#i would like to gently hold the caterpillar and perhaps place him Gently in a blender-

[yandere-sins]

Routine

I had the absolute pleasure to write for @bellanovas who wished for a continuation for the events after Different ♥ Thank you so much for your support over Ko-fi and then continously as a commission, you’re awesome!

Characters: Yandere!Atsumu Miya x Fem!Reader x Yandere!Osamu Miya (For clarification: While they reader in the previous one-shots used they/them pronouns, we used she/her here) Warnings: Yandere, Kidnapping, Emotional Meltdown, Forced Affection, Attempted Feeding

Even you knew the charm of routine. 

Even though you were kidnapped and held in this apartment against your will by not one but two crazy men, you understood how a routine helped you to look forward to certain things and not so much to others. Still, it was nice knowing Osamu woke up first, letting you and his brother pull the blanket over your heads a few minutes more until Atsumu had to get up for his morning run and you for your breakfast. You always looked forward to them leaving for the day, despite it meaning they were going to lock you in your room, but at least you had some alone time to either keep napping, read a book, or play a game. It was also the only time you were able to shower or bath without always having the nagging feeling of someone waiting at the door for you, trying to get in even though they knew you locked it. 

Routine meant knowing that your peace would be disturbed with either of the two coming home. There wasn’t a pattern to who returned first and when, the two of them communicating it throughout the day without having a way of letting you know - and not always wanting you to know either. If it was Osamu, you knew you’d at least get dinner soon. If it was Atsumu who walked through the door, a big idiotic grin on his face when he saw you, you sighed, wishing he’d still be at practice. At least, if Atsumu let go of you, he let you roam the full apartment and often brought you new things to get busy with.

However, that was only your day. The meaning of ‘routine’ meant something different entirely for the twins.

Cornering you against the wall, you averted your face to escape the smell of a deodorant shower mixed with sweat. It couldn’t be helped; Atsumu was what he wanted to be - an athlete. Nonetheless, he liked to disregard your personal space in favor of getting closer and closer, even if he only just returned home after a long day, immediately causing a ruckus. 

You see, for the twins, you were the height of their days. No matter how much they enjoyed their daily activities, once they were done, you were the only thing on their mind. No amount of desire and yearning could come close to the drive they felt rushing back from their work to their home to continue their routine of loving you. A feature of this routine was that things you did once had to be shown again. Had to be experienced again, especially if they were cute. 

Thus, your current suffering involved a grown man cornering you, trying to squeeze out the sweet, sweet ‘Welcome Home’ you muttered to him while your mind was foggy from the pleasure you had experienced on that day. It had become a part he’d have liked to implement in his routine, especially with how stubborn you turned out to be when it came to repeating it. You weren’t raising your hands or struggled as much as you did at first when they kidnapped you, but this was a matter of principle. Once you gave in to Atsumu, you’d always have to do it, and once they had this little bit, they’d demand more enthusiasm and more work. You’ve been with them long enough. You knew how these things would end.

It had been foolish, you couldn’t lie. Even though you had only tried to soothe the flared tempers of your captors with these words and were driven by serotonin and other feelings of happiness, you could only blame yourself for doing what you did. Never before had you shown even the smallest enthusiasm over their return, and having, especially Atsumu, latch on to that now, was just an immediate consequence. Any piece of affection you gave him was swallowed wholly and manifested in his head as a new routine for him. Had it been anything else - a kiss, a hug, an apology - you’d be in the same predicament, but it just had to be this silly greeting.

Perhaps you should have tried humoring him just to please him and get him off you, but the thought alone made you want to throw up. Once you’d allow this to fester in his routine, Osamu, too, would demand the same treatment. Before you knew it, the words alone wouldn’t be enough to satisfy their growing hunger for your attention. Suddenly you’d have to be affectionate with them when they arrived at your door, and they’d start to crave for more than you had to offer. There would be no avoiding or forgetting about something they made their routine, and soon enough, it would need to become part of your schedule too.

“I’m home,” he cooed, leaning forward to kiss your forehead. He was prompting you, fishing for what he wanted. Atsumu had a gift to ignore failure, simply trying it again even if his endeavors hadn’t been successful yet. ‘No’ wasn’t in his dictionary, and his understanding of you entirely revolved around loving you and gaining attention and praise from you. Fighting him was the worst. Though Osamu scared you more on a general day-to-day-basis, Atsumu was undeniably trickier than his brother. At least Osamu knew how to take a hint, while Atsumu ignored any and all that didn’t suit him. 

“Home,” he continued, lips fluttering against your temple. “Home~” Another kiss to your chin. Arms started to crawl around your body, feeling like caterpillars wandering over your skin. Knowing what was about to happen, you tensed up, feeling your flight instincts setting in. But where to? Atsumu was already all around you. 

Reluctantly you complied with Atsumu’s demands, his pulls and pushes leading you to the nearby couch. You knew if you wouldn’t move by your own efforts, he’d drag you with him, and not very gently so. At least that much you had already gone through, experienced, and submitted to. You preferred moving over bruising from his grips and pulls. It still wasn’t easy to give in to the fall when Atsumu plummeted onto the cushions, making you lose your steady feet on the ground in favor of seating you on his lap. Still, even that was manageable, though you wished you could have chosen any other position than straddling him. 

The two of you settled like this, his deodorant still filling your nose with its pungent smell, but the hand placing upon the back of your head pushed you forward into his chest relentlessly. It was dizzying but not the worst thing you ever smelled, even though you’d have preferred his deodorant not to be as strong and musky. 

Satisfied, Atsumu embraced you tightly for a few seconds, taking a deep breath of you in return, until you started to stir from the uncomfortable hug. At least for now, you figured he had given up on demanding your sweet voice to welcome him home, if only so because he wanted to cuddle. It may seem like a compromise to him, but you knew it was him forcing you to decide which was the greater bad of the two options he was giving you. Nothing was stopping Atsumu from burying his hands beneath your shirt, his skin noticeably colder than you after he just came home, enough to make you flinch lightly and dig your hands into his arms. 

You tried to get up and free yourself. Still, Atsumu merely chuckled, his response a joking yet demanding, “No! Warm me!” as he reached up all the way over your back, well-maintained, soft hands digging into your sides roughly. Taking a sharp breath, you had a hard time toggling the pain and uncomfortableness that rose in you, wondering what he was up to while Atsumu remained calm and indifferent about your struggles. A few more shifts were all you did, feeling his fingertips squeeze you harder every time you moved, forcing you to give up if you wanted him to release you from the pain.

Immediately, his hands became soft again as he felt you slump in his hug submissively, Atsumu too taking a deep breath before rubbing his cheek against yours affectionately. The areas he had just clenched down on burned up quickly, but you felt the relief set in as the pain slowly subsided. Littering the side of your face with kisses, he finally pulled out a hand from your shirt again, directing your head against his chest once more. You could feel his body relax as he followed your example to slump into the couch, one hand caressing the back of your head with slow, tender strokes while the other one held you in place around your waist precautiously, so you wouldn’t jump up. He held you like a precious, loved child, though he was nothing even remotely close to a parent.

There was no escape from someone so eager to pretend this was a healthy relationship. That you were an actual couple hugging and embracing each other, even if you were more of a limp doll in his arms, barely able to bring up the enthusiasm to hold him in return. All you did was fixate your eyes on the entrance to your room while your ear rested against Atsumu’s chest, hearing an excited beating through his shirt. 

Ba-dump. Ba-dump. 

“I did really well today! Everyone was praising me for my setting,” Atsumu began to recount.

Ba-dump. Ba-dump. Ba-dump. Ba-dump. Ba-dump.

“And Bokkun, he--” Interrupting himself with a laugh, Atsumu shook his head, heart beginning to race a little faster. “He tried to look extra cool, but he totally jumped into the net today and got stuck!”

Ba-dump. Ba-dump. Ba-dump. Ba-dump. Ba-dump. Ba-dump. 

“What about you?” he shifted his attention, and you knew he looked down at the top of your head from above, his thumb coming forth to brush over your eyebrows. “I played Mario Kart today,” you whispered, unwilling to create an awkward silence and cause him to urge you on with more painful touches. 

Ba-dump. Ba-dump. Ba-dump. Ba-dump. Ba-dump. Ba-dump. Ba-dump. Ba-dump. 

“Let’s play together after dinner!” Atsumu enthusiastically exclaimed, and you knew it wasn’t an invitation, but a firm statement of how you were going to spend your evening. It also didn’t surprise you that despite talking about Volleyball before, his heart only began to race now that you had spoken up. Atsumu could be that easy to read if he allowed it. 

You thought of the possibility of a nap as he kept spluttering excitedly about how he was going to win against you and how much better he was at games than his brother. Atsumu called it ‘the perk of being the older twin’ that he was winning so much, despite you remembering that he lost almost all the games lately, suspecting it was because he tried to gain your approval by letting you win. 

But your stream of thoughts were harshly interrupted by a sudden hand grabbing you by the arm, pulling you off Atsumu’s lap and out of his embrace. Atsumu’s merrily blabbering came to a halt, and you caught a glimpse of his face wrinkling while you fought with getting to your feet alone. “Go shower, you stink, ‘Tsumu,” you heard Osamu’s familiar voice raise behind you, another help coming to support your struggles.

“It’s not like [Name] cared,” Atsumu hissed, rising after you, their two bodies giving you a feeling of menace as they kept you between each other. “We just enjoyed cuddling, what’s wrong with you?!”

“It’s dinnertime, and you’re still not showered and changed, that’s what’s wrong, Dumbass.”

Atsumu did a short, upset flinch, a huff falling off his lips before he trotted off, pouting. Nothing angered him more than admitting his faults, and Osamu pointing them out didn’t help his swollen ego. Finally, after what seemed to be a quick pat-down, Osamu’s hands disappeared too, and he muttered a short “‘am home,” when you finally turned around, though other than Atsumu he wasn’t as persistent on you returning the greeting as you avoided your eyes and ignored it. Still, he waited for a hesitant, unsure moment, and you supposed the stakes were high when even Osamu considered delaying his routine just to hear your response.

But nodding slowly, his patience took over, and he turned to leave, having you trot after him with a relieved, inwardly sigh. Passing by the twin’s bathroom, you heard Atsumu’s phone play music as he started up a shower behind the door, but with Osamu being unbothered by it, you couldn’t care much about it either. Instead, you felt your stomach grumbling, your last meal having taken place well over five hours ago.

Absentmindedly as you thought back to the bread and egg you had in the morning, you stepped behind the kitchen isle, only to gain a very sharp, alert glare from Osamu, catching you by surprise. Understanding quickly, you were back on the other side, sliding onto one of the three stools on the other side of the kitchen counter, waiting patiently, for this was Osamu’s routine and not yours. 

Where you got your food depended on what either of the twins was feeling like. For Atsumu, it could be a quick plate of pasta on the table in your room or convenience store-bought items on the couch while watching TV. But for Osamu, when it came to be his turn - and luckily that was more often than Atsumu’s - he had you sitting pretty and proper at his side as he finished dinner, mostly served in the kitchen for convenience. 

Cooking was a skill he had in his blood. No wonder he raised ‘Onigiri Miya’ to be a famous hotspot in no time. But besides lavish onigiri, he also was decent with everything else he tried out and wasn’t stingy on bringing home fresh ingredients to feed you and his brother. Even Atsumu’s unique needs for his sports career were met by Osamu’s food, and though he did it with a straight face, you knew he enjoyed cooking very much. 

Being dependent was despicable, that much you knew, but even so, his food could make the world a little better. Even if you wished it wasn’t, well, from someone so toxic and sinister. Someone, whose greatest pleasure was watching you eat the food he prepared for you. Someone who was that kind of crazy. 

It was criminal that the plate before you smelled so damn good. 

Going without food for a long time, or even just a few more hours than usual that day, it was heaven to smell the curry whose steam rose to your nose sweetly. Without doing anything lately to upset Osamu, he even picked out the vegetables and ingredients you liked. A trick he liked to use on you whenever you ‘misbehaved’ was feeding you with only the things you despised. So right now, it was pure bliss, even though you knew it was nothing short of being the reward part of his carrot and stick methods.

You started to scoop a spoonful of it up, not waiting for any signal - you didn’t have to do that, luckily - before putting it in your mouth, letting the hearty taste lay down on your taste buds and the comfortable warmth spread in your body. Usually, you cursed Osamu in your mind, but this day all you could think of was how wonderful the nourishing this meal was for you. Enthusiastically, you kept stuffing your mouth full with it, hoping you’d never get full and your plate never empty.

At least for a while, it truly seemed that way, as you ate and ate some more. However, soon enough, your tummy started to feel stuffed, every spoon getting harder and harder to swallow. You weren’t sure why you were feeling this way when you snapped back from your food trance, hesitating to take the next spoon, only to catch an entirely different spoon putting rice and curry on your plate. Confused, you looked up and at Osamu, who had a very pure and tender smile playing on his lips as he kept taking small portions from his plate, to leave them on yours. 

“Uhm…” you mumbled, blinking a few times in confusion, and he, too, seemed to snap out of his thoughts, meeting your gaze wordlessly. “I’m full, so…” you tried to explain, putting your spoon aside. “Why? Don’t you like it?” It was almost laughable with how much his voice dipped low in disappointment as he said that, Osamu’s eyeing your plate gloomily, shoulder’s slacking. “N-No, it was delicious,” you muttered, a pang of nervosity driving through you. The last thing you wanted was to get on his bad side now. 

“Well, then,” he chirped up again, continuing his curry transfer. “You had no dinner yesterday, after… you know…”

Oh, you knew. And frankly, remembering it now made you feel even worse about the kitchen counter you had sullied the day before with your actions than you usually felt sitting here and contemplating your life choices as Osamu cooked. “Breakfast wasn’t much, so I wanted to make sure you eat enough today.”

“I’m fine, really,” you assured him, but Osamu biting his lip with a doubtful shine in his eyes almost made it seem like he couldn’t believe it even after you ate your portion and most of his. “One more,” he prompted, holding up the hill of rice-curry-mix on his spoon to you, and you felt your stomach turn both from thinking about consuming any more and from letting him feed you. Backing away ever so slightly, you bit back on the urge to decline his offer verbally, instead taking your own spoon to eat from your own plate with your own cutlery. 

Osamu merely watched, a shade falling over his eyes. Still, unprompted, he proceeded to leave the fill on his spoon on your plate again, proceeding to push you to eat more. You didn’t like to acknowledge this side of him, always wanting to believe he was more mature and tempered than his brother, but Osamu, too, could take too much pride in his doings and get pouty when he didn’t get the recognition for his work. It was a bad trait they shared, and though you tried to ignore his watchful eyes whenever you ate his cooking, you knew he was watching you with boundless joy because it was his cooking you were eating. Sometimes, like that day, you even ate with pleasure. 

It made you aware that he reveled in this feeling of being your provider, the hand feeding you, and you wondered if he always thought this way about himself, or only now that you had allowed him closer than ever to you, caressing the remnants of doubts into security. Perhaps, he felt more confirmed in his beliefs after you led him on, believed more in a connection than he did before. 

Scooping only the smallest amount of curry onto your tool, you proceeded to have some more tastes, hoping it would satisfy Osamu if he saw you eat at least a bit more. You dared to think not even he really knew what he wanted from you, and his actions were only placeholders for his true intentions. The intentions of watching you do things that were pleasing to him. 

Even though the hand enveloping yours suddenly came as a shock, it was almost a saving grace if not for the person behind it. Cooling drops of water fell onto the side of your face, and your shoulder as Atsumu leaned over your side, pulling the spoon to his mouth with a loud, “Aah!” 

Before anyone could react, he had already taken a mouthful, wiping the corner of his mouth with his thumb while his other hand held up the towel around his hips. “It’s good!” he announced, letting out a fond sigh while licking his lips. “Where’s my plate?”

“Where are your clothes?” Osamu retorted sharply.

“In my room, why?”

Staring each other down while Atsumu used your hand casually to keep feeding himself curry, you were both baffled by the exchange as well as him not getting his own spoon or not use your hand to navigate food to his maw. Mannerly, you turned a blind eye towards the towel or the lack of clothes thereof, but an uncomfortable friction began to spread in the air nonetheless.

“Get some clothes and stop spreading water all over the floor, and we can talk about you getting dinner.”

“You’re too sticky with yer damn rules,” Atsumu complained, finally letting go of your hand and turning to leave for his room. “What if someone slips? What if she,” Osamu worried, pointing to you though you weren’t comfortable with being used in this conversation, “falls and hits her head? You want that?”

“‘Course not,” Atsumu quietly admitted, sounding offended, a little worried even, but mostly pouting. “At least get me a plate too,” were his last words before he toddled off, and Osamu sighed, rolling his eyes at his brother before getting up. He wasn’t fooling you, you knew you weren’t a child anymore, and you wouldn’t slip on a few drops of water on the floor - at least, not seriously. It would have made sense for him to think so little of you, simply to undermine your being, but you couldn’t believe it yourself. Watching as Osamu filled another plate with steaming, delicious curry, you pushed your plate away from you, making it very clear you were done. 

However, before you could go, Atsumu returned, taking the seat at your other side for himself and using your spoon to get an up front fill on the food, Osamu returning shortly after, scolding him for eating your food. “Don’t steal from other people’s plates, ‘Tsumu.”

“She’s done,” he confirmed what you had wanted to tell Osamu all this time. “You’re just jealous because I get to eat from her plate.”

“‘Am not.”

“Tell that someone who believes you.”

Their bickering continued, a laughable display of their sibling relationship. As if they could not go a moment without a tease or a snappy comment. As if this was normal, and to some degree, it seemed like it. By the corners of their mouth ever so often twitching upwards, as they joked on each other’s expenses, or the plates being put into the sink to be washed off later, it was all so normal. Just an ordinary evening, on a typical day, with not so sane individuals around you, but overall it appeared so awfully normal. 

Supposedly, that’s what routine did to you. It made a situation that was nothing short of abstruse seem alright and normal, even though the tears welling up as your heart clenched with the realization, weren’t at all a sign of normality. Rather, it was desperation, pity, and fear of what was going on. What was becoming of you when even you started to adapt to this routine of your new days, a routine brought to you by the twins rather than from your endeavors and your life going forward. What would happen? Where would your life lead to?

You couldn’t care about the gazes you earned, two conflicted bastards watching the tears leave lines as they rolled down your face, cold and calculating. Still, neither of them reached out to comfort you yet. They wanted to see where the situation was going, what was happening. If you’d lash out again at them, throw a tantrum, or just fold into yourself. Fulfilling your needs wasn’t always easy with the relationship you three had, and they glanced at each other, hoping their twin would know more about what to do than they did individually. 

But neither of their routines included tending to a meltdown, and yours didn’t either. They could pretend to be normal as much as they wanted. Still, the paradise they tried to uphold daily was rotting and decaying under the surface even if everything seemed to be fine. Laughs, fun, and forceful measurements couldn’t bring them what they really wanted, but it broke you into pieces more and more every day. Their routine and their acting slowly made you wilt and lose yourself, and neither you nor they knew how to deal with that. How to deal with your own routine of slowly succumbing to their forcing. 

They didn’t know.  

They didn’t know, so Osamu emerged from the kitchen to help you up, drag you back to the couch in your room, and sit you down between the two brothers as they put on the TV, latched a big blanket over you three. Their hands rested on your body, but you weren’t even uncomfortable with their touches at that moment, one palm rubbing over your lower back and one on top of your thighs comfortingly. A thumb drawing circles over your knee, while Atsumu pulled you to rest against his chest again, experience the warmth and comfort of another person wanting to help you through whatever you were experiencing. It was something they couldn’t understand, but didn’t intend to happen, at least, that much you took from Osamu’s worried frown as he wiped away the tears escaping your eyes.

You simply hoped that these meltdowns wouldn’t become a part of your or their routine ever.

Especially not when they took turns in gazing at you lovingly, adjusting their bodies so you’d be comfortable, and leaving tender kisses on the top of your head, learning that despite it all, they were the closest you’d ever have in terms of comfort ever again.

[imthepunchlord]

Paper Tiger

“What are you doing up there?” Marinette called out, not even looking up from where she sat at her desk, lips pursed as she stared down at her homework. She could hear Nemesith, his movement shifting on her bed making his groan under his weight. She really wondered how it got to be like this. 

That she was allowing a wild card akuma hang out in her room, like it was some safe haven for him to reside in. He fully saw it this way. Was far too quick to get comfortable in her room. She blew out, letting her bangs pop up from the gust. 

What was she supposed to do though? There was no way to take care of him. Chat destroyed the butterfly before it could be cleansed, and the item was already destroyed. This was new territory and there was no clear answer on what to do. 

There’s the possibility of allowing him to act out what he wants to do, but she can’t allow that. He wants to ruin Adrien’s life! She can’t have that! 

She has a start when he landed behind, already moving to settle on her chaise. When her expectant, curious eyes were set on him, the akuma rolled out, “I just left a means of defense.” 

“A means of defense?” she repeated. She got her answer as her long cat pillow came rushing down the stairs and affectionately tackled her. She sputtered, demanding, “What did you do?” 

“Illusion of life,” he rolled out, like he just didn’t animate her cuddle pillow. “Not the best defense, but perhaps it’ll be enough to scare off anyone unwelcomed.” 

She stared, then turned to her cuddle pillow, seeing it was still smiling so warmly at her. “I’m sorry, I love you, but I don’t think you’re enough to really scare anyone off.” 

Nemesith snorted, amused that she talked to the illusion so gently. “Well, he’s not to scare you off. Anyone else will see something drastically different.” 

“Like what?” 

She regretted it as she saw that mischievous gleam in his eyes. With a snap of his fingers, her plush changed in a burst of smoke, becoming huge, barely big enough to fit in her room. With big, open yellow eyes, thick long claws, and a broad Cheshire smile full of teeth. The only thing that kept Marinette drawing away in frightened surprise was the clear affection in the illusion’s eyes. Still, she was quick to call out, “Change him back!” 

Another snap of his fingers and her cute, small plush was back, working its way up to lounge on her, purring away as it tried to wrap its stubby arms around her. 

She wrapped her arms around, holding it in place and turned to Nemesith, asking, “Ok, is this even necessary?” 

Nemesith gave her a raised brow. 

Marinette pouted, rolling her eyes as it appears, yes, it was for Nemesith’s sake. And right now, she didn’t want to get into that debate with a wild akuma. She asked instead, “Ok, can I establish who is welcomed?” 

“Yes. Can’t have him attacking your parents, after all.”

Satisfied, she adjusted her plush, and moved to resume her work. She paused though, unable to delve into it just yet. She braved out, “Do you still have an inkling on where Hawk Moth is?”

There was a frustrated sigh. “No. I’m now certain that information he grants upon success of having the miraculouses. Or maybe he comes out to meet us. I won’t even if I do get them.” 

“What would you do if you did get them?” she wondered, watching him. “You’re not tied to Hawk Moth anymore, you don’t have that obligation to him. And with the butterfly gone, I, I don’t even know if he can take that power away from you.” 

“I wouldn’t give them to Hawk Moth,” Nemesith revealed to her. “I’d use them to lure him out.” Nemesith arose, coming to loom over her, lifting up claws to elaborate his point. “No one makes me a pawn and gets away with it. If there’s anyone who’ll be using others as pawns, it is me.” 

His frosty blue eyes refocused on Marinette, seeing a wary, guarded expression on her face. A card quickly slid out of his sleeve and into his claws, Nemesith quickly reassuring as the card became a rose. “Don’t you worry. You’re not a pawn, you’re a partner.” The rose was set behind her ear with great care. “I make sure to take great care of my partners.” 

.

if anyone is curious on monster caterpillar, I’ve done a doodle for him before. 

[bi-snape]

Wings to follow

Chapter 1

This is on Wattpad it's also on ao3

Soulmate au

Main Pairing: Evan Rosier/Severus Snape

Other pairings soon to come: Lily Evans/Regulus Black🔹Mulciber/Mary MacDonald🔹Petunia Evans/??? (I haven't decided with who yet)🔹Lucius Malfoy/Barty Crouch Jr.🔹and others

Summary: Everyone is born with a specific mark that pertains to their soulmate. The mark itself takes form into whatever creature is to be their soulmates favorite and it is to turn into their favorite color once you both touch. It was because of this that led to Severus's fascination with caterpillars, why? Because his soulmate seemed to have fallen in love with butterflies.

