#like we even see that as he gets better at shapeshifting he adds some wrinkles to his face

[hooved]

genuinely i love odo's saggy wrinkly neck. i know that's just how rene auberjonois' neck was but i love the implication that odo worked so hard trying to perfect his humanoid shape and made the conscious decision that he wanted a really saggy neck. not even dr. mora, whose appearance odo used as a guide, has a neck that saggy. like i think it's kinda cute of him to Want to look old

[fangurk]

She’s Always There (Paul Lahote x Reader)

Key:

Y/n: Your Name

Y/l/n: Your Last Name

Y/n/n: Your Nickname

Y/e/c: Your Eye Color

Y/h/c: Your Hair Color

Prompt Given To Me By @ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhghhhh.tumblr.com: hey!! so the reason I'm messaging is because I wanted to request something but can't fit it all into an ask lmao. anyways could i please request a Paul Lahote x reader where the reader has been super close to the whole pack for years and has been Paul's imprint but doesn't know it (bc Sam thought it would be best to keep u away from it all) and they decide to finally tell you about being shapeshifters and being Paul's imprint and you're so mad about them not telling u earlier and there's a huge argument and they and Paul tries to calm you down but you say stuff like 'leave me alone' and things like that and it sounds like you're rejecting him/the bond in ur angry breakdown. anyways Paul is heartbroken and can't get out of bed or eat or anything so the guys finally convince you to come back bc they and Paul need you and it's just the reader cuddling with him and getting him out of bed to take a shower and eat and he realizes that you're not going anywhere and it's just like healing the imprint bond? sorry for this WALL of text, I've just had this idea stuck in my head for a while lol. if you don't want to do it, that's completely fine!! thank you for your time ♡

ok so my guy,, bc this fic has been stuck in my head for a bit, some scenes have developed? so idk i hope this isn't too much, but if u do write it, would u be willing to add like some angst to it, obvi, and maybe a scene/part lol where when the reader tries to get him to shower (bc the misinterpreted rejection made him like super depressed and he just felt low about himself) he won't shower, because he doesn't want to come out and the reader is gone. so either they shower together (not smutty just angst&fluff) or she sits like in the bathroom while he showers LOL. and when he feels a bit better, they go down to eat and he's touching some part of her at all times. if this is too much to like,, include then that's a-okay. i just need to get this OUT of my MIND ugh lmao!/!

Reader Gender: Female

Summary: The Reader has been friends with most of the pack members for her whole life. Which is why, after months of silence and strange changes, she was willing to let them back into her life— until she finds out she’s been told lies that leave her in danger, of course. After a big freak out and two weeks of avoiding them, the boys come begging for her help; it turns out that Paul has some wolf-y claim on her, and whatever she said to him has left him worse for wear...

Warnings: Mentions of Depression, Nudity, Angst, and Cursing.

A/n: this is literally like a whole novel I’m so sorry I got carried away. this is kinda based on a lot of fics I read where the imprint has the potential to really hurt people and I named Paul’s dad.

Word Count: 2.9k+

“The legends are real!?”

Y/n Y/l/n hasn’t ever been so disturbed in her entire life.

After weeks of radio silence, Sam Uley’s little ‘gang’, mostly consisting of people she’d known since childhood, had slowly trickled back into her life. What started as a grocery run with Paul or a movie with Jared had turned into big bonfire parties including Jacob Black and his gaggle.

But that was months ago. Months. And now, as she sits by a fire, surrounded on either side by them, they decide to tell her their little secret?

“Y/n.” Sam says as she abruptly stands, eyes stern and hand raised placatingly.

His actions only served to upset her more and her skin bristles with irritation. Sam was acting as if she, a human surrounded by shape shifters, was the unstable one. As if she could do any damage to things built to kill vampires.

“Don’t you dare, Sam.” She clenches her fists, glaring right back at him. “It’s been months- months- and you’re telling me now?”

“It’s not exactly an easy thing to bring up.” He reasons, voice a little less demanding. “We all wanted to be sure that you were ready to know.”

“Ready?!” Y/n laughs mirthlessly, y/e/c eyes wide with disbelief, “When was I supposed to be ready Sam? W-when one of you gored me? When a cold one ripped me apart?”

Her hands shake as she puts them on her forehead, blinking back tears. Growing up all she’d ever heard were stories of humans getting dragged into fights between wolf and vampire, and she couldn’t bring herself to look Emily in the eye because it was suddenly apparent that wolves alone could hurt people too.

It was so bad, whatever happened to Emily, that they said a bear mauled her— Y/n didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

“It’s not like that, Y/n/n.” Embry chimes in, reaching out to grab his friend's arm.

She yanks her body out of the way and gathers her belongings quickly.

“What is it like then, Call?” She holds her bag to her heaving chest, “because it seems to me that you all have the ability to turn into giant, slobbery freaks that are built for killing vampires and, after completely dropping me for weeks, you decided to keep it secret from me for months. Did it even occur to you that I would’ve been better off knowing right off the bat?!”

No one says anything. Eight shifters and two of their girlfriends sit there, just staring at her like she was speaking a different language.

“You know,” Y/n has to clear her throat to steady her wavering voice, “had you guys really been souped-up on drugs like everyone says, maybe I could’ve handled the lying. But my life was clearly potentially in danger, and you let me hang around without saying anything. I- God I don’t want to see you people right now.”

She leaves with that, stepping over logs and storming back down the beach with determination. Faintly over the roar of her heartbeat, she can hear someone scrambling to stand behind her.

“Wait!— shit, sorry-” Paul grunts, jogging to catch up with her- “Y/n-“

With an unusual gentleness, his warm hand wrapped around her forearm. For a moment, deep in the back of her mind, a foreign feeling tells her to stop, to listen; but that small voice is quickly smothered by the rational part of her brain, and she wrenches her arm from his grip.

“Don’t touch me!” She snaps, lowering her voice, “Leave me alone- I need to be alone.”

Paul stands there, dumbstruck, an unreadable look in his eyes as she walks away. And he’d continue to stand there, looking like a kicked puppy long after her retreating form became a blur amongst the darkness of the beach.

“Paul?” Sam is hesitant, hand hovering over the younger boy’s shoulder a minute before he touches him, “You okay?”

Shrugging his leader’s arm off his shoulder, Paul sighs. “No...I...I’m just gonna head home.”

Instead of going in the directions of the cars, the wolf stalks off toward the woods; Emily stands from her seat, wrapping her sweater more around herself as she watches Paul leave. Concern is written all over her features.

“He’ll be fine, Em,” He pulls her in for a hug, “it’ll all work out eventually.”

ஓ๑♡๑ஓ

Y/n does a good job of avoiding them for a while.

She turns her phone off a few days in and avoids going to First Beach, even when Washington gets a rare, warm summer feel. Books that have sat long forgotten on her shelves get read and TV shows she’s always meant to catch up on get watched; it’s boring and she runs out of options, at one point thinking of dying her hair y/f/c just to spice things up, but it allows her to think. (Or at least it allows this strange little voice in the back of her head to tell her that she needs to go back to them.)

The next time she sees any of the boys is exactly two weeks after the bonfire incident.

She’s curled up on her couch, picking at some of the Clearwaters’ fish fry and barely watching an episode of ANTM, when a fist comes banging down on her door. Turning off the TV, she tiptoes to the window, peeking under the curtain as carefully as she can.

As she expected, Jared Cameron and Embry Call are on her porch, the former standing in front of her door with his hip cocked, the other rooting around in her mother’s plants for something. Cringing, she hopes if she’s quiet enough that they’ll just go away.

Her front door opens within minutes, however, and she realizes her hoping is fruitless.

Should’ve known you can’t hide from wolves, she can’t help but think bitterly.

“Y/n?” Jared calls out through the house, “we know you’re here.”

“Yeah, and you guys should probably move your spare key,” Embry tacks on, flicking the light switch to the living room up, “I've known you forever and it’s still in the same place.”

From her spot by the window, the y/h/c haired girl glares at the two boys, arms crossed over her chest. Embry gives her a lopsided grin and holds the key out to her, his bud plopping down on the couch and pulling her abandoned plate into his lap.

Y/n extends a hand to take the key.

“Has it really been in the same place?” She sounds a little more defeated than she’d like.

“Yeah, it’s always been in your mother’s cornflower pot.”

“That’s...kinda sad.” She wrinkles her nose, pocketing the key with the intention to hide it better later, “but uh, I’ve been ignoring you for two weeks for a reason. Peacefully breaking into my house kinda furthers my need for space.”

Embry scratches the back of his neck.

“Well,” He says, “we need you to come back, man. Paul won’t talk to anyone- Sam doesn’t know if he’s eating, and he won’t even get out of bed for patrol! He needs his imprint-”

“His what?” She cocks her head to the side and Jared snorts from the couch.

“She left before we got there, nimrod,” Jared mocks through a mouthful of food, “she doesn’t know what an imprint is.”

He lets out an indignant “Hey!” as Y/n walks by, snatching her plate back from him on her way to the kitchen. Embry chases after her, a grumpy Jared jumping up from the couch to follow.

“You’re his imprint— you’re basically his soulmate!”

“Really?” She says warily, sealing the fish and putting it back in the fridge.

Both boys nod clumsily.

“You remember a few weeks ago when you saw each other for the first time again and he kinda just stood there like an idiot while you talked?”

“Yeah? Oh!-” She brings her hands up to her mouth, brows furrowed as she recalls.

It was exactly Jared had said. She and Paul had seen one another for the first time in a long time and the minute her y/e/c eyes looked into his, it was like he’d been struck dumb.

Embry gives her an encouraging look, “An imprint is...It's not like love at first sight, really. It's more like��� gravity moves… suddenly. It's not the earth holding you here anymore, she does… You become whatever she needs you to be, whether that's a protector, or a lover, or a friend. When you snapped at him last week he thought you were rejecting him….”

A part of her thought about how absurd it was that he knew that whole speech. But the bigger part of her came to a realization that made her stomach churn.

“So he's all depressed… because… of me?” She whispers, leaning back on the counter.

Embry, always a rather sympathetic person, opens his mouth to comfort her, but Jared cuts him off.

“Basically. So are you going to come with us so we can help Paul or are you going to continue being petty?”

In any other circumstance, Y/n probably would’ve thrown something at her for calling her petty. She felt she was completely justified in her actions. A part of her wonders if she can really believe them— they’d spent months lying to her after all. But a larger part thinks about Paul, curled up in his bed, slowly desecrating because he thinks she rejected him.

If it were really all some ploy to get her to listen to them, then she’d at least be the person who chose the well-being of her friend over a petty disagreement.

“I’m coming.” She affirms, pushing herself off the counter, and letting the boys lead her to the car.

ஓ๑♡๑ஓ

Jared and Embry drop her off in front of the Lahote household. They tell her something but she can’t really hear them over her heartbeat, she doesn’t even know they’re gone until it’s too late to turn back.

Getting into the house wasn’t the hard part. Paul’s father, Cyrus, had been leaving as she arrived, and, after he watched her stare at the house with a fearful expression for a few minutes, he happily let her in. The hard part was willing her legs to take her up the stairs to Paul’s room, and then it was opening his bedroom door.

Y/n has known Paul since they were eight, but she was afraid of him until they were eleven. He wasn’t mean, per se, but his anger made him do mean things; she wasn’t entirely happy with puberty and it’s monthly gifts, but whatever it did to make her suddenly un-afraid of him she was grateful for. But now, standing in front of his bedroom door, she had a nagging fear that Paul would revert to that eight year old boy who threw lunch boxes and twisted arms behind backs until people cried.

The door creaks slightly as she struggles to push it open.

His room is almost completely dark except for the light coming from the hallway behind her. Trash and dirty clothes have formed a compact layer on his bedroom floor, foot sized holes leading up to the twin sized bed in the corner. On the bed, amongst the blankets she’s sure he doesn’t need, is Paul— or at least, a Paul sized lump.

As gross as it is, she’s kind of relieved he’s been eating.

“Paul?” She whispers tentatively, stepping toward the bed.

The lump flinches and turns toward her.

“Y/n?”

If the room and the description of his state weren’t heartbreaking enough, his voice definitely was. Hollow, rough, and small, everything it never was, everything Paul wasn’t.

