#ii would you please grace us with the lack of a shirt

[ruinme-please]

begging ii to free the twoobs 😭😭😭😭

I AMN BEGGINGG IAM GROVELINg i AM WÖRMING ON TVE FLOOR

PLEASE FREE THE TWOOBS ONCE MORE

[theheartsmistakes]

The Last Night Part II

Jordelia Fanfiction (kind of, I guess) 

(Author’s Notes:  If you haven’t read Part I, this will make sense, you’ll just have missed the heart break of Part I. If you want the heart break you’ll have to find it in my feed because I have no idea how to tag it here. Please enjoy... like, comment, reblog, and give me a follow for more Fanfiction Fridays.)

The fire crackled and stirred eating slowly away at the fresh log James had just applied to it. With half a bottle of brandy warming his belly, he sat in the plush velvet arm chair and stared at the bright crimson flame, until a familiar darkness slipped over him. 

As hard as he fought it wasn’t enough, when his eyes closed he was standing in a hallway, as black as a moonless night in a lampless London alleyway. A damp chill sent goose bumps riddled across his skin. When he breathed out, his breath was a white cloud of air. His heart beat heavily in his chest, pounding against his rib cage, threatening to burst. 

He was painfully aware of the fact that he was weaponless. 

But this was just a dream? Wasn’t it.

James. A distinctly female voice called to him from ahead. 

He reached out his hand into the darkness when he felt the sticky silk of a spider’s web coat his fingers. He ripped his hand back and wiped it on his trousers. The web was so thick that it bound his fingers together. 

“James?” A voice came from behind him this time. He could see the faintest glimmer of light echoing off of the walls of the tunnel. It flickered and blazed like the tip of a candle.

He recognized that voice. It was soft, sweet, warm, and full of memories.

“Daisy?” 

He started towards the light. His muscles felt like they were full of lead, as they often did in dreams. As if the mind was reminding the body that nothing around it was real. 

“James…” the voice hissed from behind him. “Come back to me, James.” 

“Grace?” He glared into the darkness, but he could see nothing.

“Help me,” the voice whimpered. “Won’t you help me, James. Don’t leave me.”

He looked behind him at the light, it was getting smaller and smaller. An intense and innate desire to run towards it nearly strangled him. 

But Grace, she needed him.

“How can I help you?” He moved forward into the darkness, away from the light, and stepped right into another web. It stuck to his face, his hair, his eyelashes making it difficult to open his eyes. His hands were coated in the silky mess. It climbed up his arms, covering the bare skin of his forearms, reaching up to his elbows.

He cried out, clawing away at it, but that only seemed to make the web multiply quicker.

“James, I’m scared.” 

“Tell me how to reach you,” he begged.

“Look up.”

He raised his eyes and from the darkness emerged Grace. She looked almost normal, her long silver blond hair hung loose down her shoulders. She had on a white cotton dress that covered nearly every inch of her. Descending upon him like an archangel, she was beautiful, porcelain and stone. As she got closer, the shadow of eight long spiked legs of a spider came from out from her back. He could see that the once silver of her eyes were now black and the points of her teeth as she grinned made him audibly gasp.

In shock or fear, he fell to the ground away from her and pushed himself back.

Grace reached for him, her fingers too long and her skin translucent.

He reached for his weapons belt but remembered that he didn’t have it. 

Not that he could hurt her. It was Grace. His Grace. Wasn’t it?

“What—“ He got to his feet and rose to face her. “What has happened to you?”

“I am as I always have been,” she hissed. “You just lack the eyes to see it.”

Grace loomed over him. Her feet were bare and the bottoms black.

A sharp, burning pain seared into the wrist that wore the silver bracelet she had given to him. When he looked down at it, it seemed to be glowing and infusing into his skin.

James grabbed at the bracelet to remove it.

“No!” Grace shouted, a thick stream of webs shot out from her hands that nearly struck James when a blade arched up and cut through it before it could.

Wrapped in a blaze of golden light as brilliant as the North Star, James caught a flash of crimson standing over him, blocking Grace. 

Cordelia.

***

“Cordelia!” 

James jolted awake in the exact same position that he’d fallen asleep in. A pair of familiar blue eyes hovered over him, followed by a cheeky grin that mirrored his own.

“While I have been known to fill out a bodice nicely,” said his father, Will, as he kneeled down in front of James, “I’m afraid it’s only me.”

“Father?” James looked frantically around the room and up at the ceiling expecting to see Grace hovering in the dark corners where the firelight couldn’t reach. The library was empty except for the two of them. 

James dragged a hand through his hair, damp with sweat, and slumped into the chair, exhausted and suddenly ill.

“Bad dream?” Will picked up the empty bottle of brandy from the floor and appraised it judgmentally. “Was it ducks? A giant worm? Gabriel?” 

“Spiders,” said James, unable to explain further.

Will nodded and wrapped an arm around his son’s shoulders. It hadn’t occurred to James how naturally it fit there until now. His father’s arm used to be so much larger, longer, stronger compared to James’s narrow shoulders. It’s not that his father had changed, it’s that he had. Not a boy anymore, but not yet a man either. When he was a child, his father would wrap his arm around his neck and pull him in for an unwelcome kiss on the top of the head. Now, he welcomed it when his father did just that. 

“Is everything all right?” Will asked, releasing James again. “I saw Cordelia leave tonight. Your mother advised that we give you ‘the space’, but I find pestering to be a much more satisfying tactic when it comes to our children. Do you want to talk about it?”

“Do you remember when you told me that love is painful, but worth it?” Will nodded. “Is it always supposed to be painful?” James stared into the flames and remembered the curl that fell in Cordelia’s face right before she said goodbye. How he had wanted to reach out and brush it away and let his fingers linger on the soft warm skin of her cheek, riddled in freckles that he could only image she got from running in the sun of her home country. His body responded to the lack of her touch more than it ever responded to Grace. “Are there ever moments when it isn’t?”

“Yes,” said Will. “Of course. Love can feel like many things. It can feel like coming home after a long trip away. It can feel like all of your favorite things wrapped up into one thing. It can also be quiet and simple. An unconscious act, like holding hands or a quick glance in the person’s direction.”

“Are you talking about your love for mam?”

“I’m talking about my love for all of you,” said Will, with a gleam in his eye that hadn’t been there before. “What’s this about, Jamie? Do you fear you don’t love Miss Carstairs or that she doesn’t love you?”

Jamie let his head fall back against the chair and stared at the golden etchings in the crown molding of the ceiling. The way the paint caught the light made it look like the ceiling was full of stars. He didn’t know how he felt or what was real anymore. 

When he’d arrived at the Lightwood House, where Grace was in his aunt Cecily’s charge, he’d made up his mind to tell her that it was over between them. At least until his marriage to Cordelia was over, but then hadn’t he plotted on ways to extend it? The timing wouldn’t be right for a divorce. A year practically screamed a sham wedding. What of the children? Poor Matthew, Lucie, Anna, Christopher, Thomas… they’d have to pick sides. They’d choose Cordelia, of course. 

A year, as your wife, is not possibly long enough.

Hadn’t he thought as much only hours before seeing Grace.

Grace. He thought about the dream, when he was running towards the light, but his muscles felt weighted. When he saw Grace that night, his muscles had felt similar, as if he had no control over them. A dull, ache settled over his excited bones. She pulled at him as easily as the moon pulled the tide. 

Yet, when she tilted her head up for him to kiss her, it didn’t feel as if it were all together his own decision. When her hands stripped him of his coat and unbuttoned his shirt, exposing his chest underneath, it felt like strings were operating his hands and feet.

And wasn’t he almost grateful when Lucie and Cordelia had come through the door?

Cordelia, the way her eyes had expanded and the sharp inhale of breath. She’d even reached for the door to allow him and Grace their privacy. 

I’ll not be unfaithful to you, he’d promised. 

The chair slid when he pushed himself to his feet and walked the five paces to the fireplace and slammed his hands onto the mantle relishing in the pain he felt through his palms. 

“Jamie,” said Will from behind him, “Whatever it is son, you can talk to me.”