🔹

Severus thought it was odd to be born with a soulmate and even offer to already have a mark that unites the two upon being born. Tho he doesn't to mind it, he rather enjoyed his mark.

On his right arm was a group of butterflies flying around it. It went from his wrist and went around up to his index finger. He thought it looked rather lovely and looking at it made him smile.

With every passing day since he was born, he'd go out to the park and collect caterpillars. He wondered exactly what color his mark turn to once he found his soulmate, so he collected caterpillars inorder to watch them grow.

During one trip to the park to release a couple butterflies Severus came across a young girl. She had introduced herself as Lily, Miss Lily Evans. Her next words had caused his heart to flutter and nearly made him drop the jar he was holding.

"Are those butterflies? I love butterflies!! Can I see them?" She spoke with pure excitement. Severus couldn't help but blush or think that this girl with lively red hair and bright green eyes was perhaps his soulmate.

Severus simply nodded and handed her the jar he was holding. As Lily reached and took hold of the jar both their hands touched. Severus looked at his right hand but found that it was still a dull grayish color.

'So she isn't my soulmate' He thought and for some reason he felt happy about it. After that day he and Lily became friends. Together the pair would collect all sorts of caterpillars and watch them grow.

Soon enough Severus learned that Lily's favorite creature were rabbits. All because she had seen a movie called "Alice in wonderland" and because of it she followed any rabbit she find to wherever it went hoping to find wonderland.

"Lily were going to get lost, it's getting dark out!"

"Oh c'mon Sev, it'll be fine. I know how to get us home"

Severus let out a sight and continued to follow Lily through the trees. She had caught sight of a small rabbit and quickly went to follow it despite him telling her not to. After sometime the pair had come across an isolated area that looked like something from fairytale.

There was a giant willow tree that looked like something from a dream and a lake that was clear as day. There was several patches of flowers and mushrooms and it all felt like a dream. Especially with the moonlight shining over it all.

Lily quickly latched onto Severus's arm and jumped up and down excitedly "Can you believe it Sev!! We finally found wonderland!!!" She shouted out. Severus was shocked, he simply couldn't believe his eyes. He turned to Lily and smiled "No.." He said softly "You found wonderland" he spoke and Lily simply smiled before hugging him tightly.

"We should head back home" He muttered. Lily nodded and the pair made their way back home. He was thankful that they hadn't gotten lost. Time came and went with Lily and Severus spending time in wonderland collecting and raising caterpillars and learning about Hogwarts.

A school made of magic, the very school his mother had gone too. When his mother first mentioned it to him, he quickly went and told Lily about it. Lily was absolutely enthralled by it, even more so when Severus made a flower bloom from his hand, and then she exploded with pure bliss when she managed to do it as well. When they both turned 11 they had both received a letter to Hogwarts.

"Do you think we'll find out soulmates there?" Lily asked as her and Severus laid down in the soft gross within their wonderland. Severus grabbed hold of her hand and squeezed it gently "I'm sure of it, besides you found wonderland you'll for sure find your soulmate" He spoke while staring up the sky.

Lily smiled at his words and giggled softly "Thanks Sev" She said between giggles. The rest of the day was spent with them talking about how their soulmate may be like. Severus hoped that whoever it was that they were as kind and carefree as Lily.

Inturn Lily hoped that her soulmate was like Severus or as Prince charmin from the princess movies. Severus had called her crazy and Lily responded by throwing mud at him which resulted in a mud war. It also resulted in them both being grounded but neither of them cared.

Severus spent the rest of that day asking his mother about her mark. Her mark was on her shoulder, it was a an octopus colored in orange. His mother told him how she found her soulmate, his father, when she and two of her close friends went off to explore all the things muggles had created.

She had accidentally bumped into Tobias at the age of 17 in a small record store. If she hadn't worn a spaghetti strap dress that day neither of them had known they were eachothers soulmates. Why? Because his mark was on the bottom left of his back, it was a hippogriff and it had turned purple.

His father was confused upon seeing his mark but he figured it meant that his soulmate was special. He was absolutely correct because after the two dates and wedded, his mother soon got pregnant with him. She then revealed to Tobias that she herself was a witch, and the first thing he did when she told him that was ask her what the bloody creature was on his back.

His mother couldn't contain her laughter as he ranted about the damn thing. How he spent most of his time in the library trying to figure out what the hell is was. She quickly answered his questions and he finally let out a sigh of relief and then said "So you said something about you being pregnant?" this caused her to laugh again.

Finally at the age of 11 both Severus and Lily had received their Hogwarts letter. Petunia hasn't received one but they had promised her they'd take loads of picture and to bring back many things for her to try. They had even promised to look for someone with a jellyfish as their soulmark. At the train station Lily and Severus said goodbye to their families both stepping onto the train.

They quickly entered an empty compartment and Lily couldn't help squeal as she threw herself onto the seat "Oh sev can you believe it!!! We're finally going to Hogwarts!!! Oh I really hoped that Petunia could have come with us, this seems unfair!! We gotta write to her everyday ok? And take loads of pictures and buy all sorts of stuff to send back to her!" Lily ranted with excitement. Severus had stopped listening to her halfway and simply smiled.

He was finally going to Hogwarts, he wondered how it would be like. Maybe he'll find his soulmate their, hopefully they won't mind his appearance especially his nose. Severus was snapped out of thoughts when Lily waved her hand in front of his face.

"Sev are you listening to me?" She asked and crossed her arms. "Both yes and no, you lost me when you said Hogwarts" He spoke which caused Lily to let out a groan before she erupted with laughter which inturn caused Severus to laugh too. The pair spent the rest of the train ride talking about what house they would be and wondered what house they're soulmate was in too.

Their conversation had attracted the attention of two boys. One had messy brown hair, brown eyes and wore glasses. While the other had black somewhat wavy hair that almost reached his shoulders and sorta black grayish eyes. Lily and Severus learned that their names were James Fleamont Potter and Sirius Black.

James had quickly sat next to Lily while Sirius took the seat next to Severus. The four of them talked about what house they may get placed in and what house they suspected their soulmate's to be in as well. James was quick to ask her for her hand after the conversation. Lily looked like she wanted to slap him instead but simply said no.

It was clear that Lily didn't take a liking to James, he figured that out when he kept talking about how great Gryffindor was and how surely she would be one and that Severus probably won't fit in but hey he'll make a good Hufflepuff or something. Lily had glared daggers at him and Severus felt that she was gonna attempt to kill him.

Sirius seemed to think the same thing what with the way he was trying to get his friend to shut up and apologize. Tho James seemed to ignore him and went about trying to get Lily to shake his hand or make some form of contact. Well James got what he wanted cause after several minutes of asking Lily grabbed his hand brought it up to her mouth and bit him as hard as she could.

This caused James to yell and well...it also caused him to pass out. Luckily they had arrived to Hogwarts. "Yeah, he'll make a great Gryffindor" Severus spoke which caused both Lily and Sirius to laugh. "I'm gonna go find an adult" Sirius said as he composed himself and quickly left. Severus and Lily nodded before turning to eachother "Do we leave him here?" He asked in confusion "Yes" was all Lily said as she dragged Severus out of the compartment and out of the train.

They pair stopped in their tracks as they came face to face with Hogwarts. "My lord Severus it looks beautiful" Lily breathed out as she stared at the school with wide eyes "Yes it is" He muttered with awe. The pair were quickly led onto a boat and were quickly joined by James and Sirius. They all stared at Hogwarts with excitement and neither of them could wait to step inside.

[mldrgrl]

Hi. I was wondering if you could write and AU fic where after Mulder shaves his beard baby William can't recognize him anymore and only wants his mama. It could be set between the last seasons or even during IWTB, is up to you. Your writing is amazing ❤

Thank you, Anon.  I totally intended to give you what you wanted, and then I forgot to follow instructions.  This can be an AU/post-Trust No 1 story.

He Knows

It’s late when she picks her son up from her mother’s house.  She should leave him there, let him spend the night in the pack ‘n play undisturbed, but she can’t be away from him right now.  Not when she was so close to seeing his father again and had the opportunity slip away.  She needs to hold him, smell the top of his fuzzy little head and remind herself that she still has a piece of Mulder with her.

William falls back to sleep in the car as Monica drives them back home.  Scully nearly falls asleep herself.  She’s been running on hope and adrenaline for days and with a failed reunion as the end result, exhaustion has taken over.

“Do you want me to come up with you?” Monica asks.

Scully shakes her head.  “No,” she answers.  “I appreciate it, but I just need…”

Monica nods in understanding.  They say no more.  Scully gets out of the car and opens the back to unlock William’s carrier.  The baby flinches slightly when the door is closed, rolls his eyes open, but doesn’t really wake.  Monica waits until Scully is inside the building to pull away.

The carrier is heavy in Scully’s arms and weighs her down.  She trudges into the foyer of her building and trudges up the single flight of stairs.  She’s starting to tremble and she wills herself to wait until she’s inside to fall apart.  Wait until she has William down so he doesn’t see her.  As soon as she opens the door, she sets the carrier down inside so she can drop her keys and shed her coat, but she doesn’t make it that far.

“Don’t turn on the light,” a soft voice to her right murmurs.

She freezes.  “Mulder?” she whispers.  Her eyes dart through the dark room, searching.

“I’m here.”

“Oh my God.”  

He’s a dark figure coming slowly towards her, all shimmers and shadows.  She shuts her eyes, squeezes them tight, and then opens them again to see if it’s only wishful thinking playing a cruel trick.

“Scully,” he breathes.

“Mulder,” she answers.

His hands are on her face and his mouth is on hers and it’s all real and not a dream.  He feels differently to her, thinner than he used to be, and the whiskers of a full beard tickle her chin and cheeks.  She whimpers and folds her arms tightly around the back of his neck, lifting onto her toes to get as close as possible.  He takes his hands off her face to wrap his arms around her, squeeze her tight, and she breaks from their kiss to hide her sudden tears in the crook of his neck.  She clings to him and he holds her, rocking her from side to side until William squawks lightly in his carrier, reminding her that she’s not the only one that’s been waiting for this reunion.

Mulder releases Scully with a nervous chuckle.  She wipes her wet cheeks and bends to pick up the carrier, shushing the baby quietly as she takes him into the bedroom.  Mulder follows.  He turns the blinds as she sets the carrier on the bed and then switches the bedside lamp on low.  

William blinks and squirms.  Mulder blinks and stares.  Scully shifts her eyes between the two of them and unhooks the baby from the carrier.  “Guess who’s here,” she murmurs, her lips against the soft shell of William’s ear.  She finally gets a good look at Mulder as she stands cheek to cheek with their son.  He’s wearing a rumpled sweatsuit and looks as tired as she feels, but relieved as well, like he’s dropped a heavy burden he’s been carrying.  She’s taken back to the moment nine months ago when she first placed the baby in his arms and she comes closer.

“He may not want me to...” Mulder says, taking a step back, but he opens his arms anyway.  He’s eager, she can tell, but nervous.

“Go see Daddy,” she whispers, passing William to his father.

The emotion of the moment is written on Mulder’s face.  He’s the happiest Scully has ever seen him, taking his son into his arms, perhaps even more in awe than the first time he held him.  William looks up at Mulder with a pensive expression, the tuft of his left eyebrow lifting in skepticism he could only have inherited from his mother.  

Mulder lifts William a little higher in his arms and looks at him all over like he’s trying to memorize everything about him.  “I’ve tried to imagine what he looked like,” he says.  “What he...just, everything about him.”

“He’s got six teeth now,” Scully answers.  “Pears are his favorite food.  We usually read The Very Hungry Caterpillar before bed.  He sleeps through the night.”

“Nice to know one of us does.”

Scully chuckles softly.  “He babbles a lot to himself, but hasn’t said his first word yet.”

“Maybe he just doesn’t have anything to say quite yet,” Mulder says.  “You’ll talk when you’re ready, won’t you?”

In response, William reaches up to grab hold of the whiskers on Mulder’s cheek, taking a fistful with a strong grip.  Mulder winces, but laughs, taking William’s hand in his and bringing it to his mouth to kiss his chubby little fist.

“I know, I know,” Mulder says.  “I look a little different from when we last saw each other.”

William drops his head suddenly and rests it on Mulder’s shoulder.  Mulder splays his hand out against William’s back and bends to kiss the top of his head.  Tears gather in Scully’s eyes again and she brushes them away.  Mulder glances at her and opens one arm to her to invite her in.  She steps into his embrace and feels him sigh as she rests her cheek against his chest.  She watches William grow sleepy again and struggle to keep his eyes open.  He rubs his face against Mulder’s shoulder, giving a frustrated snuffle as he fights off sleep.

“I should put him down,” Scully says.  

“Do we have to?” Mulder asks.

Scully lifts her head and looks up to see the longing in Mulder’s eyes.  Her heart stutters in her chest.  She moves to the bed, clears the carrier off, and turns the comforter down.  “Come,” she says.

As Mulder sits down, Scully kneels.  She unlaces his tennis shoes and slips them off before he swings his legs up onto the bed and slides back against the pillows, cradling William against his shoulder all the while.  She quickly removes her jacket and steps out of her own shoes before she lies down beside him.

William is slack against Mulder’s chest, his face tipped up and mouth open near his father’s neck.  Mulder cups the back of the baby’s head gently as he adjusts to a more comfortable position and then closes his eyes.

“I was so afraid I’d never see you again,” Scully whispers.  “I thought I’d lost my only chance tonight.  To have you back...I’ve missed you so much.”

Mulder swallows and tips his head back further.  He doesn’t open his eyes, but tightens his jaw.  She touches his face, strokes the scratchy and unfamiliar whiskers at his chin.  He pulls away, kisses William’s head and then tries to pass the baby over to Scully.

“What’re you doing?” she asks, sitting up, refusing to take the baby.

“I told myself it would just be for a minute.  Just to see you and William, to know you’re alright, but it was a mistake.”

“What’re you talking about?”  She pushes into his shoulder, holding him down against the pillows as she looms over him.  

His eyes are bloodshot and watery.  “I’m putting you in danger.”

She shakes her head.  “You’re wrong,” she says.  “The danger is in not being together.”

“What do you want me to do, Dana?  Tell me what you want because I’m tired of running and I’m tired of hiding, but I will disappear forever if it means you’re safe.  If William is safe.”

“If you think I’m letting you walk out of here alone you’re insane.”

William jerks at the intensity in Scully’s voice.  He whimpers and turns his head back and forth on Mulder’s shoulder.  Mulder shushes him quietly and runs a soothing hand down his back.

“Whatever we do from now on, we do it together,” she says, emphatically, but quietly, so she doesn’t disturb the baby.  “If you go, we’re coming with you.”

“Absolutely not.  Scully, you don’t know what you’re saying.  Hiding.  Looking over your shoulder all the time.  That’s not the kind of life our son deserves.”

“I know that he deserves to know his father.”  She stops, her voice suddenly thick with emotion and throat closing almost painfully.  She swallows it down.  “I deserve...Mulder, we deserve…after everything we’ve been through...we deserve to finally, finally be together.”

“You don’t know how badly I want that.”

“I don’t want to do this alone,” she whispers.  “I don’t know if I can.”

Mulder turns his eyes to hers, instantly recognizing his former plea to her in the hallway of his apartment many years ago.  “If we quit now, they win,” he responds.

“Let them.  Let them win.  We have already lost so much, Mulder.  But, this...”  She lays her hand over Mulder’s on William’s back.  “You told me once that there was so much more out there than the x-files.  This is it, Mulder.  This is the something else.  We could walk away and have this.”

“It would be…”

“It would be worth walking away for.”

He nods slightly and that pacifies Scully for now.  She lays down beside him again and puts her arm around him.  Mulder reaches over and snaps the lamp off.  The weight of his son on his chest is both familiar and foreign, but it feels right in the same way that Scully beside him as always felt.  

Mulder sleeps heavily and wakes alone.  He can hear quiet noises in the kitchen and the low murmur of Scully’s voice.  He’s awash in sorrow, knowing it was wrong of him to come here, knowing he has to leave and what it will do to them.  His heart is breaking just thinking about it.  If it were possible to sneak out somehow, he just might consider it, but he’s afraid Scully would never forgive him for taking the coward’s way out.

Heavy and mournful, Mulder gets out of bed and shuffles into the kitchen.  He smells coffee.  William is at the head of the table in his high chair stuffing what looks like Cheerios and banana into his mouth.  Scully is buttering toast at the counter and she looks over her shoulder at him.

“Hey,” Mulder says.

Scully smiles and it makes his chest hurt.  “Good morning,” she says.  “Coffee?”

“Sure.”  Mulder sits down in the empty chair to the right of William.  William offers him a Cheerio, which he pretends to eat.  William giggles and kicks his foot.

Scully sets a mug of coffee in front of Mulder and puts her hand lightly on William’s head as she moves to sit down across from Mulder.  Mulder sips his coffee.  Scully takes dainty bits of toast and sips orange juice.  William chases Cheerios around the tray of his high chair with his index finger and then pokes at a slice of banana, smashing it to a pulp before closing his fist around it and pushing it into his mouth.  The clock in the kitchen ticks ominously.

“You kept the fish,” Mulder says, nodding at the fish tank at the tank by the wall.

“William likes them.”

“Um, about last night,” Mulder says, lowering his eyes to his coffee mug.  “What you said.  I think-”

“Dada,” William says suddenly, pointing to Mulder.

Scully looks startled.  Mulder is also taken aback, his mouth opening, but he’s unable to form words.

“Did he just…”  Scully says.

“Dada,” William says again.  He merrily kicks his foot against his high chair and shoves another fistful of mashed banana into his mouth.  He stares at Mulder with an intensity Mulder has never felt come from a baby before.

Mulder is drawn closer, leaning in to stare into William’s crystal blue gaze.  There’s something about the look in his son’s eyes that feels all-knowing and purposeful.  And there’s a sudden vision projected in his mind of a whole life ahead of him; chasing a laughing toddler down a narrow hall to get him in the bathtub, playing catch as twilight sets in, birthday parties, family movie nights on the couch with bowls of popcorn between them, building sandcastles on the beach, launching home-made rockets into space.  A feeling of pure joy floods through him.

But then, suddenly, he also sees a parallel vision that starts with him walking out of Scully’s apartment alone.  There’s Scully crying, William growing up with a different name and different parents, confused and angry, Mulder and Scully suppressed by darkness and pain.  So much darkness and pain.  It takes Mulder’s breath away for a moment and he blinks, falling back in the chair, sweating.

“Mulder?” Scully asks.

“I uh…”  He blinks again, leans closer to the baby, but William’s gaze is innocent.  And yet, there’s something there.  Something that tells Mulder this child knows more than all of them.

“Dada,” William says, reaching his sticky, banana-coated fingers out and gripping the whiskers on Mulder’s cheek.

“Oof.”  Mulder winces and pries William’s fingers loose.

“Unbelievable,” Scully says.  “I’ve tried getting him to say ‘Mama’ for weeks, and then you show up and...he’s just suddenly a Chatty Cathy.  Can you say ‘Mama,’ William?  Mama?”

“Dada,” William answers, holding a soggy Cheerio out to Scully.  She grimaces and shakes her head.

“What were you going to say about last night?” Scully asks.

William stares at Mulder with that cool, all-knowing gaze again and though it can’t be possible, Mulder can feel his son willing him to heed the warning he was just given.  Trust me, his son’s eyes are saying.  Trust me, Daddy.

“Uh, I just wanted to tell you that...you were right.  If we go, we go together.”

Scully nods and Mulder gets to his feet, stroking his sticky cheek.  William smiles and pokes at his Cheerios.

“First thing’s first though,” Mulder says.  “I need a shave.”

The End

[ethereal-not-occult]

patience and the mulberry

"With time and patience, the mulberry leaf becomes a silk gown."

Fandom: Good Omens Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens) Characters: Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale (Good Omens) Additional Tags: Post-Canon, Established Relationship, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Fluff and Angst, Character(s) of Color, Sericulture, silkworms, past religious trauma, but nothing bad happens in this fic I promise, mixed bookverse w/ TV elements, references to Chinese culture Notes: Originally written for the @goodomensfashionzine​ !

“I'll only be a minute, dear.” Aziraphale kissed Crowley's cheek as he opened the door of the Bentley. “You don't have to see me to the door if you don't want to.”

Crowley tightened his grip on the wheel. “Sure, angel. Sounds good to me.” The sibilants slid far too quickly past his clenched jaw, and he bit his tongue to stop the instinctive hiss from escaping.

Aziraphale gave him a sympathetic look, but shut the Bentley's door behind him and soon disappeared through the doors of the church. Once he was out of sight, Crowley slumped forward slightly, sliding his sunglasses up and rubbing at his eyes. A few deep breaths later, and he felt composed enough to exit the Bentley himself in blatant disregard for the “NO PARKING” sign on the curb.¹

[¹ Given his new job position (or lack thereof), lawbreaking was no longer a necessity, but old habits die hard.]

The bright afternoon sun made him wince a bit, and two robins in a nearby bush were getting frisky in a way he would never be able to unhear, but they made it easier to forget the distant wail of air sirens. Even standing out on the road, Crowley's skin prickled faintly with the remembered sting of consecrated ground.

He pushed the feeling aside and walked resolutely forward. Aziraphale was bound to take his sweet time as he mooned over the church's dusty old tomes, but Crowley had his own investigations to conduct while he waited. No rest for the wicked and all that.

The concrete pavement under his snakeskin shoes gave way to grass, and the tingling sensation in his soles faded. Soon he found himself at his intended destination—an Edenic grove of mulberry trees, clustered together in a ring in the church's backyard. He'd spotted them on the drive over and couldn't resist the temptation of a closer look.

Crowley wandered into the garden with a scrutinizing eye. They were young, for trees, but growing well despite their callowness. A particularly stocky sapling hardly flinched when Crowley gave it a token glare, much to his disappointment. Then again, outdoor plants were rarely as well-behaved as properly cowed houseplants. It seemed this attitude persisted even in ecclesiastic gardens such as these.

He cast a surreptitious glance over his shoulder, then reached a hand up into the tree's umbrella-like branches and tugged. The season wasn't quite right for fruits, but he still withdrew clutching a handful of dark ripe mulberries. Hardly apples, but his lips twitched upwards nonetheless. He plucked a berry from the pile and raised it to his lips.

“Zaoshang hao!”

Only a hasty miracle saved Crowley from choking as he jumped and swiveled around. Hovering right outside the churchyard was a middle-aged human, well-dressed and smiling pleasantly at him. Judging by her formal clothing and the Bible she carried, she was a part of the congregation, maybe even the priest herself. Crowley swallowed and stepped backwards.

“Ni shi jiaohui de xinshou ma?” the human called again, picking her way across the dewy grass in his direction. Crowley eyed the Bible she held, willing himself not to break out into hives.

“Um. Wo bu—er, no. I'm not new. Not here for church at all, actually.” He fidgeted and clasped his hands, still full of pilfered mulberries, behind his back. “Just waiting for someone.”

The human raised an eyebrow. “You're welcome to wait inside, if you like,” she said, also switching to English. “I reckon we still have biscuits left from the children's morning service—”

“No!” Crowley said too quickly, and perhaps too sharply. He winced. “I mean. That won't be necessary. I'd much rather stay out here, if it isn't too much trouble.”

The human gave him a Look. Crowley's cheeks heated and he averted his eyes, willing his sunglasses a few shades darker.

“Beautiful, aren't they?”

Crowley's head shot back up. The human had turned her back to him and was running a hand through the glossy green leaves of the nearest mulberry tree. Crowley could practically see the branches stretch out in delight beneath her touch, like a purring cat.

“Volunteers from our congregation take care of them,” the human continued, smiling at the young tree. “The kids here like raising silkworms, you see, and we welcome them to pick leaves from the trees each week to feed them.”

Silkworms. Of course. Despite himself, a hazy memory rose to the forefront of his mind: Sichuan, China, several hundreds of years ago. A family farm, weathered and cozy and oozing enough sheer goodness to make the average demon ill with it. Crowley wouldn't normally be caught dead in such a place, but he had owed a favour to the angel. His fingers twitched at the phantom memory of butter-soft silk fibres against his skin; long, winding threads that stretched out thin and fine, tangling so easily around his uncertain fingers. With this memory came the golden, moon-round face of a child he hadn't thought about in centuries, grinning toothily as they held out a box to him, a box filled with small pale larvae that wriggled among the spade-shaped leaves. “Zhe jiao can.”