“Is that you?”

“Yeah...it’s me..”

She carefully steps over to the bed, and Paul slowly sits up, pushing his blankets to the side. There’s a beat of silence as she stands between his legs, his reluctant hands coming to rest on her waist after a minute. Y/n let’s him have another to gather his thoughts.

“You really came…” Tears well up in his eyes and loops his arms around her back.

She runs a hand through his hair. “I did, and I’m so sorry, if I had known—”

Paul nuzzles her stomach, “S’fine, you didn’t know, and you’re here now.”

There’s a sort of cute, euphoria lacing his voice and he’s visibly much more relaxed.

“Just don’t ever say that again…”

“I won’t, I promise.”

She’s surprised when he manhandles her into his lap, but she doesn’t really mind. He’s warm and strangely familiar and something about it just— clicks.

“When was the last time you spent, I dunno, a minute or two out of your room?” Y/n asks softly, y/e/c eyes glancing about the room.

The shifter’s only response is a shrug, too busy nosing around her neck with vigor. When he finds a certain spot, it makes her squeak, and this seems to excite him like a puppy finding out its favorite toy makes noise.

“You need to bathe, eat something substantial,” She intertwines their fingers, “and the...pack...they’re really worried about you— are you even listening to me?”

He looks up at her then and flashes her a sheepish smile, answering her question. Pursing her lips, she pulls his arms from around her.

“C’mon, Paul.” She stands up and takes his hand. “We’re gonna get you cleaned up.”

She moves toward the door, urging him forward, only to be jerked to a stop as he stays put. He looks a little distressed when she turns back to him, brows furrowed, almost like he’s in pain.

“Paul?”

He grunts, jaw clenched as the cogs turn in his head. Y/n cocks her head and reaches out for his other hand. It felt like some sort of supernatural intuition, one she’ll blame on the imprint and ask Emily about later.

“Paul, hon, why won’t you come shower?”

“I’m afraid you'll leave,” He says bashfully, “it’s stupid, I know, but part of me is afraid you’ll leave while I’m in the shower.”

Y/n couldn’t help but feel a little heartbroken at his confession. Paul was part wolf, and part of being part wolf was imprinting— she almost wishes she’d have stayed long enough to listen, or been able to focus as the boys debriefed her on the ride over because only being able to speculate how much she’d actually hurt him was eating her alive. He wouldn’t even shower, something he desperately needed to do, because of what she’d said.

Taking a deep breath, she barely registers the words she’s about to say.

“I’ll wait with you, I’ll sit on the toilet, you’ll see me there.”

And true to her word, Y/n does sit on the toilet while Paul showers, reading the information on soap bottles to distract herself from the fact that he was there next to her, very naked. Occasionally he asks her what she’s doing, and she reads the ingredients out loud to the best of her ability, and he laughs a little— she tries to hide her smile, but she was too happy he was laughing.

She closes her eyes when he gets out, letting him dry himself off and pull on some clean shorts. He throws the wet towel at her when he’s done, eliciting a “Hey!” that makes him laugh again.

Now that he’s clean, the two of them descend into his quiet house. Y/n navigates the kitchen, her wolf attached to her hip and being less than helpful, and makes them both something to eat— he doesn’t do much more than stand behind her, wrapped around her, making her life more difficult.

“I’m so happy you came back.” He says, watching her work.

“I was always going to.” Y/n responds, her voice sure and steady.

They talk as they eat, sitting across from one another at the too big table in the Lahote household. Talk about how this was going to work, admitting feelings that always lingered, and everything in between; she hooks her leg around his, watching him scarf down his meal with a wrinkled nose and fondness glittering in her y/e/c eyes.

He’s...gross...but he’s hers, she’s kind of stuck with him.

A date is planned. An actual date.

Paul promises to take her to the local diner (and to wear a shirt, for once.)

“I’ve been saving up for something like this.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, and you can get that dessert you like.”

Y/n laughs softly, but heat spreads up her neck and settles in her ears and cheeks. It’d been a long time since that had been her favorite food, but it was the thought that counted...

When Cyrus Lahote returns from work later that night his son and the Y/l/n girl are awkwardly situated on his couch— him on his back, snoring, her lying on top of him, face tucked into his neck, also fast asleep. The older man turns off the TV and tosses a blanket over the pair, ascending up the stairs with a smile on his face.

Y/n Y/l/n was trustworthy. She’s always there when Paul is in a rut too big for him to handle...

[alias-levi]

flash fic friday #5

@liz-pooh​ this is for you, hun 💙💙

gooood evening people (or whatever time it is when you are reading this)! after hardcore plotting one of my wips for two weeks then procrastinating doing the next step of drafting my best friend came in with a request for me to write. the final result actually happens to be a bit too long for a flash fic but i’m just going to pretend that i don’t know that. here are some basic infos:

fandom: twilight word count: abt. 1.8 k  pairing: Felix/fem!oc warnings: swearing, alcohol consumption, verbal fighting

summary: For weeks Volterra’s streets have been reeking of mutt. The smell seemingly following Liza whenever she leaves the castle’s property. While doing some shopping, she catches a reflection that be able to explain why.

[ID: imagine, Paul imprintes on Felix’ mate]

source: unfortunately we lost the post where this matter was discussed so if anyone know is/has it/finds it, please feel free to share it with me via private messages so i can give proper credit! 

thank you and the text is below the cut :) enjoy!

It’s a dark day, the sky heavily clouded. There is a thunderstorm to come, that is for sure. Liza in the meanwhile uses the time wisely, strolling through the narrow streets, doing some shopping. Girly stuff.

For umphteenth time Liza wrinkles her nose. The almost unbearably gross, musty smell of wet dogs wavers around her. Bypassing a shapeshifter occasionally is nothing too far off the possibility scale but this right here is borderline suspicious. For a few weeks now this smell has seemed to show up every time she had left the properties of the castle.

With a sigh, and a suppressed gag, Liza takes off the sunglasses she had just tried. Turning back to the nice old man owning the small shop, Liza smiles. “Thank you very much but I don’t think these are my style.”

The man eagerly nods and tries to convince her of another pair, but Liza stops him and kindly bids her goodbyes. Just as she takes her first step to walk away, her eyes catch something in the mirror. A reflection. Someone who seemingly fits the natives yet her brain screams at her that something is off. And then the person is gone. Liza frowns. Then her eyes widen.

A few well-measured, yet fast steps later, Liza disappears into the same small backstreet the man in the reflection had stood in.

“I know you are here. I have been smelling you for weeks wondering why Volterra has turned into a hotspot for mutts.” She spits the last word out with as much disgust as she can manage. The smell has gotten worse and Liza wonders if she would throw up.

The man doesn’t hesitate now. Stepping out of the shadows and into her way he looks down on Liza, swallows hard then takes a step back. “Listen I wish I could have saved us both this situation but I have to talk to you.”

Liza snorts then spits on the floor right in front of his feet. “I’m flattered you came all this way just to get your ass kicked, Paul.” An oh-so-sweet and innocent smile plays around the vampires lips and her violet eyes sparkle with excitement. Watching the werewolf almost shrink under her gaze, breaks Liza’s smile into a grin, revealing her fangs. 

“Liza, no. Please, it is important that you listen to me.”

“Then you better spill the tea, mutt,” she puts her weight on one leg, tilting her hip and cocks an eyebrow at him, “I don’t have all day.”

“I will try to make it as quick as poss-”

“For fuck’s sake, Paul, get to the fucking point!”

“Yeah, yeah! I got it, I got it, okay?” Paul raises his hands in surrender. “Listen, remember a few weeks back when Felix and you were-”

“-in Forks and kicked y’alls asses? Yes I do remember, why do you ask?”

Entirely unphased by this snappy interruption Paul continues, “Remember that moment in the woods where I suddenly turned back? You just made a comment and then ran off.” 

Rolling her eyes Liza says, “course I do. What was up with you anyways? Fell in love with the most badass vampire chick you’ve ever seen?”

“I imprinted.”

She snorts, “on what, mutt? The trees? The dirt under your nails?”

“On you.”

The sincerity in his voice makes Liza’s next comment get stuck in her throat. He wouldn’t travel all this way around the world to find her and tell her this if he was joking. Only slowly the full extent, the full meaning behind his words, seeps into her brain. Oh fuck.

“Oh fuck.”

“Yes, indeed. Listen I will try my best not to-”

“How the fuck am I even expected to react in a situation like this?”

“This is unprecedented. There is no knowledge of something like this having happened ever before. Believe me if I knew how to deal with this, how to make this work for the both of us- I would! But for now I just had to let you know. You are in this-”

Liza can see the muscles under his skin straining. He is fighting the urge to run, yet his brain tells him to stay with his imprint. This is fucking ridiculous. 

“No, stop talking, Paul.” Closing her eyes for a second Liza sighs. She then fishes out her cell phone out of her coat’s pocket. “Give me your number I’ll call you in a couple of days. I- I need time to think.”

Paul is surprised. In all the time he had known Liza, nothing could ever knock the smartass out of her. But he obeys and states his number. He knows that he has no say in who he imprints on even though this is by far the worst scenario he could have imagined.

“Uhm, I’m sorry, you know,” Paul watches Liza scoff and nod slowly. He looks defeated, tired and worn out. 

“Yeah, whatever.” 

A shy smile tilts the corners of his mouth upwards upon hearing her sass returning.

---

The conversation with Paul gave Liza much to think about. So much, that her initial confusion has now turned into full blown anger. Paul imprinting on her is an unforeseen and definitely not welcomed inconvenience. No matter how exciting being the first of anything might be- This is not it. Liza doesn’t want it. Nursing a glass of rum and coke, Liza stares out of the window. Volterra lies quiet and peacefully beneath the castle, a stark contrast to her seething mind. The door behind her opens and Felix enters their chamber. Immediately he gags. “You smell even worse than the past days. I swear I will find and kill every single one-”

“Leave it, Felix.” 

Liza doesn’t bother turning around. Neither does she bother saying anything else for the next two hours. She just stays right there, at the edge of her seat, straight back, the glass in her hand close to bursting in her hard grip. Keeping her eyes trained on the streets, Liza almost feels Paul’s eyes on her.

“Okay,” Felix sits up on the bed and puts the book he was reading into his lap. “Okay, would you please finally tell me what the fuck is going on with you?” 

Felix is sick and tired of having Liza filling the room with the most annoyed energy, making the air almost thick enough to cut. Her occasional, totally unnecessary overly dramatic, huffs don't exactly make it better. Apart from breathing, Liza has not moved an inch and Felix thinks that if she sits there just a little bit longer, her drink will simply evaporate. 

Another very patient fifteen minutes later, Felix realizes that Liza’s hands have started to fidget and her knee has started to bounce up and down rapidly. From staring out of the window, her eyes glazed over and she also stopped pretending to blink.

“Liza,” his voice is quiet but nonetheless demanding, “What. The hell. Is. Going. On?”

She takes her time and Felix hates her for it. But if he had known what she was about to tell him, hell, he would have relished every single second of not knowing. 

“Paul imprinted on me.”

The words are so quick to leave her mouth, and oh-so-quiet, that Felix almost misses them. But he doesn’t. His brain makes sure to let him know, with the burning sensation of jealousy pumping through- no, simply filling his body. His fingertips are burning and aching to scratch that boy’s eyes out. Through gritted teeth he finally manages to press out, “He did what?” 

Felix’ voice is dangerously quiet. 

Eventually Liza turns to face him. “I met him today. He asked me to talk and then told me that. Explains why the streets have been reeking.”

“Yeah, no, but- Why on you?!”

Liza smiles upon the barely contained anger in Felix’ voice now, the fire, the jealousy burning in his eyes. 

“Well he doesn’t exactly have the power to control it!” Her voice is sharp and louder than intended. 

“I know that, Liza, I ain’t exactly fucking new in this business.” After a pause of just staring at each other Felix adds, “When did that even happen, huh?”

“Remember when we were in Forks a few weeks ago? Found the pack at the beach and had some fun with them?”

Felix nods along and Liza smiles sourly at the absurdity of this situation. The exact same conversation had happened just hours before, yet, she had been the one listening and Paul the one talking. Providing delicate information.

