t have to “wow” you as much as he felt he had to in the beginning. That being said, Severus goes all out for anniversaries: fancy restaurants, champagne, candles, romantic music.  Gifts are much the same: jewelry, books, clothes, things that he knows you’ll love

U = Ugly (What would be some bad habits of theirs?) He’s very hard on himself, thinking he’s not good enough, not handsome enough, that you can do better.  His self consciousness about his looks, the fact that he sometimes bottles up his feelings.  But he’s working on it.

V = Vanity (How concerned are they with their looks?) Not very, he keeps himself presentable and clean, he shaves a few times a week, keeps his hair at his signature shoulder length, but beyond that, he doesn’t do much.  Apparently (according to Severus) he looks good enough for you, and that’s enough.

W = Whole (Would they feel incomplete without you?) Absolutely, 1,000,000%.  You’re a part of his soul, when he’s apart from you, Severus is half a man, a shell of himself.

X = Xtra (A random headcanon for them.) Severus smells like sandalwood, leather, and fresh parchment

Y = Yuck (What are some things they wouldn’t like, either in general or in a partner?) He doesn’t like it when people interrupt, him, you, or anyone else.  It makes him feel like they don’t care about what he or others have to say is important.  In terms of a partner, Severus can’t be with someone who’s not emotionally available.  He understands not opening up completely all at once and maybe keeping certain things to yourself, but he needs to feel like he knows you and what you’re feeling as well as being heard and understood himself.

Z = Zzz (What is a sleep habits of theirs?) Severus is a light sleeper, has trouble falling asleep, and he suffers from nightmares, but when he’s with you, he’s able to sleep 8+ hours and have far less nightmares.  They don’t go away completely, but there are waaaaayyy less, maybe 1 or 2 every month.

[calaofnoldor]

Dean, Don’t

Characters: Sam x F!Reader, Dean

Words: 1,906

Summary: You’re heavily pregnant and highly irritable. Luckily, Sam Winchester is the sweetest moose to ever moose.

Warnings: pregnancy (and all its related symptoms), ill-fated attempt at humor, disgustingly sweet fluff (seriously, you’re gonna need a tooth brush)

A/N: this might be my first ever attempt at this genre, so please don’t judge me too harshly :)

MASTERLIST

“Wow… geez, you look ready to-“

“Dean,” Sam shot his brother a warning glance as he guided you into the kitchen, a giant palm held gently against your aching lower back, “Don’t.”

Dean quickly raised his hands and the gesture, together with his wide eyes, seemed to say ‘I wasn’t gonna say anything!’, although you knew that was far from the truth. In fact, you knew exactly what he was thinking because you’d been thinking it too – every hour of every day. It was safe to say you really didn’t need any reminders of your current condition.

“Y/N’s already having a rough time with the twins keeping her up all night, and she’s been extra sore lately,” your moose came to your rescue as always. Sam had been doing that a lot recently, not only by shielding you from Dean’s crude comments (and consequently protecting Dean from your wrath as well), but also by comforting and distracting you from the woes of your third trimester.

“Well at least it’ll be over soon, right?” Dean tried again.

“Not soon enough,” you grumbled in reply, before attempting to stretch out your spine with an unfiltered groan of discomfort.

“Aaand, that’s my cue to leave!” Dean announced, grabbing his plate of bacon to go and sauntering off, though not before sending his little brother an exaggerated ‘good-luck-with-that’ expression.

Sam rolled his eyes despite feeling somewhat relieved by his brother’s departure, then turned back to you. “Come on, baby. Let’s get you off your feet.” He wore a sweet sympathetic smile; it was one he had been donning often as of late, but it only worsened your mood.

“Sam, I’m fine. I can’t be constantly sitting or lying down!” You barked irritably, but when you noticed the sad puppy dog look on your boyfriend’s face, your attitude instantly withered.

“Look, I’m sorry. I just hate this so much.” Your fingers began to massage your temples as your mouth continued to utter the words that took you beyond the point of no return, “I’m a hunter, you know? I’m supposed to be able to take down monsters with the swing of my machete! I used to be able to roundhouse kick those inhuman bastards when I wanted to, and now I can’t even put my own socks on!” That much was true. Sam had helped you with your socks earlier that morning.

“And sometimes you being so overprotective only makes me feel more useless,” you added with a defeated huff.

Sam waited patiently until he was certain your little tirade was over. “I know exactly what you’re capable of, Y/N; you never have to remind me. And I can guarantee that you will still be able to do all those things… after you’ve given birth to our beautiful babies, and your body recovers from this drastic change it’s endured.”

He moved closer to you and extended one hand to caress the side of your face, while the other splayed across your immensely swollen stomach. “But baby, right now, at 39 weeks pregnant with twins, you’re not supposed to be able to do all that. I wouldn’t want you to be doing all that,” he chuckled lightly with the afterthought as he pictured your heavily expectant form attempting one of your famous round house kicks.

You raised a brow at him, knowing how his mind worked, and he immediately sobered, “Y/N, my point is you don’t realize how incredibly strong you are already, even without all the pregnant kung fu fighting you seem to be so keen on.”

Although you were tempted to roll your eyes at his teasing, the boyish grin he cast you couldn’t be resisted, and the corners of your lips begrudgingly lifted. But a sudden lurch in your belly wiped the smile promptly from your features.

“Oh,” you breathed in a gasp, placing your hands upon the area of assault.

“What? What is it?” Sam questioned worriedly, as he too moved both his hands to your baby bump. His eyes flickered frantically between your face and stomach, trying to read the situation for himself.

“Nothing, just a really strong kick, I think,” was your reply after a pause. You looked up at him with what you hoped was a reassuring smile. He returned it with a certain tinge of apprehension, so you grabbed his hand and placed it where one of your wayward twins was moving erratically within you.

No matter how many times Sam felt it, he couldn’t help but beam with pride and elation at the thought of his children growing stronger each day, and the fact that you were the one fostering their development made him truly believe he was the luckiest man alive in that moment.

“Wow, I guess they’re really ready to come out, huh?”

“Maybe,” you mused, “Or maybe they’ll choose to torture me for another week. I’m not getting my hopes up.”

Still fondling your belly with one hand, Sam used his other to turn your face towards his. “I am really sorry that you’re hurting. I wish I could make it stop.” He said it with such sincerity, you were almost inclined to forgive him. Almost.

“I would say ‘it’s not your fault’, but it kinda is,” came your playful response, which happily earned you a loving kiss.

When his lips left yours, you continued, “Also, as if the fact that two of your swimmers managed to make it to my eggs wasn’t enough, did you really have to make both of them Winchester-sized too?” You motioned vaguely to the wide expanse of your front side.

Sam said nothing, but rewarded you with a hearty laugh and a second kiss.

Later that day, as you sat snuggled between Sam’s lengthy and outstretched limbs on the bed, the two of you absent-mindedly watched an old classic movie play out on the television. His lips grazed your hairline every few minutes and his hands rubbed incessant circles on your extended stomach.

“How do you know our babies will be beautiful?” You questioned Sam abruptly, your eyes never leaving the screen.

His chest rumbled with a deep chortle that resonated through your back and caused you to smile in turn. “Well, they’ve got you for a mother, don’t they?”

“Psh! You forgot to mention that they’ve also got a father who looks like he was sculpted by the Greek gods! But that’s not the point; genetics is based on chance.” You craned your neck to look him in the eyes.

“Fine. I just have a feeling then, OK?” Sam shut you up with a quick kiss to the lips and you of course assented.

“Do you still think they’re going to be girls?”

“I hope so,” he replied with a pensive smile.

You studied his elegant features for a minute before feeling a smirk form on your own face. “Well too bad, they’re both boys.”

“What? How do you know?” Sam’s brow furrowed in that way you always thought made him look unbelievably adorable, especially for a man of his stature.

“I just have a feeling, OK?” You quoted back at him. “They call it mother’s intuition.”

Sam’s grin returned and you couldn’t remember feeling better in the past month. Dean hadn’t disturbed you all day since the incident in the kitchen, and the support of Sam’s solid torso pressed against your back seemed to be alleviating some of the strain from your body.

But alas, nothing is ever what it seems when you’re living with the Winchesters. A sudden splash of fluid upon the sheets interrupted your scarce and apparently fleeting moment of peace.

It took you a moment to register the wetness between your legs, although Sam was already one step ahead of you. “DEAN!” he hollered towards the hall.

“Sam, I think my water just broke,” you told him in a slight trance.

“Yeah, I know, baby. Come on, let’s get you cleaned up and changed.” Sam’s voice was soothing and you began to follow his lead, slowly rising to your feet as he supported you from behind.

Just then, Dean came barreling in, brandishing his gun as his eyes searched frantically for any potential sources of peril. His green gaze turned befuddled upon finding no clear cause for distress.

“Dean, go get the Impala ready. Y/N’s in labor.” Sam’s voice held that composed and assertive edge which it often did when he took the lead on hunts. You would have found it awfully attractive under different circumstances.

As it were, a fresh contraction tore through you when you reached the dresser, and you were forced to bend over to weather the impact, your breathing becoming a little uneven. Sam’s arms were instantly around you, while the sight of your hunched and gravid form awoke Dean from his stupor.

He cleared his throat and his voice seemed a little gruffer than usual, “Uh, OK. Right. So… the bags? What do I need?”

“I’ll get the bags. Just get the damn car ready, Dean.”

Still the older Winchester stood transfixed in his spot, his eyes were somewhat unfocused. “Wow. So this is really happening…”

“Dean!”

“Yeah! On it! Got it! Uh… fight the fairies, Y/N! We got this.” And with that, he finally took off for the garage.

You couldn’t help but giggle to yourself, “He’s right, you know? This is really happening.”

Sam turned around and held your gaze with such reverence and fondness, you nearly melted right then. “I know,” he stated simply, before he crashed his lips to yours in a rushed yet zealous smooch.

“Ow! Yeah, OK, I think the twins are sick of our antics already,” you gushed through gritted teeth as another tightening of your middle took over.

Sam cupped your stomach gingerly on either side, as if he could somehow abate the pain with his touch. “Right, let’s hurry it up then. I think all that soreness you felt before and the twins’ heightened movement might’ve been a sign of early labor.”

“You’re such a nerd, you know that?”

He only responded with knowing smirk, then continued to help you get changed so he could usher you out the door.