Crowley forced himself to return to the present. The human was speaking to him.

“—waiting on Mr. Fell?” she asked.

Crowley blinked. Shook himself a little. “Yeah. He's helping out with the restoration of some old manuscript or other.”

The human smiled again. It was an unnervingly piercing expression. “I'm aware. I was the one who requested his help. Such a lovely man. Are you a friend of his?”

Crowley tensed. “His husband, actually.”

He braced himself, but the human only brightened. “Goodness, then you must be Mr. Crowley! Mr. Fell talks ever so much about you. Finally gone and tied the knot then, have you?”

Before Crowley could stammer out a reply, something dinged loudly, making him jump. The human pulled a phone out from her pocket and squinted at the screen.

“Sorry, I have to run back inside. But it was lovely meeting you, Mr. Crowley.” She stuck out a hand—thankfully not the one that had been holding the Bible—and after a brief hesitation, Crowley shook it. As quickly as she had arrived, the human disappeared from the garden, leaving Crowley alone and off-kilter amid a grove of mulberry trees.

---

Aziraphale emerged from the church around an hour later to find Crowley seated on the curb next to the Bentley, basking in the last rays of the afternoon sun as he scrolled through his phone.

“My dear,” the angel sighed. His joints creaked as he eased himself down to sit next to Crowley on the roadside. “Don't tell me you've been sitting here the entire time.”

“Nope,” Crowley said, popping the ‘p’. “I toured the gardens for a bit. Swiped some fruits, too. The mulberries aren’t half-bad, for a bunch of church plants, but they’ll need a good deal more threatening before they're really up to snuff.”

Crowley stopped when he saw Aziraphale chewing his lip, brow furrowed as he studied Crowley's face. Now it was Crowley's turn to sigh.

“Really, angel. It's fine. I was hardly bored.”

The expression didn't leave Aziraphale's face. A soft brown hand reached out and brushed aside stray wisps of hair from Crowley's forehead. The demon hadn't bothered to cut it since the Apocalypse-that-wasn't, and it was growing longer and more unruly by the day.

“I'm fine.” Crowley caught Aziraphale's hand and held it, carefully. He pressed his lips against the well-manicured fingers. “It was years ago, angel, and we both came out of it all right. You don't need to worry about me.”

Aziraphale still looked vaguely distressed as Crowley drew him close. With the sun setting behind him, framing his face and curly dark hair in a golden halo, he was the most beautiful thing Crowley had ever seen.

He kissed him then, right there on the road, in full sight of the church and probably Someone Else, too, if She happened to be watching at that particular moment. Once, he would've been terrified of such a public display, but he hadn't gone through hellfire and holy water to care anymore about what others thought of them.

As he helped Aziraphale into the Bentley, he noticed abruptly that the angel was carrying what appeared to be a shoebox, of all things, along with his usual camelhair coat.

“What on Earth is that?”

“Oh!” Aziraphale carefully pushed the box over to Crowley. “Mrs. Lao gave it to me once I'd finished with those manuscripts. She said it was a gift for you, actually. Have the two of you met before?”

Crowley stared down at the box, baffled. “We talked for a bit in the gardens just now, but I can’t imagine why…”

He trailed off, and his mouth dropped open as Aziraphale eased open the lid and beheld the contents with a raised eyebrow.

“Good heavens. Are those caterpillars?”

“Silkworms,” Crowley corrected automatically, leaning in for a closer look. There were so many of them, somehow both smaller and larger than he remembered, all white and wiggly and chomping away busily at the layers of mulberry leaves filling their box. None of them paid any attention whatsoever to their occult observers hovering above them.

“Why would she give you such a thing? Not that they aren't dear little creatures,” Aziraphale added hastily, glancing into the box, “but I doubt I have the means to keep them in the bookshop.”

“No need,” Crowley said before he could stop himself. “I can raise 'em in my flat.”

Aziraphale gave him a curious look. “You know how to care for these… insects?”

“Yeah.” Crowley gently shut the lid of the inhabited shoebox and curled a hand around the Bentley's stick-shift. “I've done something like this, before. I know what I'm doing.”

“If you say so.” Suddenly Aziraphale chuckled. At Crowley's affronted look, he demurred, “I'm not making fun, my dear. It's only that you still manage to surprise me, even after all these years.”

Aziraphale leaned in and pecked Crowley's cheek, making him blush red and sputter. Much to his disgruntlement, the Bentley chirped a light-hearted rendition of Haydn's Crazy Little Thing Called Love all the way home.

---

Crowley had spent the past eleven years co-parenting the Antichrist with Aziraphale.² They had faced this challenge head-on, and in his opinion, it hadn’t gone too shabbily. Now, without the threat of the Apocalypse hanging over his head, becoming a surrogate parent was far less daunting the second time around.

[² Even if young Warlock hadn't really been the son of Satan, it was the principle of the thing.]

Still, Crowley worried. He had always been something of a worrier, and that hadn't changed even after the First Day of the Rest of Their Lives.

After dropping off Aziraphale at the bookshop, Crowley returned to his flat, where he commenced the preparations for introducing his unexpected twenty-odd guests to their new home. This was accomplished by miracling up a small glass aquarium onto his desk, lining the bottom with paper towels, and carefully (read: nervously) placing the silkworms one by one into the tank. Once this was done, Crowley scattered the half-eaten mulberry leaves from the box around the aquarium. The silkworms set upon their interrupted lunch with all the enthusiasm of Aziraphale devouring a meringue pie at the Ritz.

Crowley slumped into his chair, took off his sunglasses with a wince, and rested his chin on his desk, staring into the glass tank.

“I raised your ancestors once, you know,” Crowley informed the wriggling creatures. “Tiny farm in China several centuries back. We'd weave branches together into a tray and let you loose inside. Bit like how manmade beehives work, or something.”

Crowley paused. Watched one silkworm slowly inch its way across a stem to tackle a new section of leaf. “‘Course, humans use wire mesh nowadays, but the general premise is the same. Always thought it was bloody clever, what humans could come up with. If you gave me a bunch of moth larvae and told me to make a living out of them, I definitely wouldn't think to make clothes.” He snorted. “Whoever came up with that, I'd like a glass of whatever they were drinking.”

The silkworms munched on. They ate much faster than they crawled, that was certain. In the quiet walls of his flat, away from prying human eyes, Crowley loosened the knot of his silk tie and tugged it off, easing the tightness around his neck.

“You're the ones who made this, in a sense,” he said, waving the tie at them. He laid the tie beside one glass wall of the tank at just the right angle for the inhabitants within to see. Several silkworms looked up curiously.

Crowley tossed his suit jacket aside, then unbuttoned his shirt collar. He had always prided himself on his sharp, modern attire over the years, the better to tempt humans with—or so he claimed. Despite repeated scoldings from his superiors, his Lust quotas had never been quite up to par.

Sufficiently dishevelled, and feeling all the freer for it, Crowley sank back into his chair to watch the silkworms.

“The only thing I didn't like about the process was the boiling,” he murmured. “Logically, I can see why it was done. And you would all be in cocoons, so it's not like you'd be in any pain. Not like I was.” He exhaled, the sound becoming a low hiss. “But still. Never liked it. Always felt like an awful lot of trouble just for the sake of some silk threads.”

One particularly adventurous silkworm had nosed its way upwards and was now creeping over the edge of the tank opening. Crowley made a mental note to devise a lid of some kind and stuck his finger against the lip of the tank. The silkworm crawled onto his hand without any hesitation. Tentatively, he drew it closer. Its many feet stuck stubbornly to his skin, and it reared up as he approached, swaying slightly, its mandibles twitching.

Crowley stared at the silkworm. The silkworm stared back, and seemed disappointed when Crowley had nothing else to offer. Just to prove it wrong, Crowley materialized a single large mulberry leaf in his other hand and presented it to the insect, who fell upon it with gluttonous enthusiasm.

Staring at the miracled leaf, an idea formed in Crowley's mind. He smiled, slowly.

“I need a hobby, now that I'm jobless,” he said aloud to the silkworm, letting it creep onto his palm. He ran a careful finger over its smooth back. “I think I'll take up sericulture again, for old time's sake.” He reached back into the tank and gently encouraged the silkworm to crawl back inside.

“Humans have to boil you alive to get those nice unbroken threads off your cocoons,” Crowley mused, withdrawing his hand. “Fortunately, I don't have to do things the human way.” He lowered himself until he was eye-level with the inhabitants of the tank. The silkworm he had carried paused in its perpetual eating and turned its head, almost like it was looking at him.

“How's this?” Crowley asked. “You'll be able to grow into a fuzzy, fully grown silk-moth, and I can take your cocoon after you've finished with it and miracle the threads whole again.” He paused and mulled it over. “I guess I could take it a step further and just miracle the finished silk together, but there's still something to be said about the human way of doing things.”

The silkworm bobbed the front half of its body as though in agreement. Crowley smiled again.

“We can make silk, and no one gets hurt. I'm a few hundred years out of practice, but I'm sure I could make it work, somehow.”

The silkworm turned its attention back to its meal. Crowley didn't notice. He was too busy wondering if Aziraphale had any old texts on silk-weaving that he could borrow, just so he could refresh his memory.

The angel would appreciate having a new silk bowtie to add to his collection.

---

Thank you for reading! Replies and reblogs are always much appreciated. <3

[justasparkwritings]

Codename Cupid: Chapter 22

Previous: The Final Notice 

Pairing: Jeon Jungkook x OFC

Genre: Secret AgentAU, Government AgentAU

Rating: PG15

Word Count: 3.2K

Warnings: Swearing, Mentions of Sex, Mentions of Abortion

Summary: Black Panther, Cricket and OT7 finally meet. 

Cricket & OT7: Return to Sender

Present Day

           “Why are you following me?” I ask, hands bound together, eyes blindfolded. The car has stopped, and whomever was driving has exited the vehicle in favor of opening my door and yanking me out. It’s silent, apart from my breathing and unavoidably stalky footsteps. I’ve never been able to walk on eggshells, perhaps it was my mother’s direction that stomping on them was far more impactful, that has led me to wear through every heel of every shoe I’ve ever owned. Now, it isn’t my saving grace, rather a rude awakening that I must sound like an ogre to the people who live below me.

           I arrived at the designated location, Jungkook trailing behind me. He refused to let me go alone but did compromise and stay in the damn car. He could see me, and I could see him. I was waiting for no more than a minute before promptly kidnapped. Not even chloroformed, just fucking grabbed and taken. Kidnapped, blindfolded and bound. Bound! Some knot a boy scout or aspiring I’m tossed in the back of a car, which, is how I’ve found myself willfully dragging my heels as they ever so gracefully force me in their desired direction.

           “Black Panther, why are you following us?” The voice asks. I know that voice, I’ve heard it before, I’ve heard that code name. Had it been referring to me this entire time?

           “Us?” I ask again, tossing my voice to see if it reverberates against anything, any sign that furniture or people are nearby.

           The man guiding me stops abruptly and peels off my blindfold. Empty spaces are their own kind of hell, and this is no exception. The panic of darkness arises as I close and open my eyes, ensuring they’re really open and not a trick of the mystery man’s charms. I jump softly as seven lights are dropped, one in each spot in front of me, a delicate row of halos waiting to be adorned. Five men step out of the shadows, the one holding me in place making number six.  Their pressed suits, cut from the finest cloth, each distinct in their pattern and style, garnish their bodies. As if on cue they cross their arms over their chests and glare openly at me.

           “Kim Namjoon, Kim Seokjin, Min Yoongi, Jung Hoseok, Park Jimin, Kim Taehyung,” I rattle off, each man nodding as I speak their names.

           I know them all, tailed them, surveyed their homes, run into them at the grocery story and Mexican restaurants. All except fucking min Yoongi, but I know them. I know these men. I’ve spent the better part of what, two years, trying to understand them, trying to figure out how they’re related, and here they are. There’s space for another, and it takes me a minute to realize who it is that occupies that is supposed to occupy that spot.

           “There’s only six of you… where’s -

           “Jeon Jungkook,” His voice comes from behind me, goosebumps running up my spine as the heel of his boots hits the concrete. My body is awash in shock, anger, comfort and hope. My Jungkook. My, I have to come home to him, my north star, my sunshine on a cloudy day, my Bunny.

           I was fucking right all along, wasn’t I?

           “Welcome to the party.” Seokjin says.

           “Is this where you tell me that Euna is Hans Gruber and somehow I’m Sergeant Powell?” I question, by tone delicate against their stone expressions.

           “If anything, you’re Harry Ellis,” Yoongi says.

           “That’s so rude,” I retort. “At least let me be Holly Gennaro.”

           “Then who are we, McClane?” Yoongi snorts, the absurdity of my statement causing a brief moment of joy. “Bunny wishes.”

           “You’re interrupting our mission,” Namjoon states, pulling my attention to him. His broad shoulders give way to a tapered waist, round golden spectacles are situated against his face, and his jaw is locked tight.

           “Me? How the fuck – oh,” My eyes move towards the bulletin board against the far wall, in quintessential fashion there are pictures, string, maps and enough thumbtacks to secure the list of vets from the Vietnam Memorial. I can’t read it, but I can see it. “You guys aren’t the bad guys.”

           “No, we’re not,” Namjoon says.

           “The Lee family is,” Taehyung says. It’s odd seeing him this quiet and stoic, after all he’s the hottest librarian in the damn county. He comes alive within the confines of his books and stories, he comes alive. He has voices and characters and gestures to match each. Looking at him now, it’s wild to imagine him doing a full interpretive reading of The Very Hungry Caterpillar, or his most famed retelling, Peter and the Starcatcher, when he’s glowering down at me.

           “They are poison, seeking revenge on anyone who has worked on cases to bring them down,” Hoseok says.

           “So, you all, how did she find you?” My mind is moving too fast for me to form coherent sentences.

           “Cupid didn’t find us,” Jimin tells me, eyes still boring holes into mine.

           “You did,” Namjoon answers.

           “I did?” I ask, eyes wide.

           “Mm, your little stunts, your run ins, your photos. She gave you our real names and you-

           “Gave her our locations,” Taehyung finishes the sentence, eyes still trained on me.

           “You left the notes, and the photo for Euna to find,”

           “Yes, but unlike you, our move was intentional,” Yoongi says.

           “Codename Cupid needed to know there were higher stakes at play,” Hoseok tells me.

           “How was I supposed to know this was some larger conspiracy?” I demand, temper rising.

           “Did you not receive notes?” Hoseok asks, by his expression I can tell that he’s responsible for the code breakers that have arrived at my apartment and office over the last nine months. “Strange packages arriving out of nowhere, sent to your office, on the driver’s seat?” Hoseok pushes.

           “Yeah, but I’ve had some really sketchy clients in the past, though none of them preferred an ABA rhyme scheme,” I retort.

           “Do you know how we found you?” Yoongi snaps.

           “Yes?” I ask, genuinely confused, “Google my name and my office pops up. Anyone can find me.”

           “Your tactics are fucking bush league, Black Panther. They’re embarrassing,” Yoongi tells me.

           “You’re a P.I., not a cop, not an agent, you’re not in the Bureau, yet you’re overstepping into situations that you have no grounds being involved in. You are fucking playing with fire and we were about to be burned if we hadn’t –

           “Seokjin,” Namjoon’s voice is biting, harsh, a belt to the back as it cracks in the hot air.

           “She needs to know,” Taehyung responds for his hyung.

           “Cupid has been lying to you for months, leading you on, paying you over your asking to track us down for what? A few lies you don’t even believe to be true?” Jimin asks.

           “We embezzled funds from their charity organization? We reported her family to the IRS?” Taehyung asks.

           “We stole jewelry from her famed collection to sell on the black market?” Seokjin adds.

           “We’re trafficking high quality cocaine from Colombia into the upper echelon of society?” Jimin rattles off more lies.

           “We fucked her, broke her heart, and god – the worst one – we made her abort our child?” Yoongi spits on the floor, disgust flowing through his saliva like blood in the Nile.

           I stare at them, mouth agape as they recite words I’ve only spoken to one person. My vision becomes blurry as I try to breathe, in through my nose, out through my mouth, but my heart is pounding in my ears and I can’t breathe. The tears always sting before they fall, and my eyes land on him, tall, blonde hair, clear framed glasses, doe eyes.

           “You told them?” I whisper, the end of my sentence curling up into itself as the first tears start to fall.

           “I had to,” A whisper, feet frozen to the ground as he refuses to make eye contact with me.

           “You were using me?” I ask. “Look at me.”

           “I wasn’t using you,” He says, soft eyes meeting mine, the fire scorching the earth.

           “So how do they know?” I spit, the little droplets doing nothing to squelch the flames.

           “I had –

           “You told them information that I shared with you, in confidence, in my fucking bed, in my fucking homeJungkook!” I yell.

           “Cricket, can we talk about –

           “How dare you use my nickname to get me to calm down, I’m not a fucking child,” the sound of my cries reverberates against the warehouse, echoing violently.

           “I can exp-

           “There isn’t time for you to sort out your fuck up, Jeon. We have real problems to discuss,” Yoongi snaps. I can feel the tears dripping from my chin, falling to the concrete beneath my feet. The adrenaline pumping through my body as both a reaction to fear and a telltale sign that I’ve been embarrassed beyond repair. Not just embarrassed, eviscerated, betrayed. An hour ago, hadn’t I been deeply in love, terrified I wouldn’t return home to him?  

           “What do you want from me?” I ask. Jimin hands me a tissue, which I am grateful for as I attempt to gently blot my soaked skin. My mascara, never waterproof, comes off my eyes in dark splotches. How poetic.

           “Come, have a seat, Jungkook, get her a water,” Namjoon instructs. He strides towards the bulletin board and pressing a few buttons, the board sinks in the floor to reveal a hallway. The gasp that echoes through the warehouse is audible, and louder than I intend.

           “Sorry,” I say, feet guiding me past Jungkook, towards the corridor. There are no pictures on the walls, no signs that this space is used by anyone. The industrial style gives way to a door, bulletproof.

           Namjoon pauses, inserting his thumb into a scanner that gives way to a retina display, where he gently places his chin against the base. The machine works quickly before giving him entrance. I watch, amazed. Who knew in the 21stcentury that covert ops and me, a lonely P.I., would intersect?

           “This is, headquarters,” Seokjin says. He takes a seat at the long table in front of us and points to the chair next to Taehyung. I sit quickly, my eyes adjusting to the surprisingly bright space.

           “Oh my god the view,” I say, composure slightly recovered as I take in the expanse of greenery.

           “Yeah, benefit of being in the middle of nowhere,” Yoongi says.

           “Read your file,” Namjoon instructs.

           The file in front of me, manilla of course, is packed. “Why paper copies?”

           “Easier to burn,” Yoongi mutters. He’s taken out his computer and is busy typing away, no doubt pulling up a list of my infractions. Undoubtedly fucking an undercover operative is number one, though falling in love is objectively far worse than sex.

           Jungkook brings me a water and deftly cuts the zip ties around my wrist. His hand moves to sooth the indentation and redness from their grip, but I pull them away before his thumbs graze over the skin. Out of the corner of my eye I watch him retreat to his seat at the end of the table.

           “If you’re the top of the line, 007 should be shaking in his oxfords, can’t you encrypt it?” I ask.

           “Your encryption is only as good as your worst coder. We can’t take that chance,” Namjoon tells me.

           “First, I don’t think that’s the saying. Second, the government, who I’m assuming you work for, Interpol, MI6, etc. all use computer systems,” I counter.

           “Do you remember the election of 2016?” Yoongi retorts.

           “Point taken,” I nod. Of course, Russia. No one was ever safe. “But can’t you blame a lot of that on Zuckerberg and the higher ups at Twitter?”

           “Read your file,” Namjoon instructs again.

           I open it to find a rather aggressive breakdown of my work as a PI, both items that were on the internet and ones that only top-level government agents could have accessed, that is, unless the NSA has been tapping my phones. Details of my family life, my past relationships, my driving record, it was all here.

           “Why isn’t Jungkook on the list of romantic partners?” I ask, eyes looking from Seokjin to Namjoon.

           “Are you in love?” Namjoon asks.

           I don’t wait for a response from Jungkook, or to find the courage to say the simple three lettered word, yes. Instead, I busy myself by clearing my throat and loudly moving the pages about my life to a separate pile. Underneath is all my evidence, print outs of my documents, surveillance photos of me working. I stare at them, horrified.

           “How long have you been tailing me?” I question.

           “How long have you been working with Euna?” Taehyung asks.

           “Sixteen months,” I reply.

           “Ten months.” Taehyung answers.

           “You hacked my computer? Is that legal?” I inquire, knowing full well that it isn’t.

           “I can tell that you don’t understand who you’re dealing with, so let me put it this way. We’re the ones who knock. We’re the ones who cause dignitaries, presidents, whole countries to quake in their boots. It’s us.” Namjoon’s voice is calm within the storm, its resolute and baritone and every word that he utters is meaningful, impactful. He means what he says, and he fucking says what he means. In every interaction I’ve had with him, which frankly have been maybe more than he realizes, he’s been measured in his speech, only speaking when he has something worth saying. He is patient with himself, kind to others, except for today, when he clearly does not want to deal with me.

           “How very Heisenberg of you,” I roll my eyes.

           “You don’t want to be Jane,” Namjoon urges.

           “Okay first of all, in a Breaking Bad scenario, I’m clearly Jesse. Second of all, Krysten Ritter has had a very lovely career. Finally, this cannot be overlooked or underestimated, I’m Veronica Mars, bitch.”

           “Read. Your. File.” Namjoon’s teeth are clenched, his fist resting on the table, his patience going.

           I glance at Yoongi who is sniggering, Seokjin who is making eyes at Jungkook, and Jimin who is busy doodling along the margins of his file. These glimpses, these little hints at the weight of their souls, these are the men I’ve been following for nearly two years.

           It’s in staring at the remnants of my evidence that it hits me. “Jungkook gave you these photos.”

           “Yes,” Seokjin answers.

           “Everything you told me was a lie,” I say, eyes burning holes into the stolen images of my work.

           “Crick- Y/N, that’s not true,”

           “I knew you were connected, that day in the dog park, I knew,” I should’ve trusted my instincts, though they told me to trust him, maybe I should’ve run.

           “I didn’t lie, Cricket, I -

           “Look, I’ll work with you, whoever you are, but I’m not working with Jungkook,” I look at Namjoon.

           “That’s not an option, Black Panther,”

           “How did I get that nickname?”

           “Can you focus for ten minutes? Read your damn file so we can discuss the next course of action before you have to go meet Codename Cupid for your weekly meeting,” Namjoon bites.

           “Fine, do I have to go to that meeting if you’re, doing whatever you’re doing?” I question. “Seems a bit redundant.”

           “If you don’t meet with Cupid, she will know we found her, and our decade of work is completely useless.” Seokjin says, stepping in to mitigate the anger erupting from Namjoon.

           “What am I supposed to say to her? She knows too much already,”

           “She doesn’t know what she knows,” Yoongi answers. “Looking through her emails and texts, it’s clear that her family wants the seven of us dead for espionage, and for attempting to bring them down. All Cupid knows is that you found us, which she assumes is a fatal flaw in our plan, though she has yet to understand the plan at all.”

           “It’s completely intentional,” Hoseok adds. “Cupid only knows that we either worked for her company or dated her or a sibling. She knows our fictitious careers and lives but has no clue about who we truly are.”

           “Her brother, Dae-Seong, Codename Archer, is the one who wants us gone, eviscerated, eradicated. He’s the one driving this whole thing. Archer’s convinced Cupid that vengeance will solve her romantic woes,” Jimin tells me.  

           “But what about Jun-Seo? You left him the night of your engagement party, and Kwan-Min, you went on a few dates… Couldn’t this be about them?”

           “Codenames Bow and Arrow are less of a threat than Cupid and Archer,” Taehyung answers.

           “Cupid has been kept in the dark for the past, fifteen years, in regard to their business. The dark dealings of her company reside solely with her siblings and their parents. We want them,” Namjoon finishes.