“She left me,” he said for the first time since it happened. “And I don’t think she’s coming back. What do I do? I don’t know what to do.”

“In my experience there is only one thing that you can do,” Will shrugged. “You go after her.”

“And then what?”

Will thought on it a moment, his eyes held James, and behind the icy blue of them and all of his sarcastic comments, Jamie knew that there was years of knowledge. “You tell her the truth.”

“What if I don’t know what the truth is?”

“If you don’t know then you should let her go.”

“I don’t want to lose her.” When he picked up his head, his father looked at him with a look that could be misunderstood as pity, but was actually understanding. “I don’t know that what I feel for her is love, but I know that I want her in my life.”

“As much as you desire Miss Blackthorn in your life?” 

More. He thought but cringed. 

“You said that Herondale men only love once!” Jamie raised his voice at his father in a way that he never had before. “I’ve been holding onto that my entire life. If I’m in love with Grace then I cannot possibly be in love with someone else.”

“Are you in love with Grace?”

“I—“ The answer seemed to want to come out of his throat on its own- like it was being pulled by an invisible thread. An instinct or a compulsion.

Yes! Of course he was. He always had been, but… 

Before he could answer, the door to the library burst open and entered a string of people lead by Tessa and followed by Lucie, Matthew, Magnus Bane, and a disgruntled Church who seemed to be judging James as harshly as everyone else.

“That thing right there!” Lucie pointed her index finger at James the way she used to do when they were children and she was casting the blame onto James for breaking a vase or lighting the couch on fire. 

It didn’t occur to him until Magnus reached for his wrist that Lucie was pointing at his bracelet. Magnus’s careful fingers sent a tingle up James’s skin as he examined the bracelet externally. His eyes, the irises horizontal slits instead of round, appraised the piece of jewelry as if it were a weapon that might spontaneously combust.

When he touched it, his eyes snapped closed. His eyes danced back and forth under his eyelids as if he were reading a scroll. The room was silent, except for Church cleaning himself on the chair he’d stollen back from James. Everyone was watching Magnus except for Will who was watching his son with intent. 

After what felt like several minutes, Magnus dropped James’s wrist and stepped away. His hand noticeably shaking.

“What is it Magnus?” Tessa asked, breaking the silence. “What did you see?”

“How long have you been wearing this tragic piece of jewelry?”

“Since I was thirteen?”

“How old are you now?” 

“Seventeen.”

Magnus looked surprised and looked down to count on his fingers as if to make sure James was telling him the truth. When he was satisfied, he dropped his hand again and looked back at James. 

“Is it enchanted?” Lucie asked. Her hair was coming loose from the delicate braid she’d kept it in. A leaf stuck out from behind her ear. James wondered how much of London she uncovered looking for Cordelia and felt a pain in his chest. 

“It is,” said Magnus before promptly slapping Will’s hand when he reached for his son’s wrist. “Don’t touch it. Unless you desire to fall madly, however blindly, in love with Grace Blackthorn.”

Will looked at Tessa. “I don’t prefer blondes.” 

Tessa tilted her head in annoyance, as if to say now was not the time, but James could see the blush rising out of her cheeks and felt like leaving the room. 

“It won’t matter what you prefer,” said Magnus, “you won’t have a choice. This bracelet contains a powerful dark magic that compels whoever wears it to obey the previous owner.”

Lucie said something that earned her a stern look from her parents. Matthew looked pleased. 

“Have you ever taken it off?” Magnus asked.

“Once,” said James.

“Why?”

“Because Grace asked for it back after she— she became engaged to someone else.” 

He wanted to step out of the room for a moment as everything started to piece together in his head. The bracelet was enchanted. Enchanted with magic. Enchanted with a spell that compelled the person wearing it to fall madly, blindly in love with its owner. Grace. 

None of it had been real?

But it felt real. 

Magnus cursed. “As I suspected.”

Tessa grabbed James’s arm. “What is it, Magnus? Can’t he just take it off now and you can disenchant it?”

“Wouldn’t it be wonderful if it were that simple?” Magnus took a long inhale. “No, I’m afraid he needs to be compelled to take it off by the owner, otherwise the spell will still be on James.”

“Why even wear the bracelet then?” Matthew, who had shared his thoughts countless times on the tackiness of the thing, believing himself that Jamie’s color was clearly gold. “If the spell is going to linger like a bad decision.”

“The bracelet makes the spell stronger,” Magnus explained. “I’m not sure what the repercussions of removing it from James would be? It could be normal. It could be devastating. Anyone care to find out?”

“Don’t you dare,” said Tessa, at the same time James answered, “Take it off.”

“James,” Tessa gasped. “Did you not hear what he just said? We don’t know what will happen.”

“I need to know.” He looked from his mother’s worried eyes to his father’s apprehensive gaze. “I need to know if any of it is real. I need to know that what Magnus is saying is true because if it is…”

I’ve just made a terrible mistake. 

“Look on the bright side,” said Matthew, now standing beside the fireplace, “at least you weren’t enchanted to be in love with Tatiana Blackthorn.”

[sselkie]

C H A R A C T E R     S T U D Y     ⇁     ( 1 / ? )

I. 

   They never knew who to blame it on. The gender. The sex. Perhaps the doctor was the best choice. He had always insisted that it would be a boy; a strong, healthy baby boy that would make his parents proud. He would play football, listen to classical music, become a lawyer. God was sending them a saint. The perfect son. Except you were not a saint, or a son for that matter. Someone had to paint the crib pink and buy some dresses. In fact, all the pants would have to go. Even the binkies and the bibs were the wrong colors. And they certainly couldn’t name a little girl Penley. Only a monster would do that.

   The first words that graced your ears were from that of the doctor, a statement twisted into a question. “It’s . . a girl?” Then your parents had clamored, began panicking. “Wrap her up in a pink blanket! Get rid of the blue — you told us it’d be a boy!” A baby girl. What a nuisance. They’d raise you as their daughter, and what would you do? You’d just take someone else’s name in the end, continue on a different person’s legacy. Bullshit. Total bullshit. But what could they do?

   Yet, they took you home. Long, sleepless nights exchanged between your parents. It should come as a surprise that they refused to hire a nanny with their deep pockets. Part of you might always wonder how they could want you and care for you as a child: screaming, helpless, annoying.

II. 

   For years, they kept telling you a baby brother was on the way. Their expected prince. But for years they couldn’t seem to make it happen. The longer they failed, the farther pregnancy seemed away. Your hopeful little smile dipped farther from returning each time the announcement was retracted. Nonetheless, your father would go out and buy a bouquet each time he’d think they’d done it. You’d sit by them for a few hours each day, memorizing the different colors and the droop of the petals, until eventually you couldn’t help but touch them. The velvety petals would roll between your clumsy fingers and if you didn’t accidentally take one off, then the next morning you’d return and they’d have retracted. 

   It tended to be those same days your parents would get into a heated discussion — the doctor informing them that no, they were not pregnant though you’d tried your best to beg him for a different answer. You would proceed to coax the flower back out, talking till your throat was raw, and your mom peppered you with kisses to inform you that bedtime had arrived. The connection was simple to reach for, but you’d always eventually give in and feel the petals between your fingers. You’d certainly love a baby brother with golden hair like yours, but he was not here and you could not solve that. You loved the flowers, and it was too trying not to strain for their embrace.

   Other days, Mama would set up a picnic out back, the woods edging against your backyard and the wildflowers calling you from a distance. Those were the times that Dad would be at work all day. You’d fill your mother’s antique tea-set with your special punch — melted popsicles, and sip away under the Indiana sunshine. She’d let you run free, go screaming victoriously into the forest. Those were different times. Sometimes you’d come back without a shirt, your skirt riding high in all your childhood glory and she’d lift you up into her arms and chastise you with a smile. Then, you’d both disappear in the forest looking for the lost articles of clothing as she talked about how children of God were supposed to wear clothes and that you were not a witch, not like the people far down the street.

III.