“You yelled at me to not go too far but I followed them into the woods anyways. Well,” Liza sighs and Felix rolls his eyes at that, “one after the other veered but one of them didn’t. He was so eager, so... hell-bent on outrunning me. It was so much fun when I finally had him, pinned on the ground he looked me in the eyes and went still. At first I thought I had been too harsh, hurt him, or broke something. Then he turned back into his human form. Looking at me like he had seen a ghost.”

“He imprinted on you,” Felix deadpans. “That motherfucker really fucking imprinted on you!” 

Fury seeps into his voice as his body goes entirely still. Liza knows this look, his reaction, the unmoving body. Felix is like an animal, waiting, preparing for that one leap that will get them their prey. With slow movements she puts her glass down onto the floor. She might be naive. Trying to hold back who is said to be the strongest vampire to ever exist, is not in her power. After almost half a century together, Liza knows that she will not be able to stop Felix if he doesn’t let her. His abilities simply exceed her power. 

So, Liza does the only slightly realistic thing that comes to her mind. Keeping up her slow movements she stands up, walking over to the bed ever so quietly. Neither of them is breathing. With a gentle smile on her lips, Liza cautiously cups Felix’ cheek, feeling him release a breath he has never held onto her palm. Their eyes stay locked this whole time.

Bringing their faces close together, she stops only an inch before him. “Let’s not deal with this today, okay? I don’t want to think about it anymore for now.” Her voice is gentle, calm and barely more than a whisper.

Felix surprises her in leaning up, closing the small gap between them and pressing a chaste kiss onto her lips. “You reek of mutt, querida.”

Liza bursts out a short dry laugh. The atmosphere is clearly more relaxed now. “Right,” she stands up again, “I’ll take another shower then... Care to join?” With a wink she leaves Felix on the bed and walks towards the bathroom.

[love-killed-the-superstar]

i finally finished cass week!! its been lots of late nights but so much fun. thank you everyone whos been reading these. tonight i have some real good cassunzel/unknighted dream content for yall, so enjoy if that’s your thing

CASSANDRA APPRECIATION WEEK DAY 7 - FINALE

How is one supposed to feel, showing up at their girlfriend's wedding to somebody else?

Cassandra has been through the whole spectrum of emotions in the run up to it all. There's been joy, of course, and in abundance – these are her best friends, taking that next important step in their lives. While she... takes her own next step. Alone.

She has poured over detailed illustrations Rapunzel sent her in letters of the various wedding patterns she's considered. It's amazing how much input Cass has had in the whole thing, considering it isn't even her wedding, especially when also factoring in the distance between them. She's helped pick out the flavour of punch while hunched over a campfire on a cold night; she's backed up Rapunzel's desire to forego shoes, even in the royal cathedral, in her underthings while her clothes hung up to dry after she got caught in a flash flood.

Half the time it doesn't feel like her place, and she withholds her opinion. Or she'll write back something along the lines of 'you should ask your future husband, not me'. But then Rapunzel counters that with 'well, you're like my future wife, so your opinion is equally important'. And... well, that just leads to other emotions that are even harder for her to deal with.

The flip side of the coin is the disappointment she feels, knowing that Rapunzel can only marry one person and Eugene is the clear winner, in both the royal family's favour and the court of public opinion. After all, who would come to a wedding where the princess marries the very person that nearly destroyed the kingdom? Cassandra can't fault Rapunzel for making the choice to marry Eugene; he was in Rapunzel's life first, he's begrudgingly grown on the people of Corona despite his shady past, and during the mess that she caused he stepped up and took responsibility. He loves her. He'll do anything for her.

She's happy for them, really. But the whole situation still feeds back into this complex she's worked so hard to overcome these last couple years. Marriage just a... a ceremony, a piece of paper, a legal contract. A wedding is a big, over-dramatic party that she would never in a million years want to take part in anyway. And hasn't she always told herself, since she was an angry little kid rolling her eyes at the Day of Hearts' puppet show, that romance, matrimony, all that bullshit, is something she's never wanted for herself?

It's petty, plain and simple, to have such a sting of jealousy at the idea of Rapunzel and Eugene marrying. They deserve their happy ending! More than anybody! Cass will just... have to figure out a way to be okay with that. Chasing destiny on the open road is her happy ending anyway, and that's no life for a... what would she even be? Princess consort? Duchess?

...Fine. She doesn't need a title or status to be happy. So much of her identity has been clinging to words other people might use to describe her and it can only end if she wishes it so.

All the same – it would be nice, just for a day, if she could be Rapunzel's bride.

…

Cass doesn't mean to show up late to the ceremony, although she's sure that Lance will slide up and make some comment at the reception anyway. Maybe she just didn't want to get up that morning. Maybe it's because she stayed up late last night, camping out at the lagoon, thinking about the vows they took all those years ago. After all, wasn't that modelled after a private wedding, between the two rulers who bound their kingdoms together? A marriage that is recognised in Corona's history books? By extension, aren't her and Rapunzel already married, in their own way?

That should be enough.

By the time Fidella and Owl rouse her, their casual annoyance morphing into urgency as the sun rises higher in the sky, she already knows she won't make it on time. She won't even have time to change, after Rapunzel spent weeks pestering her for her clothing measurements to have an appropriate outfit tailored. Thankfully, Raps knows her well enough not to commission a dress.

Cass rides like she's never ridden before, determined to get there before the vows. What will Rapunzel and Eugene think of her if they look out to the pews and see she isn't there, after all she's done to convince them she's fine with it all? She promised herself, the moment she held the pale lilac wedding invitation in her hands six months prior, that she wouldn't ruin their big day for them. Even if she shows up with windswept hair and yesterday's travelling clothes on, she has to be there, cheering them on.

With her and Fidella's combined determination they make the journey from the lagoon to the castle walls in record time. Standing at the gate, she purses her lips in annoyance as Stan and Pete, in a frustrating display of competence, ask for proof of ID and her invitation.

“Stan, Pete, this is ridiculous. You know me. You've known me since I was a kid.”

“Sorry, Cassandra,” Stan says sagely, as she begrudgingly hands over her Corona citizen identification card. “Rules are rules, and this is a big day for the princess.”

“Besides, we need to be on the lookout for shapeshifters,” Pete adds on, holding her invitation to the light to search for the subtly printed Corona emblem on the paper. “It's a recent thing we've been told to watch out for. A couple years ago there was an incident at the goodwill festival, see.”

“Pete, that was also me,” Cass says flatly.

“Never can be too careful,” he sighs, shaking his head. “Captain's orders and all. We good here, Stan?”

“Yup, everything looks legitimate. Welcome back to Corona, Cassandra!” Stan says, reverting back to his cheerful disposition.

“I am going to kill Eugene for this. Figuratively, of course.”

Stan motions for the gates to open, and as they do, a narrow stream of what looks to be wine rushes past Fidella's hooves. She moves aside slightly, snorting a little in confusion.

“Eww,” mutters Pete, exchanging a confused look with Stan before clearing his throat. “Well, you'd better hurry to the wedding if you don't want to miss the vows!”

“Yeah. Thanks.” Cass wrinkles her nose a little at the trail of wine leading across the bridge, eyes widening as it becomes apparent that there is much more where that came from. As the gates swing shut once again, Cass wonders to herself what the fuck they have just walked into.

The whole kingdom looks to be a mess. There are lanterns flying everywhere, and between them there are doves. Passing through the lower town, it looks like there's been some sort of roof collapse at the old tar works, and the stream of wine gradually becomes a shallow river. Fidella does her best to step around the mess, but it's nearly impossible; even the houses lining the street have been doused. At this rate, the reception will be an extremely sober affair.

Cass picks her way through the winding streets leading up to the palace, passing by a few torn up carts selling imitation merchandise of Rapunzel's wedding attire. She can't help but scoff at the broken shoe cart. As if Raps would wear shoes, even to her own wedding.

The crowd, all dressed in their Sunday bests, look shaken to their cores when she finally reaches the courtyard. The tables that were laid out for the reception are overturned, there is soup everywhere, and no one knows quite what to do with themselves.

She approaches a guard, looking flustered as he tries to set a nearby table upright, and asks, “Uh, what happened here?”

“Some – some horse burst through in a frenzy,” he explains, shaking like a leaf. “It, uh, from a distance it kinda looked like Maximus.”

Cassandra's brow furrows. “Is everything okay?”

“There are no reports of a disturbance in the throne room,” the guard continues. “But as you can see, the decorations have all been tarnished.”

“Yeah, I can see that. Look, I won't keep you, I just need access to the throne room. I have an invitation here, signed by the princess...”

After an excruciating second ID check (she was seriously going to maim Eugene for introducing this ridiculous 'shapeshifter' check) Cass is granted access to the venue, and figuring it's probably best not to draw attention to her tardiness, she slips in through one of the side entrances, with its door propped open to let in some cool air on such a hot day.

Cass hops down from Fidella's back, scratching the side of her head affectionately as Owl swoops down to take her place. He hoots at her curiously.

“Yeah, I don't know what the fuck just went down either,” Cass whispers. “I'm sure we'll find out later. For now, let's just not make a scene?”

Fate has other plans, however. She makes it barely two steps past the doorway before almost being bowled over by a runaway eight-tier wedding cake.

“Woah!” she gasps, stepping out of the way just in time to avoid getting a face full of cake. She reaches around, gripping the sides of the trolley to try and keep it from rolling all the way outside. Fidella steps in to help, blocking the exit with her body, and Cass heaves a sigh of relief as the trolley grinds to a halt, the cake wobbling precariously for several painful seconds before stabilising. Owl hoots in victory and Cass exhales loudly.

“Oh thank god. That could have been a disaster.”

“...Hey, where's the cake?” a voice, unmistakably Eugene's, calls from beyond the edge of the corridor. Cass cringes. So much for quietly watching from the sidelines.

Steeling herself, she slips around the back of the trolley and with some effort, pushes it around the corner and into the throne room. There's an audible ripple of uncertainty through the pews, as the confused guests mutter to one another about why some windswept vagrant is wheeling out a cake that was already in position at the beginning of the ceremony. There's a hoot of laughter (definitely Lance) at Cassandra's dishevelled appearance, a sharp “is that Cassandra?” from three rows away (her dad's voice, for sure), and a few giggles she's guessing are coming from Kiera and Catalina's direction. She can't even bear to look at the king and queen.

Instead, she sees two figures in white. Eugene, looking proud as can be in his very expensive wedding garb that he bragged about to her in several letters... and Rapunzel, face framed by the soft lace veil behind her, looking so beautiful Cass could cry. Her surprise melts into pure glee, and if it weren't for the colossal cake in between, Cass knows Raps would be launching herself at her right then and there, present company be damned.

She passes Max and Pascal and almost chokes. That would explain the sorry state of the tar works' roof, at least. From somewhere behind, she hears Fidella stifle a snort of laughter.

“Well well well,” Eugene says, with a click of the tongue and a lopsided grin. “If it isn't our favourite little gatecrasher.”

It's his teasing, strangely enough, that helps her to find her voice in front of all these people. “Well geez, somebody had to stop this cake from rolling down the hill.”

…

The wedding reception ends up being less of a party and more of a clean-up operation after Max and Pascal's prior mischief, but when the venue has been tidied up and the main courses have been served, Cass slips away right as the king stands up to give a tearful toast. If she times it right she can change into the outfit Rapunzel has had tailored for her and return before the speech is concluded, no problem.

At this point, her room is basically an empty shell with a bed and a wardrobe, so it takes no time to lay out her new outfit ready. Glancing around the empty husk of a room while she starts to undress, Cass wonders when exactly Corona stopped feeling like her home. Maybe about the time she realised it was the people, not the place, that she gravitated back to time and time again?

The new suit doesn't look all too different to Eugene's, minus his father's sash. It's white, with similar detailing, and even some of the same gold accents on the collar. Cass blanches a little the longer she stares at it. God, she's going to look like she's trying to steal his thunder. On his fucking wedding day.

“Why did I let you do this, Raps?” she groans. She can't deny once wearing it, however, that it makes her look really good.