Dean met you outside, where he stood by the shiny black car, looking a little more prepared for action than earlier. “You guys good?”

“Yeah, are you?” Sam asked, a bit dubiously.

“Hey, I’m ready to get this show on the road!”

“Am I gonna fit?” You eyed the Impala with slight apprehension. You had always been a fan of the classic car before, but now that Sam had fertilized you so thoroughly, the backseat seemed a lot more daunting.

“Of course, my girl can handle anything. She’ll get you to the hospital in no time so that you can have my nieces.”

“Nephews,” you corrected, but nodded anyway and allowed Sam to help you inside the vehicle.

The boys stood outside for a moment longer. “You alright, Sammy?”

Sam was glowing and Dean couldn’t have repressed the surge of love and pride that rose within him if he tried, despite his ‘no chick flick moments’ rule.

“Yeah, I’ve never been better, Dean.”

“Speak for yourself, asshole!” You would later blame the contraction for your foul language, but it was your shouting through the window that ultimately got you on the road.

“Yeah alright, we’re going! Just don’t be having any babies in my Baby!”

“Dean,” Sam’s bitch face revealed itself once more, “Don’t.”

→ CARRY ON

A/N #2: thank you so much for reading! btw, if any of you sam girls wanna show off your love for the giant adorkable moose man, there’s a ‘sammy the moose’ print now available at lexicolor.redbubble.com!

also available in various styles, as well as on mugs, notebooks, phone cases, and a bunch of other stuff! and if you’re more of a dean girl, i got you covered too 😉❤️

[thatonetimetraveller]

Chapter 2 - Cin Vhetin - T’ad

22 BBY - 7955

Din woke slowly this time, the beeping of medical equipment audible through the helmet’s audio sensors. He could sense movement just outside his peripheral vision so he sat slowly taking care not to pull at his back… the constant ache of the old wound was gone. Alertness coming back to him as he remembered the disjointed events of the day prior. His mind was sluggish but at least he could think clearly, the too big helmet helping him stay grounded. He was 30 years in the past, in the child version of his body. He flexed his hands and stretched his back, he groaned in satisfaction. He hasn't been able to do that since the injury, his back was always too stiff. Yes, he was definitely smaller. The weight of his red robes registered and he sucked in a breath, he hadn't seen those robes since his parents’ death. He lifted the edge of it under his helmet and gave it a good sniff. Ka’ra, it smelled like Aq-Vetina, the rich earthy scent of his first parents still strong, mixed with the distinct smell of spices on the market. There were other smells too like ash and blood but for once he ignored those, basking in the memory of his birth parents.

The door opened and Helix walked in, datapad in hand. He glanced up when he sensed Din looking at him and gave him a gentle smile

“Hey, kid” Helix pulled up a stool beside the bed and sat, keeping himself relaxed. Din nodded in greeting the helmet wobbling on his head.

“Do you know where you are?” Helix asked gently and Din tried not to let his irritation show since he did attack them yesterday and his mind was still hazy

“A Republic cruiser” He answered and Helix nodded

“Good. Can you tell me the year?” Din paused just to make sure he got the date right since it’s been decades since he last used CRC

“7955” Helix gave him a gentle smile and stood and began to fiddle with one of the medical equipment in the room. Din watched him like a hawk when a thought occurred to him in his still sluggish mind.

“Did you drug me?” he asked suspiciously and Helix stilled and turned back to Din

“Yes. Some weak sedatives and a mild Force suppressant” Din furrowed his eyebrows at that

“Force suppressant?” Why would he need that? He doesn’t have magic like Grogu or the jetii. Helix hummed

“The General suggested it since you weren’t sleeping well” he explained but Din was even more lost

“What do my dreams have to do with magic osik?” He asked incredulously and Helix froze as a scanner clattered on the floor

“Kark” He swore as he gathered the dropped item, shaken; though how Din knew since Helix appeared perfectly composed was a mystery. He turned to Din muttering some curse under his breath then leveling Din with a serious look

“You don’t know?” he asked and Din was starting to get nervous that something was wrong with him

“Know what?” He tilted his head to the side in confusion. Helix closed his eyes in pain and sighed

“Can I comm the General? He would be more suited for this conversation” Din looked at Helix in shock, the short time he knew the medic he was always confident knowing what to say, taking control of the situation with ease. Anxiety rolled in his stomach, but his instincts weren’t giving him any bad vibes so he reluctantly nodded

“Sure,” he said. Helix jumped into action and keyed in the General’s frequency, he picked up a tense minute later

“General, there’s a problem in room 27” Helix said voice level and the comm was silent for agonizingly long seconds

“Copy that” Kenobi’s voice was on edge as he disconnected from the comm. Helix sat back on the stool

“It’s nothing bad, Beroya” He tried to soothe. Din raised an eyebrow and tilted his bucket with a snort filled with disbelief

“I’m not a child, you don’t have to coddle me” Helix sucked in a breath his eyes filling with pain

“Oh, right”

The door hissed open and Kenobi rushed in followed by Kote, Din relaxed at the sight of them.

“Is everything alright vod?” Kote asked in a harsh and caring voice. Helix stood, gave Kote a nod with a small smile, and turned to Kenobi

“General he uh… doesn’t know” Both of them looked at Helix in shock the medic did not hesitate - ever. Kenobi blinked in confusion, then his eyes settled over Din while Kote eyed Helix. Din was so confused. What doesn’t he know? It was something fundamentally big he managed to miss in over 40 years. He watched warily as Obi-Wan pulled another chair from the corner and sat, Kote settled on the edge of his bed patting his leg comfortingly.

“What did Helix tell you?” Obi-Wan asked and Din’s attention snapped to him

“I was given sedatives and a Force suppressant?” he furrowed his eyebrows “I was told it helped me sleep better” Din was plagued with nightmares and dreams that came true since he was a child. Sometimes they remained in his head as an eerie echo or other times they were weird and cryptic but they always came true and left him more exhausted than he should be when he woke. Strangely though when the goran gave his beskar buy’ce the intensity of the dreams lessened, she said it would help him.

“Yes, visions are taxing on your body and mental wellbeing so in extreme cases or with an untrained Force user, mild Force suppressants are given to limit your exposure. Don’t worry it shouldn’t interfere with your connection to the Force too much” Kenobi gave him a reassuring smile and panic was rising violently in Din despite the sedatives.

“General, I think you went a bit too fast” Kote commented, his voice heavy with barely concealed sarcasm but Din could tell he was laughing on the inside. Din’s mind was blank, his hands were shaking

“I-I don’t understand. My dreams… I … have jetii magic? Neret’yc” he mumbled and grabbed the sides of his helmet with his shaking hands caught in his own feedback loop of panic and confusion

“Oh dear,” Obi-Wan mumbled while Kote scrambled off the bed and knelt in front of him gently prying his hands away from the bucket.

“Gar morut’yc” He whispered. Din slowly came down from the panic, his mind still an anxious mess but he could think again. He really should stop losing control like that. It was like his usual controls were gone and everything felt more powerful than usual, including his own emotions. It was exhausting and humiliating still, he thanked Kote and turned back to Obi-Wan who looked at him sheepishly.

“I’m sorry, Beroya. I shouldn’t have dumped it onto you like that. I assumed you knew” Discomfort weighed heavy on his heart at the apology but before he could say anything Helix whacked Kenobi on the back of his head. He let out a quiet oof. Terror spiked in Kote as he stared in shock

“Di’kut. That’s why I called you here” Helix snipped, then his face morphed into horror as his words registered and at Kenobi’s bewildered stare “Sir” he added as he straightened fearfully

“I deserved that one” Obi-Wan smiled and patted Helix on the arm. Once the General conceded, Kote burst into giggles, his lingering fear also disappearing from his shoulders. Helix glowered at him

“So… I have jetii magic?” Din asked before the vode could start a fight. Obi-Wan grimaced

“The Force but yes” Din hummed processing the information trying to put the two separate boxes of jetii osik and Mando’ade together without much success. There was something missing.

“What I want to know is how did Beroya miss this for over 30 odd years?” Kote interjected and he had a point. Obi-Wan stroked his beard in thought

“Many Force sensitive adults don’t know as the Force doesn’t always manifest with telekinesis, it could be good instincts, faster reaction time, better aim, visions of the future in dreams or just a heightened sense of empathy” Obi-Wan explained. Din looked down at his hand curiously

“I thought I always had good instincts” he mumbled “It feels different now though” Kote’s eyes snapped to his bucked in alarm, Helix’s hand tightening on his arm to keep him in place

“How?” Obi-Wan probed. Din, shrugged

“Clearer and louder. I… out of control” he said, words failing to convey the difference. Obi-Wan sucked in a breath

“Are you shielding, young one?” Din tilted his head in confusion

“I can protect my mind?” He asked innocently and Obi-Wan’s hand returned to his beard in thought then his eyes lit up in understanding

“Was your beskar’gam made of beskar?” he asked and Din bristled

“Of course it was,” he said with a little pride in his voice, his armor was his life after all. Obi-Wan tongue clicked

“Beskar blocks the Force. There are special alloys with a lower concentration of beskar made for Force sensitives”

“It does? But then why would…” It occurred to him that his dreams weren’t as severe when he slept with his buy’ce.

“Val ru’kar’taylir bal ru’ne’vaabir rejorhaa’ir ni'' They knew and did not tell me he murmured in disbelief. Why didn’t she tell him or make him a better beskar’gam? The stab of betrayal spread through his veins, his back aching in phantom pain. He wanted to throw something, anger bubbling up in him like lava, hot and dangerous. Kote placed a hand on his and the lava flowed into Kote leaving him empty

“It’s alright. I’m sure they had a reason” He said but the simmering outrage inside Kote remained. Grogu, the Empire wanted them for the same reason, maybe she was protecting him. The sting of lies and betrayal faded to a throb as he thought it over

“The Empire wanted Force sensitive children,” he said, his voice empty. It made sense now. Obi-Wan sucked in a sharp breath in pain.

“Are you alright?” Din asked and Obi-Wan nodded though he was still massaging his temple, his blue eyes found Din’s through the visor.