   The news came too soon. Father fumed for days, raving on and on about how that this wasn’t his fault. Given, you didn’t learn till years later that it truly wasn’t. There was no chance for that baby brother you and your mother dreamed about aloud on sunny, summer days. Hope lay stagnant between your parents, but hidden in your underbelly waiting for a new dream to arise. Dormant, realizing that they had hit a wall, Mama and Dad never recovered. Weekends spent watching reruns of Tom and Jerry interchangeably with them were warped into something else. A nightmare you never understood of vodka, rum, wine, beer, anything really. 

   Being perfectly honest, the difficult part was never tucking yourself in at night. It was that you still loved them when they would not give in to your childish pleas of coming home, going inside, and just falling asleep. So that your worrying may not warp your dreams into nightmares. From there, alcohol was the easiest thing to erase from your future.

   But with fifth grade arrived a project. It hadn’t seemed significant at first, just wasteful. You didn’t want to spend the time prepping a tri-fold when you could be running rampant in the woods outside or riding your bike to the park or painting. At some point your parents had even cracked and bought you an easel once they’d tired of constant finger-painting. Of course, you’d rather be tracing dandelions than doing homework. With topics being plucked up within days of the two week assignment, you scrambled for whatever was thrown your way. That was when you knew what you wanted. The job fair had gone smoothly; the idea of being a real life police officer racing through your mind. That concept, the possibility of helping people snagged under your skin.

IV.

   Teenage years passed as a blur in your peripheral vision. They were years of confusion, certainly. You definitely weren’t interested in sex, though you assumed you’d just wait till you found the right person. Additionally, you never bothered dating; you’d rather ignore how you’d always need to strike up a conversation with Jen from physics. 

   Eventually, your parents gave up on trying to sell you the life of a florist as opposed to that of a police officer. In fact, they struggled for anything else they could get you to do. A nurse. A mother. A teacher. A waitress. A secretary.  “Please, anything, but a man’s job.” Your mom was known to beg and for a while you had made them happy as a waitress, saving money and waiting till you could move out. 

   It was no big shock to most in the church community when you were offered a job. You still do not understand your parent’s complete disdain. Many people aren’t thick-skulled. They had accepted the possibility of a woman working a man’s job. Still, the offer was huge to a girl like you. It has been what you’d wanted since forever. You’d have to attend the police academy, not too far from Wheeler, but not within the town limits. In return, you were promised a job at the Wheeler Police Department and half of your tuition paid for.

   You accepted without hesitation and with a noticeable lack of any conversation exchanged with your parents on the topic. Inevitably, the good news couldn’t be stifled for long. Believe it or not, you knew right when they knew; father insisted you were to leave. Your mom, as always, only offered a saddening smile behind his back. You took what was important: your flower pots, bed, bike, clothes, painting supplies, and toothbrush. And in a fit of frustration and rage, you dumped their wine stand onto the floor. The glass and alcohol pooled into a mosaic; one that you can still remember, a message from God no doubt hidden somewhere in it. But you were gone, sprinting out the door and swinging into your friend’s pick-up before it could speak to you. As far as you know it still sits there, waiting to be translated.

V.

   Two and a half years passed quicker than you expected and graduation occurred late April. It was the ceremony that churned by in two and a half years rather than two and a half hours. You achieved near two disembodied claps after your name rang across the stage. There was no “that’s my girl” or cowbell echoing distantly. 

   Within the week after, you had your hand on the bible and an apartment. The week after that, your first day on the job. An early birthday present, better than lamenting in the Chinese restaurant for the third year in a row. 

   Soon though, it seemed that with your hiring came an avalanche of horror. Cassie Klein’s disappearance. You’d broken down in the brush behind the Klein’s house less than an hour after arriving on the scene, praying to God that he need not do this. This karma was reserved for you, not a child. And yet, it appeared he hadn’t listened, not since you had cried till utterly raw with blood dripping from your nose.

   These mental breaks were never supposed to become ritual. But ever since her disappearance (one year exactly), you cannot catch a break. You want to do good so badly that maybe you don’t know when to quit, but you’d like to learn how to do better.

[thelastblueheart]

I love you like rlb

THIS IS NOT MINE!!! This was originally posted by tolieawake but has since been deleted. I was able to get my hands on it and have shared it since it is a fandom classic. Please credit them as the writer!

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I love you like rlb has become a well-known, accepted and valuable component of American vernacular. The meaning of the letters ‘rlb’ is unknown, but is uniformly considered to be a statement of a great romantic love, commitment and sacrifice.

In which Tony goes insane trying to figure out why that phrase affects the Cap so much, Bucky teases the press, and Steve and Bucky love each other like rlb.