She stares at her reflection in the mirror on her closet door, trying for a smile. This whole situation feels bizarre, and she still can't stop thinking about how stunning Rapunzel looks in her wedding dress.

I wish she was marrying me instead.

The admission, even inside her head, is enough to make her growl in frustration, slap her forehead.

“Enough,” she grits out. “You are going to go out there and be supportive and happy for them because this is their day and you love them so much. Enough throwing yourself a pity party, Cass.”

With nothing else to say to herself, she ties back her hair, shaggier from her foregoing a haircut in quite some time, neatly plaiting it and securing it with a short piece of string from her satchel. Pulling a pair of white gloves on to tie the whole outfit together, she glares at her reflection for a few seconds to compose herself before heading back towards the venue.

“Looking dapper, Cass,” Lance mutters in greeting as she slides up beside him, trying to pretend that she hadn't slipped out in the middle of the king's big speech. He glances over at Eugene, sat beside Rapunzel at the front table reserved for the royals, and then back to her again. “Tell me, which one of you is the groom again?”

“Don't you dare draw anyone's attention to this, Lance. Raps has no idea how petty this makes me look to onlookers.”

He bursts out laughing, which quickly dissolves into a fake cough to deter the few people who turn to stare at him disapprovingly. “Haha, hmm. Uh, you know that was definitely intentional on her part, right? She wants you to feel included.”

“Included? I just feel like I'm third-wheeling a wedding.”

“Isn't that exactly what's happening?”

She groans quietly, before bursting into polite applause as the king embraces Rapunzel tightly and then raises his glass, before taking his seat. Edmund rises, and she can already see Eugene looking nervous at the weird shit he's about to start spouting to the unsuspecting audience.

“I came back here to support them, not to upstage Eugene at the after party.” She chews her lip. “Maybe I should change. D'you think I should change?”

“Look, Cass, Eugene knew about the matching suits ahead of time. If he had a problem with it he would have said something, believe me.” Lance grins and shakes his head. “I was just messing with you before about the third wheel stuff. You're their equal, don't you get that? This might as well be your day too.”

Cass pinches the bridge of her nose. “Don't say this stuff to me, Lance, or I'll seriously start feeling depressed. I need a drink. Is there any booze left, or is it all out on the street?”

“Unless they're planning on breaking out the communion wine, I think we're out of luck.”

“Damn it. Maybe I should just hide in the bathroom for the next six hours.”

As the toasts conclude, Rapunzel and Eugene are called to the dance floor for the first wedding dance. The orchestra rise as Arianna removes the train from Rapunzel's hair, and she and Eugene make their way to the centre of the venue with their hands clasped. Rapunzel's eyes search in the crowd as she walks, finally locking in on Cass as the conductor motions for the band to play.

“I love you,” Rapunzel mouths, and Cass weakly nods before losing Rapunzel's attention to the sweep of the music and the arms of her new husband.

…

“Cass!”

Rapunzel finds her on the steps, having put some distance between her and the rest of the party about an hour ago. After a couple hours of shit-talking bad dancers with Lance from the sidelines, catching up briefly with her father, and downing about a third of the punch bowl in an attempt to avoid conversations with people, Cassandra is all partied out.

Rapunzel's hair is mussed from hours of relentless dancing as she patters down the steps and flops down beside her, uncaring if the dust from foot traffic leaves a mark on the fabric.

“Hey, newlywed. You having a good time?”

“Of course! Oh, Cass, aren't the orchestra just wonderful? They play the classics, for my parents, but the upbeat stuff was a great surprise! When I'm queen, we'll dance like this at every function, mark my words!” The gleam in her eyes only brightens as she adds, “Besides... I keep stopping mid-step and thinking, I'm married now. I get to spend the rest of my life with Eugene. Isn't that just – just wonderful?”

“It is.” Cass offers her the warmest smile she can muster. “I'm so happy for you, Raps, really. You and Fitzherbert are going to have a great life.”

“All three of us are.” Rapunzel scoots closer and rests her head against Cassandra's shoulder. If only time could stop right now, Cass wishes silently, she wouldn't ask for anything ever again. “Cass, you are both my future. It's been so hard to find time to be with you today, and it's driving me crazy! You deserved to be up there with us today, you know?”

“But Corona law doesn't allow it,” Cass says softly, as if saying the words delicately will shelter her heart from fully feeling the weight of them. Rapunzel swallows and nods.

“Mhm. Yeah, it... it doesn't.”

She reaches for Cassandra's hands and squeezes them in her own. Cass can feel Rapunzel's wedding band dig slightly into her index finger, and tears spring to her eyes.

“Well,” she forces herself to say, “it's okay. If you had to marry either one of us, it should be Eugene. He's the more stable presence in your life, after all. He can help you keep this place afloat, while I – while I'm off travelling.”

“Let's not talk about this,” Rapunzel whispers, a pleading tone creeping in. “This... this should be a happy day for us, Cass! The start of something new!”

“You're right. Raps, this is a happy day. And – and I mean it, Rapunzel, I am so happy for you both. My best friends get to be happy together forever. Why wouldn't I be?”

She stands up quickly and holds her hand out, pulling Rapunzel to her feet. Rapunzel stares at her for a heartbeat, face clouded with some emotion too tumultuous to unpack in this moment, before reaching over and wiping a tear away as it spills over from Cass's eyes.

“I know you are.” Her face softens into a smile. “Hey, dance with me? Please?”

“I don't know, Raps...”

“Just one dance?” she asks, biting her lip. “I'm about ready to turn in, but... it wouldn't feel right if I didn't share at least one dance with the woman I love the most.”

“That's sweet of you. How will the man you love the most feel if I take the last dance?” Cass asks, quirking an eyebrow as Rapunzel begins tugging her up the steps by her wrist. “And your father, for that matter?”

“Oh, Eugene won't mind, silly,” Rapunzel laughs airily, marching them both towards the centre of the dance floor as other party-goers begin to stare. “And my father isn't dancing with you, I am.”

There are some whispers as they begin to dance slowly, stepping in time to a waltz; it's more of an open secret than anything, the way Rapunzel and Cassandra are with each other, but it still feels pretty brazen all the same. Cass is a bit rusty on her feet, having gone years since she last danced ballroom-style, but as she stares lovingly at Rapunzel's face, counting the smattering of freckles on her nose and seeing her own flustered face in Rapunzel's eyes, she realises it doesn't really matter. The steps are bullshit; everything is, except the hand clasped in hers and the other curled around the back of her neck.

Out of the corner of her eye Cass spies Lance, grin a mile wide, offering his hand out to Eugene. They start their own dance, a little clumsier, a little more comical than their own. Rapunzel giggles as they waltz past, Lance almost knocking into them as they spin.

“See? Eugene and Lance can make their own fun.”

Cass smiles back, exhaling slowly. There are still a few people watching with rapt interest: Queen Arianna, looking misty-eyed; Cassandra's father, fidgeting a little, his anxieties no doubt feeding off of the nervousness in Cass's own body language; a little girl she doesn't even know, clad in a waistcoat and pants, looking like she's seeing someone who mirrors herself for the first time. But as interest in their dance begins to wane, so do her fears.

“Dancing still isn't really my thing,” she confesses, as they begin to slow down. “It feels... awkward.”

“Oh.” Rapunzel pouts. “But, you know, gotta try everything once?”

“Of course. I can stand it if I'm with you.” She leans in to press a kiss to Rapunzel's forehead, but thinks better of it, leaning back again. “I, uh... yeah, it might be time for me to turn in, Raps.”

Rapunzel's smile fades a little in disappointment, but she nods. “Yeah. It's about time for us to leave too, so...”

“You're leaving tonight?”

“Yeah. No time like the present, right?” Rapunzel winds her arm around Cassandra's, clinging on as she calls over the din of the music. “Eugene! Are you ready?”

“Sunshine, I'll be right with you,” he calls back, in the midst of being dipped by Lance. Once he's back on his feet and says his goodbyes in a bone-crushing hug, he joins the two of them as they make their way to the edge of the dance floor.

“Is... is it okay for us to just leave like this?” Cass asks suspiciously. “You two don't need to make some kind of big announcement, or anything?”

“...Nah,” Eugene says after a long pause, exchanging a look with Rapunzel. “We can let the king and queen deal with that, right? Besides, the ship won't wait forever.”

Before Cass can protest further, Eugene slides up to the other side of her and links his arm in hers, and the two effectively march her down the steps and towards the docks.

“This is lovely and all, but I can't help the feeling that you two are kidnapping me,” she points out, as the three of them march on in silence.

“What! No! We – we just think you should see the boat! It's really gorgeous, and there's apparently an ice sculpture on board,” Rapunzel gabbles, starting to wax poetic in her ear as Eugene stands on the other side of her, equally enthusiastic.

“And get this – they didn't screw up my nose this time!! That's a huge deal, you absolutely cannot miss it-”

This weird pimping of the boat continues as they follow the path down to the harbour, greeting a few puzzled guards on the way as they tag along for protection. Cass can't shake the feeling that something extremely weird is going on. Eugene and Rapunzel have been shooting her odd looks all day, and she thought it was because her complicated feelings were obvious to everyone around her, but as they get closer and the ship comes into view, it definitely feels like there's a bigger story than that.

The boat is beautiful – the wood is dyed a deep cherry red, and the sails are the same rich purple as the Coronan flag, complete with the golden sun crest. On board, true to their words, is an ice sculpture, but as she strains her eyes, the sculpture depicting the happy couple looks suspiciously like a happy throuple, instead.

“Raps... Eugene... what exactly is going on here?”

“Oh, you'll see,” Eugene says under his breath, while Rapunzel giggles gleefully and gives no further answer.

Trunks of their belongings are already being loaded onto the ship when they arrive, and Cass notices a familiar satchel and carry on pack nestled beside one of Rapunzel's cases.

“Are – are those my things? Guys, what is going on?”

Finally, the two of them release her arms and she takes a step back, eyes darting all over as she tries to comprehend what the fuck is happening right now.

“Cassandra,” Rapunzel begins, clasping her hands together joyfully, “we're boarding the ship for our honeymoon, and... we were hoping you would like to come with us.”

She stares. “...But why?”

“Why?” Eugene scoffs. “Why indeed, Cass, let me think. You're our best friend, you're in a relationship with my wife – something as intimate as a honeymoon doesn't just happen with two out of three when it comes to us, you understand?”

“But – but this wedding isn't for us, it's for you,” splutters Cass, still wondering if she knocked her head at some point and woke up in a parallel universe, where things like a honeymoon for three were commonplace. He rolls his eyes, hard.

“Cass, look at us. We're wearing the same freaking suit. You do the math.”

“And we had our own wedding dance,” Rapunzel chimes in. “Even if you didn't really like it.”

“All right, just... stop, okay? Give me a minute to think.” Cass is starting to feel dizzy. “I – I know you both love me – in different ways,” she adds sharply, as Eugene opens his mouth. “But this is... pretty crazy. Even for us. I mean, people will talk about this, guys.”

Rapunzel and Eugene exchange amused glances. “Cass, everyone who knows us knows, and everyone who doesn't have a pretty good guess about what goes on between us three,” Rapunzel says slowly. “You don't have to worry about that anymore, do you understand?”

“It's different now!” Cassandra protests, shaking her head in pure, unfiltered amazement. “You two are married now and it's – adulterous. Probably. Maybe even treasonous? God, my head hurts.”

“So it's not a cut and dry situation, that's fine!” Eugene throws up his hands in exasperation. “But damn it, Cass, you're acting like this is the end of days. If you stuck around more than a few days at a time, you'd realise that the people of Corona really don't care as much as you think they do.”

Cass opens and closes her mouth a few times, unsure of where to even start with protesting everything they've been saying to her. She loses the train of thought anyway once she lays eyes on Rapunzel, with a desperate look in her eyes as she watches Cass, fidgeting with her hands.

“Cass,” she says quietly, taking a tentative step forward, “we can't force you to come with us, but we would really like you to. So we can right this – this rigid law that stops us all from being happy.”

“...Okay, now you've definitely lost me.”

Rapunzel makes a frustrated noise in her throat, running her fingers back through her hair and resting both hands on the back of her neck, like she so often does when she's trying to think.