           “Why not use Euna, sorry, Cupid, as the patsy?” I ask.

           “Who will run their company?” Yoongi asks.

           “Someone else?”

           “There’s too much evidence, nearly the entire company is dirty,” Jimin tells me.

           “So, you’ve been spying on them from the inside?” I question.

           “Sort of,”

           “It’s Nixon, Watergate extreme?” I ask.

           “What does Cupid know, and when did she know it?” Yoongi answers, his annoyance completely dissipating at my Watergate mention.

           “Why do you think she’ll believe me? She doesn’t have much faith in me as of late,” I question, the lilt of insecurity in my voice. Jungkook glances at me, eyes soft at the familiar tone, he tries to offer a smile, at least, it looks like he’s trying.

           “Yeah, because you fucked Jungkook and she found out. Before that though, she couldn’t sing your praises enough,” Namjoon’s calmed down, his frustration settling like sediment at the bottom of a pot. Adding an eighth person to the group was always going to shift the balance, move the power around and rattle nerves. But me? I’m burning it down. Though I can’t completely be to blame - Jungkook is also at fault.

           “Fine. What do I say to her?”

           “Haven’t we gone over this before? Lie,” Yoongi says.

           “Yoongi, if you’re going to be an ass, can you please direct it at someone else?” I snap.

           “Feisty,” He nods approvingly.

           “Black Panther, you have notes in your file about what we need from you,” Namjoon instructs.

           “You want me to end my relationship with her?” I question.

           “Yes,”

           “What about –

           “Either you end it first, creating an enemy, or she ends it with you which will not be helpful for us,”

           “I just,” I look at them, eyes finally glancing to Jungkook. He looks exhausted, and sad, so sad, his irises choppy waves searching for harbor. “Do I have a choice?”

           “No,” Namjoon answers, but Jungkook’s eyes tell me exactly what I need to know. I don’t have a choice, and somewhere along the line, he stopped having one too.

           “Fine, tell me what to do,” I flip to the page in my file, eyes scanning the words, mind no longer full of Jungkook my boyfriend, but of Jungkook, Operative, member of OT7. This is a job, a job that seemingly could make or destroy my career. I don’t have time or the emotional space to navigate his crashing midnight eyes. All I have now is focus, drive, determination, and hints of stubbornness. This is the same drive that in a weird twist of fate, has led me to this very conference room, with these seven mysterious men.

           I cannot fuck it up.

           I will not get a second chance.

Next: Black Panther Meets Codename Cupid  

[lumateranlibrarian]

Let’s talk about Claudia and Soren, because I’m pretty sure their conflict is going to be one of the biggest parts of The Dragon Prince’s endgame.

The Dragon Prince’s main recurring theme is breaking the cycle of revenge and hate, and how that duty falls on the newer generations when their predecessors failed to do so. This theme is so prevalent that we see the children of The Dragon Prince being placed over and over in chilling parallels to their parents.

Rayla’s parents were the last line of defense for the Dragon Prince’s egg, and yet they failed to protect it, running away or losing their lives (or so we’re led to believe); Rayla chose to be the last line of defense for Zym and Zubeia during the final battle. In her confrontation with the exact same man her parents faced, she was put in the same position, and was also willing to die to save Zym (and would have if Callum hadn’t pulled that spell out of his ass, but that’s beside the point).

Ezran sits on the throne of Katolis, and has to decide whether he’ll let a man driven by vengeance and fear tell him how to use his power. This man inevitably decides that dark magic will lead him to his goal. Like Harrow in his final days, Ezran chooses peace over conflict - and yet, for this choice, Ezran is ousted from his throne and placed in a prison he later escapes (unlike his father, unless you consider a birdcage, subsequently escaped, to be a prison too - oh, wait).

And then. Soren and Claudia.

Buckle up, ladies and gentlemen and variations thereupon. Shit’s about to get real.

The scene where Soren snuck away from Viren’s army, leaving Claudia behind, was masterfully executed, and I’m still both delighted and heartbroken over it all. But to map out why it was so excruciating, we have to go back a few episodes. Specifically, the finale of Season 2.

In Breathe, Claudia apologizes to Ezran for her actions attempting to capture him. When Ezran admits that he knows about his father’s death, Claudia empathizes with him by explaining the circumstances of Viren and her mother’s separation.

CLAUDIA I know it’s not the same, but… when I was a kid, my mom and dad split up. I remember hearing them fight a lot at night after we went to bed. And then one day, they told us Mom was moving back to Del Bar, where her family was from. And then they said… we had to choose. And Soren chose Dad. How could I choose? How could I do that? Then my mom looked at my dad, and she told me to stay. She said that I had to stay with Soren, that this was my home, and my brother and I needed each other. And then she left.

EZRAN But how could she do that? Why would she leave you?

CLAUDIA I think she needed to leave for herself. To be happy… somehow. You might have noticed my dad is pretty intense.

EZRAN You must miss her.

CLAUDIA Losing her has been the hardest thing that’s ever happened to me.

EZRAN When you grow up, sometimes there are changes you don’t expect, and you have to face things you’re not ready for. Callum told me that.

CLAUDIA You are so lucky to have a brother like Callum.

EZRAN I know.

CLAUDIA And… I’m lucky to have my brother. Soren is a doof, but he’s my doof! I know he would do anything to protect me, and I would do anything for him.

Pretty upsetting, right? I can understand why a young Claudia would be so torn - after all, no child wants to make the choice between losing one parent or the other. And Claudia clearly recognizes that it was not abandonment, when her mother left - rather, it was her mother doing what was right for herself. Of course, Claudia didn’t come to this realization immediately, and says as much. It just took a long time for her to get there. Again, an understandable response.

Hold onto that! It’s a surprise tool that will help us later.

So, with this in mind, let’s proceed to Season 3, Episode 7, Hearts of Cinder.

Soren has seen some shit.

Where to even start? Viren told Soren all but explicitly to kill the crown prince and his brother. And when Soren and Claudia confronted Viren about this, Viren gaslighted the shit out of his son, to the point that even Claudia was convinced Soren had misunderstood their brilliant, intellectual father for the umpteenth time. This left a deeply upset Soren was wrestling with what he knew and what he was being told. Every time Soren tried to ask for more information, he was harshly rebuffed by Viren, or more gently brushed to the side by a (perhaps willfully) naive Claudia. He knows what Viren wanted him to do with Ezran, and this has been weighing on him for a while. When Ezran spared his and Claudia’s lives, and then was himself thrown in jail (a fucking ten year old boy cuffed in the same prison cell used to contain a treasonous archmage), Soren finally put his foot down and said, actually, fuck this.

And, before I get into the quotes once more, I’d like to point out: Soren isn’t actually stupid. He has his blatantly obtuse moments, yes, but he did come up with the plan (and muster the sheer audacity it took to pull it off) to get Ezran out of Katolis. That doesn’t happen by being an idiot.

Anyways, hold on to that. It’s a surprise tool that will help us later.

By the time Viren, with Aaravos’ help, manages to siphon the power of the Sun Elves’ city, Soren has seen enough. And when Viren straight-up assumes that Soren will be blindly willing to be the first transformed soldier - perhaps because he assumes Soren is too easily led to refuse - Soren says no. He says, I don’t want to do this. I’m scared.

You know how the rest of that scene goes.

Let’s get to the good stuff.

Soren flees, and Claudia goes after him.

CLAUDIA Soren. What’s going on? Where are you going?

SOREN I can’t stay here anymore, Claudia. You’ve seen what’s going on. What Dad turned Kasef into. What Dad turned into.

CLAUDIA Maybe he’s just doing what needs to be done.

SOREN Claudia, you’re changing, too. But it’s not too late. Come with me, Claudia. You can leave him!

CLAUDIA Please, Soren, don’t… don’t do this to me. Don’t make me choose. Not again!

SOREN Okay. Goodbye, Clauds.

CLAUDIA No! No! No, no no!

Do you see the parallels? Yes? No? All right, let’s go.

Both of these scenarios have arisen because of some sort of discord between Viren and his (I hope) loved one

Both loved ones (the children’s mother and Soren, respectively) decided that they could no longer stay with Viren, and had to leave.

Both loved ones gave the remaining family members a choice, to stay with Viren or come with them.

Claudia couldn’t decide, or Claudia wouldn’t decide, and this drove her to intense distress.

Hoping to spare Claudia pain, the leaving party told her to stay with Viren and Soren (or, just Viren), and Claudia had to watch someone she loved walk away.

The writers are bringing their A-game here, in case that hasn’t been made abundantly clear yet. There are a couple of reasonable assumptions we can make, going off these pretty blatant similarities:

Claudia and Soren’s mother was likely also upset about Viren’s growing reliance on dark magic. Or at least, that was a part of it.

Claudia and Soren’s mother returned to live with her family in another city, far away. This raises the possibility that Team Zym and associates are now Soren’s “family”, and like his mother, he’s not likely to go back.

Remember that first “surprise tool”? Claudia, while heartbroken now like she was then, may be able to forgive Soren for leaving her, as she came to understand her mother’s reasons for finalizing the divorce and moving away from the capital. Whether she does, and if doing so leads to reconciliation, however, remains to be seen…

This scene was beautifully executed, and kudos to the writers, animators, and voice actors for a superb character study. I am curious, though. Claudia has been closely paralleled with Viren, here. It’s possible that Soren has had several moments in the series so far where his actions and motivations mirror his mother’s, and we just don’t know about it because of how little we know of her.

But wait! We’re not done. I did say I think a final, major confrontation between Claudia and Soren is part of the endgame, right? Let’s dive into that.

Point: Claudia is either more powerful or more dangerously driven than Viren. Why do I say this, given all the crazy shit Viren’s done, especially under Aaravos’ counsel? Because Claudia brought Viren back from the dead. She has done what Viren either never could, or never dared to do. If Viren had been able or willing, he would have saved Sarai.

(If that’s not true… if he chose not to save Sarai, in favor of collecting her last breath in order to make a cursed weapon that could bring down Thunder… well, any shred of redeemability Viren had is now gone in my mind. Because how do you look your friend, a grieving husband, father, and king in the eye when you hold his wife’s last breath in your hands and say, “This is all I was able to save,” when it’s a lie?)

Point: Viren failed Aaravos. Viren failed Aaravos, but Claudia has managed to perform what is, as far as we know, the impossible. From the split second glimpse we have of her face immediately after Viren is revived, it seems like she just cast the spell - her eyes are pure black, but quickly fade to their original color, much as they did when Claudia restored Soren’s ability to walk using life force siphoned from a pair of deer. We also know that Aaravos has been spinning himself a new form over the two days before Viren was revived - it’s possible that Aaravos doesn’t yet know what Claudia has accomplished. What will Aaravos do, I wonder, when he learns about the impossible prodigy he has access to? It’s implied that Claudia still doesn’t know about Aaravos speaking through the caterpillar, but that hardly matters to a master manipulator like Aaravos. When you want to conquer Xadia, do you want a broken, old pawn, or a young and innovative replacement instead?

Point: Soren is not stupid. He’s not booksmart, obviously. But he’s got a keen eye for strategy. How do I know? Because he made Captain of the Crownsguard at the age of 18. Because it took him all of two seconds to see a dragon brought down by ballista during the battle to realize that the only way to give the dragons a fighting chance was to keep them in the air. Because he planned - no, he masterminded - Ezran’s escape from the dungeons and subsequent journey across Xadia to get to Zym before Viren. And because he timed it just right, Viren has no idea Ezran has escaped until the final battle - if he even knows at all, given that the only interaction we see is between them after Ezran’s escape is on the battlefield, with Ezran and the illusion Viren created by Claudia.

Point: The Illusion Viren.

This frame was the one that, of the entire season, truly stole my breath away.

Viren (well, illusion Viren, but that’s not the point of this frame) is the dividing factor between Claudia and Soren, and he has caused this rift between them due to his intent towards Ezran. Soren’s compassion and duty towards Ezran has allowed him to see the truth of Viren’s actions, whereas Claudia’s compassion for Ezran has blinded her to the fact that her own father could act so horribly to him.

And, if you’ll indulge me for just a minute, I have to wonder - why was this the ploy Claudia chose to use, to distract Soren and Ezran from the threat at the top of the Storm Spire? She has adamantly been opposed to the idea that Viren would ever orchestrate Ezran’s death, including several clear warning signs and Soren’s testimony. So why did she use this illusion - of Viren going after Ezran, clearly trying to kill him - against Soren, when his resolve to protect Ezran from Viren is what led him to the Storm Spire in the first place? Claudia is horrified when Soren demonstrates that he is willing to kill his own father to protect Ezran (who is, by the way, still a ten-year-old boy, king or not). But isn’t this what Soren has been saying all along? That Viren has been telling him to kill Ezran, and that Viren is wrong, and Soren believed this so much that he chose to leave rather than continue gong along with Viren’s plans? So, whose resolve is Claudia really testing here - Soren’s? Or her own?

I think it’s the latter, honestly. But back to our regularly-scheduled programming. Where was I?

Ah, yes.

Endgame.

So what do we know? Claudia is quite possibly the most powerful dark mage in the world. She’s chosen to continue aligning herself with Viren and Viren alone. Soren is a strategist driven by duty, and is surrounded by other warriors of similar mind and similar or even better skill. Unless a new threat emerges beyond the alliance of Viren and Aaravos (which isn’t impossible, of course), the two siblings are in direct opposition to one another. Claudia must live with the fact that her brother was willing to kill their father, and has left her to pick up the pieces. Soren must live with the fact that he was willing to kill their father, and that Claudia’s manipulation is what drove him to it.

The two of them have also, believe it or not, grown up with vastly different influences during their formative years. Differences in treatment from Viren aside, there’s an implication that Claudia and Soren have been on separate paths for a long time. Claudia is clearly Viren’s favorite - he has actual conversations with her, listens to her questions and attempts to answer them (whether the answers or truthful or not is another issue). Meanwhile, Viren puts very little effort into understanding Soren. Likely, he believes he already does, as Soren isn’t, shall we say, the most complicated of individuals. So, Claudia gets private tutoring under her father, and academic and intellectual training that Viren can relate to and challenge and encourage. Meanwhile, Soren, the family jock, goes into the castle guard. It’s not clear what all this would entail, but I imagine he trained with other recruits for a time in his own age group, reported to a commander or other superior officer, and probably received some sort of advanced training when it became clear he was a prodigy in his own right - after all, it’s not your average eighteen-year-old who is placed in charge of the security of a monarch. To sum up, Claudia was favored and likely spoiled to some degree by her father, whereas Soren excelled in military boot camp, which requires recruits to learn how to carry their own weight and take responsibility for protecting others in a very different sense than Viren’s supposed dedication to the realm.

Narratively speaking, despite first impressions, Claudia is the sibling with more cards stacked against her. She is falling faster and faster towards the point of no return with dark magic, whereas Soren has fought for every inch of his venture into the light. I’m anticipating larger confrontation between the two siblings than what we have seen so far. My heart breaks for both of them, but when I think of how future generations of humans and elves will tell the story of the Dragon Prince, these tragic siblings will fill one of the most resonant threads of the epic.

Ezran rode into the throne room that was his by birthright on the back of a massive, black-furred beast whom he charmed into loyalty. Rayla tackled a madman off of the highest peak in Xadia, and Callum dove selflessly after her. Claudia raised her father from the dead. Soren crossed miles of hostile territory in a single night to warn the Dragon Prince of a coming army.

There is a story being told here. Sometimes, history repeats, and sometimes, it rhymes. Cycles are meant to be broken, but only time will tell how Claudia and Soren handle the one they’re trapped in.

Can I just say, though?

Claudia is going to make one hell of an epic villain.

Bring it on.

[swanqueeneverafter]

Sins of the Past Pt.15

Camelot. Throne Room. (Lancelot is escorted into the room by Morgana's men. Morgana is seated on the throne with Morgause standing to her right. Lancelot is thrown to the floor.) Morgana: "Tell me, Sir Lancelot, are you and your fellow knights ready to honour and serve me? Speak up." Lancelot: "I would rather die." Morgause: "That can be arranged." Lancelot: "My loyalty is to the true Queen of Camelot, Guinevere. There is nothing you can do to change that." Morgana: "We shall see. They tell me you were with Arthur when he recaptured the Jabberwocky. There are rumours that you were the one who swung the Vorpal Blade that left her pinned to the wall for many years. Your mother, the Lady of the Lake, she forged that blade, didn't she? (Lancelot merely nods:) It was for this heroic act that Arthur awarded you the honour of the Siege Perilous, correct? (Lancelot says nothing. Leaning forward:) We both know what a snake Arthur turned out to be, but are you aware of just how he came to power?"

Camelot. Past. Uther's Chambers. (Moments after leaving Arthur's side to protect the King, Guinevere arrives outside Uther's chambers. Hearing voices, Guinevere draws her sword and inches open the door to peer inside.) Jabberwocky: (Standing before an unarmed Uther:) “What are you afraid of, Uther?” Uther: (Defiantly:) “I'm not afraid of anything.” Jabberwocky: “Not even... (Reads his mind:) the feeling of smoke... filling your lungs? (Walks behind him:) The fire burning all around you... out of control. (Uther’s eyes widen and he begins gasping for breath:) The feeling that there's nothing you can do to save yourself. (Uther blinks rapidly:) That you... are... powerless. (Uther gasps loudly, coughing:) And you don't know what burns you more... the secret you’ve been keeping inside you all these years... (Kneels beneath Uther as he’s bent over:) ...that the orphan boy, Arthur, the one you tried to drown, is your son. A constant reminder of your betrayal of Ygraine... (Whispers:) or is it the lack of oxygen... in your lungs?” (Uther collapses to the floor. Standing, the Jabberwocky turns and leaves the room, her task complete. While still trying to process what she’s overheard, Guinevere rushes to Uther’s side, looking for any signs of life, but finding none.)

Camelot. Present. Throne Room. (Morgana continues her tale.) Morgana: "As the battle raged on, Arthur fought his way to me. I thought to protect me, but I was gravely mistaken." Camelot. Past. Council Chamber. (Arthur fights two of Cenred's men, knocking them backwards before ushering Morgana into the room. Barring the door, Arthur turns his attention to Morgana.) Arthur: "Those soldiers, it's like they're protected somehow. Everything we throw at them just bounces off." Morgana: "What can we do?" Arthur: "We have to destroy the source of the magic." Morgana: "Which is?" Arthur: (Hesitates:) "I don't know." Morgana: "Our only chance is to get out of Camelot." Arthur: "No, it's too late for that. I need to think. Here. (Arthur hands Morgana a water skin:) Have some water." Morgana: "I'm not thirsty." Arthur: "No, I mean you have some before I finish it." Morgana: (Nods:) "Thank you." (Morgana drinks. Almost immediately she begins to have trouble breathing. Morgana looks at the skin and then at Arthur. Arthur wipes his mouth and then turns to face her.) Arthur: “Forgive me. I had to save Camelot." Castle Corridor. (In the midst of the fighting, Morgause senses something is wrong.) Council Chamber. (Arthur tries to hold Morgana as she struggles to breathe.) Arthur: “I give you my word, as King, I shall restore honour to the name Pendragon. (Morgana’s eyes widen at this and tries to fight him off:) Yes, I am your brother. (Stands:) I’ve known for some time.” Castle Corridor. (Morgause begins to hold her throat like Morgana.) Council Chamber. (Blowing the council chamber door open, Morgause rushes to Morgana, taking her in her arms.) Morgause: (Stroking Morgana’s face:) “What has he done to you?” Arthur: “I had to.” Morgause: (Morgana lays unconscious in her arms:) “You poisoned her!” Arthur: “You gave me no choice.” Morgause: “Tell me what you used and I can save her.” Arthur: “First, stop the attack!” Morgause: “You’re nothing but a simple soldier! You don’t tell me what to do!” Arthur: “If you want to know what poison it is, you will undo the magic that protects Cenred and his men!” Morgause: “Tell me the poison or you’ll die!” Arthur: “Then she’ll die with me. I don’t want this any more than you, but you give me no choice. Stop the attack and you can save her.” Morgause: (With tears in her eyes, lifts the enchantment:) “Astýre ús þanonweard! Cnihtas Medhires, éower sáwla. Rid eft ond forsliehð eft.” Castle Corridor. (The knights blows begin to take effect on Cenred’s soldiers. An overly confident Cenred allows a knight to take a strike at him and is slashed through the heart. With a shocked look upon his face, Cenred falls dead to the floor.) Council Chamber. (Arthur hands Morgause the hemlock bottle. Guinevere and the knights burst into the room.) Guinevere: “Morgana!” Morgause: “Keep away from her! (Rocking Morgana in her arms, Morgause begins to chant:) Bedyrne ús! Astýre ús þanonweard!” (Morgause and Morgana disappear in a windy cloud of smoke.) Camelot. Present. Throne Room. (Morgana continues.) Morgana: "And for ten long years, that was the last time anyone heard from Morgana Pendragon, the true Queen of Camelot. Now I am back to claim my rightful place. (Tilting her head:) Guin has already accepted her part in Arthur's betrayal. It was from her store cupboard that my bastard brother stole the hemlock. She would see me take my birthright, so why not you, Lancelot?" Lancelot: (Looks to her and smiles:) "Long live Queen Guinevere!" (Motioning to her guards, Morgana watches with interest as Lancelot is taken back to the dungeons.)

Neverland. Night. (Regina, Emma and Tiger Lily are escorted to the beach while the Lost Boys dance, holler and bang drums around the fire.) Regina: (Sighs:) “Why is it never past their bedtime?” Lost Boy 1: “For your crimes against Pan, the Lost Boys sentence you to death.” (He points towards several stakes lining the beach. Before they can make good on their threat however, a bright light blinds the Lost Boys momentarily as a large door materialises on the beach.) Emma: “Regina, it’s the door from the Sorcerer’s mansion!” Regina: “We’ve got to go!” (Using the distraction to their advantage, they run towards the door, carrying Maria between them. Emma stops, turning to see Tiger Lily escape her guards.) Tiger Lily: “Run. Now!” (Amidst the confusion, they manage to run through the door, leaving the feral Lost Boys behind them.) Storybrooke. Sorcerer's Mansion. (Stepping through the door, Emma is just able to see Hook, Anna, Kristoff and Rumplestiltskin standing there before she is enveloped in a hug by Elsa.) Elsa: "Thank goodness we found you!"

(Anxiously watching Regina's reaction to this display, Anna steps in.) Anna: (Gently pulling Elsa away from Emma, smiles at Regina:) "It's been an emotional day." Hook: "Swan, Lily's been kidnapped." Emma: "What?" Anna: "And we think Maleficent's missing too, although we don't know for sure. I mean we do know she's not been seen for awhile but-" Rumplestiltskin: (Cutting her off:) "Belle and the others have been rounded up by the new regime in Camelot. If we had everyone who fought with us in the Dream World, we'd still not have enough fire power to defeat Morgana's army." Tiger Lily: (Making her presence known for the first time:) "Even if you had, Morgause's magic is powerful. Perhaps more so than yours at the height of your reign as the Dark One." (Rumplestiltskin is unnerved by the sight of his former godmother.) Elsa: "Which is why we came to find you. I don't know if Lily and Maleficent's disappearances are linked to all of this, but if they are..." Emma: (Looking to Regina:) "We're the only ones capable of breaching their defenses."