“How about I teach you how to shield? You might not feel as overwhelmed as much” he suggested and Din stared at him

“I can’t be a jetii, I’m a Mando’ad” He declared, his heart conflicted. The wrongness of becoming a jetii an enemy of Mandalore and his ingrained fear of his new and unknown powers conflicted with the instinct - that may or may not be the Force - telling him that it’s right, almost nudging towards that path. His thoughts flickered back to the confusing jetii’kad that Grogu gave him, the blade felt like a part of himself.

oOo

9 ABY - 7986

The Razor Crest was floating in empty space while Din tried to get his bearings and figure out potential allies after the mess on Nevarro. Rage boiled within him at the thought of that demagolka Gideon wanted his child. He sighed, lifted his helmet just enough to pinch the bridge of his nose when the cries of the child registered. They were their usual ‘I want attention’ cries but this time they were quite forceful and determined. Din set a course to a random backwater planet and jumped the Crest into hyperspace. The child was wailing now so Din climbed down the ladder to see what they wanted.

The child was sitting on a box, regarding him with intelligent eyes. Not a sign of their earlier distress

“What’s wrong adi’ka?” he asked as he stepped closer to examine them. Fierce determination radiated from their posture as their face adorably scrunched up in concentration

“Protect” Din sucked in a breath at the sudden thought that entered his mind, it was definitely not his. He sank down to the floor in shock and regarded the ad in wonder, his hands shook.

“That… that was you adi’ka?” he asked, his voice giddy with excitement. He finally had a way to communicate with the child to understand them, love swelled inside his chest. The child huffed in annoyance and concentrated some more

“PROTECT” They shouted in his head and Din’s mind almost ripped in half from the force of it. He took a steadying breath and held up a hand to stop the ad from doing it again but louder. A headache was beginning to form

“Alright, adi’ka. I’m sorry I haven’t been able to protect you” he said regret filling his voice. What kind of a Mandalorian can’t protect a child? The ad mewled in irritation cutting off Din’s destructive thoughts and pointed a shaky claw at him while glaring at him like it was his fault for not understanding. It was adorable and Din’s heart melted at the sight. Din furrowed his eyebrows in confusion once he puzzled out the message the child wanted to convey

“You want to protect me?” he asked in mild horror. The child smiled and nodded vigorously, ears flopping around like a dog as they began to shuffle around. Din’s heart ached in sorrow at their lost innocence

“Oh, cyar’ika” he breathed out, failing to keep his emotions out of his voice “I can protect myself. It’s not your responsibility,” he said as he gently reached out to lay a comforting hand on their shoulder. The ad’s big dark eyes gazed at him with confusion their ears down turning before scrunching up their nose in determination

“Promised” Din tightened his hand in worry and sighed

“Who?” The child gazed at him with sad yet knowing eyes as they pointed another shaky claw in his direction and Din recoiled in shock

“Me? I - I would never ask you to promise anything like that” he said incredulously he would never burden a child with such a promise. The ad’s eyes turned somber at that, their expression the most serious he’s ever seen and it disturbed him to his core. What has this child gone through?

“Too young” They declared their ears drooping with exhaustion and through the haze of confusion Din reached out to steady them. What did they mean he was too young? His mind was filled with more questions than answers from this strange conversation with the child. They finally pulled a cylindrical object out of the many folds of their robe and pressed it into Din’s hand

“Gift” they whispered weakly in his mind before collapsing in his arms. Din stared at the child, sleeping peacefully and then the object in his hand.

“Oh adi’ka what have you gotten yourself into?” he said voice laced with barely suppressed pain before leaning down and pressing his forehead to theirs

“Vor entye adi’ka” he murmured before tugging the snoring bundle into their hammock and shutting the door.

He studied the cylindrical object in his hand. It looked like a hilt of a weird sword, at the top four metal pieces were surrounding the inner part of the hilt like a crown. There was a band of shiny metal that appeared to be beskar curving around the middle of the hilt, two small buttons were nested on the side of the band. Below the dark leather grip at the bottom of the hilt was a cap painted vibrant orange. The leather was worn and fraying in some places and the beskar had some scorch marks on it.

He gripped the hilt and it slid into his hand perfectly, with a burning curiosity he thumbed one of the buttons. The sudden hum and light had him almost dropping the weapon. An orange blade materialized out of the hilt humming with glee and lighting up the interior of the hull with a soft orange glow. Din stared at the weapon with shock, he hadn’t seen anything like it in his life but strangely the weapon seemed to recognize him. It was singing to him Din realized, happiness pouring out of the weapon in waves, how he knew he had no clue. He gave it a slow experimental swing entranced by its joyful orange glow. It was strange the blade itself had no weight so his balance was off and he gave it another swing. The blade cut through the air fluidly humming with delight. Giddiness bubbled up inside him as he gave the weapon a good twirl. The blade hummed with the joy of long lost friends reuniting and Din laughed with the blade. Beeping broke Din out of his feedback loop of happiness barely loud enough over the humming of the blade. Din sighed, gifted the blade one last twirl and gave it a long longing look then thumbed the off switch. The blade died down leaving the room oddly dark and quiet. Emptiness he didn’t notice before registered for the first time in his life. He clipped the hilt to his belt and climbed up to the cockpit just as the Razor Crest lurched out of hyperspace.

oOo

22 BBY - 7955

Someone was talking through the haze that surrounded Din. His memory was clearing and he was in the medical bay of an unknown ship. He blinked in confusion

“Beroya?” The man at the end of the bed asked his brows drawn in concern. The ginger man placed a hand on his, Din jumped

“Did you have a vision?” He asked. His head cleared slowly; he was on a Republic ship, he was 44 in the body of his 12 year old self and he had the Force. Kote was at the end of his bed sat by his leg, Helix was standing behind Kenobi the jetii who just offered to train him. He sighed

“No, just a memory,” He thought back to the vivid memory he just remembered, he had a jetii’kad. Did he get one in the past? Did he give it to Gorgu? Why didn’t he keep it? He stared at his hands in confusion

“Beroya, teaching you how to shield doesn’t mean you have to become a Jedi,” Kenobi said reading his doubts, Helix hummed behind him. Din lifted his head and gazed at Obi-Wan

“But I have the Force?”

“There are many sentients who have the Force and are not Jedi”

“Oh,” he was quickly realizing that knew so little about all of the Force osik stuff. Right now, despite his instincts insistence otherwise, he did not want to abandon his Mandalorian heritage but he needed training to understand his powers better and to be able to protect himself when push comes to shove. He looked at Kenobi his helmet wobbling on his head

“I’ll accept your offer” Kenobi sighed in relief and Kote patted his leg, pride radiating off of him. Kenobi turned to Kote

“Cody make sure everything is set up” Kote nodded, gave Din a smile, and left the room Helix leaving with him

Kenobi gestured for him to stand and sit opposite him on the floor

“So, have you meditated before, young one?” Obi-Wan asked once Din had settled into a comfortable position. He shook his head

“Close your eyes and feel the Force around you. Take a deep breath through your nose and let it out slowly” Din followed Obi-Wan’s instructions calming his mind and letting the familiar yet unfamiliar feeling of the Force into him and wash over him. He gasped, he could feel Obi-Wan sitting across from him, his mind similarly calm but he was the brightest presence on the ship. He could also feel Helix shuffling around with some medical equipment next door and the thousands of different yet similar beings on the ship all glowing in his mind’s eye and moving through their duties like a well-oiled machine. He could pick out Kote’s light from among the rest, he was a warm, strong and steadfast presence, the one he would associate with a good leader or parent.

“Good, now imagine laying a wall between yourself and the rest,” Obi-Wan murmured from the outside, barely audible. Din slowly began building the wall in his mind, brick by brick reinforcing it with beskar along the way. Gradually the lights dimmed and their emotions that he’s been picking up quieted to a hum. His own emotions, now easier to separate, were clearer and easier to control from the absence of thousands of other emotions. He felt Obi-Wan pull away so he slowly climbed his way to consciousness. He blinked his eyes open, his chest lighter since he woke up in the past. He breathed out a sigh of relief. And his stomach rumbled. Obi-Wan who was already on his feet smiled good naturedly at Din and held out a hand, Din grabbed it and let him pull him to his feet.

“Vor’e” He thanked Obi-Wan

The door swished open and Helix walked with Kote right behind him carrying a big bag in his hand. Din tilted his head in question, putting a hand on his helmet to stop it from banging against his skull. Obi-Wan smiled at Kote.

“Oh good, you’ve got it” Kote grinned with excitement, his presence enveloping Din. He looked at the bag curiously as he sat back on the bed, legs swinging in anticipation. Kote hefted the bag onto the bed with a low grunt.

“We did the best we could,” Kote said as Din peered into the bag. His heart stopped. There was a whole set of beskar’gam made out of plastoid in the bag. He picked up the buy’ce cradling it in his hands in wonder tracing the edge of the T-visor with his finger. The design was like the armor Kote and his brothers wore but smaller, tailored to his size. He placed the buy’ce aside then lifted each piece out with care and wonder, each piece was snow white - Cin Vhetin - the color of a new beginning, it was fitting he mused silently. He laid them out on the bed in the traditional way he was taught as a child, admiring the full set.

“You could paint it if you want to,'' Helix suggested as he stood behind him. Din tilted his head in thought he never felt the need to paint his armor, then when he got the full beskar set and it didn’t feel right to paint it, the unpainted beskar showing his penance for almost becoming dar’buir. Now though he could imagine the swirling patterns of various designs on the white surface.

“I’ll think about it” he murmured then he hesitated for a moment before turning to Kote. “Uh… could you leave?” He asked and embarrassment coated his voice, Kote nodded in understanding and they quietly left the room. Once the door was shut behind them Din unclipped his red robe, folded it neatly and set it aside, and pulled on the black flight suit that came with the armor. Then he clipped each piece on with familiar ease of weaning armor his entire life and tightened the belts where he felt the plastoid slack. It fit surprisingly well to his new thin lanky frame. The plastoid was lighter and more flexible than his beskar of his previous beskar’gam and he’ll have to adjust to that. He gripped the helmet in his hands and stared at his new face with an odd sense of disappointment, something wasn’t quite right with it but he couldn’t figure out what. Still, it would be better than Kote’s too big bucket that wobbled precariously every time he moved his head. He lifted the bucket off his face and glanced around expecting the room to transform into an Imperial cell but it stayed mostly the same. Not wanting to chance another episode he placed his new buy’ce on his head. The slight hiss as it connected was a comfort he forgot he needed, he sighed as he finally felt safe in his own skin. He knocked on the door harshly to signal Kote and the others that he was done. Kote and Helix walked in and Din tilted his head in confusion

“Where’s Kenobi?” Helix shrugged

“He had to go up to the bridge since we’ll be rendezvousing with the 501st soon” he explained and Kote mock glared at his brother. Din held out Kote’s bucket and he grabbed it his hands shaking slightly

“Vor entye, Kote,” He said gratefully as tears prickled in the corner of his eyes. The warmth from Kote grew as it enveloped him like a hug. He beamed at him while Helix looked between them with a confused frown.