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I love you like rlb The first time he saw it, Steve stopped dead in his tracks and stared. Tony, who was walking and talking and gesticulating wildly all at the same time (the way that Tony does), didn't notice at first. When he did, he frowned, spun on his heel and headed back to where Steve was standing. “You okay, Cap?” he asked, tugging his sunglasses just far enough down his nose that he could peer at Steve over them. “Fine,” Steve mumbled, but he couldn't quite tear his eyes away. He was staring at the large glass window of the shop beside him or, rather, he was staring through the window at the brightly coloured t-shirt hanging on the mannequin. It was a vivid shade of blue, with yellow swirls crossing it, and white text proudly displayed across the chest. I love you like rlb it proclaimed proudly. “What?” Tony asked, “you never seen that saying before?” Steve swallowed, but didn't answer. Behind the mannequin was a rack of t-shirts, in various colours and patterns, all proclaiming the same thing – I love you like rlb. “I -” Steve started, before stopping to clear his throat. “Do you know what it means?” he asked. “Uh, it's just a saying, Cap,” Tony replied. “You know, like LOL or Got Milk? Roses are red. A prominent part of our popular culture that people use without really thinking about it.” He shrugged. “I don't think anyone knows where it comes from, or what the 'rlb' means – but everyone just takes it to mean, you know, like a declaration of love or something. Lots of love. Lots and lots of love.” He frowned. “I gave Pepper an I love you like rlb bracelet once. Real fancy, solid gold, she wears it occasionally.” He paused his rapid-fire rambling long enough to stare at Steve. “You sure you okay, Cap? 'Cos you look like you seen a ghost or something.” Tony paused. “You haven't seen a ghost, have you?” “No, no, it's just...” Steve let his voice trail off, hands tilted out to the side as he shrugged helplessly. How could he possibly explain it. “I don't know if it's related,” he said, “but some of the guys used to say that, during the war.” “Huh,” Tony said. He turned to look in the window at the t-shirts. “I mean, I know the saying's been around for a long time. One of those things that no-one is quite sure where it started or who said it first.” “Dernier,” Steve muttered. “What?” Shaking his head, Steve took a step away from the display, visibly pulling himself together. “Nothing,” he said. Shoving his hands into his pockets (to stop the shaking he wouldn't admit to), he turned and headed back down the street. “Don't we have somewhere to be?” he asked. - “JARVIS,” Steve said, standing in the middle of his floor of Avengers Tower (because Tony was ridiculous like that about giving them all things), “can you do some research for me, please?” “Certainly, Captain Rogers,” JARVIS replied smoothly. “What would you like me to research?” “I... I saw something today,” Steve said, “while I was out with Tony. He said that it was just a common saying, but...” letting his voice trail off he sighed, scrubbing one hand through his hair. “Sorry, I'm not explaining this right.” “Perhaps you could start with the saying?” JARVIS suggested. “Right, yes, of course.” Taking a deep breath, Steve forced the words – words he'd thought he'd never hear again, through his lips. “I love you like rlb,” he said. His voice cracked and he cleared his throat. There was a stinging in the backs of his eyes, but he resolutely ignored it. “That is a common saying,” JARVIS informed him with a thoughtful hum. “What is it that you would like to know about it?” “Does anyone know where it comes from?” Steve asked. “Tony said no, but, well, I thought maybe it's just not well-known? Or, does anyone know when it started? What it means?” “One moment, please,” JARVIS requested, before making another humming sound. Steve knew it was the sound JARVIS made to let him know he was thinking – or rather, running searches and collating information. Stumbling backwards, Steve let himself fall down onto his couch, grabbing the nearest cushion and almost ripping it apart as he held it tightly, hands clenching in the fabric. “While there does not appear to be any documented origin for the saying,” JARVIS said calmly, his smoothly modulated voice helping to calm Steve, “it is generally attributed as a saying which emerged among American troops during World War II. Returning soldiers brought the saying back to American soil with them. This origin in the War leant a certain romantic slant to the saying, which has persisted to this day. “Interestingly, french troops also carried the saying home to France after the war, which suggests that it was well-known enough that it transferred between Allied troops. Or was known to the resistance. It is also used fairly extensively in all Allied countries, but most prominently in America. “In 1951, it made its first appearance on merchandising – as a small engraving on pendants, which were sold by the Goldman Jewelry company. Stark Industries was involved in the design of the pendants.” Steve sucked a sharp breath in. “Since then,” JARVIS continued, “the phrase has appeared on various items of merchandise continually through the years; although the merchandise itself has changed, the phrase has never fallen out of use. It has been accepted as part of the current American and French vernacular, and appears in numerous romantic comedies, romance novels, and cards, as well as on items of clothing, jewelry, plaques and also tattoos. “The meaning of the letters 'rlb' is unknown, but is uniformly considered to be a statement of a great romantic love, commitment and sacrifice.” Pushing his fist against his mouth, Steve bit at his knuckles, trying to choke down the sob rising in his throat. “In the 1980s,” JARVIS continued, “the phrase was picked up by a number of gay rights campaigners and has since been used proudly by the community. However, evidence suggests that even before that time, and certainly since, it has been used as a phrase to express love between partners, without reference to their sexual orientation. “As there has never been a documented point of origin for the phrase, companies have been able to create merchandise freely, and therefore, at this current time, there is a proliferation of merchandising available. “Despite its unknown origins, and the lack of clarity around its exact meaning, I love you like rlb has become a well-known, accepted and valuable component of American vernacular. I am sorry that I am unable to provide you with the exact meaning of the letters rlb or of a more precise origin.” Sucking in a deep breath, Steve leant back against the couch, blinking rapidly. “It's okay,” he said, ignoring the way his voice cracked once more. “Thanks, JARVIS.” “You are welcome, Captain. If I may, you appear to be experiencing some distress. Would you like me to alert Mr Stark? Or perhaps one of the other inhabitants of the Tower? Miss Potts is currently upstairs and has finished work for the day.” “No,” Steve said, shaking his head. “No, I'm fine. I'll be fine. I just -” Getting up, he stumbled towards his bedroom, shaking lightly and half-tripping over his feet. JARVIS made a concerned sound before falling silent. - The next day, Steve pulled out some jeans, a baseball cap, hoodie and sunglasses, and braved the craziness of 21st century shopping in order to buy a few things. The watch with the engraving on the back went on his wrist. The sweatpants and t-shirt were shoved into a bag, to become his sleeping clothes. The fake dog-tags – well, he got them to add one with a simple string of numbers on it (32557) – and then slung them around his neck, letting them fall down beside his own, real, dog-tags. It wasn't much, wasn't nearly enough, but somehow, it made him feel better. - The fight with the Winter Soldier was nothing like anything Steve had encountered so far in this new century. The Soldier fought hard and fast and with an edge to his movements, despite the precision and grace and obvious training, that made Steve think of back alleys in Brooklyn. His team were yelling on the comm, Hawkeye hissing because neither Steve nor the Soldier would stand still long enough for him to safely take a shot. Iron Man was circling overhead, the Hulk standing nearby and looking ready to smash given half a chance. Widow was racing towards their position, ready to enter the fray. Thor cheered them both on as brave warriors. Then the Soldier grabbed at Steve, and somehow, during the fight, his helmet had been knocked off and the top of his uniform torn just enough that the Soldier's fingers closed over the chain around his neck, tugging and twisting. Steve ducked and rolled to prevent strangulation, even as he snapped his arm out, desperate to grab his dog-tags back. The Soldier froze, gaze fixated on the tags dangling from his hand, eyes widening and punching the breath from Steve's lungs even as his brain scrabbled to find a reason for his reaction. “Cap?” Hawkeye called. “I have a shot.” “Wait,” Steve said. He glanced down at the tags, noticing that the Soldier had grabbed his fake ones, and his eyes were fixed on that phrase. The saying. I love you like rlb Slowly, the Soldier raised his eyes to Steve's. “What?” he asked. His voice was muffled beneath his mask, and Steve found himself stepping forward, reaching out to gently remove the mask. His heart was pounding in his chest and he lost his breath as soon as the mask came away. There were tears in his eyes (he ignored them), and his heart was pounding (faster than he ever remembered it being since the serum). “Bucky,” he whispered. Slowly Bucky (because those were Bucky's eyes, even as they struggled against confusion and the blank stare of the Soldier) formed the words. “I love you like rlb,” he said. - “I'm just saying,” Tony said, “it's a little strange. First, Cap freaks out about the saying when he sees it on some t-shirts, and now the Winter Soldier – the Winter Soldier! - uses it to somehow break the insane amounts of brainwashing he was under.” Clint shrugged. “They say it originated in the war somewhere,” he said. “Maybe Cap was there when it first started.” “And the Soldier?” Tony asked. “We were.” The team turned to see Steve step into the room. His hair was still wet from his shower, and his eyes were suspiciously red and bright. There was a cautious hope in his eyes that made them realise just how withdrawn he'd been. Steve nodded towards the observation window they were all arrayed in front of. On the other side, the Winter Soldier sat at a table, staring down at the dog-tags still clutched in his fist. His hair hung over his face, so they couldn't see it clearly, but he'd been suspiciously quiet and compliant since he had been taken into custody. “We?” Bruce asked, eyes darting over Steve, assessing him. Steve gave him a tight smile. “We,” he repeated. He nodded towards the Soldier. “His name is James Buchanan Barnes. He's my best friend. He -” Steve cut himself off, taking a breath and swallowing. Then he shrugged. “We were there the first time Dernier said it – I don't think he meant for us to hear, but we did.” His gaze turned un-focused, looking off somewhere they couldn't see. - “Are you insane?” Dum Dum hissed, staring at Dernier through the rain. He scowled. “You know what you're risking.” Dernier shrugged, glancing over his own shoulder at where Gabe was sitting under the flap of their tent. “I know,” he agreed. “And I wouldn't risk it for just anything, but I love him like rlb.” “Rlb?” Bucky asked, stepping up beside Steve and frowning through the rain. “What are they talking about?” Steve shrugged, shaking his head. “I'm not sure,” he said, brow furrowed. - Shoving his meager supplies into a pack, Steve slung it up onto his shoulder, turning to face his men. “I don't expect you to follow me,” he said, “but I do ask that you don't try to stop me.” “What's going on?” Falsworth asked, stepping into the tent and glancing around at them. ��What do you think?” Morita asked, “we got another rlb situation.” Steve blinked. “What?” he asked, before shaking his head. “Never mind. The rendezvous is in two hours, north-east from here. Get to the pick-up point and -” “No offense, Cap,” Falsworth interrupted, “but we're not going to the rendezvous.” “No chance,” Dum Dum agreed. “You're going after Barnes. So are we.” Steve shook his head. “I can't ask you to -” “You're not asking, we're offering,” Gabe said, pushing himself to his feet. Around them, the others nodded. - They trooped into base camp six days later, covered in mud, tired, hungry, but with Barnes by their sides (well, by Steve's side). Phillips took one look at them, before shaking his head. “Rlb?” he asked. “Rlb,” Falsworth agreed with a nod. - “You got a girl back home?” Steve paused, glancing over at the small huddle of soldiers, grouped around a fire and sharing stories. “Yeah,” one of the others replied. He pulled a worn photo out of his pocket, holding it out to show the others. “This here is my gal,” he replied. “Prettiest gal around.” “Nice sweetheart,” another soldier commented. He shook his head. “Nah, not just a sweetheart,” he said. “This is the gal I'm gonna marry, I love her like rlb.” The others nodded, smiling understandingly. - “Hey Steve,” Bucky murmured, shifting so that his face was smushed against Steve's neck, where they lay in their tent. “Mmm,” Steve agreed. A wicked smile curved Bucky's lips against Steve's skin. “I love you like rlb,” he said. Rolling his eyes – and his body – Steve turned so that he could look at Bucky. “Really, Buck?” he asked. Bucky just grinned back at him. “What?” he asked. “Haven't you figured out what it stands for yet?” “'Course I have,” Steve replied. “They're not as subtle as they think.” Bucky huffed a laugh. “But you coulda just said 'I love you',” Steve continued. “Coulda,” Bucky agreed. “But I like this better. You know, I heard some soldiers use it earlier today, like it's something special, something more than just 'I love you'. I like that.” “You would,” Steve agreed. Reaching out, he traced his hand over Bucky's forehead, his nose, his cheek. Bucky turned his head, pressing a kiss against Steve's palm. “I love you like rlb, Buck,” Steve said. - “And this is the common floor,” Tony proclaimed, spreading his arms wide and spinning around as he indicated the area they had just stepped into. Behind him, Bucky (because he was all Bucky now, no more Winter Soldier), stared around and gave a low whistle. “Would you look at that,” he said, turning to grin at Steve. “You've been hanging with the rich kids.” Smiling (he hadn't stopped smiling since Bucky had first hugged him, pulling Steve close in the tiny cell they had him in, pressing his lips to Steve's neck and mouthing those words against his skin I love you like rlb), Steve gave a small shrug. “Just one rich kid,” he said. “But a very rich one.” “That's right,” Tony agreed. “So, if you need anything, just let me know. If I don't have it already, I'm pretty sure I can get it for you.” “Got any I love you like rlb t-shirts?” Bucky asked, casting a sly grin at Steve. Tony gaped at him. “What?” he asked, before stopping and shaking his head. “No, don't tell me, I don't want to know,” he said (even though he did really want to know). “JARVIS, please order Barnes some t-shirts.” “Certainly, Sir,” JARVIS agreed easily. - Bucky tended to wear his I love you like rlb t-shirts around the Tower – whenever he wasn't in uniform, he could be found lounging around in one of the shirts. Steve would always give him a soft smile when he saw the shirts, and Tony was fairly sure that was at least half the reason they had basically become Barnes' signature wardrobe. So it wasn't that surprising when he wore one to his first press interview. At least, it wasn't surprising to the Avengers (even if it was driving Tony crazy that Barnes refused to tell him just why he liked the shirts so much), even if it did surprise the press. “Sergeant Barnes,” a reporter asked. “I notice you're wearing a t-shirt with the popular phrase I love you like rlb emblazoned across it. I was just wondering, was this a particular choice? Does it have any significant meaning for you?” Bucky blinked, staring back at the reporter, before turning to look at Steve. “They don't know?” he asked, sounding slightly incredulous (but with that underlying hint of humour that suggested he knew exactly what he was doing and that his incredulity was all part of some crazy plan he had – Tony still couldn't quite believe the things that guy could talk Cap into when his voice took on that edge). “Bucky,” Steve sighed, with a roll of his eyes, but he made no move to stop him. Turning back to the reporters, Bucky smiled sweetly at them. “Sure it means something to me,” he said. “I mean, I was surprised that anyone even remembered this crazy saying.” He gave a small shrug. “I think it was Gabe as first used it,” he said. “Dernier,” Steve softly corrected him. “Right,” Bucky agreed with a laugh, “Dernier.” “Are you telling us,” the reporter asked, eyes wide, “that you know of the first instance of this iconic phrase being used?” “Sure,” Bucky said. “At least, I know it was the guys as first started using it. Not sure if I heard the very first time they said it – it wasn't something they used to say in front of Steve or I, at first.” “Why not?” Bucky laughed again. “Because it was about us,” he replied with a grin. “They didn't want us to know they'd caught on.” Another shrug. “Thought they were being so clever, so subtle.” He shook his head with a fond smile. “Dernier said it about Gabe.” “Jacques Dernier and Gabe Jones,” a reporter asked, “who, years after the war, confirmed that they had been in a romantic relationship since the war?” “And during,” Bucky agreed easily. “And yeah, Dernier said he loved Gabe 'like rlb'. They used it all the time – well, not necessarily the whole 'I love you like rlb', but 'rlb'. Like it was some super secret code they'd made up. Steve's about to do something stupid 'cos I got cut off from the guys again, it's an 'rlb situation'. Explaining to Phillips why we were late to a rendezvous, 'sorry General, but rlb, you know?'” Next to them, Tony was gaping – he was a genius, okay, so he'd figured it out. “And the rlb,” the first reporter asked, leaning forward, “what does that stand for?” Bucky laughed. “Rogers loves Barnes, of course,” he said. - There was a violent and prolific reaction to Bucky's statement. Tony claimed they'd broken the Internet (Steve was fairly sure that was impossible, but he let Tony think he'd convinced them of it), and for a while, none of the reporters were interested in anything else. But, when it came down to it, things were no different. Bucky wore his t-shirts around the Tower, and would lie next to Steve at night, mouthing the words into his skin. Somehow, the fact that this, of everything they'd done and said, of all the history that had been written about them, that this was the thing that lasted and thrived the most – it made Bucky grin. “I always said we had a love like one of those epic romances,” he told Steve fondly. Steve snorted. “You did not,” he replied, “you said I was a punk and that you'd better stick by me 'cos otherwise I'd get myself killed.” Bucky shrugged. “That, too,” he agreed easily. Then he grinned, bright and brilliant, the kind of grin that chased away the lingering shadows of his pain and guilt for a moment. “Still, we're like, the definition of romantic love in this century,” he said. “That's gotta count for something.” “I don't know about that,” Steve replied, “but I do know I love you.” “Like rlb?” Bucky asked. “Sure,” Steve agreed with a laugh, “I love you like rlb. Now sit still, Jerk, I'm trying to draw you.”