“Cassandra – once we are outside of Coronan waters, the laws don't apply anymore.”

“...And?”

Eugene half-laughs, half-coughs, and Rapunzel shoots him a pointed look before continuing more gently, “And, when we're out at sea, certain... marriage laws... don't apply either.”

She bites her lip, hoping this will be enough to get the gears turning in Cassandra's head, but she stares on blankly.

“Oh, for christ's sake!” Eugene slaps his forehead and pulls Cass along to stand beside Rapunzel, staring them both down with folded arms. “Cass, I don't know how many times we have to spell it out for you, but this has always been your wedding day too. If you want it to be, anyway.”

The words finally seem to hit home, and she stares between them with eyes as wide as a deer being stalked.

“What?” she squeaks.

“Cassandra, I have wanted to marry the both of you for as long as this has even been a conversation,” Rapunzel explains, and her voice shakes a little with her next words. “Of course this is crazy, everything we do together is crazy! And, Cass? If you don't want to get on the boat and do this... I'll accept that. But – but I hope, after all that we've been through together, that you want to be my wife as much as I want to be yours.”

Time moves slowly as the weight of these words sink in, and Cass glances between Eugene, who is beginning to look emotional just in the presence of this proposal, and Rapunzel, laying her heart on the line just to show Cass how much she matters.

“You'd really do that? For me?”

“With you,” Rapunzel corrects, mouth splitting into a grin as her eyes gloss over with tears. “Cass, I would sail to the ends of the Earth if it meant I could marry you when we get there.”

“Oh god,” Eugene says in a hushed voice. He turns away, hand over his eyes. “You're both killing me here.”

“Can it, Fitzherbert,” Cass says on instinct, before a laugh bubbles up from her throat. “Raps, I – what do I even say to that?!”

“Say yes already, oh my god!”

“Eugene!” Rapunzel shakes her head, giggling helplessly. “Sorry, proposals get to him.”

Cass gives a watery laugh. “I'll bet. What's he going to do when we actually get married, huh?”

Rapunzel blinks a few times, then gasps in delight. “So it's a yes?!”

All Cass can do is nod before Rapunzel throws herself at her, hugging her tight enough to choke. Even with all the oxygen being squeezed from her lungs, Cass feels like she can breathe for the first time all day.

There's the sound of a throat being cleared behind them, and they turn to see a guard looking a little awkward to interrupt.

“Excuse me. Um... the smaller bags, should we load them on the ship, or...?”

“Yes, you should,” Cass says, barely able to contain her cheer. “Wherever these two go, I'm going with them.”

The guard shrugs, quickly turning back to the remaining luggage, and Cass cups Rapunzel's jaw, pressing a quick kiss to her lips before hiding her face in the top of Rapunzel's hair.

“Aww, don't be shy! I loved that!” Rapunzel giggles, pulling her in closer. “I loved that so much. Wherever we go, you're coming too. Yep... that's going in my journal for sure.”

“No,” groans Cass, still giggling despite herself. “Please, no record of anything sappy I say ever again.”

“Too late. See, you should know by now, Cass. Everything mushy we ever say will be immortalised in our wife's notebooks for the rest of our lives,” Eugene sighs, slinging an arm around her. Cass nods, keeping close as they steer her towards the boarding plank.

Our wife. It feels too fucking good to be real.

“This isn't a dream, right?” she asks suddenly, as they're halfway up the plank. “This is really happening?”

“Of course it's real, art can't imitate life!” scoffs Eugene, looking a little offended. “This face can't simply be replicated in dreams, Cassandra.”

“No one is saying anything about your face, Eugene,” Rapunzel sighs, shaking her head fondly.

“You know what, Fitzherbert? You've got a point. If this were a dream your nose would be a totally different shape, for a start.”

“I don't get it! How hard can it be to draw somebody's nose in accurate proportion to their face?!”

As they take their first steps onto the boat and the plank is removed, they turn to see a few familiar faces have gathered. The parents have come to wave their children off, in a quiet moment of finality before the next chapter begins. Arianna waves to them, her aura simply overflowing with joy, Frederic watches on with a stiffer wave, clearly still coming to grips with what's about to happen once the boat leaves Corona. Edmund, stood off to the side, is loudly asking Hamuel why their good friend is tagging along for the journey.

A little further back, Cassandra's father watches on. Upon first glance, she freezes; Rapunzel's arm is still holding her in close, and she nods towards him, trying for a smile. He nods back, slowly at first, before raising his arms to wave.

He is called over by Arianna and sheepishly joins her, his eyes never fully leaving Cass as he does so. Overwhelmed, she glances down at Rapunzel, who is leaning with her head against her shoulder, still beaming and waving at her parents.

“My father knew about this, then?” she asks quietly. Rapunzel shrugs, a shy smile on her face.

“I know we don't need it, but I wanted his blessing. I wanted him to know that you're loved, and you're gonna live a long life and be okay.”

The regal trill of trumpets fill the air, as the small cluster of guards on the dock stand to attention. A few words are read from a prepared scroll, carried away by the ocean breeze before Cass can hear, and then suddenly they're moving. The faces of their parents are growing smaller, the stretch of ocean growing larger, and Cass exhales shakily before turning to Rapunzel and Eugene.

“I think I'm going to puke,” she confesses.

“What?!” squeaks Rapunzel, alarmed.

“Well, now would be a terrible time to tell us you get seasick,” Eugene jokes, clapping her on the back. “Seriously though. You okay?”

“I'm fine. I just... realised how much of what was said happened in front of all those strangers. And then our parents. God, I'm gonna jump.”

“Yeah, no jumping,” Eugene says firmly, tugging her away from the boat's edge by her shoulders. “How long until we're out of Coronan waters.”

“Less than an hour.” The tremors are back in Rapunzel's voice again.

“And there are... aha! Three hours until the clock strikes midnight. You're in luck, ladies. If we play our cards right, this day will go down in history as both our anniversaries. How's that sound, huh?”

“Sounds like everything I've dreamed of,” Rapunzel sighs, melting against Cass. “Doesn't it feel good just to be here and not having to hide it?”

“I mean, we're embarking with a very small crew for a private ceremony outside of Coronan waters,” Cass points out. “Feels pretty hidden to me.”

Rapunzel pouts. “Ah, you're right.”

“You know... I think it's better this way. I wouldn't want it to be some public affair anyway,” Cass says quickly. “But yeah, this still feels like I'm in some sort of fever dream.”

“Want me to pinch you to be sure?”

“If you pinch me I will kill you. And hey, what was all this about a shapeshifter check at the gates, huh, Fitzherbert? I missed your wedding vows just so you could mess with me?!”

“Oh, that. I thought it would be funny!”

The ship sails off, disappearing into the evening sky, and even as she's bickering with Eugene and being held back by an exasperated Rapunzel, Cass can't help believing that this might be the start of her own happily ever after, after all.

[justaghostingon]

Cogs in a Steel Heart

Chapter 4: Choices

Cyrus faces the strangest thing this journey has to offer: A crying Hugo. Now if only Cyrus knew how to talk to emotional teens. 

Warning for some off screen violence against a minor and animal abuse.

to read on Ao3, click the link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24331849/chapters/59834800 

There were many, many seemingly impossible events that Cyrus had witnessed in service to Donella. Mechanical mice that came alive, machines with the power to reverse gravity, simple weapons that killed smoother and more effectively than any thug. It was awe inspiring, humbling, and sometimes downright terrifying. But nothing on earth could prepare him for the sight of Hugo crying.

When he’d first entered the woods, looking for Hugo and his daily report, he’d almost turned back as the echoing sobs filled the clearing. But another, wiser voice inside him urged him forward. Compassion, Mona would call it.

“Common Sense,” his grandpa would say. “Never trust a thing crying in the woods unless you're close enough to knock its head from its shoulders.”

Grandpa had been full of old stories and warnings like that, from way back when he’d lived outside the iron city in his childhood. As he’d grown, Cyrus had largely dismissed them as stories intended to scare rambunctious young boys into behaving. But when he saw Hugo there at the center of a clearing, sitting on a log and crying his eyes out, all those so-called stories came rushing back to the forefront of his mind.

After all, a shapeshifting monster trying to lure Cyrus to his death seemed way more believable than Hugo crying.

Even on that day, he’d never...

Hugo gave an extra loud sob as he rocked back and forth. And Cyrus suddenly got the distinct impression that he should get out of here before whatever it was that was mimicking Hugo turned around. Unless it was literally wearing Hugo’s skin. Then Donella would definitely want him to attack and bring whatever was left of Hugo back, regardless of the danger. Heavens above, he did not sign up for anything supernatural.

But backing down now, he knew he’d regret it later. A memory surfaces in his mind. Playing the events of another time he’d decided to leave.

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

Cyrus sighed as he opened his locker, the ache in his bones begging for rest and relief. He considered stopping by the guild for drinks and a round of complaints, but no. He wrinkled his nose. Lester would be there, and he’d probably try to convince him to go talk to Grimoire, again.

He was stalling, he knew, but something about that man just rubbed him the wrong way. Sure, he’d love to see that brat get what was coming to him, more and more every day. Especially now Donella was out on business for a month, leaving Hugo and Cyrus alone. At least she didn’t put Hugo in charge, but even without authority he’d found ways to make Cyrus’s work life even worse. For example, with no Donella to tell him no, he’d rigged the security system so that Cyrus had to run back and forth looking for an intruder, all day. And that wasn’t even counting the traps he laid for Cyrus to run into.

As if triggered by Cyrus’s own words, the alarm went off. Cyrus rolled his eyes. “Too late brat. I’m off duty.” He grabbed his coat and stepped into the smog filled air. A shadow moved in the corner of his eye, slinking towards the door, but he ignored it in favor of wondering what stew Mona was making tonight.

He wonders if he’d paid more attention then, if he’d have noticed the shadow was far too big to be a raccoon.

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

He took a hesitant step forward, directly onto a twig. The resulting snap was pretty quiet, all things considered, but it sounded louder than thunder in the small clearing. The thing-that-was-not-Hugo jumped to its feet and was halfway across the clearing before Cyrus so much as blinked. Then it stumbled, foot catching on a root and pulling it gracelessly onto the ground.

The whole tumble looked so normal and not at all like something a scary face-stealing forest creature would do that Cyrus stopped backing slowly away and stared. “Hugo?” he asked hesitantly. “Is that you?”

Hugo ran his hand over his eyes and made a show of dusting his shoulder’s off. “Who else would it be, you imbecile?” His voice was hollow as he made no attempt to rise from his place on the ground, instead pulling his arms around himself.

“Just making sure,” Cyrus shrugged. “Plenty of monsters in woods like these out to steal faces.” He added the last bit more for Hugo’s benefit than his own, expecting the boy to forget whatever made him upset in favor of mocking Cyrus about his childish beliefs.

Hugo did not rise to the bait. Instead looking down at his knees. “Maybe I am,” he muttered.

Cyrus blinked. “What?” Were all those old rumors about Hugo true? He’d thought the name “Hugo the Human” was a bit too on the nose. Damn it now he had to read up on teenage monsters.

“Isn’t that what I do?” Hugo raised his face to reveal an empty smile. “Walk into a group, all smiles and friendship, and gain their trust, only to lead them right into a trap.” He placed a hand on his chest in a mockery of his own pride. “I’m Hugo the Human; I’ll smile in your face and stick a knife in your back.”

Cyrus said nothing as Hugo’s spiked shoulders slumped and his mocking smile crumbled to dust. Because what was he supposed to say? Hugo looked so fragile right now, arms pulled tight around his knees. Cyrus knew if he made the wrong move, he’d shatter.

Unbidden, Mona’s voice rose to his ears. “We dress in spikes to hide the glass beneath our skin.” She’d been cleaning the blood off his spikes when she said so, brow furrowed in concentration as he’d cried and cried for a boy who seemed to have no tears, and wanted none.

“Aren’t you going to ask me for my mission report?” Hugo’s voice was low and sad.

“Do you want to give it?” Cyrus replied. Hugo gave a strangled sob, and stuffed his fist in his mouth to stop the rest, spikes cutting into his cheek.