“You’re welcome Beroya” He clapped him on the shoulder still grinning

“How about we grab some food,” he said as he dragged him out of the room he’s been in the past few days. Din’s heart sped up.

“I can leave?” he asked with confusion. He was under the impression that he was a prisoner even if he was a nicely treated one. Helix who was following behind them sucked in a breath

“Of course you can,” he said with some incredulity. Din shrugged half heartedly

“I thought since I attacked your men that I would be a prisoner” He had to keep a tight hold on his new and fragile shields so as to not get swept away by the violent flood of Kote’s and Helix’s emotions.

“Well, at first you were” Kote admitted scratching the back of his neck and Helix shot him a look

“Oh” Din sighed, Kote held up a dramatic hand

“But! You were hallucinating and you apologized and you haven’t given us reason to treat you a prisoner since” Kote explained hastily and warmth spread across Din, he hummed and examined the hallway to distract himself from the strange emotion. The hallways, while similar to an Imperial ship at a first glance, had enough of a different feel to them that Din could differentiate the two. Troopers were walking about hurrying to their destination, some gave Kote a salute and smile, while others did a double take at the sight of Din. Their stares did not affect him since he was used to them when he had the full beskar beskar’gam. There were a few who huddled together and whispered something to the others, no doubt the gossip train had started already. Din sighed, the gossip amongst the Covert was bad since most of them never left the sewers of Nevarro but it may reach a new level of horrible since he was the center of the latest gossip.

They arrived at the mess hall quicker than he expected. Clones were in large groups around the tables, their chatter and the clatter of utensils echoed throughout the entire room. The tables were long white and organized into neat rows though some of the benches were askew and the shouts of rowdy bunch cut through the background noise. Din’s mind tried to puzzle out a way to escape eating but Kote grabbed his arm and dragged him towards the cue, once he realized Din was lingering in the doorway. Din sighed. He stared at the small selection of food, mostly ration bars and some instant meals that were even less appetizing.

“Don’t tell me you’re just as bad at eating regularly as the General,” Helix joked from next to him. Din did eat less than he should. The fact that he couldn’t remove his helmet in most establishments and that he was reluctant to spend more than the bare minimum on food since most of the money went to the Covert and the foundlings - all of that meant that he skipped a few meals here or there. Helix raised an eyebrow at him, a mean scowl on his face at Din’s silence.

“Well, I-” he began to explain himself when Helix held up a hand

“The Force and meditation are not adequate replacements for food and sleep damn it!” Helix ranted as stacked 5 ration bars and some goop onto the tray, Kote snickered

“General Kenobi would argue,” he said with a smile

“The General can kiss my shebs” Helix grumbled with some ire and Din blushed then he remembered Helix’s earlier words

“The Force can be used that way?” he asked in wonder, wishing he knew a better way to stay awake at the countless long sleepless nights he had while hunting. Helix whirled around pointing a finger in his face with a glare, scowl still present

“Forget I said anything” He declared dramatically with a long sigh. Kote was snickering in the background while Helix kept grumbling to himself. Din followed after them knowing that he won’t lose them since he could pick out Kote’s warm presence in the crowd but it felt better to keep them in sight

“I only ate enough to sustain myself because the Covert needed the rest of the credits,” He said the urge to explain himself to Kote and Helix was strong. They reached a relatively empty table and Helix pushed the tray of food towards him as soon as they sat down. He stared at the food with trepidation and Helix sighed

“There is no shortage of food here Beroya” Helix gestured to the food, chewing on a ration bar himself “So eat” Din sighed

“I can’t” He bit out after a moment of hesitation. Helix and Kote exchanged a concerned look and he got the distinct impression of Kote wanting to hug him

“Why not?” Kote asked. Din looked down shamefully at his hands, he already broke the Creed several times first to save Grogu but that was fine since foundlings came above all else. But now so many people had seen him, not just without his buy’ce but without his beskar’gam so can he even be called a Mando’ad? Who was he if not a Mandalorian? His thoughts circled around that question so he clung to the traditions that would reject him in a vain attempt to define himself

“I can’t remove the helmet,” He said, eyes still locked on his hands. He felt the spike of concern, irritation, and shock from Kote

“Who told you that?” his voice was low and angry though not directed at him still he flinched slightly

“No one. This is the Way” he echoed, the once comforting words felt wrong and hollow coming from his mouth.

“The Way?” Helix asked his voice returning to the gentle prod he used earlier when he thought he was dreaming

“The Way of the Mandalore. I can’t remove my helmet in front of any living being or I become dar’manda”

“But you didn’t have a helmet before Cody gave you his” Helix’s voice was gentle and he could feel Kote stewing next to him

“Exactly, I already broke the Creed” He couldn’t say it out loud that would make it real and he was already hollow and directionless. The Covert would certainly not accept him back now if he could even find them

“That’s bantha shit!” Kote exploded and Din’s head snapped up to him

“What?” He whispered and his voice shook in bewilderment

“You just didn’t have a helmet when you got here! What if someone removed your helmet if you got captured? What are you supposed to do then?” Kote ranted “Besides, having a helmet does not make you Mandalorian. Then the vode wouldn’t be Mando’ade” His face was red from anger, Helix nodded along a similar expression of outrage on his face and Din stared at them in shock. Anger not directed at him radiated off of the both of them. Din’s heart swelled with an unknown emotion as he looked back at his food

“I…” he was at a loss for words as Kote deflated

“I’m still not comfortable removing the helmet,” he declared after a moment of silence. His mind whirling with shock. Both of them nodded in understanding

“We understand Beroya” Helix said

“But if you ever feel comfortable enough know that we won’t judge you” Kote finished. His heart squeezed in gratitude and warmth filled him, Din ducked his head.

Kote and Helix returned to their bland meal and Din glanced around the noisy mess hall. Troopers were talking boisterously, some slapping each other on the shoulder or arm as a show of comredradie. He spotted a few not so subtly ogling him but he ignored them. They felt happy and unrestrained. So when the back of his neck prickled with the usual sense of danger Din was taken aback and whirled around a second too late. The punch landed squarely on his bucket, rattling his head for a moment. The trooper had no paint on their armor and sported a mean scowl on his face, Kote sprang up from his seat growling at the trooper

“Slick, what the hell do you think you are doing?” Slick ignored his commanding officer and only sneered at the stunned Din anger rolling off of him in waves.

“You attack our men and then you have the audacity to wear our armor!” He said with disgust. The easy going chatter around them died down to a hushed whisper as everyone stared at them. Kote walked up to Slick with a furious expression and his voice was barely restrained, hard with the promise of violence

“Stand down Sergeant” He ordered. The order fell on deaf ears as Slick glared at Kote with no fear besides the tide of righteous anger

“No sir” he ground out “Don’t you see that he’s just another nat-born pretending to like us, to be one of us” He gestured to the rest of the clones

“Ni ceta” Din apologized as he stood, wobbling slightly on his legs. Slick sneered

“Oh, now he speaks our language too.” His voice was heavy with sarcasm “What’s next? You gonna paint your armor like us too? Is stealing our language and freedom not enough for you?” Slick accused loudly venom filling his voice and being

“Stand down Sargeant! That’s an order!” Kote bellowed his voice echoing throughout the silent mess hall. Din straightened feeling the anger rise in him at the unwarranted accusations

“I am a Mando’ad and I do not steal anyone’s freedom” He declared his voice steady and sure, his earlier doubts gone for the moment.

“Yeah, right” Slick huffed and raised his hand for another punch. Kote had enough and with a swift move restrained Slick bending his arm around his back painfully. He gestured for two clones their armor painted orange and handed the seething Slick over to them

“Maybe a few hours in the brig will teach you a lesson” He nodded to the two clones who dragged Slick away who was still glowering at Din with hatred.

“Alright boy fun’s over” Kote declared to the spectators and the rest of the troopers slowly returned to their meals though the chatter was more subdued than before

Kote sank back into his seat with a tired sigh and Din followed soon after. His mind still reeling at the pure hatred Slick directed his way like he was the cause of all of his problems. But before he could ask Kote why Slick hated him so much, two clones sat at their table, one next to Kote and one next to Din. Kote sighed in irritation and glared at the two clones while Helix snickered

“Waxer, Boil, what are you doing here?” Kote asked, his voice and posture tired with all the bantha shit that happened since Din left his room. Waxer was looking at him wearily from across the table and Din tilted his head in question. Boil, appearing to not have the same hesitation looped an arm around Din’s shoulder and grinned at him. Both Din and Waxer tensed.

“So you’re the verdi’ka who beat up Waxer,” he said with a good humored smile, Din tensed his shoulders. Kote gave a long suffering sigh and pinched the bridge of his nose, and Din opened his mouth to apologize again

“If you’re here to cause trouble...” Kote began

“Oh, we’re not assholes like Slick” Waxer chuckled relaxing slightly, Boil grinned and nudged Din

“Waxer was just too scared to ask the verd’ika for a rematch,” Boil said with a sly smile. Waxer rose and hit Boil across the table his face red with embarrassment

“I’m not!” he squeaked out, Kote tried to wrangle the two brothers to calm down and Helix was outright cackling now while Din stared at the chaotic scene in confusion.

“Why?” he blurted out and the chaos around the table as they stared at him. Waxer seeming to overcome his fear looked at him

“Because you’re good and it’s nice to spar with someone new,” He said earnestly

“Hear, hear” Boil chanted as he lifted his drink. Din looked at them both finding his instincts or the Force were telling him that they weren’t lying so Din agreed with a nod

“Sweet, sparring room 5 after the mission?” Waxer said vibrating in his seat with excitement

“Calm down vod’ika” Helix chastised and Din shrugged his heart soaring at the thought of a good spar since all his recent fights had been life or death situations, it’ll be nice to let out some steam.