[cacoxthes]

 C H A R A C T E R     S T U D Y       ⇁     ( 1 / 1 )

I. 

   They never knew who to blame it on. The gender. The sex. Perhaps the doctor was the best choice. He had always insisted that it would be a boy; a strong, healthy baby boy that would make his parents proud. He would play football, listen to classical music, become a lawyer. God was sending them a saint. The perfect son. Except you were not a saint, or a son for that matter. Someone had to paint the crib pink and buy some dresses. In fact, all the pants would have to go. Even the binkies and the bibs were the wrong colors. And they certainly couldn’t name a little girl Penley. Only a monster would do that.

   The first words that graced your ears were from that of the doctor, a statement twisted into a question. “It’s . . a girl?” Then your parents had clamored, began panicking. “Wrap her up in a pink blanket! Get rid of the blue — you told us it’d be a boy!” A baby girl. What a nuisance. They’d raise you as their daughter, and what would you do? You’d just take someone else’s name in the end, continue on a different person’s legacy. Bullshit. Total bullshit. But what could they do?

II. 

   For years, they kept telling you a baby brother was on the way. Their expected prince. But for years they couldn’t seem to make it happen. The longer they failed, the farther pregnancy seemed away. Your hopeful little smile dipping farther from returning each time the announcement was retracted. Nonetheless, your father would go out and buy a bouquet each time he’d think they’d done it. You’d sit by them for a few hours each day, memorizing the different colors and the droop of the petals, until eventually you couldn’t help but touch them. The velvety petals would roll between your clumsy fingers and if you didn’t accidentally take one off, then the next morning you’d return and they’d have retracted. 

   It tended to be those same days your parents would get into a heated discussion — the doctor informing them that no, they were not pregnant. You would proceed to coax the flower back out, talking till your throat was raw, and your mom peppered you with kisses to inform you that bedtime had arrived. The connection was simple to reach for, but you’d always eventually give in and feel the petals between your fingers. You’d certainly love a baby brother with golden hair like yours, but he was not here and you could not solve that. You loved the flowers, and it was too trying not to strain for their embrace.