Camelot. Dungeons. (Lancelot is being escorted to the cells by four guards.) Belle: (Stepping out from a side passageway:) "Oh, boys?" (The guards and Lancelot turn to face her, Lancelot smiles.) Guard 1: "Oi, how'd you get out?" (Belle blows them a kiss and runs back down the passageway. Two guards chase after her, which allows Lancelot to make quick work of the remaining guards, collecting their swords along the way.) Passageway. (Belle sprints down the passage with the two guards hot on her heels. Running through one gate and then another, Belle sets the trap.) Belle: "Now!" (Before the guards can reach the second gate, Merida closes the door behind Belle, locking it. When the guards try to backtrack through the first gate, Xena and Gabrielle appear, locking that door.) Xena: "Sorry, boys, but you don't spend time around Autolycus, King of Thieves, without picking up a few things." Merida: "Stay there and don't move, eh?" (Merida, Belle, Xena and Gabrielle run back to join Lancelot who is now surrounded by guards. A fight breaks out and Xena, Gabrielle and Merida each quickly disarm a guard each, taking their swords. Lancelot sees a set of keys on the table and throws them to the imprisoned knights before handing one of his swords to Belle.) Xena: (Twirling her sword:) "Now this is what I call a good time!" Wonderland. Grendel's House. (Ella and Will continue trying to free themselves of their bonds.) Ella: “He's out chopping wood. He'll be back any second.” Will: “Don't panic. I've been in worse binds than this. (Attempts to break the ropes by brute strength, but fails:) Well, equivalent binds. (Ella finally frees herself:) How the bloody hell did you do that?” Ella: “Patience and persistence. (Ella unties Will’s hands and they both set to work untying their feet:) Hurry. (Ella heads for the door but notices that Will hasn’t moved:) What are you doing?” Will: “I ain't leaving without that knot.” Ella: “Will...” Will: “I made the deal with the Caterpillar. It's my bloody head on the line.” Ella: “It'll be both our heads if we don't get out of here. Come on!” (Ella tries the lock but it won’t budge. Suddenly an axe is hurled at the door by the Grendel.) Will: (Sarcastically:) “Whenever you're ready, Ella. No hurry.”

(With Will’s help, they finally manage to open the door to find a large beast waiting for them outside. Quickly closing the door, they back away.) Ella: “What in the hell is that thing?” Will: “It's a Bandersnatch.” Ella: “What's it doing here?” Will: “It’s popped round for tea - obviously! How the bloody hell should I know?” Ella: (Glancing over at the knot:) “Come on. I have a plan!” (While they head towards the knot, the Grendel picks up a knife and heads for the door. The Bandersnatch breaks through the door, sending the Grendel flying into the wall, knocking him unconscious. Snorting and snarling, the Bandersnatch tears through the house, climbing onto the dining table where it sees Will and Ella through the knot, crouching on the floor.) Will: (Standing beside Ella by the window:) “He bought it. (The beast roars and sticks its head through the knot:) Now! (Ella pulls on the rope, hauling the Bandersnatch up into the air:) You did it!” Ella: (Struggling:) “Not yet! (The animal kicks and screams, protesting its capture, Will holding Ella around the waist to keep her feet on the ground. Suddenly Will releases her, running into the other room:) Where are you going?!” (The Bandersnatch continues to flail around, Ella trying desperately to keep hold of the rope. Just as it turns its attention to Ella, the Grendel enters the room and charges. The Bandersnatch knocks him down again, roaring in Grendel’s face and is about to take a bite out of him when Will re-enters the room with a knife, stabbing the beast. With a final roar, the Bandersnatch disintegrates before their very eyes.) Will: (Helps Ella to her feet:) “How did you know that thing would fall for your trap?” Ella: “I didn’t.” Will: “Charming!” (Behind them, the Grendel stands.) Grendel: "You saved me. Thank you.” Will: “Yeah. Well, bygones and all that. (The Grendel walks towards the Forget-Me-Knot:) So that means we're square, right? Off the dinner menu?” Grendel: (Holding up the knot, stares into it sadly:) “She's gone.” Ella: “Who was she?” Grendel: “My wife. I lost her long ago.” Ella: “I'm sorry.” Grendel: “I thought I would die of heartbreak. But then I heard of this object and I stole it from she who owned it, and brought it here.” Will: “The Forget-Me-Knot.” Grendel: “That night, two things happened. I saw my wife alive again. But for my crime, she turned me into this.” Will: “Someone destroyed your life?” Grendel: “Yes. But I had no choice.” Will: “You did what you had to do to be with the woman you loved. There's no crime in that. The only crime is what she did to you.” Grendel: “Take it. It holds no value for me now.” Ella: “Thank you.” Grendel: “I hope it brings you what you desire.” (The Grendel walks away sadly, Ella and Will watching him go.) Storybrooke. Past. Regina's Vault. (During the period of time when the town was surrounded by a large ice wall and the Snow Queen is on the loose, Regina and Emma try to discuss the real problem at hand.) Emma: "For the last time, I don't have feelings for Elsa!" Regina: (Scoffs:) "Yeah, right." Emma: "Look, the only possible thing between me and Elsa is the connection to the Snow Queen. Ingrid seems to believe that Elsa and I are her long lost sisters or something." Regina: "You're spending an awful lot of time together."

Emma: "Time you could be spending with me, if you weren't so caught up trying to find this so-called Author of yours." Regina: "You mean spend time at the station with you, the Ice Princess and the Handless Wonder?" Emma: (Rolls her eyes:) "So we're back to Hook? I'm not even going to dignify that one. Hook and I are friends, just like Elsa. Elsa is trying to find her sister, just like Hook is trying to find his child. (Softer, walking closer to Regina:) There is nothing going on between me and either of them. How could there be when I am so, completely in love with you?" Regina: (Putting her book down:) "And you don't find either of them attractive?" Emma: (Scoffs:) "I couldn't possibly find Hook as attractive as Hook finds himself. And me and Elsa? Two blondes don't make a right. Besides, Elsa is far too... happy for me. She sees the world in a completely different way than I do. Than you and I do." Regina: "Yeah?" Emma: "Oh yeah. She's far too innocent for me. I prefer a little darkness. (Puts an arm around Regina's waist:) And you know I love how that darkness tastes." (Emma pulls Regina for a kiss, which the brunette readily returns. Before it can turn into anything more however, Regina pulls away.) Regina: "Mm, we can't. (Resting her forehead on Emma's:) We both have full mornings and we have to pick up your brother from that god-awful Mommy and Me class." Emma: (Nods:) "Okay. (With one last kiss, they part. Emma stepping aside so Regina can leave. Watching Regina run a hand through her hair as she walks:) Mm, girl. You know I hate to see you go, but I love to watch you leave." Regina: (Chuckles:) "Idiot. Just don't be late." Camelot. Present. Morgana’s Chambers. (Morgana stares out of her window with a thoughtful expression.) Morgana: “I’m beginning to see the challenges that I face. Being queen is not so simple, Guin.” Guinevere: “You’re doing well, your Majesty.” Morgana: “You think? The knights do not share your view.” Guinevere: “They don’t know you.” Morgana: (Turns to her:) “I need their allegiance. Without that, the people will not yield to me.” Guinevere: “They all look to Lancelot and he will always be loyal to me. I could talk to him, try to make him see sense?” Morgana: “You would do that for me?” Guinevere: “Uther killed my father and Arthur kept me by his side through magical enchantment for years.” Morgana: “Yes, I…forgot you too had suffered.” Guinevere: “Let me meet with Lancelot. I believe that we would all work very well together.” Morgana: “I will arrange it.” Guinevere: (Curtseys:) “Thank you, your Majesty.” (Morgana smiles as Guinevere leaves the room.)

[wienerbarnes]

Whatever It Takes (4/6)

Pairing: Bucky x Doctor!Reader

Word Count: 1,481

Warnings: Medical mumbo jumbo, fluffy stuff!!!

A/N: suuuuuuuper sorry for the late chapter! ive been so busy these last few days and it completely slipped my mind! hope u all will forgive me and id say it wont happen again but ehhhhh who knows :)

SERIES MASTERLIST

Dr. Curtis returns to her hotel and you volunteer to stick around to observe John for the night. You may have volunteered in hopes to spend some more time with Bucky, but you’ll keep telling yourself that you stayed behind in order to observe more of the medical technology surrounding you. It’s late into the night when you return to John’s room to check on him. You’ve been roaming the hallways of the Avengers’ private medical wing trying to pass the time and also hoping to run into Bucky. He hasn’t returned since earlier in the evening when he was in John’s room with you.

You peek your head in quietly to see John awake, looking at his hand, the skin still peeling and a small brown tuft in his palm. You enter the room and close the door behind you before slowly approaching.

“How do you feel?” You ask.

“Like shit.” He responds, still looking at his hand. You look closer to see a multitude of hair strands clumped together at his fingertips. “My hair is falling out.” He informs you. “I’m guessing that’s the chemo?”

You sigh and pick up the file resting at the foot of the bed and read through before glancing at him again. “No.” You answer, putting the file back down.

“It’s too quick. Which means you don’t have cancer.” You explain. “I think someone actually did try to kill you.”

…

“You’re stubborn. You’re arrogant.” Curtis lists.

“You’re yelling is giving me a headache.” You state.

Everyone is gathered in Dr. Banner’s office again. Including Bucky, who is now wearing different clothes than the ones he’d picked you up in. He’s now donning a pair of black sweatpants and an “Avengers” sweatshirt, the famous “A” logo printed on the center. Perhaps he was getting ready for bed and these are his pajamas. Maybe these are just his after-shower clothes and he actually sleeps naked-

“This isn’t productive.” Banner interrupts your thoughts and stops Curtis before she can continue to give you an ear-full.

“Nothing is productive now! She might’ve cost this man his life! And it’s due to your poor judgement!” She continues to point his finger at Banner.

Bucky observes you as you seemingly star off into space while the screaming match continues. He can envision everything turning in your head; you racking your brain for any ideas to help save this man. Gears turning and turning and turning before he sees a sort of realization show in your eyes.

“Cordyceps Sinensis.” You mumble out, and the arguing stops. “It’s, an, uh, herbal substance derived from a parasitic fungus, comes from caterpillars. Along with Dimercaprol and Chelation, it’s been shown to mitigate bone marrow damage from radiation poisoning,” You try.

“In monkeys.” You wince as you finish your explanation.

After a few minutes of silence, Bucky finally speaks; and oh how you missed his voice, “Where do we get it?”

…

“This is a Chinese herbal tea,” You begin to explain to John as you hand him a mug full of the steaming hot liquid.

“I’m dying, aren’t I?” He dejectedly asks.

“Uh, yeah, probably.” You quietly answer him.

The sun is up again when you finally get a hold of the herbs and are able to make the tea. Everyone is understandably exhausted after the long night of staying awake; you haven’t slept a wink. As you hold the mug for John and slowly feed him the drink, you hear everyone file out of the room. You glance over your shoulder to see Bucky remain.

“Don’t worry, he’ll probably sleep for a bit while the tea works its magic, and then you can finally give me a private show.” You tease as you place the mug on the nightstand next to the bed.

“Don’t threaten me with a fun time, doll.”

He walks over to the love seat you usually occupy and plops down in it.

“You’re in my seat.” You joke. A smirk grows on his face as he scoots as far to left of the seat as he can and pats his right thigh. You’d normally throw some light insults at him until he decides to give you the chair back, but whether it’s how exhausted you are or how much you missed him in those hours he disappeared, you just don’t care. You slowly climb into his lap, legs curling underneath your body and atop his right thigh. His right arms wraps around your body as you curl up into a ball in his side and, my goodness, he is so warm. As soon as your head begins to rest in the curve where his shoulder meets his neck, your eyelids feel heavier than ever.

“Get some sleep, sweetheart. I’ll wake you up in a coupla’ hours so you can check on him.” Bucky whispers to you. You hum in response and finally let sleep take over your body.

…

“Psst. Wakey-wakey.” You hear Bucky’s deep and soothing voice wake you from your sleep. You won’t admit it to him but, you definitely pretended to stay asleep for a few seconds longer just to hear him continue to whisper in your ear.

“Mhm.” You hum, slowly stretching out of the ball you were rolled up in.

“He says that the nausea’s going away.” Bucky says to you, voice still low because he knows you’re still bit groggy.

“Huh? Oh, yeah. Uh, radiation sickness has a latency period. You’ll get better before you get worse.” You correct, rubbing your eyes before standing and reaching over to feed John another few gulps of tea.

Returning to your seat on Bucky’s lap, you’re suddenly overwhelmed with him. The thought of the way he was gently whispering in your ear causes goosebumps to rise on your arms, you can smell his smell on your skin, on your clothes. You want to wake up like this all the time. Minus the dying Avengers secret spy.

A moments of peace and quiet pass before John breaks the silence. “You guys wanna know what I really did down there?” You glance and Bucky and his brow is furrowed, giving him a confused expression.

“Only if it’s interesting.” You reply.

“The women there… during Carnival, they do this dance… called the ‘Devil Dance’…” John mumbles out slowly, throat still scratchy from the vomiting from the previous day.

“Not interesting,” You mumble as you squirm to get comfortable in Bucky’s lap once more, not noticing the smile creeping up on his face and you squeeze yourself down under his arm and into his side once more.

“I spent the whole forty days with all of these women… they would tell me things… and then I’d find out they’d end up…” John trails off and you can hear the guilt in his voice.

Bucky suddenly snaps out his daze and looks at John. “Forty days?” He questions. He looks at you and you match his confused expression as you think and realize what he thought of.

“Carnival in Bolivia is only eight days.” You conclude.

You quickly turn back towards John,

“Do you know what a chestnut looks like?”

…

Approaching the door to Dr. Banner’s office, you swing it open to find Banner speaking to the infamous Nick Fury. The both turn to look at you and you shove your finger is Fury’s face, “You idiot!” You accuse.

“Who the hell are you callin’ an idiot?” Fury turns his body to look you up and down.

“Whoever knew that John was stationed in Brazil, not Bolivia.” You explain. Fury’s face remains confused while Banner’s face morphs into one of realization and then annoyance.

“It’s the same region, same parasites, same diseases,” Fury begins to defend, rolling his eyes.

“But not the same language.” Bucky finishes.

“In Bolivia, chestnuts are chestnuts, but in Brazil, they have castanhas de para, literally, chestnuts from para, because it would be stupid for people from Brazil to call them Brazil-nuts!” You yell. Although Bucky understands and shares your anger over such a detrimental error, he can’t deny that it’s incredibly amusing to watch you shout in Nick Fury’s face.

“So what if he ate a few Brazil-nuts?!” Fury yells back, patience wearing thinner by the second.

“He ate a lot of Brazil nuts. Which contain selenium,” Bucky notices Banner roll his eyes and rub his forehead out of the corner of his eye, “Which can lead to fatigue, vomiting, skin irritation, discharge from the fingernail beds, and hair loss. Any of that sounding familiar?” You ask.

Fury looks between you, Bucky, and Dr. Banner before finally asking, “Can you treat it?”

Your tense posture relaxes as you let out a sigh, “I already started treatment.” You assure.

“Then what’s the problem?” Fury sarcastically asks you, as everyone in the room gives Fury a shared look of annoyance.

“You’re an idiot.” Dr. Banner agrees.

TAG LIST: @gagmebucky @thewritingdoll @hannie-writes-marvel @angel-fire @jaamesbbarnes @sgtjbuccky @unicorniorosacomefrutillas @creepylittlemarvelgirl @spiderrpcrker @mywinterwolf @free-as-fishes @auskitty @som3thingcr3ative

[dontdoitluke]

We Could Be Heroes - Ch 7

Sky High AU, but instead, it’s a superhero University.

Summary: Emma takes flight and discovers something volatile.

Chapter: 7/?

Word Count: 1,711

CHAPTER INDEX

Let me know if you want to be added to my tag list!

Tags: @calumamongmen   @myloverboyash   @toofadedtofight   @bigtimesos @lukescherrypie   @burncrashbromance   @bumblebet-20  @calsophat @kindahoping4forever @lockthisheartinchains @babylon-corgis  @lfwallscouldtalk   @badguycal   @justhappytoobehere

Notes: The boys aren’t in this chapter, sorry! This is a filler to hopefully get me through my block and introduce some important things happening later.

I wanna thank the ladies of the 5sos Angels GC for sticking with me throughout this whole ordeal. It wouldn’t have happened if it weren’t for y’all. Thank you, Angels <3

Also, this chapter has a slightly excessive use of the word “fuck”. My bad.

In front of the tallest building on campus, Emma leaned against the cool brick wall and furrowed her eyebrows, the wheel in her mind spinning over and over again. She thought about shifting into a lizard, but then she wouldn’t be able to carry her phone. Perhaps a squirrel? Or a beetle? That was even worse, and she mentally kicked herself for even thinking about it. She could easily shift into a bird, but that was too easy. She wanted a challenge... but she also wanted to save the flying for later.

The spinning mind-wheel slowed to a stop and landed on one of her favorite furry animals.  

Taking her phone out of her pocket, she opened the ring connected to the case and put it between her teeth as she faced the wall to begin her shifting process. The air around her was still as her bones cracked and her skin tingled, adrenaline rushing through her blood like lightning. Her slender hands morphed into tiny rough paws and her spine grew into a long, bushy tail, and soon, her entire body was covered in a thick layer of gray and black fur.

Emma, now fully shifted into a fuzzy raccoon, chittered happily and moved closer to the building.

Raccoons can climb walls, right?

She placed her tiny hand-like paws on the wall and dug her claws into the brick, lifting herself a couple of inches off of the ground to test her grip. It wasn’t as secure as she had hoped, but it would have to do. After all, she did want to be challenged.

Starting off slowly, she began to climb, focusing only on the ledge of the rooftop that seemed miles away. Steadily, she climbed faster, and faster, until she was very nearly running straight up the side of the wall, the phone dangling from her jaws scraping against the brick and concrete. She was nearly there, only a few feet away from the ledge. Once she reached the highest window, she rested her tiny feet against the exterior frame and steadied herself before surging upward, grabbing onto the ledge and dangling for a moment before scrambling up and over onto the rooftop. Her body rolled across the cool concrete as she shifted back into her human form, and she stopped on her back, panting softly.

Emma gingerly removed the phone ring from her teeth and flexed her jaw. Checking the time, she smiled excitedly. 6:42 a.m. Only a few more minutes until sunrise. She stayed still a bit longer to watch the colors around her slowly turning from a deep black to a softer shade of sapphire blue, and when sapphire blue began to take on shades of purple, she stood and moved to tuck her phone into a safe spot behind one of the solar panels scattered along the rooftop.

She brushed the dirt and dust off of her clothes and stepped up onto the ledge of the building, looking out into the colorful horizon in front of her. Then she closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and jumped.

Seconds before she hit the ground below her, she quickly shifted mid-air into a bright red finch and spread her wings in flight, her talons barely brushing the blades of grass as she swooped into the air. And just as she rose above the tall university buildings, so did the sun. As usual, her timing was perfect.

For Emma, one of the greatest things about being a shifter was flying. She loved how she felt when she was floating along the wind, her body and her mind feeling weightless and free. It was impossible for her to feel any emotion other than pure joy as she flapped her wings and rose higher and higher into the clouds, feeling the wind on her feathered face. Her favorite thing about flying was taking off right as the sun came up. 

She flew out of the courtyard and toward the coastline, gliding above the waves crashing along the shore to watch as the sun continued to lazily rise, and she continued to fly freely until the sun had fully risen, letting her mind wander off and her mental stress fall to the ground below. Her wings eventually took her back to the university campus where she landed gently on the ledge of the building where she began her flight.

Just as she began to shift back into her human form, the door leading up to the roof flew open violently and a young woman stormed out, followed by another young woman who was struggling to keep up with her. Emma immediately reverted back into full bird form before they could see her, and flew behind a wooden crate to hide. She didn’t normally care if anyone saw her shifting, but the woman angrily stomping onto the concrete roof was Cherice Alistair, and, like most people, Emma preferred to limit her contact with the self-proclaimed Princess of Goldbay.  

“She thinks she’s so fucking special just because she’s a fucking assistant that gets to play Teacher.”

They’re talking about Persey, Emma thought. Jeez, she’s still stuck on that? It's been days.

“What did your dad say?” the companion panted. Emma recognized her as Dee, a lovely rubenesque girl with rich dark skin and a shaved head. She was very quiet, usually, and she was also seemingly the only person who was willing to spend time with Cherice for more than an hour.

“He wouldn’t do shit! He gave me some fucking sob story about how that bitch Persey’s mom was the witch doctor that cured Grandmother and how he holds her entire family to some insane high degree,” Cherice waved her hands furiously, tugging at her thick red locks. “I can’t fucking believe her, acting like she didn’t know who Father was, acting like she didn’t know who I am...”

Inwardly, Emma laughed. It was pretty hilarious to see Cherice so worked up and not getting her way. Dee remained silent and moved to sit down next to a solar panel, groaning as she lowered herself to the ground.

“Like, who fucking cares if some old skank with herbs and crystals and oils inspired him to become a doctor. He would have been a doctor without that influence.”

“I thought your dad originally wanted to be a pilot.”

“Shut the fuck up, that’s irrelevant. He knows his true calling is medicine, just like I know mine is to be the next Mayor.”

Dee looked down and bit her lip, picking at some of the frayed strands on her jeans. ��I don’t know, Cher, I’m sure she was just excited to be the teacher and took it too far, I don’t think it’s that big of a deal.”

Cherice slowly turned to face Dee, her face contorted with malice. “Not... not a big deal? That fucking bitch humiliated me in front of the entire class! She treated me like I was some kind of pest to be exterminated! And Father... fucking bastard... is acting like it’s nothing to sneeze at! And now I have to take that from you, too!?”

With every word, she grew more furious, and began to shake with anger.  

“Fuck that! She’s going to fucking pay, every cock sucking pathetic worm that sat in those cheap metal chairs and laughed in my face is going to pay, that lazy so called instructor that allowed that hippie bitch to lead is going to pay, Father is going to pay, they’ll all be fucking sorry!”

She let out a terrifying scream that pierced the sky and threw her hand in front of her as if slapping an invisible person, and every solar panel and HVAC unit in front of her was ripped from the concrete and thrown off of the roof in pieces. Dee scrambled backward and let out a whimper, and Emma squawked and flew up and settled on a far corner away from the flying debris, her tiny bird feet gripping the ledge tightly.  

For a moment, Cherice stood motionless, her eyes wide. She stared at her hands while her mouth hung open in shock. Dee slowly stood and moved closer to her cautiously.  

“Wow, I... didn’t know you could do that.”

“I-I... I didn’t either,” she whispered.  

Running a hand along her bare scalp, Dee took a deep breath and looked at the section of the rooftop that Cherice cleared. Aside from a few wires jutting from the holes they came from, the entire left side was completely bare. She sighed and put her hands carefully on her friend’s shoulders.

“Let’s go back inside, okay? You’re shaking like a leaf and I think you need to process this new power while you calm down. Let’s go grab some muffins. You love muffins, and today is your cheat day, yeah? I bet they have the ones with blueberries AND dark chocolate chips, those are your favorite, right?”

Dee slowly and gently turned the red-head toward the door and lead her to it, continuing to speak comforting words while Cherice mumbled about how everyone was going to pay for their crimes against her, and once the door was shut and Emma was sure that they were gone, she flew to the panel that her phone was hidden behind and shifted back into human form.  

“Thank God,” she sighed. Her phone was safe, and aside from being a little shaken up, she was safe as well. Or so she hoped. Cherice was a firecracker, everyone knew that, but now she has a new power and her anger was fueled to capacity, there’s no telling what she might plan next. She needed to warn her friends as soon as she could in case something actually did happen.

Before standing to exit the building, she spotted a tiny caterpillar inching its way along the brick. Instead of wondering how in the world it got up there, Emma licked her lips hungrily and moved to pick it up with her beak-

Wait, hold the fuck on, she wondered, shaking her head. I’m not a bird anymore... how long did I shift for?

She checked her phone. The time was 9:44 am. She’d stayed shifted an hour and a half too long.

“Ah, fuck.”

[elaianna]

The Admiral’s Fate

The combination of hot and cold was unsettling.

On the one hand -- or rather, the one cheek -- his face was burning. There was a proper lighting of blood beneath his skin, swelling a bulging where the bulk of the damage had been done. His jaw sat poorly on his skull, leaning to one end where the swelling was worst. It left his right eye shut, unable to open from the girth of flesh that formed an apple beneath his caterpillar brow.

On the other hand, the wind was screaming around the dingy, sloop they had managed to abscond with. With his limbs in poorer state than his face, Thomas possessed little capacity to row or aid in the ropework. Naught but himself and eight men were left. The sodden, salt-damaged and bloody remnants of his crew. Nine men -- and one.

The past days … weeks? Had it been a month? … all slurred in his mind. But through the pain, he caught call to recollect. The tenth man desperately huddled aboard the sickly sloop had been their savior. Indeed, were it not for his station, Tom would have been dead long before the strange ‘pirate’ could have endeavored to rescue him. The why of that particular act was still hanging in the air … a question for dry land, perhaps.