“Sure” he agreed with a hidden smile. Waxer cheered, Boil rolled his eyes in fondness and then they soon left after that whispering amongst themselves in excitement. Kote turned to Helix with a raised eyebrow

“You were batchmates with them right?” Helix grinned mischief entering his eyes

“Yeah Waxer and Boil were always a chaotic duo”

“Batchmates?” Din asked curiously both of them tensed and stilled, fear spiking in them for a second but then it was replaced by humor again

“Batchmates grew up together, they were usually decanted in the same batch of 5” Helix explained, Kote was still tense though

“Like brothers,” Din said

“All the clones are vode but yes in a way batchmates are closer” There was a smile in Helix’s voice and Kote seemed to shrink in on himself a haunted look crossing his eyes but before Din could ask if he was alright his comm beeped with a message. Kote grinned and stood all, his fear disappearing instantly, Din tilted his head curiously

“Come on Rex’ika will be here soon,” He said with mirth, Helix stood and Din followed. Helix tossed him a ration bar with a scowl, Din fumbled to catch it

“Don’t think I’ve forgotten that you haven’t eaten today” he grumbled and Din gulped. Instead of answering he redirected the conversation away from himself

“Rex’ika?” he asked as he followed Kote since he wasn’t told to go back to the medical room

“My vod’ika” Kote grinned “He’d love to meet you”

“Really?”

“The 501st and General Skywalker are a rowdy bunch so I’m sure you’ll fit right in,” Helix said with a grin. Din paused, stunned the jetii who took Grogu away was younger than him so he shouldn’t be here unless he was near human and aged slower. Din snapped out of his musings when he felt the presence of Kote and Helix move away, he jogged to catch up with them.

“General Skywalker?” He asked a bit winded, Helix chuckled at that

“He is one of the best Generals in the GAR besides Kenobi” he added at Kote’s mock glare

“His plans may seem reckless but he has the fewest losses in the entire army. Rex is certainly not bored under him” Kote said with a proud smile

“At least he doesn’t lose his lightsaber every other battle” Helix teased, Kote sighed in exasperation

“Don’t remind me” he grumbled, Din watched in fascination. Helix left for the medbay about halfway to the hangar. They arrived at the hangar soon after that. It was busy, the engines of the landing LAATs and shuttles deafening, hundreds of troopers all decked out in blue armor were milling about the place, chattering amongst each other and greeting the troopers with orange paint enthusiastically. Kenobi was in the middle of the action directing the troopers and the landing crafts. But before they could reach him a clone with a blue pauldron and jaig eyes painted on his helmet approached them. Kote grinned

“Rex’ika” he exclaimed and enveloped the clone in a hug, relief flowing through him, the blue clone returned the hug just as enthusiastically. Once they finished greeting each other Rex glanced behind Kote where Din was standing suspicion in his frame

“Cody who’s this?” He gestured to Din, Kote grinned

“This is Beroya. We picked him up on Aq-Vetina” Kote introduced him proudly and Rex did a double take

“Beroya? I thought you took a shiny under your wing, not a cadet” Rex said his voice filled with incredulity, and Din bristled

“He’s nat-born Rex’ika,” Cody said with a glare to challenge Rex’s protest. Alas Rex was too oblivious to notice

“Why is he here and why is he wearing our armor?” There was no disgust or contempt in his voice instead he radiated confusion as he stared at Din, Kote shrugged

“Because he needed one and General Kenobi wanted him here” Din stared at Kote with a raised eyebrow as he sensed Kenobi approaching with a man behind him. The man was so bright, like a supernova it took him a second of squinting under the helmet’s sensors to really make out his features. He was tall and imposing, growing messy brown hair and wearing black battle armor and robes.

Din staggered back as the image of the man was replayed in his head. Suddenly he wasn’t in the hangar. He was in a large temple, tall spires casting long shadows in the dark night. Everything was dark and muddy even the air was suffocating, heavy with death and tragedy. Terror sliced through him as the screams of the ade tore through the peaceful setting. Blue flashed across the dark sky before another life joined the thousands screaming in agony. The dark robed demon cut through the children with ease, his golden eyes flashing with hatred and fury.

The temple morphed around him with sickening ripples. He was clutching something important to his chest running as fast as he could. Run away. Protect. Hide. He kept chanting. The shadows around him grew, eating up the low light of the moon leaving behind nothing but cold dead darkness. Out of the darkness, the demon materialized, golden eyes dead to the world yet filled with bottomless hatred. Blue flashed across the hall and orange rose just barely to meet it. The colors clashed, their usual magnificent harmony tainted just out of tune. Blue left and with vicious force came down on the weakening orange again and again like a rabid dog. Another violent clash, the orange now sluggish waning in the darkness that surrounded them. Still, it rose to meet every single violent strike with determination. Then the blue cut through the orange with a brutal strike. It fell into two on the ground. The orange light died out with last pathetic sparks. The darkness eating it alive

Din cried out in terror.

[jamiemackenziefraser]

All That Was Fair 

Chapter 27: Fraser Publishing Part 2

Summary: Claire and Jamie finish out their day at work

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Read chp 27 on tumblr below the cut

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a/n: A huge thank you to my friend @isthisclever (/isthiscleverr on twitter ;) ) for being an amazing beta for this chapter and also dealing with my writer's block/overall overthinking <3. Go check out her story "The Other Side," which one of my favs and is almost completed, ahh! While you're at it, maybe just stalk her whole AO3 page.

Thank you so much for your patience, lovely readers. I managed to get past the writer's block, and this 5k if what just sorta happened after a month of not writing. Hope you like it!!

*

Chapter 27: Fraser Publishing Part 2

The air felt heavy despite the fresh scents and slight breeze. Hand in hand with Claire, Jamie walked slowly around the trail that wound its way in a meandering circle around the park. If he was being honest, he was stalling, trying to give them both time to gather themselves before going back to Fraser Publishing. Jamie couldn't ignore the grief tugging at his insides, but he forced it down deep, praying that Claire couldn’t feel it from where she held onto his hand like it was her lifeline. 

Oh Christ, if she could feel how his grief was eating him up inside...

A cloud hung over them for a long while, but Jamie was trying his best to reassure Claire with comforting touches and sweet words.Gradually, her face began to lift, and he caught sight of the spark of his faerie beneath the sheen of guilt and lost potential blanketing her face. It was still clearly on her mind, though, and Jamie couldn’t shake the discomfort that he was trying to shove itself forward from the pit of his stomach and the back of his mind. 

It was well past lunchtime and when he should have taken her back, but he couldn’t seem to bring himself to force her to go inside when she still seemed so… off.

Apparently that was the right decision because at one random moment, Claire stopped him and abruptly pulled him into a hug. 

“What was that for, my wee faerie?” Jamie asked, brushing a few stray curls away from her forehead after holding her for a long moment. 

“I love you,” she said simply. 

There clearly was more on her mind. In that moment, he didn’t know whether to push her or to leave her be. He tilted his head down, catching her gaze, praying silently that he was making the right decision. 

“What’s botherin’ ye, a leannan?” he asked. He slipped his fingers under her chin and lifted her face higher so he could press a soft kiss to her lips. 

“I just..” she started, but cut herself off to take a deep breath. “I just… I don’t know how to tell you how I’m feeling, Jamie. I’m sad. But also I’m so, so happy. I want to be with you, be happy with you—” she tugged on his hand which was still gripping hers “—forever. I just… want it to last, I suppose?” 

“It will, Sassenach,” he assured in an exhale. “It will, lass. 

“I,” her eyes filled with unshed tears, and Jamie wished he could take them all in the palm of his hand and keep them from spilling from her eyes. She didn’t cry, though, just blinked watery eyes up at him. “I know we haven’t talked much about… the rest of our lives… but— talking about not having babies today just made me think. Maybe... maybe I’m not meant to be forever for you?” 

Jamie’s heart dropped below his toes, sinking down through the grass beneath his feet and likely down into the very core of the earth. He could barely force the words out through his suddenly raw throat when he asked shakily, “Do… do you no’ want that, Claire?” 

She shook her head so violently that the curls swished back and forth over her face. The expression of horror at the question eased Jamie considerably, and her answer fully assuaged the rest of the rising panic. 

“I do want that, Jamie. From the second I ran to you from that hill I knew it was forever. I love you more than the life that was mine. I just… if that’s not what’s best for you, I wouldn’t take the rest of your life from you. Your dreams.” It was her turn to raise a hand to his face, cupping his cheek with oceans of tender, selfless concern swimming in her eyes. 

“It’s always been forever for me, Sassenach,” he told her firmly, voice low. He believed it with every bone in his body. “And I told you before, I have no life but you, Claire.” 

She blinked, and he could tell she was trying very hard not to break down into tears. 

If he could have, he would have gotten down on one knee and proposed to her then and there. He knew it was forever, and he wanted desperately to share that with her, but there were conversations that needed to be had and preparations to be made before he could.

He let go of her hand and raised both to her face. He held her between his hands, cradling his whole entire world between his palms. Beseeching her to listen, he held her gaze for a long moment. 

“I dinna have to be an empath like you to ken that ye’re still feelin’ guilty, mo ghraidh,” he said. “Please, listen to me. I wouldna tell ye this if it werena true.” He took a breath. “If you could gi’ up yer old life, yer people, yer home… for me... it is nothin’ for me to no’ be able to have biological children. I would trade everything I have to keep ye. Everything. And I wouldna think twice. I want ye forever, Sassenach, whatever that means.” 

Her cheek was so soft under his fingers, and he was startled to find wetness there. He glanced up to her eyes to find that she’d finally lost her control and tears were escaping to roll down her face. 

“Please, dinna cry anymore,” he pleaded, “I canna bear for ye to be in pain.” 

“I’m not crying because I’m sad, Jamie,” she whispered. “I’m crying because I love you.” 

***

Walking back inside Fraser’s Publishing some time later, Claire seemed much more at peace. She no longer visibly waged war inside herself, and Jamie felt like he could finally breathe. The heartache they’d shared was far from over, but at least its troubles for that day could be left outside in the park. 

As they came inside, they were greeted by Mrs. Crook, who immediately beckoned them over to her desk with an eager wave. 