   Other days, Mama would set up a picnic out back, the woods edging against your backyard and the wildflowers calling you from a distance. Those were the times that Dad would be at work all day. You’d fill your mother’s antique tea-set with your special punch — melted popsicles, and sip away under the Indiana sunshine. She’d let you run free, go screaming victoriously into the forest. Those were different times. Sometimes you’d come back without a shirt, your skirt riding high in all your childhood glory and she’d lift you up into her arms and chastise you with a smile. Then, you’d both disappear in the forest looking for the lost articles of clothing as she talked about how children of God were supposed to wear clothes and that you were not a witch, not like the women far down the street. 

III.

   The news came too soon. Father fumed for days, raving on and on about how that this wasn’t his fault. Given, you didn’t learn till years later that it truly wasn’t. 

   There was no chance for that baby brother you and your mother dreamed about aloud on sunny, summer days. Hope lay stagnant between your parents, but hidden in your underbelly waiting for a new dream to arise. Dormant, realizing that they had hit a wall, Mama and Dad never recovered. Weekends spent watching reruns of Tom and Jerry interchangeably with them were warped into something else. A nightmare you never understood of vodka, rum, wine, beer, anything really. 

   Being perfectly honest, the difficult part was never tucking yourself in at night. It was that you still loved them when they would not give in to your childish pleas of coming home, going inside, and just falling asleep. So that your worrying may not warp your dreams into nightmares. From there, alcohol was the easiest thing to erase from your future.

   But with fifth grade arrived a project. It hadn’t seemed significant at first, just wasteful. You didn’t want to spend the time prepping a tri-fold when you could be running rampant in the woods outside or riding your bike to the park. With topics being plucked up within days of the two week assignment, you scrambled for whatever was thrown your way. The job fair had gone smoothly; the idea of being a real life police officer racing through your mind.

IV.

   Teenage years passed as a blur in your peripheral vision. Your parents, now better known as David and Sharon, gave up on trying to sell you the life of a florist as opposed to that of a police officer. In fact, they struggled for anything else they could get you to do. A nurse. A mother. A teacher. A waitress. A secretary. “Please, anything, but a man’s job.” Your mom was known to beg and for awhile you had made them happy as a waitress, saving money and waiting till you could move out.

   It was no big shock to most in the church community when you were offered a job. Many had accepted the possibility of a woman working a man’s job. Still, the offer was big, but it was what you’d wanted since forever. You’d have to attend the police academy, not too far from Wheeler, but not within the town limits. In return, you were promised a job at the Wheeler Police Department and half of your tuition paid for.

   You accepted without hesitation and lacking any conversation exchanged with your parents on the topic. The good news couldn’t be stifled for long and David kicked you out of the house. Your mom, as always, only offered a saddening smile behind his back. You took what was important: your flower pots, bed, bike, clothes, and toothbrush. And in a fit of frustration and rage, you dumped their wine stand onto the floor. The glass and alcohol pooled into a mosaic; one that you can still remember, a message from God no doubt hidden somewhere in it. But you were gone, sprinting out the door and swinging into your friend’s pick-up before it could speak to you. As far as you know it still sits there, waiting to be translated.

V.

   Two and a half years passed quicker than you expected and graduation occurred late April. It was the ceremony that churned by in two and a half years rather than two and a half hours. You achieved near two disembodied claps after your name rang across the stage. There was no “that’s my girl” or cowbell echoing distantly. 

   Within the week after, you had your hand on the bible and an apartment.

   The week after that, your first day on the job. An early birthday present, better than lamenting in the Chinese restaurant for the third year in a row. 

   Soon though, it seemed that with your hiring came an avalanche of horror. The crow was a joke. The stag head a scare. Cassie Klein though, that was your fault. You broke down in the brush behind the Klein’s house less than an hour after arriving on the scene, praying to God that he need not do this. His wrath would be better inflicted on you directly rather than on that little girl. You would quit. You would resign. You’d do whatever you had to to stop God’s vengeance from harming that sweet child and from tainting Wheeler. You cried until utterly raw, blood dripping from your nose.

[mapowrites]

Misericórdiae (Erwin Smith/OC)

Chapter 9: Thyme

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

(Art by http://koo-kachoo.tumblr.com/)

The late afternoon sun hung low in the sky, casting a magnificent spring evening upon the Trost district. Within the city’s bustling uptown, hoots and hollers were heard from the inside of an animated bar. Inside sat a few dozen military officers and civilians, drinking and talking merrily amongst themselves while a small ensemble of musicians played various gigues and folk songs for their patrons.

Hanji’s squad, including Rick and Lyor, sat at a long wooden table, each of them dressed in civilian garments. They were in the middle of a drinking game when Hanji, who sat at the head of the table, downed her fourth pint of beer and slammed it down proudly. Sitting adjacently to the squad leader was Lyor, and Moblit across from her. The seat beside Moblit was empty, as Keiji had gotten up to present the group (and the entire bar) with a song — The Fisherman’s Ballad.

The group cheered him on, but mocked him exuberantly for his handful of drunken voice cracks and attempts at dancing. Lyor stifled a giggle when Keiji nearly accidentally spilled his beer on the violinist, the mouthful of alcohol she had threatening to come up her nose if she laughed. She had been careful not to drink too much, but the heat in her face warned her to eat something before she continued.

Over the laughter that erupted from her group when Rashad threw ice cubes at Keiji, Lyor waved down a barmaid, and she thanked her when she was handed a menu.

“Food! Good call, Lyor.” The menu caught Nifa’s attention, who sat beside her. They perused the list of meals together before their view was obstructed by Hanji’s hand smacking the menu onto the table.

“Hey, hey! We’re here to get drunk, not to eat. You’ll slow the drunken-ing process!” Their squad leader slurred, while Moblit made sure she didn’t tip over in her chair, muttering about how she can’t just make up words.

“Hanji, I haven’t eaten since lunch. I’ll remind you that you’re the one who cut my dinner early when you snuck us out of the graduation ceremony early,” Lyor retorted, watching Hanji teeter in her seat before returning to her menu. “I don’t want to be sick.”

“Goody-goody…”

“Oh, how was the ceremony?” Nifa asked, genuinely interested. Lyor opened her mouth to reply, but Hanji interrupted.

“Long and boring! I can’t believe I was the only one who showed up!” Hanji leaned over to bunch Lyor’s cheeks in her hands. “Our poor, abandoned newbie.”

“None of us had the day off!” Moblit objected while Lyor smacked Hanji’s hands away.

“I know that, but apparently Hanji can’t keep track of her squad members’ schedules,” Lyor jabbed, glaring at her boss, but then offering a smile to her teammate. “Don’t worry about it, Moblit.”

“You know, I know of a person who had today off, but curiously enough, I didn’t see him anywhere,” Hanji commented, leaning back in her chair, while Keiji finally regained his seat only to be assaulted with insults about his singing by the rest of the group. Lyor pretended not to hear Hanji and stuck her nose back into her menu. “Did his invitation get lost in the mail?”

Still pretending not to hear her, Lyor hummed thoughtfully at the menu. “I wonder what their best dish is…”

The brunette huffed, and placed her elbow on the table to lean her cheek into her hand. “So, are you going to tell me what it is you two are fighting about?”

“We’re not fighting.” Lyor stated flatly, flipping the menu over, her eyes still focused on the list of meals.

“Okay, are you going to tell me what is you two are not fighting about that keeps you from talking to each other?”

“What about the chicken breast?”

“What about ‘Lyor’s two years old’?”

“Never heard of it. Is that a soup?”

Hanji huffed and gave up, ordering another beer from the bar from her spot. “You’re impossible.”

“Oh, you’re right, ‘you’re impossible’ is the soup dish.”

The group ordered another round of drinks and a few meals for the hungry ones, and they fell back into another heated discussion about whether or not Hanji had a crush on Shadis. Hanji was in the middle of grabbing Rashad by his shirt collar when Lyor’s laughter was interrupted by the sight of two men entering the bar. She quickly averted her eyes when she risked to meet blue ones.