He took a deep breath and waited a few minutes before he choked out, “Varian wants to stay,” and promptly broke into another round of sobs.

Cyrus waited, face impassive while his mind raced with this new information. Was Varian Goggles? It seemed that way, given how broken up Hugo was. But where did Varian want to stay, and why?

He got his answer as Hugo managed to control his sobbing enough to speak again. “His family is here, he wants to stay with them, stop the quest.” Hugo looked down, a scowl on his lips. “I tried to make him see reason, make him keep going! Like the good little monster I am!” He jerked his head up to glare at Cyrus, glasses skewed on his nose.

“I thought I did it,” Hugo rubbed his eyes viciously. “He went through the trial with us and everything! But we came back and...” he broke off, swallowing hard. “He said he wanted to stay.”

Oh Hugo. Cyrus thought. Have you only now realized what he means to you? He felt like he should say something, anything, to help put the heartbreak in perspective. But he had no idea what. He’d never been the best with words. If only Mona were here.

Hugo didn’t seem to mind his silence, plowing on. “Do you know what the worst part is? The worst part is I almost want to let him. If he stays, he’ll never see what kind of monster I am. If he stays I’ll never have to do anything.” Hugo shook his head and pulled his knees close to his chest. “But even that’s stupid. Nuru and Yong will still want to go, they’ll need me to guide them, and I’ll still have to betray them. Then they’ll tell Varian, and he’ll feel even worse, knowing he trusted a monster to lead his friends.”

“Isn’t that pathetic?” Hugo looked back up at Cyrus, lips twitching back into that horrible smile. The look in his eyes is empty and dead, like his future is a tragedy he’s already read, no point in hoping for anything else and no way to stop it.

Cyrus knows that look in his eyes. He’s seen it once before.

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

Cyrus would love to say it was some second sense that told him to go back that night, that some twinge of conscience caused him to double back and double check. But that would be a lie. The only reason he came back at all was because halfway home he realized he’d forgotten his hat.

He’d briefly considered going on regardless, but Mona always got so upset when he walked all the way home without it, and he really didn’t want to add more stress on her shoulders with the increased workload the factory always saw in autumn months.

He jammed his key in the keyhole, impatient, but the whole door swung open on its hinges before he even had time to turn the key. What? He’d been so certain he’d locked it before he left. Had  he really been that tired?

He pushed forward into the dim hallway, eyes blinking as they struggled to adjust to the light. The lockers were at the other end, which really was a horrible design, but hey, it was like that before he got here, and it's not like there was anything besides closets and storage rooms from here to there. Closets and storage rooms that were supposed to be empty, right?

A sound filtered to his ears, muffled thumps, coming from one of the abandoned storage rooms. A mouse probably. Cyrus gulped. Just a mouse, Hugo’s mouse, or another one of its friends. The thumps continued, and as Cyrus’s eyes grew better at seeing in the dim light, he noticed there was a faint blue glow coming from one of the closed doors. He crept forward, heart increasing with every slight creak of the boards beneath his feet.

It was probably Hugo, Heavens above, Cyrus would be glad to see him, just to confirm that the hairs standing on the back of his neck were the fault of some sadistic prank and not one of the hundreds of monsters his grandpa would whisper about at night.

He reached the door, hand hesitating above the handle, trying to remember what his grandpa had said. “Never show fear,” that was it. He grit his teeth, grabbed the handle, and threw open the door with a sharp bang.

Shouts came from inside as the door crashed against the back wall. A torch was waved in his face, making it hard for Cyrus to see. He squinted, raising a fist.

“Oh its just Cyrus!” A very familiar voice said. “Hey Cyrus!”

Cyrus blinked as he froze, fist still in the air. “Lester?”

Lester grinned at him, wide and friendly, as if he wasn’t holding a heavy club in one hand and standing over a body with two other thugs holding the figure down. Grimore stood with his back to Cyrus, facing the figure and holding something aloft in his fist.

“Cyrus!” Grimoire smiled his predatory smile as he turned to him, “Just in time! How’d you like to cash in on some of that revenge, as promised?”

“What?” Cyrus’s attention turned to the twisting figure on the ground, Hugo. But a Hugo Cyrus had never seen before, face bruised and bloody as he struggled harder against his captors. A sharp kick from one of them made him still.

“I’m on assignment Lestor!” Cyrus snapped. “I can’t just let you-”

“You’re not on company time.” Lester waved a hand. “I know the guilds code, you’re not breaking any rules if you help out. But if it really bothers you, you can just walk away. Grimoire has got it handled, and you won’t break your vows to the guild.” He shrugged.

And he was right. Cyrus hated how right he was. He wasn’t even supposed to be here. He could walk away, claim Hugo’s constant misuse of the alarms for why he didn’t notice anything, and no one would know. He looked down on Hugo's struggling form, and remembered all the hurt and harm he’d put him through as he lowered his fist back to his side.

Grimoire threw back his head and laughed, a sound the three other men echoed. Something twisted in Cyrus’s gut, but he shoved it down. “Now, for the final punishment,” Grimoire leered as he raised his fist high, the mechanical mouse  struggling in his fist. “The death of the only thing he loves!”

Hugo’s face snapped up, face covered with bruises. “Bastard!” He shouted, struggling with renewed vigor. The two thugs held him firm, but he would not stop. Finally Lester brought the club down with a hearty crack on Hugo’s head, and he slumped forward, stunned.

Above him Grimoire watched Hugo’s struggle with a look of honest delight, like a cat with a mouse in its grasp. “Don’t hit him too hard boys,” he said as he nudged Hugo’s face upwards with the tip of his boot. “We want him awake enough to watch.”

Hugo’s head lolled to one side, and his eyes met Cyrus’s across the room. It was only for a second, but Cyrus felt his whole body freeze at the sight. There was no hatred in Hugo’s eyes, nor was there any pleading, only despair. His hair was out of his ponytail, framing his face and making him look younger, like the thirteen boy he was, except for the empty understanding that seemed far too old.

Cyrus looked away.

Grimoire’s fist began to tighten on the mouse, and it gave out a pathetic squeal, almost human. Grimoire’s smile widened.

“Wait,” Cyrus interrupted. All heads turned to him, all except Hugo’s who stayed on his mouse. Cyrus held out his hand. “Let me do it,” he said. “It’s my revenge.”

“Ohhhh!” Grimoire and the others growled as Grimiore turned to face him.

“All yours partner,” Grimoire said, pushing the mouse into his hands. He stepped back, hands behind his head, looking for all the world like he was its king.

The mouse in Cyrus’s hand gave a whimper, whole body shaking. As Cyrus ran a thumb over the metal gears, he could almost feel a heartbeat. With one hand, he gently dropped it into the folds of his scarf. As it bit down, he raised his other hand, bawled into a fist, and punched Grimoire in the nose.

The sharp crack of knuckle against bone echoed through the room. Lester’s mouth fell open, but Cyrus didn’t give him time to speak. He kicked upward, sinking into his gut and sending him flying into a storage shelf. He slumped down and did not rise. One of the other thugs jumped forward, fists swinging, but Cyrus spun left, knocking him off balance and landing a solid hit on the top of his head. A sharp pain in his gullet told him that the remaining thug was still there, but a sharp elbow to the neck knocked him down as well.

“Bastard,” Grimoire spat as he grabbed Cyrus into a choke hold. “We were trying to help you.” Cyrus clawed at the arms around his throat, trying to tear them off, to breath, but it was no good.

Spots began to swim in his vision as his grip slackened. Then Grimoire gave a cry and let go. Cyrus fell to his knees, gasping as Grimoire stumbled back, the mouse clamped hard on his nose. Cyrus watched as Hugo, who had been still up to that point, stretched out his arm to trip him. Grimoire fell backwards, head knocking against the vial of something very familiar.

Grimoire raised a hand to scratch his neck, and found he couldn’t remove his hand. He tried to grab his arm with his other hand, but it got stuck too. He gave a scream of rage, charging forward, but he tripped over his own thugs, and crashed down, unable to pull himself off them.

Huh, Cyrus almost smiled as he watched Grimoire struggle and curse. I can almost see why Hugo likes to use this.

The mouse jumped off Grimoire’s nose and skittered to Hugo, placing a paw on his bruised face. Cyrus turned to help him up, but Hugo flinched back.

“Stay away!” he cried out, teeth bared and shoulders tense. “This is all your fault; you’re one of them!”

Cyrus stopped, staring down at Hugo, unsure what to do next. Hugo seemed to take his silence as a threat, pulling himself to his knees to escape and instantly wincing, hand curling into his side. He glared at Cyrus, eyes like ice, but Cyrus could see the current of fear behind them.

Cyrus lifted a hand, and Hugo flinched, then pulled himself up further, lifting his chin in defiance. “I said stay away you imbecile!”

“Alive or dead?” Cyrus said.

Hugo blinked. “What?”

“Alive or Dead,” Cyrus gestured to the still struggling form of Grimoire and his unconscious minions. “You’re the boss, it’s your call.”

Hugo opened his mouth, then closed it. The mouse pressed its nose against his cheek and chittered softly. Finally Hugo spoke, voice dry and broken. “Just get them out of my sight.”

Cyrus nodded and moved to grab Grimoire’s hair, dragging him and the other thug still attached out into the street.

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

Cyrus wished he could offer something to help Hugo, just like before, something to show he was on his side against all the turmoil he was facing. But there wasn’t a physical enemy he could offer to fight, nor would Hugo be at all happy if he offered to fight Varian for breaking Hugo’s heart. He wasn’t stupid.

It would have been nice though, if fixing Hugo’s obviously broken heart were as easy as punching people until it healed. Then Cyrus could go into the therapy business and get paid way more than a thug’s meager salary. But that wasn’t the case, and so here he sat, across from Hugo, mind searching desperately for any kind of response to Hugo’s question.

Hugo hung his head, interpreting his silence as agreement with his earlier statement. Cyrus frowned, Hugo was usually so much better at reading him. Gritting his teeth, he mustered up the courage to say, “No.”

Hugo’s head snapped back up. “What?”

“No,” said Cyrus, not quite sure where he was going with this, but now he was in he might as well commit. “No you’re not pathetic for wanting people to think well of you.”

“Oh,” Hugo looked back down, at his knees, fists tightening against the fabric of his shoulders. “But it doesn’t matter really. I still can’t be with them. Not once they know the truth. No one wants to be with a monster.” He spat the last word angrily.

“You know I’m married right?” Cyrus pointed out.

“What?” Hugo blinked, “Yeah.” He rubbed his eyes with his sleeve. “Mona right? She sent me a knitted hat for my birthday.”

“Exactly,” Cyrus nodded. Hugo raised an eyebrow, and oh no, Cyrus wasn’t making this clear. He tried again. “I’m a monster.”

Hugo glanced to the side, frown tugging at the corner of his mouth like it did when he didn’t quite agree. Cyrus felt warmth course through his heart. He’d no idea Hugo held such a high opinion of him. But it really wasn’t helping his case.

“I kill people for pay. That’s the definition of a monster.” He gestured to the spiked armor he wore. “But I’m married, and Mona knows exactly what I do for a living. So you can’t say people don’t want a monster, because you know that’s not true.”

Hugo rolled his eyes. Oh come on! Cyrus frowned. He’d thought that was pretty clear. What’s the problem if that’s not it?

“That’s different. The person you want isn’t the person you have to betray...” Hugo clamped his mouth shut, eyes going wide.

Cyrus raised an eyebrow, Because come on, does he really think his crush is a secret? However this proved to be the wrong move, as Hugo immediately tensed, walls rising behind his eyes. Apparently he had thought the world as oblivious as he was. Great. Now how was Cyrus going to get through to him?

“Hugo?” a voice called through the forest. “Hugo where are you?” Hugo froze, eyes darting between Cyrus and the direction of the voice. He moved subconsciously, shifting as if to shield the voice from Cyrus’s view.

Well, if that didn’t tell the whole story, Cyrus didn’t know what would. As Mona would say, “the only person foolish enough to challenge you is either an idiot, or in love.” Love, not a crush, not an attachment. How had Cyrus missed how deep this had run? And just like that, all of Hugo’s problems began to click into focus. Because either this ruins the mission and Hugo loses Donella. Or Hugo goes through with it and loses the one he loves.