Stephan, the man had said, by way of Hadley. Not a name Tom knew -- and he knew quite a many, especially in the realm of seafarers.

“Ho! -- HO! Lighthouse!” called one of the men in a hoarse, salt-scoured voice.

Stormholme was lay ahead, and it brought a vestigial smile to Tom’s face. Even in an overcast storm, he could still find his way home. They ran the ropes in and tightened the sail to give them the wind, scraping over the choppy waters toward the harbour.

Twenty-three days and counting.

Elaianna could feel the pit of her stomach twisting into more and more of a knot. She could hardly sleep. She barely had an appetite. It was all too familiar a sensation. Waiting. Hoping. Praying. Not knowing what had happened to her husband. Wondering if he was gone-- if she would ever see him again.

And if she did, would it be him that she saw?

Sitting at her desk, she had asked her handmaiden to leave her for the evening. She needed time and space to herself. She didn't want to admit to anyone what she had done. She didn't want to admit what was going through her mind. She stared at the parchment, addressed to an office in Stormwind.

Arthur Daud,

I am writing to inquire about the state of our agreement, and if you have already cashed in your end of the

That was it. That was all she could write. She could feel anger flaring up. Anger at herself for writing as if her husband were some item, but at the same time, she couldn't risk writing down and leaving evidence of the deal made a year ago.

Then she heard it-- the bells of the harbour. She stood up so fast that there was a clatter as her chair fell behind her. Racing towards the balcony, she ignored the frigid whip of the winds as they blew over her, and stared towards the harbour.

Entering into the shallow waters of Stormholme harbour, was a precarious sloop.

The vessel was beaten, wind-worn and rife with cannon damage. The headsail was nearly shred, and it was only through a tight hold on the ropes that it could swell with any wind. By a cursory glance, it seemed fit for the bottom of Sailgrave, not cruising into the protected holdings of Stormsong Valley. Spit, gristle, and willpower seemed to keep the ship afloat.

Given the lack of any weaponry aboard, there was no call to arms. Though one of the harbour guardhouses did rise with activity. There was a pause in the harbour bells. The spyman atop the eastern tower held his glass to eye and --

“MEDIC! MEDIC! MEDIC!”

The cry was followed by a horn blast, the fat-belled trumpet at the spyman’s side coming full of air. As was commanded, so came to be. Attention and sound came from the upper estate, and soon enough men in white frocks rode down to the harbour, just in time for the decrepit sloop to all but ‘ram’ into the dockhead.

There was a still moment, filled only by the ‘clack-clack!’ of horse hooves coming from the harbourway until …

CRRRRKK -- KSSH!

The foremast split with a sad, sickening sound like broken twigs. It fell forward in an impotent display of destruction, falling without consequence onto the dockhead.  Bubbles began to emerge around the sloop, betraying it’s hull failures -- she was slowly, slowly sinking right there in the harbour.

All that Elaianna could make out from where she stood was the small vessel making it's way into the harbour. She squinted, and took note of what disrepair she could see from a distance. The foremast wasn't aligned. By the time she had turned from the balcony to race down the stairs of Stormhollow castle, she missed the very thing she scrutinized collapsing.

The medics were on their way before she was. Yet the lady wasn't far behind. She didn't have time for a saddle. If she was right, then she had already lost twenty-two days worth of time. She had to be right. What other peoples would come back into Stormholme harbour in such a state? She could reason a great many people seeking refuge after dealing with the Horde on the open sea, or pirates, or other dangers. But she tried to think optimistically. She had to. Even if she was running out of that optimistic steam.

Click-click. Click-click.

Arriving after the medics, Elaianna swung one leg over the horse, and landed with a light 'thud' on the ground. She ignored the looks she acquired from what few paid mind to the new arrival. The Duchess riding a horse bareback, like a man, in a dress? It drew a few glances, but the attention was ultimately on those who had returned from sea.

"What is going on? What is the state of things?" she asked the first man she found.

The man in first attention was a medical professional -- at least he must have been, by the white-frock coat and the elbow-high rubberized gloves he wore.

“My Lady -- please, we aren’t sure yet. These men are severely injured, we need to get them to the -- “ he spoke as he turned toward the Duchess, head bowed in respect. Yet he was cut off by a sudden, loud ’thump!’.

As it turned out, most of the men trying to climb off the broken sloop were not in any condition to walk, let alone climb. Many scuffled and fell to the knees as they came onto the dock, immediately in the arms of the white-coats who cooed to the salt-scoured men with a chorus of, ‘Whoaa -- whoa!’s and ‘steady now, steady --’s.

Elaianna looked towards the vessel as the first of the men fell onto the wooden boards of the dock. Her brows were knit in concern. "--I don't care who these men are, see to it they are all seen to, and the duchy will fund all medical costs," she instructed to the same white coat professional.

However, the last man off the derelict once-sea-faring vessel merely collapsed the instant he touched the wooden dockboards. One arm hung limp at his side, earlier clutched with delicate attention to his chest. His right eye was swollen shut, stained with black and yellow bruising. The weatherworn rag trousers he wore were stained to a sickly orange. By the shaking, he seemed to possess rather … poor vitality.

All the same, a tiny hoarse call left his blistered lips, ”Ain’ no place .. like hooome~”.

Elaianna's eyes went wide as that hoarse voice called out. It wouldn't have been heard over the commotion, were it not for the Lady being so familiar with the sound of her husband's voice.

"THOMAS!"

Holding up her skirts up as Elaianna sprinted forwards, dropping to her knees beside him. She felt the burn of knees being skinned by the rough wooden boards. "Thomas, Tom... Oh tides. Tides.. You're..." She looked up and towards the medic she had first bothered, waving him over. "Medic! Over here!"

At the waving of the Duchess, the medic rushed forward with his satchel in hand.

With the sound of his wife’s voice, Thomas tried to move. It was a valiant effort, truly, but availed him very little. His torso rose in a breath, but the airflow caught in his throat and hitched with a twitching of the ribcage. His left arm tried to reach out toward her, but it seemed ill-fit for service at the juncture of his upper arm and shoulder.

“Thhff -- ick. Thfickk -- Mff .. “ he attempted to speak, with little grace. The swell of his blistered lips gave terrible aid in pronunciation, and left him impotently waving a few spare fingers at the other men as he spoke.

Elaianna reached a hand out, fingers delicately caressing whatever part of his arm looked the least swollen and prone to feel pain at her touch, rather than any sense of calm. "--Shhh, dear. Shh. We'll have plenty of time to talk once you've been looked after."

A concentrated groan left him at her statement.

He rose somewhat, coming up to keep his weight on his hip as he wagged a limp hand at the coughing, beaten and bloody men being attended to by the medics.

“M’boys -- th’thhfick -- sick, sick. No water in five .. “ his voice trailed off, too sucked from moisture and nourishment to do much other than whistle with a hoarseness further.

"We'll get them watered, love. They're already being taken care of," she assured Thomas gently.

The medic crouched beside Thomas and stuck his jaw tight, appraising the Admiral’s poor state of condition. A few lines creased themselves in the man’s brow, and he called over two other men to help him lift the half-conscious sailor into a stretcher.

“... I will be honest, my Lady,” he spoke in address to Anna, “I am not certain how his grace is even alive. With your leave, we must get him to the infirmary immediately at risk of fatality … “ His eyes trained on Anna in wait for the slightest indication of an ‘OK’. As urgent a matter as it was, they were still on her order above all else.

Leaning out of the way, she gave the man some room to inspect her husband. His words gave reason for her complexion her to pale. She couldn't lose him. She couldn't have him returned to her only to die. "Do what you must to save him. Please," she urged, rising to her feet.

Don't you dare die on me now.

As simple a command as that was enough to strike the medics into action.

With a thorough grunt, the three men loft Thomas into a stretcher despite his half-lidded arguments. With quite fine timing, a horse-drawn carriage arrived with a massive red cross on the side of it, and the rear doors flung open to accept the Duke within.

The other sailors were being quickly allotted to other stretchers, and those of standing-health were given to horseback to be taken to the manor’s infirmary. Most were of reasonable state, enough to hold their heads aloft at the very least. One amongst them, a younger man by comparison, seemed to lack anywhere near the injured state of the rest.

“Your grace? Are you coming with us, or riding ahead?” The medic spoke to Elaianna as he stepped up into the front of the carriage, leaving a space in case the Duchess desired to ride with her husband.

Elaianna glanced to the carriage, then towards the horse she had ridden all the way down to the harbour. She waved at one of the passing dockworkers. "You there," she called out, stopping the young boy in his tracks. "Can you ride a horse?"

"Yes, ma'am-- Lady-- Grace."

"Take my horse, and head to the castle. Ride ahead, and alert them that the Duke is en route with life threatening injuries, and several others are on their way to the infirmary for the same treatment. -- Hurry."

The boy nodded and sprung into action with the orders given by the Duchess herself.

Only then did Elaianna turn and hurry to the carriage, letting her actions answer the medic's question. As she climbed inside she stayed as near to Thomas as she dared without being in the way of the medic. "I'm not leaving him alone," she told him.

The conviction of her voice allowed only a nod in response from the medic.

Three of them went about their work to attempt to stabilize Thomas as the carriage rocked to and fro along the cobbled road. One of the men held a lantern aloft as the other two pressed and prodded the Admiral’s wounds for information.

“NNGHH! -- “

One of the medics frowned at the pained response.

“I’m feeling separation -- atleast two are floating in the abdomen.”

“Two? Tides … wait, one here as well. L3 -- which do you have floating?”

Another press came against Thomas’ side.

“NGHH -- hgh, hghh -- mhh .. “

“R1 and R3, both outside ligament limits. The bruising is consistent with rapid, repeated blunt force trauma. I’m seeing stippling … a studded tool.”

There was a calm, methodical tone to their voices. Quite professional, and rightly so. Stormholme held no half-baked professionals, least of all medical staff. As fate turned, the Anchor Trading Company held quite a need for finely talented healers.

“Heart rate is rising … I see clam and fever. We need to brace and get an airway -- “

“I’m on it, get me a tubing and a separator for his throat -- “

The carriage hit a bump, and Thomas head rocked forward, and then back. There was an uncomfortable ‘krrkt!’ sound as he came back to a rest. Both medics cringed, locking their teeth and simultaneously commanding the third to hold Thomas’ neck and head in place.

Amidst the ongoing diagnosis and preliminary treatment, there was a scouring of wind past the carriage windows. Unnoticed, apparently, by the medics focused on their work -- it whistled like a man’s voice. A mocking, taunting tight-lipped tune.

"Not yet," Elaianna mumbled to herself-- or was it to the wind? "Not yet."

She could feel her heart pounding heavily in her chest. She was anxious, and truth be told? She was terrified. She couldn't lose him. Not now. Not yet. Not again.

"Hang on, Thomas," she murmured softly. "Hang in there, love. Stay anchored with us now..."

Yet as they spoke of a separator for his throat and needing an airway, she had to turn her head to hide her cringe. She couldn't watch that. She'd have the memory burned in her mind if she did.

Keen was the mind that looked away.

There was a thick, strangulatory sound as the medics intubated Thomas. They produced a hinged, metal tool to hold the flaps of his throat open as they put a tube to his trachea. Attached was a hand-pump which could provide a steady flow of air.

While oxygen was quite welcome, it produced quite an audible pain in the man as his lungs swelled and -- in doing so -- pushed his shattered ribcage to and fro.

A stronger man might have kept his mind, but there was only so much rope on a ship. Thomas had thrown all he had overboard, and thus gargled and fell unconscious from the pain.

As his eyes rolled back and his breathing steadied without the constant clenching of his muscles from pain, the whistling halt. Were the medics wise to the sound, they had no mention or care for it. They were too busy halting the steady decline of Thomas’ blood pressure.

But by thankful speed, they arrived then at the infirmary. The rear doors opened abruptly to reveal a half-dozen strong team of healers and a tidesage ready to take the Admiral within. As they stabilized him and got him onto a gurney to wheel within the primary trauma ward, a black-coated bird swooped down to perch atop the wagon. It remained there as Thomas was wheeled inside, watching.

@thomasstalsworth @atc-wra

[hjbender]

In Bloom

Chapter 13, The Little Frost Troll

Fairies and flowers and frost troll kisses, oh my. 

They walked through the forest for a little while longer, Loki sometimes falling behind to smell flowers or inspect trees or study crawling insects. He was fascinated by holes in the ground and hollow tree trunks, sniffing around them and peering into them, quietly asking the darkness if anyone was home. It was absolutely endearing to watch. Thor could tell when Loki was interested in something because his tail would curl into a serpentine shape and the flat, spadelike tip would flick rapidly back and forth.

Thor couldn’t remember the last time he was so enchanted by someone. Everything about Loki was wonderful. Such brightness and curiosity packed into his little body, so much energy and eagerness. Already he was looking better, Thor thought proudly. Filling out, gaining weight, his skin no longer stretched over his bones, his belly and face looking fuller. He was still thin, but his malnourished appearance had faded and his sharp features were becoming soft. Even his tail was looking thicker and stronger, like a long blue snake. He was beautiful. A handsome little frost troll, the most charming, sweet-natured person Thor had ever—

He was so focused on Loki that he walked headfirst into a low-hanging tree limb. He blurted out an oath and rubbed the side of his head, then began to laugh at his own foolishness.

Loki looked up from the pudgy green caterpillar he was petting and scampered back to Thor’s side. “What happened? Did you hurt yourself?”

“Not really. I, uh. Wasn’t paying attention to where I was going.” Thor grinned sheepishly and rubbed his throbbing temple. The salt of his hand produced a stinging sensation and he knew he had broken the skin.

“You scraped yourself,” said Loki, standing on his tiptoes to see the injury. “It’s bleeding a little. Do you want me to lick it? I can, if you want.” His eyes were wide and urgent, ready to offer his care.

Thor rolled his lips together, thinking. It was only a little scratch, hardly worth dressing, but he suddenly found himself longing for Loki’s touch. He had been gone all day yesterday, tending to business on Midgard, and now every fiber of his being seemed sore and aching, yearning for Loki’s presence. He craved the sound of his voice and the warmth of his company, for it meant that goodness and mercy and kindness was still alive and well in Yggdrasil. And perhaps Loki, who had been so deprived of care and comfort, longed for Thor’s touch as much as Thor longed for his.

Slowly Thor bent his leg and lowered himself onto one knee, until Loki was a few inches taller than him. Loki crept forward and took Thor’s face in his small hands—one cupping his chin, the other resting on his thick blond hair—leaned down, and began to wash the bloody scrape with his strong, bristly little tongue.

Thor closed his eyes and released a long, slow breath. “That feels so nice,” he said, though “nice” was a poor word to describe it. It felt incredible. The stinging pain was gone in an instant, the throbbing sensation fading under Loki’s tender ministrations.

“This is how troll mothers clean their young,” said Loki between licks. “So I’ve been told. I have no experience caring for babies.”

Thor smiled. “Maybe—” He stopped short as echoes of a previous conversation came to his mind.

Do you think you’ll ever have a family of your own someday, Loki?

I’m not sure. It doesn’t seem very likely. I don’t even know if my belly works.

“Maybe what?” asked Loki.

Out of the corner of his vision, Thor saw that Loki had shut his eyes and seemed to be in some sort of peaceful trance. His pointed ears were pressed flat against his head, and his tail, which had settled atop Thor’s bent knee, was beginning to slip around his thigh almost protectively. Anchoring him. Keeping him close. Thor wondered if this was a maternal instinct. It reminded him of a cat cleaning her kittens, how the mother would pin her youngsters in place with her paws while she diligently bathed them.

But he didn’t want to cause Loki any anguish or distress over his ability—or lack of it—to produce offspring, so he tried to rework his answer.

“Uh, maybe. Maybe I need to… keep more… focus gooder.” Thor struggled to remember what words were and how to use them. “Need to… wash where I walk…”

Loki was lapping at his cheek now, moving toward his ear, and it was awakening something deep and powerful inside Thor. His hand unconsciously settled on the side of Loki’s bare waist, fingers spread wide. Loki was so petite that Thor’s smallest finger rested on his hip while his thumb touched lowest of Loki’s ribs. He pressed his palm into Loki’s side, squeezing gently with his fingers, glad to feel the thin layer of fat forming over his strong, lean muscles.

There was something very pleasing about having palpable evidence of Loki’s good health. That he wasn’t just living, but thriving. Or so Thor hoped.

He pulled back reluctantly with a hazy, sleepy look on his face. “Are you happy here, Loki?” he asked in a gravelly voice, his eyes searching Loki’s face. “Am I doing right by you? Was it wrong of me to bring you to Asgard and make you endure the sun and heat? Would you have been happier elsewhere?”

The moonstone around Loki’s neck glowed brightly as he held Thor’s face in his hands, his tail swishing slowly back and forth. “I am very happy here, Thor. Despite all that’s happened today, losing my tooth, biting you, hurting my nose… I have never been so content.”

Thor glowed with gladness. To know that Loki was happy, to be reassured that he was treating Loki well and taking good care of him, was the greatest, most satisfying thing Thor had ever felt.

Loki returned Thor’s smile, stroking his bristly cheeks with his thumbs. He pursed his lips and leaned forward, planting them awkwardly on Thor’s forehead. He remained completely still for a moment, then pulled back with a quiet smacking sound.

“Is that how it’s done?” he whispered. “Making the kiss? Was it the right time?”

Thor was quite certain his heart melted at the sweet innocence of the questions. “Yes, Loki, it was perfect timing. It was a wonderful kiss. Thank you.” He clasped both of Loki’s hands in his own and kissed his small blue knuckles.

Loki grinned, revealing his missing fang, and Thor’s heart was rendered a warm, sugary puddle. He could kneel here like this for hours, he thought, just staring at Loki’s lovely face, holding his cool little hands.

Continue reading at AO3

Tagging @erdediekatze, @wu-the-stoic, and also @spacefloozy for inciting inspiring the whole “Thor smuggles fairies and other small contraband creatures into Asgard and Heimdall tries to do his job but ehhh what are a few fairies gonna d--OH SHIT” idea

[mapowrites]

Misericórdiae (Erwin/OC)

Chapter 11: I Know

[ I ] [ II ] [ III ] [ IV ] [ V ] [ VI ] [ VII ] [ VIII ] [ IX ] 

The clock struck two o’clock in the Supreme Commander’s meeting room, and as if on queue, the latter called a close to the assembly. The handful of high-ranking officers saluted their Supreme Commander before leaving the meeting. Erwin followed in the steps of his superior as he stood from his seat, a disgruntled look plastered on the commander’s face. Their request for additional funding had just been denied, and the Scouts had no other choice but to indeed throw a sponsoring event with what was left of their budget. This left a bitter taste in Shadis’ mouth.

“Get in touch with Duke Lichtwark; he owes me, and he’ll be able to reserve the venue. Ask him to have it ready for the end of the week. Then leave it to his wife to plan the event. After all, I doubt you joined the military to plan idiotic parties.” As they exited the meeting room, Shadis and Erwin walked together, and the commander grumbled his instructions in indignation to his right-hand man.

“And for Maria’s sake, if he asks you what colour tapered candles I want, shove the egg shell ones up his ass, would you?”

Erwin permitted a crooked smile at his commander’s misfortune and the absurdity of it all. “Yes, sir.”

Shadis, off to his next meeting in the capital, parted ways with Erwin. The blond officer steadily made his way through the immaculate halls of the military capital’s HQ, his dexterous fingers curled around a file of documents, until he spotted an unpleasant character in the adjacent hallway from him. Assertive and unwavering, Erwin’s strides never faltered as he faced the unavoidable. His fingers unwittingly pinched into the papers.

“Good afternoon, brigadier general.” The blond stopped to greet his superior out of duty.

Markus turned his head. “‘Afternoon, Erwin!” Markus replied cheerfully, and he dismissed his assistant. Left alone with the scout, the general requested to accompany Erwin, and the two men began their walk down the marble corridor.

Charismatic as always, Markus broke their silence. “So, what do you think? I didn’t know the military police and scouts were in the habit of organising parties for those pot-bellied nobles. Perhaps we should officially make it a bi-monthly event.”

Erwin answered, his eyes fixed on the walk ahead. “I can’t say I’m a fan of them myself, sir.”

“Do you think your engineers will come?”

“I'm sure they will.”

“And you'll come too, I hope. I know Ms. Reichart would like you to be there.”

Erwin paused. “I’ve no choice but to make an appearance.”

Markus hummed to himself, his eyes looking to the ceiling in thought. “I wonder what I’ll wear… Is there a knot that’s particularly fashionable these days?”

“You're asking the wrong man, general.” The blond monotonously retorted.

“What about women? Does a woman keep her promise?”

Thrown, the blond raised an eyebrow and turned his head towards Markus. “Sir?”

“Oh, you don’t know? I asked Ms. Reichart to marry me.” The man tilted his head to drink in any reaction from the scout, his lips donning a seemingly genuine smile. The malicious glint in his eyes — that only someone like Erwin could’ve noticed —betrayed his honesty.

Erwin felt his heart stop, but he refused to look at anything but what was in front of him; he wouldn’t let his reaction fuel the brigadier’s insidious remarks.

Markus continued to eye the blond, and when he elicited no visible reaction from him, he simply looked away and continued. “I’m waiting for her answer. Do you think she’ll say yes?””

“Once again, I’m—”

“Please, you seem to know her well. Help me out.”

Erwin paused for a long time, the clicking of their boots the only sound in the hallway. Reluctantly, he answered. “I suppose if it's not inconvenient to her.”

Markus let out an amused laugh. “Smith, you've become quite cynical lately.”

“Pardon my impertinence, sir, but I would rather not discuss personal matters of these sorts.”

“Very well,” The two officers reached the HQ’s exit and found themselves before a large outdoor staircase descending to the main street level. “I just wanted to tell you in advance, Smith, because I believe I know your secret.”

Something about Markus’ tone obliged Erwin to stop. The men turned to face each other, emerald meeting sky blue, and Erwin realised that all signs of facetiousness had dissolved from Markus’ aristocratic face. His green eyes mocked him.

“I’ve seen you together. The way you speak to her. And watch her. And look after her. I know her profound affection for you,” The blond’s unfaltering gaze parried the ominous glare as the air thickened around them. For what seemed like eternity, the men stood at the top of the stairs in silence.

Finally, Markus interrupted their tension when a grin broke out onto his face. He patted Erwin’s shoulder nonchalantly and laughed. “But you've behaved like a man, and as an honourable rival. I’m profoundly grateful.”

Cooly armed with a diplomatic quip, Erwin thought about replying, but they were interrupted by a sheepish soldier.

“General Schoenberg,” Markus turned to face his subordinate. “The commander would like a word, sir.”

Unruffled, the general bid Erwin goodbye with an easy smile. Quietly exhaling the breath he hadn’t realised he was holding in, he watched Markus disappear back into the building with the soldier.

Strolling down the stairs and flagging down a coach to return to HQ, he unclenched his fingers from the papers in his hand. The pages were bitterly warped.

--

Wilhelm was sitting at the desk in his living room that faced the casement window when he saw his daughter walk by in the street. Putting his pen down and taking off his glasses, he stood as the front door opened.

“Hello, father.” Lyor greeted him with a smile when she spotted him walking towards her.

She slid off her coat as they exchanged a kiss on the cheek, and Wilhelm noticed something different about her: her formerly long, ash brown hair had been cut into a bob that barely touched her shoulders. He also noticed the grim rings of grey haloing under her eyes. Not being one to vocalise these changes, the greying man returned to his desk but didn’t sit. He straightened his stacks of papers and books to put away. Despite his concern over her apparent exhaustion, Wilhelm was happy to see his daughter. He turned his head to her.

“It’s nice to see you, half-pint.”

They both exchanged a laugh at the old nickname, and Wilhelm began to organise his books onto the bookshelf beside his desk. After hanging her coat, Lyor’s lingering smile was interrupted when she noticed the now second damaged window in her father’s home.

“Father, why are the windows broken?”

“Just kids being kids.” Without hesitating, he continued to put away his books.

Her brows knit; she knew he was lying. “Kids broke two different sets of windows on either side of the house?”