“Squad leader Erwin! Mike! You made it!” Lyor watched Moblit stand from the table to greet the two men. Lyor couldn’t help but watch Erwin out of the corner of her eye while he conversed with the younger man. Effortlessly handsome, as always, he wore a casual dress coat over his usual civilian combo — white button up and slacks — and he paired his outfit with an indiscernible expression. He had yet to notice her, but for the briefest second, while Lyor eyed him, he was the only person in the room who existed.

“Come have a seat and discuss my personal life with us! It’s apparently up for debate.” Hanji chimed from her seat to her old friends, her smile betrayed by the passive-aggressive vein popping in the side of her temple, and the handful of Rashad’s shirt in her fist.

“When is it not?” Erwin retorted, and Lyor forced herself not to laugh.

“Two more beers please!” Rick called as the two men took a seat across and on the opposite end of the table from Lyor.

Over the music and the chatter, the barmaids brought the group their drinks, and Keiji stood after a few minutes, albeit unsteadily, and raised his pint in the air.

“To our new squad leader, Hanji!”

“Hear, hear!” The group answered, and they each raised their glasses. Smiling, Lyor’s eyes wandered to the other end of the table. Her eyes met Erwin’s across the way, who also held up his glass with an easygoing smile, before his blue eyes reminded her of the regret he had caused her. She pulled her gaze away, and saw Hanji stand up in her peripheral vision, her drink raised high. She could still feel his gaze on her.

“Not another speech, Hanji!”

“Silence!” She snapped, before regaining her seriousness with a hiccup. “And to our newbie’s graduation! To Lyor!” Some of Hanji’s beer spilled on the table, and Nifa and Abel inched away from it, laughing, while Moblit scolded his leader.

“Hear, hear!” And with that, the group collectively downed their umpteenth pint, applauding and cheering as Hanji bowed.

“Now, as per Recon Corps drinking protocol, honourees are subject to entertain their guests with a song,” Rashad recited matter-of-factly, folding his arms over his chest. Lyor watched the rest of the squad nod along. “We’ve heard Hanji sing —”

“Too many times!” “So now, pray tell, Lyor, what song will you grace us with tonight?”

From across the way, Erwin noticed Lyor’s flush spread even further on her face as her colleagues eyed her expectantly, and she waved her hands in panic. “What? No, I’m not any good!”

“A song, a song!” Someone twittered, and after the group broke into a chant, repeating ‘sing’ over and over again, the blond watched Lyor reluctantly get up from her spot. The group exploded into applause and cheers, and Erwin smiled to himself as he watched her make her way over to the group of musicians.

His eyes never left her figure as she leaned down to speak to the pianist, most likely requesting a song. He noticed the change in her appearance: she wore a tailored navy dress, intricate embroidery framing her décolleté, and the fit flattering her hourglass figure. He also noticed the small, elegant pearl earrings that hung from her ears, her brown locks pulled back into a half-do, tied with a thin, delicate ribbon. Paired with his finely tuned observational skills and Hanji’s habit of divulging information to him, he divined that she had gone to her graduation ceremony earlier that day.

Hanji had spoken with him about it, trying to set a time to pick him up in order to split the carriage ride cost with him, and she had been surprised when he told her he wasn’t going. Hanji, knowing the two were good friends, had tried to assure him she must have simply forgotten to invite him, but Erwin refused to show up to the event unannounced. Erwin was too occupied for frivolous matters to think anything of Lyor’s actions — or lack thereof — but he always wondered if something had happened to suddenly disjunct their friendship. He would have to congratulate her another time. But if anything had perturbed him, it was that she had given his gift to a certain brigadier general.

Ridding himself of any undesirable thoughts, Erwin took a swig of his cold, refreshing brew, and turned his attention to the musicians and Lyor, who stood, sheepishly, before her comrades. The group gave her another round of cheers as the pianist introduced the folksong with a few arpeggiated chords, and the young woman began to sing.

Come all you fair and tender girls, that flourish in your prime, beware, beware, keep your garden fair, let no man steal your thyme, let no man steal your thyme.

The folksong was slow and solemn, and it seemed to hush all commotion from the bar. She clearly wasn’t a singer, her timbre not remarkably high, but her voice was airy and delicate, and the notes were at least in tune. Erwin couldn’t help the smile that pulled at his lips as he attentively watched her. She placed a palm over her middle, as if monitoring the intake of her breaths.

For when your thyme, it is past and gone, he’ll care no more for you, and every place where your time was waste, will all spread over with rue…

“Will all spread over with rue.” Erwin, lost in her words, only noticed the male voice that sang in unison when Lyor’s expression shifted.

Everyone, including Erwin, followed her surprised glance across the floor, and they spotted Markus, sitting at a table of MP’s in the corner of the bar. The officer stood as the music continued, the sleeves of his chemise rolled up, and a vest donned around his middle. His green eyes never left hers. Involuntarily, Erwin’s grip on his glass tightened, but his face never exuded any emotion, and he blinked placidly as the events unfolded before him.

The gardener’s son was standing by, three flowers he gave to me, the pink, the blue and the violet true, and the red, red rosy tree, and the red, red rosy tree.

Singing through her surprise, Lyor watched Markus advance towards her as he sang in harmony with her. She wondered when he had gotten here, and why she couldn’t take her eyes off of him. Whether it was the alcohol or not, Lyor’s heartbeat quickened as he flashed a charming smile at her, and she returned it. Had he always been here, and had they simply not noticed him this whole time?

But I refused the red rose bush, and gave the willow tree, that all the world may plainly see, how my love slighted me, how my love slighted me.

His voice deep and skillful, he sang the last verse with her as he stood directly beside her, and Erwin shifted in his seat. They finished the song together on different, harmonising notes, and the entertained crowd let out an eruption of drunken applause and whistles. The blond applauded out of political necessity, and the two singers smiled at the crowd and bowed facetiously. He watched, thankful, Hanji interrupt Markus’ ignition of conversation with Lyor to hand her a drink. The two women downed their drinks in front of the squadron, as per their requests, earning themselves yet another roar of cheers.

Everyone regained their seats, and food was finally served to the table. Erwin watched Markus walk back to his table, and with his presence gone, Erwin finally engrossed himself in conversation with his fellow scouts, trying to forget the moment the couple had shared.

They ate, drank, laughed and sang for a few more hours, before Lyor began to feel a bit claustrophobic from all the noise, cigarette smoke and alcohol stench.

“I’m going to go get some fresh air,” She excused herself to Nifa who barely heard her over Hanji and Keiji’s hectic debate about Commander Shadis’ expanding bald spot.

The same blue sky that had watched over the bar for the day was now engulfed in a blanket of midnight black, dotted with stars. Though the street was asleep, the bar was not. A few street lamps lined the street, and the flames licked the air with the soft glow of their light. From outside, Lyor could hear her friends’ laughs and singing. A moment did not go by without entertainment that night.

Lyor leaned against the bar’s window ledge, and inhaled the crisp midnight air. She thought about how she had caught a twitch of jealousy in Erwin’s face during her song, when he thought she wasn’t looking. She smiled coyly to herself.

“I thought we were rather good together,” Lyor’s head turned to find Markus making his way towards her from the bar’s entrance.

She smiled politely and her eyes returned to the street in front of her. “So did I.”

“We would make a fine duo.” The man commented, leaning on the windowsill beside her. She hummed absentmindedly, enjoying the mixture of the fresh evening air and the slight buzz of inebriation. She heard him laugh. “You finally agree with me? Does this mean you’ll let me take you out?”

She scoffed and gave him a surly look. “Have I not made it clear enough for you?”

“You’re being stubborn.”

“Oh, no, I’ve shocked you,” She replied sarcastically before she turned to have her body face him. He watched her inquisitively, a smile still on his face. “Why are you so insistent?” She finally asked — blurted — what had bugged her about him for so long.

“Because I like you,” He smirked, his arms crossed over his chest as he eyed her through hooded eyes. “And you’re beautiful.”

She blinked at him in disbelief before she copied him and crossed her arms, looking away as she scoffed. “Oh, please.”