“I need to go,” Hugo says, body half turned to run towards the voice already.

Cyrus nods, feeling numb as Hugo jumps to his feet. There was a heavy choice the boy had to make, with huge consequences, and no matter what, he’d lose a loved one. Still...

“Hugo,” he said before the boy vanished into the trees. He stopped, casting an alarmed glance back at Cyrus. Cyrus looked him right in the eye, and said the words he’d said to the guild master all those years ago, when he’d asked why Cyrus of all people was getting married in this economy. “There’s nothing wrong with being happy. You know that right?”

Hugo stared at him, brow furrowed like he’d said something truly bizarre. Cyrus felt his heart sink. Maybe that wasn’t the right thing to say after all. “Hugo!” the voice cried, closer this time. Hugo raised his head, eyes softening as he gazed towards it. He glanced back at Cyrus once more.

“Don’t try thinking Cyrus,” he said. “That’s my job.” And then he was gone, bounding between the trees.

Cyrus sighed. He’d tried his best. Now the decision was Hugo’s. And quietly, in that forest clearing, Cyrus made his own choice. No matter what choice Hugo made. He would support it.

[theawkwardterrier]

things left behind and the things that are ahead, ch. 13

AO3 link here

Fury has seen Peggy Carter twice: once at a podium during her speech at his SHIELD induction, and then again, from a distance and surrounded by higher-ups, when she had toured the new LA headquarters back in ‘86. He’d been impressed by her - she’d been exactly what he’d expected - but also had no doubt she wouldn’t be able to identify him in a lineup of two. She might not know all about his last few batshit days or be clued in on the alien species of it all, but Peggy Carter is so far above his pay grade that he couldn’t reach her if he climbed back into the spaceship he’d just gotten off of.

So it’s a bit of a surprise when she shows up at the Rambeau house.

“There’s a car coming up the road,” Monica shouts from over at the front window where she’s showing Talos’s daughter how to play Guess Who?, and Fury dries his hands on a dishtowel and follows Carol and Maria out onto the porch. The car stops in the driveway. Fury unlatches his gun holster and keeps a hand on it. A man steps out of the driver’s side; hard to see much about him in the dim light. He goes around to the other side of the car and opens the door for the woman sitting there. He bends his head close, as if speaking to her for a moment, then steps back as she exits the car to join him. She threads her arm through his and they walk together across the lawn. As they get closer to the porch light, Fury evaluates them more closely: the man is still unfamiliar, older but straight-backed, with hair going silver and some gentle wrinkles around the eyes and mouth, and the woman is Peggy Carter.

Oh, she’s not in one of her classic suits, dressed instead in gray slacks and a pink sweater (someone, his mother or Coulson or someone, would tell him that it’s a particular shade like salmon or peach or daiquiri or whatever the hell, but it looks pink to him) and appearing somehow fresh despite the southern heat. Her hair is iron colored by now and cut just below her chin, her gaze firm as the one in the portrait that hangs in the hallway outside Fury’s office. Until the man makes some remark in her ear and then she looks at him with fond exasperation that she doesn’t turn off until they’ve neared the base of the porch.

“Agent Fury,” she says, addressing him. He pulls his gun and raises it at her, even though it seems a little pointless with Carol and her laser hands beside him. Peggy Carter, or what looks like her, just raises a calm brow, seeming a bit amused. “I know you’ve had a trying time, but this really is quite the disheartening welcome.”

“Sorry to disappoint,” Fury says, keeping his service weapon steady even as he tries to pretend that his eye isn’t itching like hell, “but I think our southern hospitality’s a bit tapped out today.”

“If they’re Skrulls, I think we actually just agreed to extra hospitality,” Maria points out.

Carol, tilting her head, asks, “So, are you Skrulls?”

The couple trades a glance. “No, mostly regular human,” says the man.

“Sorry if I don’t entirely believe you,” says Fury, knowing he sounds not particularly sorry at all. Hard to remember that about five minutes ago he was using a scrub brush to show off his knowledge of sixties Motown. “Maybe you’re good Skrulls who have reason not to want to show it off, maybe you’re the bad cousins we haven’t met, maybe you’re some other damn breed of aliens, but after the things I’ve learned, I think it’s reasonable to be a little wary about making new friends. Particularly those who didn’t start off asking, ‘What the hell’s a Skrull?’”

“Before you say anything you can’t take back, who exactly is this supposed to be that you’re threatening to shoot?” Carol asks him.

“Well, first, I think at this point you’ve been standing next to me long enough that we’re threatening to shoot her, or worse, in your case. Second, I’m not threatening anyone, just taking reasonable precautions. And third, this may or may not be Peggy Carter, the head of my organization—”

“Well, just barely,” Carter says. “The retirement party is scheduled for sometime soon.”

“She’s been saying that for years,” the man inserts. “And I have the feeling it’ll be a few years yet before anyone picks up a sheet cake at the bakery.”

Carter (potentially “Carter”) looks over at the man. “Certainly not. I think the last party I attended with a bakery sheet cake was twenty-some years ago - the neighbor’s daughter, the one who was always kicking everyone.”

The man looks back. “None of the kids ever had one?”

She laughs. “As if you’d ever have allowed it.”

“Well, there was some time there—”

“Not that this isn’t adorable and all,” says Fury, “but if you’re meant to be Peggy Carter, who exactly is he meant to be?”

“My husband,” she responds promptly.

Fury looks over at the guy, gesturing a bit with his gun. “You have anything more to say on that?”

The man shrugs. “Not really.”

“Is she supposed to have a husband, whoever she is?” Maria asks.

“There have been rumors,” Fury admits. “But like I said, I’m not trusting anything after the last couple of days.”

“Hey, Talos,” calls Carol, “Just checking, but I thought we’d met all of your friends.”

A version of Maria's neighbor Tom, now wearing the sweatshirt they’d given Talos, pokes his head through the still open front door. “It’s a bit insulting, you know, assuming that we’d all know each other.”

“Well, do you happen to know these two?” Fury asks, trusting that Carol will keep control of anything that might happen as he turns to glare over his shoulder. “I’d like to make sure we’re all on the same team, regardless of species.”

Talos shrugs. “Seem human to me.”

“Sorry if I can’t exactly take your word for it.” Fury knows he sounds grumpy, but he’d been feeling good, and now this. Either he’s going to have to deal with an alien impersonating his boss - again - or he’s about to get fired. Talos returns inside and closes the door, as if Fury's troubles don't exactly top his list of worries.

“How long have you been married?” Carol asks. Even though her tone is curious, unhurried - no need for that anymore, when he can practically feel the power radiating from her - Fury can hear the test in it.

“Forty-four years in September,” Carter answers back promptly.

“Kids?”

Her husband answers this time. “Four. Rosie, Drea, Emma, and Nate.”

“Or I suppose if you want to be more official about it,” Carter adds, “Rose, Andrea, Emma, and Nathaniel. And then there are the grandchildren...”

“Who’s the shortest of your kids?” fires off Maria, clearly trying for the element of surprise, and they both laugh, an established, private joke sort of laugh, before answering simultaneously, “Rose.”

Somehow that decides it. Fury finally stows his gun. There’s still a tiny chance that these are some new shapeshifters who’ve done their research, but if they are, they deserve credit for it.

“I apologize, Director,” says Fury, suddenly conscious that if she’s showed up here, she probably knows more about his actions over the past days than he’s comfortable with, and also that she’s probably noticed the scratches across his eye. Not the best introduction, overall.

She gives a deep, dignified nod. “As I said, I understand that things have been a bit trying for you.”

“So, if I can ask…” He forces himself not to scratch the back of his neck like a little kid. “Why exactly are you here?”

To his surprise, she turns to her husband. “Darling?”

He slips his arm out from the curve of hers and steps forward to the very base of the steps, his hands in his pockets. “I have some information for Captain Danvers, actually.”

Carol looks him over. “I’m guessing that this isn’t about back pay?”

He laughs, but somehow not quite. “Not exactly. I know that you’re about to head out there—” He gives a quick upward jerk of the chin, indicating the fullness of the velvet black sky. “And when you do, there’s someone you should look to run into. A Titan called Thanos.”

Carol and Mr. Carter, now introduced as Grant, sit on a pair of the porch chairs. He’s explaining something while Maria stands over them with her arms crossed and Monica pokes her head through the curtains to spy on them.

Fury brings a glass of lemonade to Director Carter, who is leaning against the car.

“Much appreciated, Agent,” she says, raising it to him before taking a shallow sip. Her hands are steady, but up so close he remembers that she’s been running the agency for decades, longer than he’s been alive, and that she fought in a world war before that.

He leans against the car beside her, crosses his arms. “Any chance you can tell me how your husband got ahold of all of these details about—” He points upward. “Things out there?”

He knows how insubordinate it is, nosing in on Grant Carter like he’s a perp, but he’s already held them at gunpoint so he figures he might as well. To his surprise, she actually smiles. It’s much more an agent’s smile than it is a mother’s or a grandmother’s - or maybe for her it’s both. She swirls the lemonade before sipping again. “He’s had quite the life, my husband,” she says. “And between caring for the children, taking courses, and lending a hand from his cubicle, he’s still managed to pick up a piece of fairly essential information here and there.”

Fury looks at the man on the porch, at his narrow frame, his khakis. There’s something familiar there; maybe just that central casting Nice Old Man look. Fury knows better than to judge solely on appearances, especially at the moment, but he can think of few people less likely to have “fairly essential information” than Grandpa over there. Still, the same could be said by an unsuspecting person in regards to Director Carter as well. “Balancing all that seems like a lot. Guess you married a real Captain America,” he says, sounding bland to avoid sounding sarcastic.

Her eyebrow flickers up and there’s a beat, but then she laughs. “Well, who else in the world would be able to keep up with me?” She drains the rest of her lemonade and places the glass on the hood of the car. She looks over at him, and he can see in her sharp eyes that regardless of what she says about cake and retirement parties, she has a fair few working years left in her. “Now tell me, Agent. What were you thinking would be your next step?”

“A nice vacation sounds just about right,” he suggests, despite knowing the futility.

And indeed, she tilts her head and says, “Really? And I was so looking forward to reading your report of the incident.”

“I’ll get on it, ma’am,” he says dutifully.

“I think those are her favorite words,” jokes Mr. Carter, walking back toward them across the lawn. Carol and Maria stand beside each other, watching him. Carol leans over to say something and Maria shakes her head fondly.

“Then isn’t it lucky I get to hear them so often,” the director tells him archly, a bit of a smile twitching at her mouth regardless. Fury picks up her glass and moves away from the car.

“It was good to meet you, Agent,” says the director, opening her car door and settling herself inside. Her husband walks around to the driver’s seat, but stops and looks at Fury over the roof of the car.

“It was very good to meet you, Agent Fury,” he says, the creases around his mouth deepening. Fury can’t quite tell if it’s from laughter or pain or something else entirely.

“Be safe out there,” he says to cover all his bases, and as Mr. Carter gets into the car and closes the door, there’s a definite laugh at that.

“Does anyone get the feeling we’re missing something?” Maria asks after Fury has waved off the departing car and returned to the porch.

“I think I’m going to be having that feeling a lot for the next little while,” Fury comments.

“Well, I’ll leave you to that,” says Carol. She’s grinning. “Apparently I’ve got a universe to save.”

More chapters here

[bussanbaby]

Crossing the Institute’s threshold, Izzy immediately knows where she’s headed as the heavy doors swing closed behind her. It’s been a crap day, her mission going awry and then the rest of her day following the trend, making her more tired than usual. She could just go and relax in her room, put her hair up and read, head over to Clary’s room and rant about everything wrong in the world or see what her rascal of a little brother is up to, but she doesn’t.

She passes by the training room and greets Jace with a wave and a smile. He salutes back before going back to wailing on the punching bag.

It’s quiet, the clicking of Izzy’s heels announcing her presence before she even reaches the room. All the electronics in the OPS centre hum in unison, the blue hue from the screens reflecting against the buckles on her boots when she moves past them. A few stray Shadowhunters swipe across holographic displays of New York, looking focused. One or two pick up their heads and nod at Izzy before going back to their tasks.