Wilhelm replied with a thoughtful hum in affirmation, and took a stack of papers and quietly sat at the kitchen table a few steps from the living room. Lyor followed and sat across from him, her eyes perceptive as he flipped through some papers. “If I didn’t know you any better, I’d say you were hiding something.”

Wilhelm glanced up at his daughter from the papers he was organising. “Seems to run in the family, doesn’t it?”

Lyor searched her father’s sagacious gaze for the meaning behind his words. Afraid he would somehow figure something out if he looked at her long enough, she tore her eyes away. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You spend night and day at work. You haven’t been home in two weeks,—”

Lyor cut him off without hesitation, unyielding. “Heinrich is recovering. Someone needs to pick up the sla—”

“— you’ve been irritable and uncooperative; nothing anyone does at work is good enough for you. You snapped at Hanji, your direct superior might I remind you, whenever she showed interest in your progress—”

“I don’t like it when people interrupt me while I’m working.”

“And I don’t like it when people interrupt me when I’m speaking.”

She pulled back at his articulation, his steely tone bringing back unpleasant memories of being scolded. “Sorry.”

“Lyor, what’s going on?”

There was a long pause before Lyor looked away from him again. She spoke as if she was addressing a stranger in the empty living room; reluctant and toneless. “Do you know anything about brigadier general Schoenberg?”

Wilhelm tried to decipher the significance of her question, but found that between all of these turbulent events, his daughter had perfected that emotional veil of hers.

“The project supervisor? I can’t say that I do.” He replied as he sat back in his chair.

“He’s from the interior police, but you’ve never dealt with him before?”

“The interior police has a lot of officers.”

A cryptic silence fell between them after his matter-of-fact response, and he watched her drum her fingers on the table. After a few moments, she stood decisively from her spot and strolled to the kitchen counter where she filled a kettle.

“Would you like some tea?” She asked, dismissing their previous conversation.

Twisting around in his chair, he watched her seriously. “Why are you asking?”

“Because I’m making tea.”

Being accustomed to Lyor’s evasiveness when it came to discussing her problems, he managed to suppress an eye roll. “Your wit won’t work on me, half-pint.”

“It’s complicated.”

He couldn’t see her expression from the angle — not that it would have helped him much — but he recognised the edge in her voice. Wilhelm was a reoccurring witness to his daughter’s emotional compartmentalisation since her teen years, and he couldn’t be fooled by her ambiguity. He stood and joined her at the counter as she lit the stove, and gently placed his hand on her head. She looked at him curiously, and for a split second, he saw the same little girl that used to hold funerals for caterpillars.

The second passed, and he was left with the sight of a troubled young woman idly watching a kettle heat up.

“You’re making me nervous.” He admitted, but his daughter took his hand in hers and squeezed it. She extended him a reassuring smile.

“Don’t be; I simply don’t want to involve you. This is something I have to handle on my own.”

He watched her walk away before he could ask anymore questions. She traversed the kitchen and living room towards the stairs leading upstairs. “Watch the kettle, would you? I have to get dressed for the gala.”

“You’re really going?” He called after her.

She peered at him from in between the banister poles. “Hanji said if I didn’t get away from my desk, she’d solder my hands to it. Now that you’ve said I’ve been snapping at her, I don’t want to find out if she was joking or not.”

--

“Rick, you made it!” Rashad exclaimed from his seat as the broad man pulled out a chair from the squad’s assigned table.

“Don’t they ever think about scaling back a little?” He asked as he took a seat between Hanji and Kenji, gesturing at the ball room.

“They scaled back a lot. They cut two appetisers, cancelled the champagne fountain, and they reduced the catering staff to 21 servers not counting the point men.” Lyor replied, making room for Rick at their table.

Keiji took a swig of his whiskey. “Well, you can’t not have a point man ‘cause then what’s the point?” Tipsy, the group exploded into guffaws.

The immense ball room was full of bodies as the moon neared its halfway point, milling about or near collapse with flutes of champagne in hand and glasses of hard liquor. Some harassed the waitresses putting about, others puffed foul smelling cigars and tossed cards, chips and money on the tables circling the open area where people stood between themselves and acquaintances. These were the regular soldiers of the Scouting Legion and Military Police — dressed in their formal military attire and mingling amongst themselves — some swapping war stories, some discussing politics, and some, of course, playing drinking games.

It was comforting – how settled they were, how happy with just being. But they weren’t the main focus of the party. In the middle of the room, groups of men and women stood and chatted over their alcohol and hors d’oeuvres, while the attendees in the open space in front of the musicians danced gracefully to their serenades. They wore intricate dresses and suits; lace and glimmering jewellery. They were clean cut, their posture rigid and their expressions perfectly poised. From a glance, anyone would know these were not soldiers or heirs of poor families, posh bastards that they were.

Being here only for appearances, she watched the nobles from her spot, as they drank and talked in pretentious voices and haughty laughs – never glancing away from their circle yet always seeming aware. It was enthralling to see, in a place where looking through wool was a favoured state of mind, their eyes were opened – forcefully or otherwise – they lived without the delusions of the general populace. The higher ranking officers from the two military divisions mingled among the nobles, finding their place among them due to their ranks. Lyor spotted Shadis and a few familiar squad leaders amongst the nobles.

She forced herself to tune out the absurdity of the event after a while, sipping at the almost-empty glass of wine in her hand. She brought herself back to her squad, busy laughing and drinking amongst themselves at their table, occasionally forced to partake in inane conversation with passing nobles. They were no longer on their turf; they were in the noble world where not paying attention to your word choice could land you in the streets, stripped of rank. How obscene.

People feared Titans, called them monsters and fled from them like rats. She knew better, knew how monstrous humanity could be – how disgusting and vile. Titans were mindless, pathetic. Humans were premeditated; they could be manipulated, bought or threatened into committing atrocities that would make Titans look like child’s play. She pretended to not notice Markus between the crowd, schmoozing a group of lords.

Just as she lowered the glass from her lips, a voice spoke up from her behind her and Hanji, who sat beside her. “Ms. Zoe?”

The group turned to find a middle-aged woman standing across from them. She looked chummy, like a grandmother, dressed in a traditional dress, and a headpiece Lyor found to look slightly ridiculous.

“Mrs. Hamburg!” Hanji declared, pleasantly surprised. The squad leader shooed Rick out of his chair — muttering something about chivalry — and offered the seat to the older woman, two places down from Lyor. “It’s been a while! How’s your book store?”

“You haven’t seen it since we added a second floor, dear,” the lady replied. Lyor turned away from Hanji and the woman, resuming her previous conversation with her other coworkers. But she couldn’t help but eavesdrop when she heard his name. “Mr. Smith must have told you about it.”

“No, and that bastard never offers to pick up any books for me when he visits town!”

“Oh, he hasn’t visited since the fall, dear,” replied the older woman. “In fact, he bought a first edition Voltaire at that time. I’m not surprised that he hasn’t visited in a while — it cost a fortune!”

Lyor, who was not far from choking on her drink, widened her eyes at her words.

Hanji turned to raise an eyebrow at Lyor’s coughing fit.

The storeowner rambled to herself, “Yes, I’ve always wanted to ask him about it. He said it was a gift for his friend.”

From her spot amongst her coworkers, she had the perfect view of their commander’s right-hand man across the tables. That impenetrable man – taller than all the nobles he was speaking with – didn’t look particularly friendly. He wore expensive shoes, a brown, formal military vest with a matching waistcoat, and the angle he faced her cast a shadow over his gunmetal blue eyes – he was handsome, and he was cold, that Erwin Smith. Cold, but oh so charming. She could tell that his eyes were trying to see something else entirely as they scanned around the group of nobles he was speaking to. She smiled as she finished the last bit of her wine. He was always watching with a cunning eye; watching things beyond his area. And that was something she admired in a man.

Lyor leaned forward to address the older woman. “What was the name of the book?”

She blinked at the stranger but eventually replied, “Dictionnaire Philosophique.” Hanji eyed her friend suspiciously.

The brunette’s heart fluttered, and she suppressed the wily smirk that threatened to stretch on her face.

“I’m also curious to know what his friend thought of it. Why don’t we go ask him?”

“A-are you sure?”

Lyor stood, smoothing down her dress. She flashed a charismatic smile to the older woman, and charmed her into standing herself. “Yes, he’s a good friend of mine. Please, come.”

Baffled, Mrs. Hamburg nodded, bidding goodbye to her customer, and followed Lyor onto the floor.

Lyor watched Erwin catch their approach from the corner of his watchful eye, and he turned to the two women. She caught the slightest slip of surprise on his face before he replaced it with a diplomatic smile. He excused himself from the group of nobles, and the two women stood before him.

Though Erwin kept the observation of Lyor's shortened hair to himself, he noticed. He thought it rather suited her.

“Mr. Smith! It’s been a while. How are you?” The storeowner smiled delightfully as she spoke, plummy.

“Ah, Mrs. Hamburg. I’m well, thank you.” His voice was husky and accommodating, and Lyor eyed him with mischief at the piece of information she had just learned about him. Trying to contain her glee, she was bursting at the seams.

“Mrs. Hamburg came over here to ask you about the book you bought from her in the fall. What was the name of the book again, Mrs. Hamburg?” Lyor spoke, her voice silvery despite her thrill.

“Oh, that incredibly expensive first edition Voltaire for your lady friend. Did she enjoy the gift, sir?”

Lyor watched Erwin’s eyes slightly widen as he looked from Mrs. Hamburg to her, and it took all Lyor’s might to contain her laughter. In that instant, he looked like an innocent boy.

For the first time in weeks, her heart felt feather light.

Flummoxed, he seemed to struggle to form any words for a brief moment before the man finally pulled himself together. He locked eyes with Lyor, and she shot him a devious smirk. Amused, he managed a smile. “… I believe she did.”

Mrs. Hamburg let out a small squeal. “How wonderful! I would have been so disappointed for you if she hadn’t enjoyed it — it took me years to find such an impeccable edition.”

“Yes, in fact, she loved it so much that she refused to loan it to anyone.” With a pointed glance to the brunette, Erwin’s fruity voice risked sarcasm, but only Lyor caught on.

Lyor sheepishly offered a smile, guilty as charged. “Considering she definitely knew you bought it especially for her, certainly. If she did loan it, she would feel like an absolute cretin.”

Erwin’s smile grew. He exhaled, and he felt the tension in his shoulders release as he drank in the colour of her eyes. “I know.”

The conversation carried on for a few minutes, Mrs. Hamburg exchanging pleasantries with the officer and the young woman, before Mrs. Hamburg excused herself to find her husband — but not before falling for Erwin’s charm and promising she would convince her husband to sponsor the Legion. Thanking her, the two bid the storeowner goodbye, and were left alone amongst the sea of attendees.

“You look nice.” Erwin stated, and the two stood face to face, both of them cradling a flute of champagne in their hand.

“Yes, well, this is a really nice dress,” Lyor retorted before she returned his smile. “You’re freshly laundered.”

“It happens from time to time,” Entertained, the blond answered. “Are you enjoying yourself?”

Lyor repressed a sneer. “Actually, no, I’ve lost my cyanide capsule. Have you seen it?”

“I don’t suit this kind of affair either.” With a laugh, Erwin admitted, taking a sip of his drink as he eyed the crowd.

Lyor followed his gaze and sighed as they forlornly watched the sea of refined accoutrements. “I think it’s about time I say good night.”

“I wish I could go, too.”

Lyor’s skin prickled at the voice that came from behind them. “Oh, come now!”

Bitterly, the two turned to face the voice to see Markus approaching them: tall, provocative, and august. He seemed even more intimating than before, donning his formal military attire and a cunning smirk, drink in hand. Greeting him cordially, Lyor and Erwin were the epitome of diplomacy.

“Not before you’ve danced! Both of you. You two make a handsome couple,” Markus gave Erwin an amiable pat on the shoulder as he eyed Lyor. She couldn’t hide the forgery in her smile, but Erwin’s facade was impenetrable. “The next song is about to start; why don’t you two show me how well the Scouts dance? I insist.” He punctuated with a leer.

The deviousness spread to Markus’ eyes as the brunette and blond exchanged a meaningful but hesitant glance, until Erwin finally held out his hand. Lyor modestly placed her hand in his, and his touch was electric. Markus laughed heartily as the two of them smiled insincerely at the officer, walking away to the dance floor. With her hand tucked into his arm, Erwin and Lyor sifted through the crowd to the dance floor peppered with couples who bowed to each other when the song ended. She indulged in the opportunity to touch his arm, but she softly objected.

“Erwin, we don’t have to.”

“I’m not opposed to the idea.”

A new waltz began, and Lyor let go of his arm. When they faced each other, Erwin noticed the flush on her face. It was a time to see a woman redden who was not given to the reddening as a rule: not a point in the milkmaid but was of the deepest rose colour. In considerateness, he pretended not to notice and gently took her hand in his, and chastely snaked his other arm around her waist. He couldn’t ignore how incredible the indulgence of holding this woman in his arms was.

They fell in perfect synchronisation with the music and the other couples, but Lyor had trouble focusing. Her mind was hazy — their proximity and his scent intoxicated her: pine trees, leather and a subtle hint of cologne. All she could think about was the delightful burn of his touch on the small of her back, and the way his body towered over her own.

She compressed her lips to a demure impassivity, willing away any signs of bashfulness, and looked up at him. He smiled down at her when he felt her gaze — pure and penetrating — and an infatuated smile grew without thought on her lips. Blue eyes gazed into honey ones, and she felt as if they were the only two people who existed in that moment.

Lyor recalled the day they met, and she wondered what she had done to deserve that fateful encounter with a man as magnificent as him. She took in every detail of his features: the tenderness in his smile, his bushy eyebrows, sharp cheekbones, beaked nose, and the incredible strength in his gunmetal stare.

It suddenly became very clear to her that he was the only one for her.

--

Notes: *SCREAMS*

Although wtf is that son of a bitch Markus up to

Are we moving too fast? Thoughts?

[c1araoswa1d]

The Tethers Between Hearts Chapter 19 A Tale of Metamorphosis (FF.net)

“Do you want to tell me,” Clara asked calmly, “Or do you want me to guess?”

 Though the notes of his son’s voice delighted the Doctor’s ears, they thumped heavily at his hearts, for the more they sounded aloud, the less they spoke to his mind, and he knew it would be too soon when the boy relied solely on that voice to communicate with them.  He sighed, slumped on Clara’s couch, listening to Aurelius hum and then let out a series of single syllables – a repeated ba-ba-ba that came with drool and a waving of his right hand as he wiggled about on the blanket Clara had laid down upon.

“Do you want to tell me,” the woman asked calmly, “Or do you want me to guess?”

She settled herself at his side, shoulder molding comfortably into him, fingers of her right hand trailing down his jacket to thread themselves through his to hold him firmly.  The Doctor smiled, giving her a small nod as he met her gaze, one that never failed to set his hearts on a new rhythm – whether thundering with fear, or bumping along at ease.  He welcomed the way those eyes searched him, mind momentarily working over the time since he’d arrived; the way he’d been sitting on that couch watching their son with a sadness he knew she could no longer ignore.

Clara could sense when something was amiss with him. It was one of a million little things about her that made her absolutely perfect for him, he knew.  How could he keep secrets from someone who would simply feel them out of him anyways – and knowing she would offered him an odd sense of relief.  Though it’d taken him some time to get there, the Doctor knew she was someone he didn’t need to lie to; someone he could trust with the complete truth.  

Someone, he sighed as he gave her hand a squeeze, who could understand.

“He’s beginning to speak,” he told her quietly.

She laughed softly, resting her temple to his shoulder, “More and more each day.”

“But he speaks less to me,” the Doctor allowed, tapping at his temple with his free hand when she shifted to look up at him for clarity.

Nodding against him, she explained, “He speaks less to me too.”  Then she smiled; a small chuckle escaping as Aurie squealed out another string of nonsense. “But isn’t that good, Doctor?”

He considered it, looking to their son lying before them, content to roll onto his stomach and seek out his toys before pumping his legs to inch himself forward in an awkward pre-cursor to crawling.  “Every day he grows stronger; every day he grows older.”

“Every day he advances, Doctor.  He’ll learn to crawl and speak and walk, then run.”  She snorted lightly, adding under her breath, “Use a toilet.”

Laughing with her, the Doctor looked to the bright eyes that had turned in their direction at their sudden chorus of happiness. Aurie pressed his lips together tightly to smile, dimple deep in his pale plump cheek, eyes disappearing to the glee at hearing his parents laughter.  The Doctor listened to him as he turned back to his toys, finding his elephant to screech at.  He watched his boy tilt his head of dark hair before looking to the boy’s mother who watched him serenely.

“Suppose the good news is both his parents are talkers, so I doubt he’ll turn out the silent type,” the Doctor teased, reveling in her hard laugh.

Aurie shifted, getting himself up on one knee to propel himself towards her, tumbling and falling onto his back to glare up at them in confusion.  

Mummy!

“Startled you, didn’t I?”  Clara whispered, reaching forward to pluck him up into her lap to hold, groaning when he immediately closed his eyes and searched for her nipple against the clothes she wore.

“My son knows what he wants,” the Doctor quipped, watching her allow the boy to latch onto her left breast as she checked the time.  

She shook her head against his words and then sighed to look to her son, feeding happily.  “This month he starts on foods – not sure how much more of this I can tolerate.”  Clara winced and the Doctor leaned into her, pecking a delicate kiss to her temple that brought a smile back to her lips.  He looked to Aurelius, raised a hand to stroke along the edge of his hair, just around his perfect little ear, before nudging his jaw lightly with his knuckles.

“We should take a trip tonight,” the Doctor told her quietly, “Someplace where there’s music he can hum along with, or maybe some place with lights in the night sky he can marvel at, or perhaps some place he might take his first taste of some exotic fruit.”

He smiled at the satisfied look in Clara’s eyes as she glanced up at him.

“You’re hoping he’ll talk to you – that it’ll inspire him to tell you with our psychic connection all about the things he’s experiencing for the first time,” she guessed, smirking when he shrugged.  “I think you’ll enjoy when he can speak out loud far more than when he spoke so regularly in your head.”

“Why should it make a difference?”  The Doctor questioned curiously.

“It shouldn’t, and I think that’s why you’re suffering,” she gave him a small push with her shoulder before looking down at the baby she held, the one with their hearts held tightly within his tiny hands. “He’s a bit like a caterpillar now, isn’t he.  Not quite the little babe I birthed in a school lounge, but not yet the little boy who’ll pull on your coat with the name of a planet easily on his tongue. He’s changing, Doctor, right before our eyes, and sometimes that requires a little pause until he learns how to grow up just right enough for us.  And a little patience.”

The Doctor nodded, then complained, “I miss his voice at all hours.”

“I miss my breasts not being sore all the bloody time,” she laughed.

Aurie dropped back slightly and took several long breaths, staring up at his parents.  He smiled for them and the Doctor imagined he could read their thoughts if he wanted, though he might have been too exhausted from his playing or too full of his mother’s milk, to try.  The Doctor reached to tickle the boy who let out a vivacious giggle, mirroring the one his mother released, and he inched forward to kiss his boy gently, feeling the fingers that scratched at his face.

I will always speak to you, father; I know you will always listen.

“Yes,” he whispered, inching back to watch his son smile, “I always will.”

[geenalovesthelittlethings]

hlwily series extra: ‘for all that blooms is beautiful’

Note: It can be assumed that both Harry and Rosie sign and speak verbally in tandem, unless the story otherwise indicates.

word count: 3.7k

warning: for discussion of bullying, deaf/hoh struggles/upset, etc.  

Rosie, age 6

Harry turned into the school’s parking lot and fit himself into a space near the entrance. Pushing the gear shift upward, he undoes his seatbelt and sits back, switching off the car’s radio. Looking out over the parking lot and across the courtyard to the front entrance, he watched clusters of parents collecting their children, who run towards them with delight, book bags swinging on their shoulders. Others are chattering excitedly to one another as they wait for their way home.  Some of the teachers are out front, making sure everyone gets where they need to go.  

It’s early autumn, the start of a new school year and everyone is wrapped up in thick cardigans and winter coats, bearing the school’s crest. The clouds are thick overhead, washing the light that coasts down from them, overcast. It heightens the muted colors of the leaves on the trees that surround the school’s front walls.

Running a hand over his face, he sat back and tried to squash the anxious feeling twisting around in his belly and up to his chest. Playing the phone call from her teacher over and over again in his mind until it rang in his ears.

There was an incident with a couple of the other children in class. She wasn’t hurt, but she’s very upset. I think it may be best if we speak in person at the end of the school day.

Perhaps naively, he’d been under the impression that six year olds could not be cruel. That they would have no concept of cruelty yet. That they were too new to the world to see difference, to label things as ‘wrong’ and as less deserving. He wasn’t ready. Wasn’t ready to explain to his daughter who was gentle and kind to everything; the bugs, the dirt, the grass, the flowers they passed on their walks. Who would take a rainy day over a sunny one, as she called raindrops ‘cloud kisses’. She loved the imperfections of all things. She wouldn’t have called them imperfections to begin with. She had a keen eye for beauty in all of its forms. From chipped mugs to scars and freckles that marred skin, she loved them all.

He wasn’t ready to tell her that sometimes, people were just cruel and that was all. He wasn’t ready to tell her that not everyone saw the world as she did. If only they did.

His movements were slow as he finally pulled himself from the car and pocketed his keys. Crossing the courtyard, he took the left set of split stairs that led up to the front door and stepped inside. It’s mostly cleared out when he finally makes his way in. Some students have taken refuge from the cold near the front windows as they wait, but it’s otherwise empty in the lobby.  

He pops into the front office, explaining to the receptionist behind the desk why he’s there and she gently tells him to go on and make his way down to her classroom. The room is down the second hallway and towards the end on the righthand side. As he passed, he inspected the colorful children’s artwork that lines the walls of. The still colorful and encouraging posters. He counted the colored tiles as he stepped on each of them and smiled at the tiny, child-sized chairs that sat outside some of the rooms.

Her book bag hangs lonely on the row of hooks adjacent to the classroom door, and when he fully steps inside, he finds her sat with the assistant teacher, whose arm is wrapped tightly around her tiny form. Rosie’s cheeks are wet and her eyes are sad. He can tell she’s been worrying her lips. Strands of her hair are sticking out of the braid he’d carefully fashioned earlier that morning, as if someone’s tried to pull it free. It sends a pull straight through his chest, tingling under his skin like sparks, and he feels it twist in his stomach once more.

As soon as she notices he’s stepped into the room, she’s bounding towards him, leaving behind the comfort of her second teacher’s arms, in favor of his.

“Hey. Hi, baby.” Harry squatted down onto his haunches and opened his arms just in time for her to land against his chest, and he scoops her up. “Hi,” he hums, kissing her cheek as he rises to his feet. “Ready to go home?” She doesn’t answer, but instead hides her face against his neck, sniffling softly, and not wanting anyone to see her cry. He can feel hot tears seeping into his skin, and he holds her closer, pressing another kiss to her forehead.

Her teacher, Mrs. Griffin, approached then, eyes soft and apologetic, and begins to explain quietly what had transpired during the class’s free playtime earlier that afternoon.

How two little boys from her class had refused to let Rosie play with anything she went near, how they’d mocked her voice and tried their hand at yanking out her hearing aids, and how she had very clearly been upset for the remainder of the day.

If blood could truly boil, Harry’s would have been in that moment. His grip around his baby girl tightened reflexively, shifting her in his arms so she was as close to him as possible. It wasn’t just that they had hurt her, made a joke out of her, tried to touch her without her permission. Taken away something that was vital to her that they had no right to take.

They had treated her as if she didn’t exist. The thought of this made his throat tighten and his whole body want to shudder with how angry he felt.  He wanted to explode right there, but he couldn’t. He wasn’t going to let her see him get angry.

Though he was biting tongue, he couldn’t help what came next. “And you just let this happen, then?” His tone was acrid in his own ears, but he could feel the anger further twisting its way through him.  

Her sweet, young teacher’s eyes were kind, remorse glowing behind them and once the words were left swirling in the space between them, he instantly regretted them. “I am so sorry, Mr. Styles. I can assure you that disciplinary action has been taken and we’ve made phone calls home to both sets of parents. If there’s anything we can do further, we can set up a meeting with the Headmaster if your wife would also like to sit down and discuss what we can do to help her feel safer here, we can.”  