“What angers you, exactly?” He spoke evenly, his tone impish. “What I said or the way I said it? There must be some man who tells you that you're beautiful.”

“Not to my face, no,” She retorted before she locked eyes with him. She felt particularly outspoken tonight now that she had alcohol to blame for any regretful outbursts. “But there are thousands of women who must throw themselves at you in the inner city. You’re a high-ranking, probably rich, military police officer. And your looks don’t make women, you know, gag, so you must have your pick of companions.”

Markus watched her without saying anything, only a smirk on his lips.

She shifted uncomfortably under his stare, her foot stomping impatiently. “Is it a sport thing, then? The more I say no, the more you see me as some sort of prize to be won?” Lyor finally punctuated when he didn’t answer.

“You don’t think very highly of yourself, do you? You don’t think I could simply, genuinely, like you?” The way he chuckled made her skin prickle. He was impressed that she had figured out something was off with his pursuits. “You could say it’s something like that, yes, but you don’t know enough about me to figure me out.”

He stood to his full height, uncrossing his arms, and his eyes suddenly became very ominous. Lyor stiffened as his signature smirk fell, and for the first time, she saw him glower. “I do not appreciate people going over my head.”

She watched him carefully, blinking in confusion.

“When I first heard of your father, I was assigned by the crown to his case. You see, your father really doesn’t care for obedience, my dear Lyor. We told him to stop his research on the grounds that his projects were too dangerous to carry out alone for the public. What happens if — when —a plane crashes into a crowd of people? My men offered him a position within the inner walls, with good pay and a safe place to execute his projects, but the man simply refused to oblige. So what happens when you say no to the crown? We’re forced to make you oblige. Real shame about your mother.” Lyor was stunned. Markus took a step closer to her, and she could only watch him.

“But even after all these years of warnings and sneaking around, I found out that your little group is making illegal trips outside the walls! I had evidence!” A cynical smile broke out onto his face, and he threw his hands up. It made Lyor flinch, as he was now standing only a few centimetres from her, his height towering over her smaller frame, and she tried to back away only to have him follow her. “I get this close to catching you rats, when I’m suddenly told to back off and to let the Scouts handle you. Ten years I’ve been working on this case, and the instant I call for Reichart’s arrest, all of his crimes are suddenly pardoned, and he’s allowed to work on the very same projects I was tasked to forbid.”

With every step he took closer to her, Lyor began to feel more and more panicked. Feeling threatened, she tried to brush it off with a nervous laugh, and started towards the bar. “Ha-ha, brigadier, you’re quite the talkative drunk. Please excuse me.”

Before she could get anywhere, she felt his broad hand snake around her wrist, and he pulled her roughly back to him. With a hand on his chest to create a semblance of distance between their bodies, Lyor shrinkingly looked up at him, into his brazen eyes. Any sign of amusement had vanished from his features, and she could feel his breath on her lips.

“As I said, I don’t appreciate people going over my head. I’m also a man who savours vengeance, you see,” he continued without skipping a beat. His grip on her wrist tightened, and she winced at his immense strength. “And what better vengeance than to make the antagonist’s daughter your bride?”

Lyor wanted to laugh in shock, but all she could do was stare at him, stupefied. In the moment of shuddering silence they shared, Lyor pulled at his grip, and he allowed her wrist to slip out of his grasp. He also allowed her to back away from him, and she rubbed at her wrist as she glared at him.

“And you expect me to marry you over this empty monologue? Or are you going to walk me down the aisle handcuffed and gagged? I wonder if my grandmother will cry of joy.”

Finally, trademark nonchalance returned, and he smiled at her wit. “Of course not. Why don’t you just wait and see?”

Back inside the bar, Erwin was in mid-debate with Rick, Hanji, and Mike about which kind of whiskey paired best with pork ribs when he saw Lyor enter the room, her face blanched. The three continued to yell drunkenly at each other, but Erwin watched her walk over to their table, her eyes sullen. As Erwin stood from his seat, he noticed Schoenberg re-entering the bar, the usual curl on his lips when he sat back down with his men at their table. He looked back at Lyor who sat, her posture slouched, and he moved to walk to her when Hanji suddenly collapsed on the ground behind him.

“Hanji!” Moblit exclaimed, and moved to kneel beside her.

Hanji, on the ground, laughed uncontrollably before she trilled a moan and held back a dry heave. “Ugh, Moblit, I don’t feel so good.”

“You don’t say…” Moblit sighed, and Erwin turned to recover his steps towards Lyor, only to find her walking past him to help Moblit get Hanji off the floor.

“Let’s get you to bed, Hanji.” Lyor laughed — though Erwin could see past her smile to her eyes that crinkled with worry — and she and Moblit made plans to take the squad leader home. Feeling certain that Lyor would be safe tonight with Hanji and her assistant, he refrained from intervening and took his original seat with Mike. Whether he liked it or not, it wasn’t his place to meddle in the woman’s affairs, and this became the best state of mind for him to repress any worry that threatened to plague him.

Half an hour later, Lyor, Moblit, and a quasi unconscious Hanji descended from their carriage ride and helped Hanji to her room within the Recon Corps’ HQ. Once in her room, Lyor assured Moblit that she could handle it from here, and bid the young man a good night.

Lyor dragged Hanji to her bed, the squad leader’s arm over the brunette’s shoulder, and laid her down as gently as she could. While Hanji moaned to no one in particular, Lyor gathered a bucket to place beside her superior’s bed, and she filled a glass of water to force down Hanji’s gullet. It wasn’t too hard, considering the woman could barely lift her arms, but she did receive a few slurred insults. She filled another glass to place on Hanji’s bedside table, and sat on the edge of her bed for a moment.

She stared blankly at the floor, deep in thought.

Why don’t you just wait and see?

Markus’ voice echoed in her head like a scream in an empty valley, and it made her shudder.

“Hanji… I need to tell you something…” Lyor hesitantly spoke, as if Markus would hear every word if she said them too loudly. She turned to Hanji, who was embracing her pillow with her eyes closed, slobbering all over it.

“Oh, commander Shadis…” She moaned.

The scene made her momentarily forget her anguish, and the young woman let out a chortle at her squad leader. Her friend's state alleviated her distress. It had been an eventful evening, and the younger woman to decided to chalk up Markus' actions to a mere drunken vocalisation.

Lyor draped a blanket over Hanji. I guess she really does have a thing for Shadis.

--

The following Monday morning, Lyor greeted the familiar soldiers she crossed on her way to her squad’s offices, and paused in the hallway when she saw Hanji, Keiji, and Moblit all making their way to the mess hall for breakfast.

“Good morning.” Lyor smiled at her coworkers as she met them halfway, and Hanji and Keiji both groaned and shuddered at her voice. Lyor blinked at Moblit. “What did I do?”

“You spoke in a normal volume,” Moblit offered. “They’re still hungover.”

“Hasn’t it been almost 48 hours?”

“I think I know what an aneurysm feels like before you have it…” Hanji grumbled before she walked past Lyor to get away from their echoing voices.

Keiji followed suit and added, “Like a baseball the size of a cantaloupe in your head.”

Lyor heard Hanji giggle unintelligently. “Good one.”

Moblit sighed to himself before he turned to his coworker. “Want to grab some breakfast with us?

“No, thanks. I already ate. I’m going to get a head start on things this morning.” She smiled and waved goodbye, heading towards her shared office.

When she got there, she found the place empty, to her relief. She wanted some peace and quiet this morning to bury herself in her work — it was one of her coping mechanism. She hung her coat before she walked over to her desk, and she was about to set down her bag when her eyes spotted something unusual at her workstation: a humble bouquet of purple creeping thyme flowers placed in a glass vase. She raised an eyebrow, set her shoulder bag on the ground, and sat down at the stool at her desk. Curiously, she picked up the small card. It read:

Come all you fair and tender girls that flourish in your prime

Beware — keep your garden fair. Let no man steal your thyme.

Congratulations on your graduation.

Erwin Smith

--

Notes:

Please let me know what you think! I'd love your thoughts on Schoenberg -- I'm not always the best at coming up with villains heh -v-;