“Claire, darling! I have some homemade cookies I thought ye might like to try…” 

“That’s verra kind, but she has food allergies, Mrs. Crook. She doesna accept food from anyone,” Jamie quickly cut in. 

“Oh, well,” Mrs. Crook looked back toward Claire again. “I saw ye wi’ the Murray weans earlier, dear. Maybe ye would be interested in seein’ some photographs of my darling grandbairns?” 

The woman was clearly desperate to bond with Claire, and Jamie couldn’t help but feel proud to see how much of an impression his lass had made. Claire shot him a quick smile, giving him a nod and a look that said “I’ll be alright.” 

“I’ll meet ye back in my office,” Jamie said, leaning down to press a quick kiss to the top of her curls. 

Before she could even reply to him, Mrs. Crook had snagged her arm and was herding her over to her desk, Claire good-naturedly following while blowing Jamie a kiss. 

Leaving the ladies in peace, Jamie started toward his office. Before he’d even made it out of the reception area, however, he found himself face-to-face with Geneva Dunsany, forcing him to grind to a halt. 

Geneva was one of the lower level staff members in marketing and a relatively new hire. Jamie usually only hired people he knew personally, but John had insisted on her as a favor to her father, a longtime family friend. Jamie didn’t know much about her other than that she was competent enough at her job that he never had to interact much. 

But here in front of him stood the dark-haired lass, her face caked in makeup that was a shade too dark and her fake lashes blinking up at him. 

“I wondered if I might have a moment,” she asked. 

Jamie spared a glance behind him, checking that Claire was alright. Upon seeing her chatting away with Mrs. Crook over a picture on the reception desk (and hopefully not in immediate danger of revealing her secret), he turned back to Geneva. 

“Of course. What can I do for ye?” 

“I had a question about… Well, I thought I might ask you to have a look over some quarterly reports I’ve completed.”

As she was speaking, Jamie shot another look over his shoulder. He couldn’t help but worry about Claire when she wasn’t by his side, and he was impatient to get her tucked safely away in his office so he could finally get some real work done. 

Geneva was clearly displeased by his less than courteous behavior. 

“Mr. Fraser,” she sighed. 

He turned back toward her, reminding himself of his dedication to his company— as distracted as he was, an employee didn’t deserve to be treated like this. 

Geneva was already speaking again. “I was wondering if perhaps later today you could come by my office? Or I could come to yours?” 

“Ms. Dunsany, I’m afraid I’m verra busy at the moment and I’ve lost a fair bit of time already… Perhaps ye could take it up wi’ John instead?” 

“But…” her response faded from his attention as a familiar wee hand suddenly wrapped itself around his bicep and a body pressed flush against his side. 

At Claire’s sudden appearance, Geneva cut herself off mid sentence, her painted mouth falling open into a disgruntled “o.” 

“Hi, my love,” Claire all but purred to Jamie, giving his arm a squeeze. She tugged him slightly downward, enough so that she could stand on her tiptoes and press a kiss to his cheek. 

Jamie was left bewildered as one of her hands snaked over to plant itself firmly on the center of his chest and rub back and forth. 

“Hi, mo ghraidh, ehm—” he struggled to find words as Claire gave him another kiss, this time to his shoulder. He could barely focus his mind as it seemed her hands were everywhere at once: stroking his chest, rubbing his arm. What the devil had gotten into her? 

He finally remembered what he was trying to do, and managed out a weak, “This is Geneva, our…” her job title flew out the window as Claire’s hand went from his chest to hook into one of his belt loops on the opposite side, effectively stopping his heart and his brain in one simple motion. 

“Geneva, this is Claire,” the words burst out in a rush with zero brain cells behind them as he desperately tried to fulfill his social duties in the face of his girlfriend’s advances. 

He lowered his head to try to catch a glance at Claire’s face, to make eye contact and glean some sort of clue about what had gotten into her, but he found she wasn’t even looking at him. Instead, her eyes were fixed straight ahead, right on Geneva. 

“Hello,” Geneva said, a hint of disapproval in her voice. She took a step back from them as her eyes flicked up and down. 

“Hello,” Claire replied, but her tone made Jamie start. Never before had he heard his faerie— his joyful, bubbly, loves-everyone-without-discrimination faerie— sound so cold. Her voice was low and steady, without even a hint of smile. 

Jamie’s brain went on high alert as Geneva reached a hand out for a handshake. They had rehearsed this in the car (not that Claire’d had a chance to use it yet with all the hugs she’d been giving out), but Jamie was worried that all the training had gone from her mind when she had apparently lost her marbles. 

However, Claire removed her right hand from where it had been placed over Jamie’s stomach to reach out and clasp Geneva’s while keeping herself firmly glued to Jamie’s side. 

He could feel her stiffen against him the moment the two lasses made contact, and then, as if a rubber band had been snapped, Claire withdrew her hand and turned to Jamie with a jerk.  

“I need something from your… room, darling,” she said forcefully, clearly forgetting the word for office. 

“Of course, a leannan, what do ye—”

Before he could finish getting out his question, Claire was stepping in front of him to drag him away. He allowed himself to be tugged off by his faerie, leaving behind a nonplussed and rather displeased looking Geneva. 

When they got down the hall to his office, Claire all but shoved him inside. Jamie stumbled through as Claire shut the door behind them. He was just beginning to ask, “What the devil has gotten into ye—?” when Claire was suddenly on top of him, her lips claiming his so insistently that it was almost an attack rather than a kiss.

His words were muffled by her lips, and he found himself getting shoved up against a wall as she took his mouth. All protestations died in his throat and her strange behavior was wiped from his mind as her kiss clouded his senses, filling him so entirely. He let her tangle her fingers in the curls at the nape of his neck, pulling him down to her, and he didn’t resist even as she tugged hard and her tongue swiped into his mouth. 

He was fairly certain that she would be the death of him, but he was more than willing to die of asphyxiation if it meant that her lips wouldn’t leave his. Her mouth pressed hot against his, demanding and consuming. Still, as his lungs screamed for air, and he urgently squeezed her waist where his hands were resting. 

She tore her lips away, gasping for breath, and then stood there, panting. She was quite a sight. Her hair was mussed, lips puffy, and her eyes held a hard look, darker than he’d ever seen them before. 

What the hell?

“What— what was that?” Jamie gasped, barely able to find his breath. Claire had clearly stolen it from him during that heated kiss, right along with his wits and perhaps even his free will.  

“You’re mine,” Claire said hotly, drawing closer again so her body could press against his as she said it. Her eyes blazed as they locked with Jamie, as if daring him to disagree. 

“Of course I’m yours, mo nighean donn, but what brought this on?” 

Claire had been in the process of leaning in to trail a line of kisses down his neck when he spoke, and she halted on her second kiss to draw back with a huff. 

Clearly bothered, she looked almost dangerous as she said in a low voice, “Geneva. She wants you.” 

“What?” it was almost a laugh as Jamie reacted to her claim. 

Claire took a tiny step back so she could properly meet his eyes, and then said, very resolutely, “She does, Jamie. I touched her, I know. I could tell even before I felt it that she wanted you.” 

Jamie’s mouth fell open at this revelation. He knew better than to protest, and upon hearing her confirmation, he realized that Geneva had been rather forward lately, but that didn’t mean she… 

Looking at Claire’s heated expression, it clearly did. His lass was inflamed. Her cheeks were flushed, pupils dilated, and her jaw clenched tightly. 

Jamie couldn’t help it as a smirk began to turn up the corner of his lips and a warm feeling of something akin to satisfaction spread in his chest. 

“So ye’re tellin’ me… that whole scene outside, and then you all but attackin’ me in here… was because ye were jealous?” 

“Well,” Claire shifted on her feet slightly, for the first time in several minutes breaking free from her severe look, “yes. You’re mine, and she—”

“Aye, I’m yers, mo ghraidh, no doubt about it,” he confirmed without hesitation, making sure she knew it was the absolute truth of his heart, “jes’ as ye’re mine.” 

He couldn’t help but smile though as the pieces all fell into place. She’d seen him from across the room and gotten jealous, so she had marched on over to stake her claim on him before demonstrating her power by stealing him away, only to kiss the living daylights out of him. It all made sense now. Her behavior wasn’t random. It was possessive. 

“You’re enjoying this!” Claire exclaimed, looking up at him with an open mouth. She was trying to sound appalled, but he could see the smile she was trying to smother turning up the corners of her lips. 

The laughter bubbled up from his chest, and he grabbed her around the waist to pull her against him as he chuckled. “Ye’re too much, mo nighean donn. And it only makes me love ye more and more.” 

Despite herself, she started laughing too, grabbing his shoulders as he hauled her against him. 

“I suppose it was rather… petty,” she admitted, biting her lip. 

“Mmmm, the way ye kissed me, though. I think I wish more lassies would take a fancy to me jes’ to get that reaction from ye again…”

She smacked him lightly on the chest, but she was still smiling as he leaned down to peck her on the lips. 

“You don’t need silly girls to want you in order to get me to kiss you like that…” Claire teased, standing on her tiptoes so she could hover her lips over his. 

“Oh, is that so? What must I do, then?” 

“Absolutely nothing,” she breathed. 

And then her lips were on his again, and she showed him exactly how little he had to do.��

*

Jamie lost another solid twenty minutes of work time due to the makeout session with Claire that ended up with him pressed against his desk and Claire doing her darndest to make him lose every ounce of self control he’d ever possessed. He’d never been more grateful in his life that his office window had blinds and a locking door. 

As nice as it was to have the very enjoyable attentions of his love, he had wasted so much of the day away already, and there was work to be done. He reluctantly detached his faerie, pulling her away by the waist while she murmured a protest. 

Jamie swiped a thumb over her puffy lips as she pouted at him, resisting the urge to laugh. 

How he loved her with his whole heart. 

“Sorry, Sassenach, I really hafta finish up some work before everyone leaves for the day, and at this rate, I willna ever be able to stop kissin’ ye.” 

She caught his fingers in a quick kiss before she frowned. “I don’t understand why all of you are so caught up with ‘work’,” she commented with distaste. 

“I’m beginnin’ to agree wi’ ye, Sassenach,” Jamie snorted. The temptation to throw everything out the window and pay attention to absolutely nothing save this alluring creature in front of him was nearly enough to drive him mad. But Jamie loved his work, cared about his business, and he had to have some self control— what few scraps remained. 