He thanked them both and promised to be in touch, before shouldering her book bag and heading towards the front entrance.

One-handed, he unlocked the car and carefully placed her in her seat, setting her book bag at her feet and helping to buckle her in.

“Hey,” he says, touching her knee to get her attention, kissing her forehead once she turns towards him. “I don’t want you to be sad, okay? Yeah?”

She nodded, swiping the backs of her hands under her eyes.

Harry has to hide the ache in his chest, as he’s afraid it will come out with the sound of his voice. “Can I have a little cuddle before we go?”    

She nodded, before her thin arms are looping around his neck and she cuddles in close. “I love you,” he said as she pulls away. “It’s just you and me at the house when we get home. Mumma and your brothers are all gone until later. Should we should get up to some trouble? Some mischief? Hmm?”

That earned him a small smile and a nod. “Okay.”

“Yeah?” Harry said brightly. “Okay.” He squeezed her hand  and tucked a loose lock of hair behind her ear.

The drive home is quiet. Any other day and she would be bursting and bubbling with stories to tell him. What she painted during art time, the songs they sang, how excited she was for swimming class the next day, how they were learning about space or how caterpillars become butterflies, going a mile a minute the entire drive home. Eager to show him her perfect grade on a spelling test or a piece of art ready to be tacked up on the refrigerator.

Today, there was silence between them. If he didn’t know better, he would have presumed she’d fallen asleep.

“Mrs. Griffin said your class is going to start music lessons soon. Would you like to learn to play something?” He hoped maybe the conversation would be enough to distract her.

There was a hesitant pause before she answered. “The cello,” she whispered.

Harry can’t help but smile. He should have known to expect nothing less. It is a quintessentially ‘Rosie’ answer.

“The cello? Is that what you’d really like? It’ll be as big as you are!”

Her tiny giggle settled the achy feeling in his heart. “Yes please, Daddy.”  

Harry signaled to turn into the neighborhood and grinned, peeking back at her in the rearview mirror. “Okay, we’ll talk to Mumma.”  

Navigating the car into the drive, he settles it into park and pulls his keys from the ignition before going around to Rosie’s side. He opened the door to find her eyes swimming and her plump little set of lips quivering. She was already reaching for him as he unbuckled her. He didn’t want her to be upset, but he understood holding onto all of your tears until you were home.  

“Noooo,” he cooed, scooping her up. “No more tears, baby. S’alright, we’re home now.” Keeping her close, he reached for her book bag and slung it back over his shoulder, nudging the car door closed with his hip.

Pushing the front door open with his shoulder, he tossed his keys in the dish, hung up Rosie’s book bag. “Do you want to have a cuddle for awhile? Would that help a little?”

She whined softly and nodded into the crook of his neck.

“Okay.” He carried her through to the lounge and got her settled on the sofa, carefully slipping off her school shoes and promising he’d be right back.

He rounded the corner into the kitchen to put the kettle on the stove. It’s what his mother always did when he came home sad from school. She always insisted there was no better cure than a warm mug of something and some ginger biscuits and he knew never to doubt his mother’s wisdom.  He knew she’d want Horlicks, so he rummaged around in the cupboard above the coffee maker to find the canister.

The house was quiet with everyone gone. Finn at an appointment with his gastroenterologist, Jude at after-school art club and George having gone home with a friend after school, the only sounds they were left with were the hum of the refrigerator and the gurgle of the dishwasher left to run. It’s not so often that the house is this quiet anymore. Whenever it is, especially in the early mornings when he’s the first to wake, he thinks they ought to get another dog. Someone to keep the house company and have his coffee with. He misses that. A quiet house is unsettling to him now.

He let her cry it out first, knowing how much she needed it. He held her tightly. Pulled her into his lap and drug his blanket from over the back of the sofa and tucked it around them, before he let her cry into his neck. All he could do in that moment, until she’s ready to tell him what’s wrong, is run his fingers through her soft hair and whisper sweet, comforting words against the shell of her ear. Letting his lips press against her temple over and over, hoping that even if she couldn’t fully understand what he was saying, it would tell her all that he’s trying to say. He was trying to will himself not to cry with her, as badly as he wanted to.

Eventually, her sobs quieted to wet hiccups and she settled lax against his chest with a deep, nearly shuddering breath, her sniffled breaths muffled against his thick sweatshirt. Harry waited a moment, letting his fingers run up and down her back lightly. He was going to wait until she was ready. Until she lifted her head and slid back on his knees and looked up at him with tear tracks running down her cheeks, the blanket pooling around her shoulders.  

“Rosie, baby, do you want to tell me what’s wrong?” he murmured, gently lifting his hands to swipe his thumbs across her cheeks. “What’s got you so sad?”

Rosie nodded and with a quivering lower lip said, “I don’t wanna sign,” before hauling in a deep breath. And he knew it was really bothering her, and he could tell it reached beyond what had happened at school with the boys from her class. He could see there was something else weighing heavily on her, like she was deciding how exactly to say what she wanted to. She squirmed in his lap, doing what her mother did when she wanted to say something but didn’t know how; of casting her eyes down towards her hands and back up again.

“Okay,” he agreed, offering his hands for her to hold instead. She nestled her delicate palms against his big, slightly rough ones.

“Daddy?”

“Yes, lovey?”

“When will my ears work? So I don’ have tah wear my hearing aids anymore? Are they gonna work soon?” Her voice was so little and forlorn and it sent a ache through his chest.

And if Harry’s heart wasn’t already broken, he could feel it splitting in two.

As painful as it was, he knew he couldn’t lie to her. He couldn’t give her false hope. She deserved to know the truth. They’d both tried to prepare for the day that she realized her classmates or even her siblings, weren’t deaf like she was, and as much as they  had always told her otherwise, that it made her different. Waited for the day that someone pointed it out to her and tried to make her feel like less because of it.  It didn’t stop the lump in his throat from bobbing up.

“Rosie…” He took a deep breath, trying to swallow down the tears rising in his throat and stinging behind his eyes. She was looking up at him so expectantly, like he just had to have the answer and he was going make everything better. That’s what he’s supposed to do. “Baby, they won’t.” He couldn’t keep his voice from breaking.

He watched her eyes well up with tears and her lower lip quivered. “Why not?” she whimpered. “Why not, Daddy?”

He had to haul in another breath, his chest so tight it felt nearly suffocating. “Because, your ears don’t work quite the same way as someone who isn’t deaf,” he explained gently. “They just don’t find sounds as well, that’s all.”

She seemed to process this idea for a moment before asking, in the saddest little voice he’d possibly ever heard if, “Can you fix them? Can you fix them, Daddy?”

“I wish I could, baby,” he croaked, feeling the tears start to try and leak out of the corners of his eyes.

“They won’t get better?” she wondered.

“No, sweetheart,” he told her, his voice tight. “I’d do anything in the whole world if it meant I could make them better for you. Anything at all. But I can’t.”

She burst into tears then, and Harry took her into his arms and held her close, rocking her gently like when she was a tiny baby. He couldn’t keep his own tears in check any longer, losing the fight and letting them spill down his cheeks. He squeezed his eyes shut. He didn’t want her to see him cry. He didn’t want her to know how much he worried about her. He didn’t want her to think that it made him sad or that he wished she were different. But to know she was hurting, made him hurt, because he knew there was so little he could do.

“S’okay,” he hummed, kissing the crown of her head as he rocked her. “S’alright, little love.”  

Once her cries fizzled out, he took the corner of the blanket and coaxed it across her damp cheek.

“Don’t cry, Daddy,” she lisped, reaching up to pat her hands over his cheeks to catch the tears that settled on his skin. Like she’d seen him do so many times before.

Harry gave a watery smile to show her that he was okay. “S’okay. I’m only crying because you’re crying,” he lied. “Daddies have to cry when their babies are sad, that’s the rules.” He captured her little hand in his and kissed her palm.

“Do I talk funny, Daddy? Jack said I talk funny.” She sniffled a little. “I don’t wanna talk funny.” It wasn’t difficult for Harry to deduce that Jack was one of the boys from school who had teased her earlier.

Harry wasn’t sure how much more his heart could splinter. “No, baby, you don’t. You talk just like you. Everybody’s voice sounds a little different. Sometimes people think things are funny when they haven’t heard them before, that’s all. But it wasn’t okay for him to say that.” He squeezed her hands. “Is that what made you so sad?”

She nodded. “He said I was stupid. You and Mumma say not to call anyone that.”

Harry exhaled slowly, he was ready to call this boy’s parents and give them a few pieces of his mind and a dose of reality and maybe a few tips on how to raise a decent human being.

“You know you’re not stupid, baby, right? Not at all. There’s so many things you can do so well.”

This sentiment seemed to pique her interest. “Like what?” She knuckled at her eyes for a moment.  

“Like, talk with your hands.” He brought one of her hands up to press his lips to her fingers. “I don’t think anyone else in your class can do that. Not even lots of grownups can do that.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. That’s something really special. And, you can feel music in your toes.” He reached down to tickle her toes. “Daddy can’t do that.”

Her curious eyes widened.

“And you’re doing really well at your swimming classes at school, aren’t you?”

She brightened. “I can swim all the way to the really deep end!”   

“Yeah! See? And you know your colors better than anyone I know.”  

“I like colors a lot,” she decided.

Harry smiled. “Hey.” He tapped her chin with his thumb, his little way of communicating that he wanted her to look at him. He waited until her bright eyes, now only a little dampened, met his. “I don’t want you to ever feel like you’re stupid, Don’t let anybody tell you that, okay? You’re so clever.”

She nodded, her fingers slotting into his so she could play with them, sliding his wedding band up and down his ring finger. She carefully bent each segment of his fingers, touching a few of the freckles near his wrist.  

“Daddy, are you sad my ears don’t work like yours?” She looked up at him, but didn’t cease in playing with his hands.  

In that moment, Harry knew he had to be cautious with how he answered. Does he tell her the truth? That yes, he and her momma cried in the bathtub together after the appointment with the specialist that told them she couldn’t hear all but a little and never had? That they agonized over whether or not to have her use hearing aids in the first place? That he worries for her every time he lets go of her hand and watches her go off somewhere without him. That he sees all of the stares of strangers when they notice her bright pink hearing aids, even though he tries to shield her from them because he’s afraid of what they might say? That sometimes he felt lost and like he wasn’t enough for her? All of that is the truth, and he wants to always tell her the truth, but he decides on another truth.

He took a huge breath, cupping her cheeks so he can bring her in close enough to kiss her forehead.

He opened his mouth and closed it, taking another cleansing breath before attempting to speak, trying to find the right words.

“I get sad…” he began, working to keep his voice even. “I get sad that you’re sad about your ears sometimes. I wish you didn’t have to be sad about them. But, I love all of you, just as you are. And I wouldn’t change a single thing, no matter what. Not ever. You’re my little blossom, and it doesn’t matter that your ears don’t work like mine or Mumma’s. It’s part of what makes you, you and that’s not something to ever feel sad about for too long. Being deaf is just one part of you that makes you special. Just like your laugh is part of you. Or your freckles. They’re all special and important and they all need love too, don’t they?”

She nodded slowly. “Yeah.”

“Look at Daddy,” he requested, cupping his hands softly around her cheeks, smoothing his thumb against the apples of them. “I will always, always love you. Would you like to know how much?”

She raised her eyebrows curiously. “Yes, please,” she said with a grin slowly spreading over her lips.

Harry leaned in close, a grin of his own pulling at his mouth. “To the moon and back.”

Her eyes went wide. “That’s a lot,” she whispered in awe. “We can’t touch the moon.”

“That’s right,” Harry hummed with a nod. “I love you that much and even more.”  

“I love you, Daddy,” she whispered, nuzzling his cheek and giving the softest kiss.

“I love you too, Rosie. So much.” He squeezed her tight and returned the kiss on her cheek. “Now,” he proclaimed as she pulled away. “Should we have something cozy to drink?”

“Horlicks?” she asked hopefully, with her gap-toothed grin.

“How did I know?” Harry laughed, scrubbing his fingers into her side so she squirmed away and howled with laughter.

It was the sweetest sound.  

xx.

[annieleonhardt]

Aruani Week day 2- High School

AO3

I've been saying forever that Juno would make for a perfect aruani au, so I figured I could totally get away with doing a very loose Juno au for Day 2. Might do one or more with this. I probably should, since this ends hanging lmao. Anyway, hope you enjoy! <3

Even short stories have to start somewhere.

If Annie had to pick a place for their story to begin, she could easily go back to kindergarten; The day she met Armin Arlert on the playground. Him in his little suspenders and tucked in white shirt, trying to catch a woolly bear caterpillar that inched across a tree branch.

As he noticed her and motioned for her to join him, Annie turned around and instead played on the swings. A fateful meeting that was as mundane as they come. Yet, through the years things changed. Year by year she would listen to him, and instead come over and join in his weird bug collecting hobbies and little one-person book clubs.

Unlike Armin, Annie never could be described as a social kid. The presence of others could be both overwhelming and troublesome. She preferred her own company, thank you very much. Surely, giving in and getting to know someone during recess didn’t mean a thing. Even as she somehow melted into his little 3-person friend group. Eren and Mikasa were tolerable, she supposed. Especially as both were more than willing to share their lunches with her, including large double stuffed oreos that her father would never buy her.

Elementary school turned to middle school, and childlike curiosity turned into adolescent hormones. Month by month, year by year, their classmates changed and grew. She very clearly remembered the day Eren and Jean both came in, showing off their singular chest hairs. The jarring crack of their voices dashed any bravado the two tried to bring. Reiner grew fast, becoming increasingly broad shouldered as his closest friend, Bertholdt, seemed to grow taller without stopping. By the end of 8th grade the two were almost comically enormous. Connie, conversely, seemed to go through every change puberty entailed except for the part about growing tall.

Armin wasn’t so fast. It wasn’t until 8th grade that the shy, introverted bookworm began to grow and change. Their classmates noticed, too. As their friends joined JV sports, he remained on the sidelines. Somehow, Annie prefered it. Though athletic outside school, climbing the ranks in girls MMA, team sports didn’t come easily to her and never had. What did, however, was talking to him. So there they’d sit after school, watching Mikasa and Eren practice their respective sports. Armin had a way of making the wait pass fast for Annie. She liked his conversations about books, and comics, and fantasy, and science. She liked how into his favorite stories he got, and how passionate he seemed to be of things no one else cared about. And she liked how weirdly cynical he could be through his bright smiles. It matched her own increasingly dry wit.

What she didn’t like was how he never seemed to shoot back at unkind words. Being so small, and undoubtedly nerdy, Armin had his fair share of bullies. Other kids who would tease him behind his back in class, as if getting an answer right was somehow something to mock. There were times when books were flung right out of his hands, and he certainly didn’t have the strength to do it right back. The classic locker shove was far from foreign to him, and Annie could recall at least one occasion when when his nose would have been broken if he didn’t dodge a kid in time.

Yet, he never fought back. Even after Eren and Mikasa prodded him to.

“They’d be winning if I did. They’re only doing this because they know I’m right.” He explained, as Annie helped him pick his books up off the ground. “Besides, there’s gonna be a time in their life when they’ll look back on this and see how terrible and immature they’re being. I’ll never have a moment like that!”

He looked up at her beaming, and Annie felt her heart jump.

There was something to be said about his inner strength, and the will it took for him to smile so bright at her after being pushed around. Impressive, perhaps. She liked that about him.

She liked a lot of things about him. Annie didn’t mind admitting that at all.

She also didn’t mind giving his tormentors some retribution behind his back. Armin could hardly hold it against her, if ever he did find out.

Finally came high school, and Annie had been through a freshman and sophomore year of revelations.

1.) When Armin finally came into his own, he was far more handsome than even she could have guessed. 2.) Cross Country was a good sport for him. Perhaps she’d have to thank Eren later for twisting his arm. 3.) She liked him a lot more than she originally thought.

It was Reiner who first brought the topic up. On one of those days she stayed after school, waiting for Armin to get done with his cross country practice. Reiner and Bertholdt, by then a couple (to the surprise of no one), sat beside her on the grass. When the words rolled out of his mouth, she could barely process it.

“When are you going to tell him you love him, Ann?”

It all seemed so matter of fact. Even Bertholdt barely looked moved by his words. As if, she realized, there were only two people in school that didn’t seem to realize the unspoken thing going on between her and Armin since middle school. It was no mystery who those two people were. Spoiler alert: It wasn’t Eren and Mikasa.

“Wait, you didn’t know?!” Eren exclaimed, practically falling off the bench. “Mikasa and I have been betting on who would confess fi- OW!”

Had Mikasa not pinched his arm, Annie would have gladly done it herself.

“What he means is,” Mikasa began, pushing black hair off of her sweat-trenched forehead. “Most people could guess you like him, Annie.”

“What, have been walking around with heart eyes for years and not noticed?”

“Yes.”

“A little bit.”

“Fantastic.”

It was hard to act normal around Armin after that. Not for lack of trying, of course. Something was different, and she knew exactly what; she did love him. And she felt like an absolute idiot for not having realized it herself earlier.

“I don’t get it myself, Annie. He’s a little too scrawny for me.” Hitch snickered on the phone one day. “You should tell him, though. Catch that fish while you’re the only one on the lake. And, no offence, your bluntness and scary face may not be to your advantage.”

Ridiculous ways of putting it aside, Hitch had a point. And Annie could only try her best to work up the nerve. When she finally did, it all seemed so simple.

They sat like it was any other weekend. Junior year had begun, and their AP homework was already piling up. However, she certainly wasn’t there to do homework. More important matters were at hand.

As it stood, hers was only inches away from his. Armin sat beside her on the floor of his bedroom. Whatever the movie was, she wasn’t paying attention. It was impossible; Armin was so close, and somehow the gap was closing. The early autumn air was still heavy, and in the air conditioned chill of his room, she could feel sweat pooling on her brow. Annie hadn't realized how hard she was staring until he was staring back, blue eyes wide.

“Annie…?” He asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Hey.” The air only seemed to thicken. As her cheeks flared red, she swallowed back whatever was beginning to climb back up her throat. Stray blonde bangs fell into her eyes, but she didn’t get a chance to push them away. Armin was already on it. His fingers brushed gently against the apples of her cheeks, causing goosebumps to form on her arm.

Perhaps the heat clouded her head, because she could only remember the smallest of details. The gap was closed, and his lips were so soft against hers. He was sweet, slow, and gentle. Never making a move unless he knew, somehow, that she approved. After everything, there was a lot she was ready to approve of.

It all seemed to happen so fast. Hands locked tight, and Annie found herself slipping onto his lap. Tongues tangled as either could only beg to go further. No one was home.

Not that it would have mattered. A stray shirt here, a hoodie there. There was no telling how long it took before there was nothing between them. At some point, the floor turned into his cushioned desk chair, and she didn’t care. She didn’t care that they weren’t surrounded by rose petals and champagne. She didn’t care that they were sweating, inexperienced, and letting years of tension explode in his bedroom, surrounded by Star Wars posters and half-finished k’nex models. She didn’t care that they threw caution to the wind in a moment of passion and desperation. On his goddamn desk chair.

All she cared about was that it was him, it was real. It was so very, very real.

And it could only get more real from there. As she thought about it, that’s where all of this really began.

Annie and Armin, and a goddamn desk chair.

“Does Armin even know?”

“Uh. I’m planning on telling him later. Probably.”

Hitch went completely slack jawed. She sat on Annie’s bed, somehow even less composed than Annie herself. Yet, she couldn’t help but hold back a laugh. Something about the situation came across to her as almost awkwardly hilarious. Armin Arlert, of all people. Annie Leonhardt, of all people.

“Holy shiiiiit…” She brought her hand up to her mouth. Annie simply glowered at the floor. “How are you not, like, flipping out right now? I know you’re supposed to be all stoic and all, but this is-”

“Don’t let my face fool you. I’m actually freaking the fuck out.” Annie collapsed on her bed, covering her face with her hands. “Oh my god I’m about to puke.”

“Is it because of-”

“Yes.” She sprung up to a sitting position, and tugged at the collar of her hoodie. It seemed to get tighter and tighter as the moment passed. “I don’t know what to do. I already tried that option, and I just...I couldn’t. It wasn’t for me. No shame to it, I just...I don’t know.” Annie contemplated pulling her hood over her head, pulling the drawstrings, and staying there forever. It seemed like the best course of action.

“You need to tell your dad.”

“You’re insane.”

“No no, hear me out.” Hitch stood up, and the two could just barely hear the sound of Annie’s father downstairs. Home from work, whistling a tune, wondering where his only daughter was off to. “Get that out of the way first. Your dad’s not that bad, Annie. Sure, he’s tactless, a little abrasive, but it’s not like he’ll be mad at you.” She grabbed her friend's hand, and slowly dragged her off the bed. “Come clean, free your mind. Clear your conscience. Tell papa Leonhardt the truth, and then go over to Armin’s. If your dad hulks out, comfort will be right around the corner. Literally. He lives like a block away.”

“Ohh my god.” Despite herself, Annie had to agree. The desperate nature of the situation made anything seem sane, of course.

By the time they were downstairs, her father rested on the couch. The paper in front of him just barely obfuscated his face from view, giving Annie a moment to breathe. Her fingers fumbled with the sleeves of her hoodie. Behind her, Hitch sat on a nearby table.

“Just go for it! That’s for the best” She prodded, getting Annie’s father's attention immediately.

“Ann!” He shouted, the smile spreading across his face. “I was wondering where you disappeared to- oh hey, Annie’s friend.”

“Hitch, sir! You’ve known me for years.”

“If you say so. What’s up, Ann? Why are your eyes so red?” He put his paper down, leaning forward in a way that somehow made Annie feel worse. Their relationship could be rocky, but the fear of his disappointment in her rest at the pit of her stomach. “You wanna spar the pain away? That always helps.”

“Uhh…” Her voice failed her. It was as if the room began to close in around her. Annie sucked in a deep breath, closing her eyes for a moment before finally, and boy did it feel final, going for it.

“Uh. I’m pregnant.”

One burden lifted up, only for another to rest on her shoulder. Her father looked past the point of stunned. His face fell flat, with the exception of his dropped jaw. Slowly, eyebrows moved inwards. As the silence dragged on, Annie began to panic.

“I really didn’t mean for- listen, I’m probably just gonna give it up for adoption, it’ll have a nice home I’m sure, and in a few months we can pretend this never happened and I didn’t totally fuck up what could be my entire life, yeah?” Barely a breath in between.

“You’re...you’re pregnant?” It almost stung more that his voice wasn’t in any way elevated. The kind of tone that said he wasn’t mad, just very disappointed. Oh, it stung good.

“...I’m sorry.” She pushed blonde bangs out of her eyes, more out of nerves than a real need. “I’m feeling the pain, if it’s any consolation. Crazy heartburn, migraine…”

“You...you’re sexually active?”

“Oh my god.”

It was almost a relief to see her father become a bit more animated.

“Annie Francesca Leonhardt, I...who is the kid?”

“The baby? I mean I don’t know, it kind of looks like a lizard though.” His real questioned dawned on her, and she wanted to smack herself more and more.

“No, fuck, Annie I mean, who’s the father?”

Another deep breath.

“Armin Arlert.”

“...Armin Arlert?” His snicker was beyond unexpected.

“What’s so funny?”

“Nothing, it’s just…I didn’t think he had it in him.”

“HA, I know, right?” Hitch barely blocked Annie’s hand coming her way.

Though it was at the expense of the boy she loved, she did appreciate the lightening atmosphere. It didn’t last too long, though. Her father’s gaze rested hard on her.

“Ann, what the hell are you going to do?” There it was. The clear look of disappointment she was dreading. Annie bit her lips, eyes drifting down to the carpet as her cheeks went red. In the long run, she had no idea. In the short term, she wanted desperately for that conversation to end. More importantly, she wanted desperately to talk to him. Armin’s voice was a phone call away, but she prefered something more intimate.

The conversation with her father could only go so far. The moment he let her go, Annie found herself running out of the house and onto her bike. How Armin would react: She had absolutely no idea.

At least, she knew, he would be comforting. If a little shocked. More than a little shocked.

Ah, hell. Annie would be shocked if he didn’t pass out right there. She was feeling about ready to, as well.