“Why dinna ye look through some of my books on the shelves while I work? I ken ye canna read the words, but there are some verra beautiful illustrations— uh, pictures, drawings— in some of them.” 

Jamie cursed himself for not bringing adequate entertainment for her. Although, beyond Adso, the space heater, and the garden— well, and him, of course— Jamie wasn’t sure what exactly entertained Claire. 

She agreed with only a brief pout, and Jamie could finally let out the breath he’d been holding when she was safely across the room, browsing the bookshelf. Feeling his heart rate finally descend (was it safe for it to be that elevated for that long?) he settled down in front of his computer. 

He managed to get a good chunk of work done while Claire busied herself with flipping through nearly every book he owned. It turned out that it was an excellent idea, as she seemed well entertained. Every once in a while, Jamie would hear a gasp and have to look up to see the adorable expression of wonder on Claire’s face as she discovered another illustration. It was mainly the kids books, he noticed, that really wowed her. Likely because she could follow the story based on the pictures, and she grew absorbed. Before long, there was a semi-circle of opened books surrounding her on the floor. It warmed him to notice that she never closed them— always leaving them open when she found an illustration she particularly liked, as if she wanted to go back and see it again. 

Despite her fascination and apparent entertainment, it was what felt like a short time later when Jamie was interrupted from deep concentration by a hand sliding up his arm to rest on his shoulder. 

“Claire, what are ye—?” he started, but was cut off when both of her hands smoothed over his shoulders. 

“You’re so tense,” came her smooth voice startlingly close to his ear. 

“Aye,”  he said, rolling his shoulders, “I tend tae carry my stress there when I’m workin.” 

“I don’t want you to be tense.” Her breath tickled his ear, and a shiver rolled down his spine. Warm hands began kneading into his shoulders, digging into the soreness of the muscles. Her touch was the perfect mix of gentle and strong, pulling the tension from his body. He couldn’t help the sigh that fell from his lips. 

Her hands didn’t let up their work, but she sometimes paused to smooth over his shoulders in broad strokes. Without meaning to, his hands fell away from the keyboard and his head tilted back. His eyes were closed in relaxation… when had he closed his eyes? 

He realized distantly that Claire was murmuring soothing words above him. 

“Does that feel good? Let out the tension, darling. There. I’ve got you.”

She hit a particularly tense knot, but the magic of her fingers had it loosening after only a second. 

“Oh Lord,” he breathed, feeling like he was in a trance. “Ye’re so good at this. I—”

His eyes suddenly popped open and he bolted up in his chair, “Christ, lass. Ye’re doin’ yer best tae distract me from my work, are ye no’?” 

“Shhh, don’t worry about it, just relax, my love,” she murmured into his ear, pressing down on his shoulders to get him to sit back in his chair again. 

He was onto her game now, though, and reached up to grab her hand and still her. 

“I have tae work, lass.” 

“I’m not stopping you,” she replied. 

The hand he hadn’t seized stroked over his shoulder. Feeling unequipped to the task of arguing with her, Jamie simply let go and brought his hands back to the keyboard. 

Alright, Fraser. This is a simple game. If you stop giving her attention, she’ll get bored and leave ye be. 

He focused all this attention on the computer screen, ignoring her as she continued her ministrations. It wasn’t the best job, but he managed to type out a few sentences before suddenly there were soft lips tracing the shell of his ear. 

Another shiver ran down his spine, and there was a slight tug of teeth on his earlobe before she kissed it again, soothing the spot with a flutter of breath. 

“Sassenach,” he said in a warning tone. 

“What? I’m not stopping you,” she replied innocently before stooping lower to brush her lips— just barely— down his throat. 

“Ye ken verra well that ye are,” he sighed, the sound turning from frustration to pleasure as she hit a particular spot that made his stomach twist. 

Her fingers were tracing just barely under his shirt, tucking themselves inside the collar. She didn’t seem to be listening, or maybe it was just that she didn’t care, because she refused to respond to the protestation. Instead, she breathed out, “Do you know you have beautiful collarbones?” 

“I didna ken, and I thank ye for the observation. May I return to my work now?” Jamie asked, trying to keep the pleading from his tone. 

She hummed to herself, “I’m not standing in your way.” 

Okay. So maybe he wasn’t quite strong enough to ignore it. And she was in no mood to free him from her clutches on her own accord. 

Swivelling so abruptly in his chair that Claire nearly fell over backward in surprise, he faced her. He took her hands in his and brushed his thumbs over the back of her knuckles. 

“Listen, lass. There’s no way I’ll get anythin’ done while ye’re toyin’ wi’ me, and I still have much to do. So let me make ye a deal. Gi’ me one hour wi’out interruptions, and I’ll… well…” Jamie found himself at a loss for bargaining chips. Ifrinn. The lass had him so well in the palm of her hand that he already gave her whatever she wanted. He decided to flip it and open it up to her. “What do ye want? In return?” 

Her eyes flashed with excitement and a twinkle of mischief. Jamie braced himself for some devious declaration or demand for a game that would prove tortuous for his self control, but instead of anything like that, Claire surprised him by smugly requesting, “I want one hour in front of the heater.” 

Jamie nearly laughed out loud. He’d come to realize that the lass thought that the space heater was a precious, exhaustible commodity, not some piece of junk hooked up to electricity. He hadn’t wanted to disavow her of that notion for fear that she’d spend every waking second in front of it instead of with him, and it seemed now it was going to play the situation to his advantage. 

“I think I may be able tae make that happen,” he said slowly, keeping his cards close to his chest. 

“With you!” she added quickly, narrowing her eyes, “for the full hour.” 

“Do we have a deal then?” he asked, putting on his best business face. 

“We have a deal,” Claire nodded primly. 

Rather than a handshake, Jamie opted for a quick peck of lips. As Claire drew away and made to head back toward the bookshelf on the opposite corner of the room, she looked like a cat that got the cream.

Better luck next time, lass. If you wanna bargain, better come knowing what’s of value. 

Feeling smug in his own right, Jamie returned to his work. This time, it wasn’t his girlfriend’s hands on him distracting his mind. Rather, it was the unshakable feeling of fondness that filled his stomach and warmed him to his toes. 

***

“Hey, Jamie?” Claire asked, breaking the silence about 45 minutes into the agreed hour. 

“What is it, a leannan?” 

He tore his gaze from his computer to find Claire looking up at him from where she sat on the floor at the foot of the bookshelf. Her arms were wrapped around her middle, and she looked so wee curled up in the corner, shooting him a troubled gaze with eyes that were round as a doe’s. 

“I’m cold.”

Brows furrowing, he abandoned his work— in the middle of a sentence no less— and went to her. She was shivering, despite it being rather balmy in his office. 

His wee faerie, typical. 

“Here, lass.” Jamie stripped off his suit jacket to wrap around her shoulders. She took it gratefully, her hands brushing Jamie’s at the edges. That bit of contact jolted through him, shattering any notions of him returning to his work straight away, and he fell to his knees beside her so he could wrap her in a hug. 

She melted instantly into his arms, laying her head on his shoulder. He smoothed his hands up and down her back, and it was at that moment that he felt her shivering. 

“Christ, lass, ye really are cold,” he burst out in concern. 

“It’s cold,” she repeated, shifting herself within his arms to burrow closer. 

“It’s no’ this cold,” he breathed. 

She didn’t say anything, just trembled against him. She withdrew her hands from around his middle and instead tucked them against his chest between where their bodies were pressed together. 

Jamie bit his bottom lip and repositioned himself to get comfortable. It seemed he was in for a longer break from his work than expected. His heart was beginning to beat faster as anxiety for his love rose in his chest. 

“This is more than temperature, a ghraidh,” he said softly. 

She shook her head where it laid on his shoulder but made no move to raise it and look at him. 

“Ye were fine all mornin’,” he noted quietly as his brain began working in earnest. 

“I’m fine now,” Claire insisted, her voice muffled from where her mouth pressed against Jamie’s shoulder. 

“I dinna think ye are,” Jamie finally said out loud, admitting the fear that had been rattling around inside of him for days now. He’d watched the little things add up, even worried over them, but every time he managed to convince himself it was nothing. Even just this morning he’d thought perhaps everything was in his head. Now, however, it was just another item to add to the growing list that was too long to be coincidence. 

“I told you, Jamie. It’s nothing,” Claire said, her voice gaining an edge to it. “I can feel you worrying.” 

Jamie swallowed thickly. A rush of guilt washed over him, and he wondered whether she could feel that too. Gah! It was impossible not to feel things, especially when it came to her. It was terrifying to know she could read them, and that what he was feeling could make things worse for her. 

“This isna nothin’ Sassenach, but I dinna ken—”

Claire sat up abruptly, pushing herself away from him with two hands planted firmly on his chest until she had gained her distance. Irritation was rising in her as warm spots on her cheeks, and her eyes flashed a darker shade of gold. 

“Don’t tell me about me like you know better than I do,” she said, brows drawing together in frustration. 

“I’m no’, I just—” 

Jamie reached for her, but she batted his hands away. 

“I’m telling you, it’s nothing. If you were tired of trying to warm me up, you could have just said something.” 

She was moving backward now, attempting to put more distance between them, but Jamie reached out to grasp her upper arm, holding her still. Her head whipped toward him, eyes hard and ready to lash out, but Jamie spoke before she could. 

“Please, dinna go,” was all he could think to say. 

It wasn’t like she was actually going to storm out of his office— at least he hoped not— but it still hurt for her to tear herself away like that. He didn’t want to fight.  

Something— perhaps it was his pleading tone, the look on his face, or maybe she could actually feel his distress— made her freeze and give him her attention. 

“I’m sorry if I made ye feel like ye werena my priority, mo ghraidh, because ye are. Always. I would abandon work entirely jes’ tae hold ye in my arms, for however long ye wanted. I’m jes’ worried, lass, I dinna mean to presume I ken more than you do about yer own body. I’m sorry. Please, lass, come here to me?” 

Claire’s eyes filled with tears. She remained stock still, her eyes locked with Jamie’s. There was a long moment where he watched the moisture gather in her eyes and the gears turn in her head as she fought within herself, and then she broke the stillness. She did come to him then, scrambling up into his lap and throwing her arms around him. A wet face pressed into the crook of his neck, and Jamie quickly brought his arms up to hold her, pressing her face into him and feeling relief course through him. 

“I’m sorry,” she said, “I don’t know why I lashed out at you, Jamie. I didn’t mean that.”

“Hush, hush, it’s okay, a leannan,” Jamie soothed, carding his fingers through her curls and rocking her back and forth. “Ye’ve had a long day. Ye’ve felt yer share of heartache, met so many new people and seen so many new things, and ye’re tired. Why dinna we head home now, aye?” 

She drew back, blinking tears away from her eyelashes. “Maybe just in a moment?” 

“Of course, Sassenach.” Jamie didn’t need to be an empath to know that she needed a second to gather herself together before she could face the task of exiting the building and encountering whatever people went along with that. 

“Hey, I love you,” Jamie added softly, petting her hair, pulling it back away from her neck over and over. He stretched his thumb so he could smooth over the long muscle of her neck, feeling the soft skin and wishing he were at an angle that he could press a kiss there. 

“I love you, too,” came her quiet response.

***

a/n: Important Update:

Hey friends! So I may be going off the grid a bit later in June, not 100% sure yet. There probably will end up being a brief hiatus for this story, and I wish I could tell you exactly what it will look like, but I don't know yet. I will keep you posted here. Thank you so much for your flexibility and investment in the story, and I'll do my best not to leave you at cliffhangers. While I still have time left, be prepared that updates may get a bit more frequent.

I don’t remember if I’ve announced it on here yet, but I also want to officially say that an Arc III is in the works! I’ve already started writing a bit on it because I’m so excited about it. So don’t worry, even if there is a brief hiatus, there is lots of story left. Thank you for sticking with me!!!

Next

[ronalddear]

Experiment.

hey! this is a little one-shot into some DH tent angst (really doesn't get better than that) this is my first time writing any fanfiction at all so bear in mind that this is very armature.

I've been thinking about this idea for a couple months now and it's officially my headcannon replacement for the Harry-Hermione dance scene in DH, which i'm not the biggest fan of. I've already rambled on a bit but please feel free to reblog and comment your opinions and possible improvements!

The ground was inexplicably hard where Ron stood, the canvas tent behind him violently thrashing through the harsh night wind. Perhaps his thin shoes were wearing out after years of being hand-me downs, or months of endless use while they aimlessly trudged around Britain.

Ron knew though, that he was just tired. He didn't know how his shoulders managed to sag with exhaustion while remaining tense in discomfort but that's how he's been since he woke up in that god-forsaken tent.

He checked and re-enforced the wards, something that he was insanely adamant about after returning, paranoia finally setting in. It was constant at this point, hunger had become somewhat familiar and his fingertips were always a faint purple.

Not that he was complaining, he had Harry and Hermione within arms and ears reach now and he could not possibly ask for anything more.

"Ron! Dinner!", Harry's voice rang through his ears, disrupting his thoughts.

Shit. He had done it. He wasn't aware how long he had been wallowing outside and he was sure the porridge he had taken his time making for the three of them had overcooked on the stove.

He could picture Hermione's look of disdain clearly and cursed himself, not wanting her to get more mad at him but also acknowledging how he had wasted their already near non-existent supply of food.

"Merlin, I'm sorry! I'll try and find something else to-" he began with pace and halted halfway through.

Harry stood expectantly in the tiny living room area in front of Hermione who was neatly sat on their tiny couch. Harry's hands were raised excitedly yet awkwardly in an 'L" shape gesturing towards the worn table where Hermione's books usually lived.

Except there was a small space cleared, and it was occupying a small plate which had about 4 stacks of bread, with jam doused in-between and on top, with the wand that he had given Harry stabbed in the middle, a tiny flame at its tip.

Bloody hell it was a birthday cake.

"My birthday already?" he mumbled, still in awe of the poorly presented but beautiful stack in front of him.

"Well-"

'It was yesterday, I checked the calendar this morning." Hermione cut Harry off shortly, her eyes shamefully anywhere but Ron.

"Oh" he said, wishing so desperately that she would just look at him.

"Come on then mate, make your wish, because I'm not bloody singing" Harry encouraged, his eyes shining fondly at Ron.

With a soft chuckle, he sat on the ground at the table, feeling Harry follow next to him. He blew out the 'candle' softly, not even thinking about his wish, there were simply too many.

Harry gave a low whoop and reached over Ron with a knife and fork and haphazardly cut the cake into thirds.

When Hermione's eyes finally reached his, because yes, he had not taken his eyes off her, his stomach gave a jolt and a small smile graced his lips. Her lips however were still set in the line that she had been giving him for the past couple weeks but her eyes were so gentle and loving, almost unwillingly so, as if she was trying so very hard to be mad. After Harry hurriedly plated their shares and they began eating, a small lump began forming in Ron's throat. He willed himself not to cry, it was just sodding jam soaked toast after all.

He looked up at his two best friends as they ate, observing as Harry scarfed down his portion and as Hermione ate slowly, taking sips of her weak tea in between, knowing it was far too sweet for her taste.

"Wish we could have given you a gift." she said so softly, that he had taken a few seconds to register that she said anything at all.

Her eyes were still on her plate.

"Don't need one", he murmured, hoping that he sounded earnest enough that it could translate how very thankful he was.

"Really?! You sure?", Harry said, and Ron swore for a second that it was eleven year old Harry speaking to him. It was evident that the boy was prone to sugar rushes, even if it was a tablespoon of old jam.

"I have all I need.", he said, voice steadier this time, flashing a grateful smile at him, which was returned.

"Really? Not even a special birthday snog Ron? Because if you want I'll do it again-"

"Harry I'm fine! Merlin's Beard!', Ron interrupted Harry's rushed teasing with loud laughter, Harry's roaring laugh following close behind.

"Wait what do you mean again?" Hermione chanced at Harry, her eyebrows furrowed inquisitively and mouth adorably agape.

Breaking their giggling fit, they both turned towards her , eyes widening at the exact same time. It was then Ron realized that there was soft music playing, presumably from the wireless that was on the table. Has it always been on?

'Nothing don't worry."

"Nothing!"

Harry had followed Ron with the most non-convincing 'nothing' he had ever heard. Sensing what was about to happen, he suddenly felt the strongest urge to slap Harry on the back of his head.

"No no, you said again" Hemione retaliated, her eyes wide as ever, it was the most lively Ron had seen her for months.

"It was once in fourth year!"

'Don't worry about it Hermione, it's fine."

Ron's head snapped toward Harry cursing the stupid sugar in the stupid jam that apparently made Harry, quite frankly, very stupid.

"Wait wait! what?!" Hermione was energetic now and had fully swiveled to face them both.

Realizing that he physically could not lie to Hermione straight to her face, he accepted his fate and both boys began rambling at the same time, Harry excitedly, Ron bracingly.

"Look after the Yule ball-"

"This is rather depressing actually-"

"Shut up Ron, you liked it."

"I don't recall saying I didn't-"

'Anyway, after the shit-show that was the ball, y'know, we wanted to see if-"

"Oh my god I can't believe we're actually- We said we wouldn't tell anyone!"

"Bit late now Ron, anyway, we wanted to-'

"To see if what?!" Hermione gaped at them both, she was clearly teasing now, after seeing Harry's frantic (and hand waving heavy) storytelling and Ron's hair to toe blush.

"Just experimenting-"

"Just for fun!" Harry interjected.

They turned towards each other, eyes wide and then proceeded to practically scream at Hermione.

"Just for fun!'

Just experimenting!"

Great. Now they've switched excuses.

Hermione burst into loud laughter, after much suppression. It was, by far, the most beautiful sound Ron had ever heard and he wished for it to never stop.

This unfortunately, did not halt his maroon blush or the clearly embarrassed look on his face, which made her laugh even more. The second he took a glance at Harry and their eyes met they erupted into an uncontrollable fit of giggles, Harry doubling over and Ron throwing his head back. Drunk on laughter perhaps, Harry leaned over to the wireless and increased the volume, a slow yet rhythmic song filled the small tent.

"Let's have a ball yeah? Like last time?' Harry said, eyebrows wiggling suggestively on the last part, causing Ron to start laughing again, completely red faced.

Hermione struggled to breathe giggling as she looked on at them clearly trying to ballroom dance and failing miserably. The form was so bad no one was sure who was leading at this point, Ron's shoulders much too stiff and Harry's hands much too loose around Ron's waist. They were jumping around madly in the tent laughing harder than ever. Hermione managed to tease once more through gasping breaths,

"Should I leave before you start snogging or-"

"Oh shut up you!", Harry exclaimed, accompanied by a rude hand gesture and Ron simply stared at her and grinned.

'Come join us then', Ron said, holding out his hand for her.

She pretended to think for a moment before getting up, the thin blanket around her laid forgotten on the couch. They rotated for a couple moments, Hermione taking turns in being spun by Harry and Ron, all three of them a giggling mess, their threadbare socks squeaking on the wood floors.

Ron and Harry began a much too rough slow dance once more and Hermione was lightly swaying on her own before standing behind Ron, wrapping her arms around his stomach and tiptoeing her furthest, her nose barely reaching his shoulder. Effectively sandwiched between the pair of them, Ron was thrashing widely in attempts to throw them all off balance, cheeks impossibly red. The lump that was in his throat earlier had developed into free flowing tears and sniffles and he didn't care to stop them.

It didn't bother him because he knew he saw Harry's watering eyes and wobbly smile and felt Hermione's soft sobs through her giggles.

It was definitely the sugar or perhaps the sheer sadness of it all but for a moment they were still children who didn't have any worries or wars to fight on their own. Hermione nuzzled into Ron's back, still giggling, and placed a shy but firm kiss on his jumper-clad shoulder. He reached behind him for her hand and gently pulled her to the front, now spinning both Harry and Hermione, his heart glowing with joy. He tugged her towards him and gave a soft, chaste kiss to her hairline. Now both giggling, they seized Harry and planted two very hard kisses on his cheeks from behind, startling him enough to let out a disgusted squeak and he roared with laughter as he wiped his face on his jacket.

It was insanely messy but it was perfect. So perfect that Ron didn't care that in the morning he would have to second guess if Hermione was even close to forgiving him or that Harry would brood all day about the Hallows and be distant from them both, a war on their shoulders. He was with the two people he loved the most and for that he was thankful.