For once, Izzy is glad for the lack of attention. Her ankle keeps sending out waves of dull pain up her leg, even after a generous use of an Iratze, it’s something anyone could notice and she doesn’t feel like explaining herself.

A few corridors into the depths of the cathedral, Izzy stops in front of the Head’s Office, an elegant gold plaque adorning the wood. It’s kind of late, but she’s sure her brother is still working, chin-deep in various paperwork. The door is cracked-open, warm light spilling into the hall as she drums her fingers on the doorjamb, various rings clinking against the wood, before coming in.

And she’s right - when she steps inside, Alec’s at his desk, hunched over a tablet filled with a wall of text; a stack of beige folders looms over at his side, a half empty coffee cup is dangerously positioned right next to them and his jacket sits over the back of the swivel chair. Alec doesn’t seem to have noticed her yet, lost in his job with the tip of his tongue trapped between his lips, fingers rubbing together in a way she’s seen Magnus do before.

“Earth to Alec?” she says, eyebrows raised and voice half-mocking.

His head snaps up and the sour expression etched into his skin dissolves into a soft curious smile, eyes twinkling in the light from the desk lamp.

“Izzy, hi. I didn’t hear you come in,” with a sigh, he lifts himself from his chair stiffly and she can hear his spine crack, which just confirms Isabelle’s suspicion that he probably didn’t give himself time for a break since dinner.

“You were so focused you wouldn’t hear a horde of demons running through the Institute. Five minutes of rest wouldn’t kill you, big brother,” she quips back and Alec almost looks chastised before rolling his eyes at her.

A twinge of guilt goes through his expression, but then he’s in front of her with his arms open and it’s just what Izzy needs. She wraps her arms around him, hiding her face in his chest; he’s warm and familiar, soothing in a way, his hands petting down her curled hair and coming to rest against her back. All of the stress from the day flows out of her to the rhythm of his heartbeat, when she puts her ear over his sternum.

“What’s wrong?” Alec asks, before pressing a kiss against the top of her head.

“Nothing’s really wrong, the universe is just out to get me today.”

“Wanna talk about it?”

Izzy steps back with a nod and Alec leads her to the couch with a palm on her back, turning on one of the lamps along the way. It bathes the other half of the spacious office in warm light and the crackling of the fireplace makes it even cozier. They sink into the cushions and Izzy has to admit - one of the perks of having a brother who’s a Head is being able to lounge on one of the most comfortable couches she’s ever encountered. She makes quick work of the buckles and zips on her shoes before she kicks them off with a breath of relief, wiggling her toes. She lies down, stretching the whole length of the couch and putting her legs in Alec’s lap, who rests his own on the coffee table in front.

“So what’s up?” Alec asks, always the worrisome oldest sibling. His hands rest on her calves, absentmindedly drawing runes and random shapes over the fabric of her jeans. With the way Izzy folds her hands over her stomach, it starts to feel like a free therapy session.

“During patrol we got ambushed by shapeshifters, but before you freak out, no one got hurt, it was just more stressful than I anticipated for 8:30 in the morning,” she laughs and watches Alec give her a lopsided smile, eyes rolling at her comment about him; they both know it’s true. “Then Lindsay was annoying me with dumb comments, and after that I had to chase down Max before he got out of the Institute again. Don’t even get me started on my date, oh god.”

“You were going to see that Seelie, the one with the red hair, right?”

Izzy nods and wrinkles up her nose as something warm curls in her chest over the fact Alec remembers these details. She shouldn’t be surprised, she knows he cares and he’s very observant overall, but it’s just nice to experience the attention he pays to her, being one of the few people that truly know her.

“I’m guessing it didn’t go well?” he asks, tone nonchalant and a tiny bit curious.

The beginning of the date gave Izzy hope - they met up on time and the girl was gorgeous. She had white flowers adorning the edge of her jaw and her eyes were the same pretty shade of sea as when they met at Hunter’s Moon a week or so ago. But then it just went downhill; their conversation was stilted and awkward despite best efforts on both sides, as they didn’t have much in common, both personality and interest-wise.

“It could’ve gone better. We just weren’t compatible and it was boring. Also, she smelled like garlic bread, so I felt like I was talking to an Olive Garden.”

Alec chuckles and Izzy joins him; it feels almost like their evenings a few years back, when they were teens and they’d sit out on the Institute’s roof, just hang out with each other, brother and sister against the world.

“Just a fair warning, Magnus is going to hear this story,” Alec says through his snickering, and it’s such a married thing to say. Izzy knows Magnus has been away for a warlock council meeting in Barcelona for a few days already, but he and Alec have been talking on the phone, relaying all kinds of news and gossip as they would if they were home together.

“I don’t mind, you tell him everything anyway,” Izzy replies and winks at her brother, who feigns innocence, lips pursed in quiet protest. Even if her dating world is empty for the time being, she still has Alec to tease about being head-over-heels. “Now that you mention your boyfriend, ask him if he has any single friends, would you? Maybe I’ll find my unending happiness with a gorgeous magicmaker just like you.”

“I’ll ask,” Alec agrees, cheeks pink, but when Izzy glances up at him again from where she’s twirling a piece of hair around her finger, he looks like he wants to add something else, so she waits patiently.

It reminds her a bit of the conversation they had about sex, the same way Alec seems to be picking the right words, his mouth parted and eyes settled on something behind Izzy’s head.

“I can’t believe I’m saying this, but you… you got on well with Simon, didn’t you? You two seem good for each other. And I’m pretty sure he doesn’t smell like garlic bread.”

Izzy can’t stop the grin spilling over her face and Alec looks exasperated before she even opens her mouth. “Is my big brother really trying to set me up with someone? Is this an alternate universe? What happened?” She teases dramatically and Alec pokes at her side in retaliation, before she can catches his fingers to stop the further assault on all of her ticklish spots.

“Love happened. We switched places and now you’re the miserable one.”

Izzy makes an offended expression, but she’s proud. She looks at her brother smiling ear-to-ear, openly talking about his feelings and joking with her when he used to scoff at her efforts to cheer him up. She knew Alec loved her whether he showed it or not, but actually witnessing him flourish into happiness and self-confidence is something priceless.

“I’m not miserable, Alec, just lonely and slightly sexually frustrated.”

Alec points at her with his free hand as if Izzy just confirmed his point and it’s her turn to roll her eyes with a groan.

“To be fair, I lucked out on my first try. So...” he drifts off, glancing over to the pile of work still waiting to be done with almost palpable disdain. “How about we go to your room, drink wine, and watch some of those bad movies you like?”

They smile at each other and Izzy pushes herself up and off the couch, barefoot on the wooden floors and hair messy from laying on it. She extends a hand to Alec and pulls him up, before linking their arms together in an exaggerated gesture.

“Sounds like a good time.”   

[wajjs]

Forest Guardians AU: Lance while captured by Sendak in the fur factory.

NOTE: when this prompt was sent, we (Mizu and I) were still doing our research for this au and it was time after that we realized that “fur factory” isn’t actually the correct term, rather it’d be “fur farm” or “fur farming”.  Now, after a bit more of digging around and stumbling upon some things I wish I never got to see, I realized that the correct term for this au would be “wild fur”.  

For simplicity’s sake, I’ll quote the definition from the respective Wikipedia page: Fur farming is the practice of breeding or raising certain types of animals for their fur. || Fur used from animals caught in the wild is not considered farmed fur, and is instead known as ‘wild fur’.

Trigger Warnings for: blood, forced confinement, violent/suicidal thoughts.

Now, I didn’t write anything too graphic, but I would recommend caution before reading this.  Let me know if I need to add other warnings, too.

[ Necrosis ]

 The putrid stench of coagulating blood on the floor is all he can smell.  It’s a scent so strong, so haunting, he’s sure it’ll rule his dreams for a long, long time — perhaps even till he dies.  

 Years from now he’ll close his eyes and take deep breaths only to be assaulted by the sensory memory of horror dripping into his every perception of reality, and then he’ll only be able to see blood, smell it, see how it splatters grotesquely over the thick wood of the walls, how it stains the hard floor, how it seeps from his own wounds into the pool beneath him.

(continues under the read more)

 It will be strong enough to send him into a frenzy, to make him beg for an ending bullet to his brain, for a knife to dig deep in his heart, for a rope to cut off his airflow.  It will be a memory capable of breaking down every frail wall of moldy stones he knows he will try to build around himself to try and protect whatever remains of him from any further harm.  

 It will change him, as much as it is changing him now, and he will be unable to make it stop, to turn back in time, to stop himself from being foolish, foolish, foolish.

 His heart is hammering inside his chest with painful thuds and he’s now extremely aware that thinking about the future will in no way improve anything about his present.  It’s only making it worse, considering — considering he doesn’t know if he has much of a future left to begin with.

 Oh how much he wants to curse his own nature.  He wants to curse his stars of bad luck and life-wrecking omens that threw upon him the reality of being what he is.  He wants to be able to say he hates it, he hates being a guardian, he hates his ability to shapeshift, to accept his primal side and turn into the fox form he’s trapped in now.  

 But admitting this need, accepting it, that is something he cannot do: it would break his already shattered heart, it would corrupt his mind, it would send him into a darkness that could only end in death.  And if there’s one thing he wants so much it makes him ache, it would be that he wants to live.

 He wants to live.

 The cage the hunter threw him in is small and he has to remain hunched in an uncomfortable position that’s only accentuating his lingering pain from the fight.  The metal bars under his paws are digging into his flesh and leave him unable to rest in any kind of way.  He cannot move his head, he cannot move a single part of his now fox body — he had been trapped while in this form and now he has to pay the consequences.

 Deliriously he thinks that it is better like this.  Letting the hunter discover his human identity would only end with deadly consequences for everyone who knows who he really happens to be: Lance.

 He closes his eyes and wills himself to not breathe too deeply.  He forces himself to ignore the pelts and furs hanging on the walls.  The hunter hasn’t come back yet, and Lance takes advantage of these precious moments to tap into his magic and reach out to the other wild animals that had been trapped with him.  

 Young raccoons shake in their cages and baby foxes cry out to him, hungry, cold and oh so afraid.  It breaks Lance’s already frayed fortitude and he whines in distress.  Being in his fox form made him all the more susceptible to what was happening around him.

 In a desperate attempt he tries to use his wavering magic to open the cages — small sparks ignite here and there but nothing happens.  It only makes him even weaker than before, and now he’s shaking from exhaustion.  He tries again, though, those baby foxes don’t deserve this, the raccoons don’t deserve this, and it hurts to breathe but he pushes through the hot waves of mind-numbing pain to try and free them.

 The door of the small cabin opens, and Lance has never been so aware of his uselessness as he is now.

 He doesn’t deserve to be called a guardian of the forest.

 He only manages to fail everyone.

 The hunter smells strongly of gunpowder and smoke.  Lance growls from deep within his chest, fur on his snout wrinkling as he shows his teeth at the unwanted being.  He knows it’s all for show, since there’s not much he can actually do locked inside a cage and with little to no access to his magic.  Lance can only hope it’s enough to keep the hunter’s attention solely on him.

 But the human ignores him, at least for the time being he seems to do so, and instead starts setting up the creaking old table he keeps at the other end of the cabin.  Meticulously, he arranges an assortment of various types of knives that at first glance Lance knows only mean suffering.

 Fear is coursing through his veins now, his left ear still throbbing from when the hunter used one of his serrated knives to cut off the tip, and the feeling of being under the mercy of a monster makes him snap and uselessly fight against his metallic confines, causing the cage to rattle on the wooden floor.

 It earns him the weight of merciless eyes on him and the sound of manic laughter breaking through the space in the cabin.

 “You’re scared, guardian,” the hunter says, his voice a deep and pleased rumble.  He sets one last knife down before walking towards the hunched form of the magical fox, “good.”

 Lance tries to reach deep within his very core, where he knows his magic comes from, yet the cries of baby foxes resonate again and — dread fills his entire body, seizing his organs, clutching his lungs and tearing at them.  No– no, no, no, no–

 “Your grandfather put up much more of an interesting struggle than you,” the hunter grins with malice now, and his boots now are no longer approaching Lance’s cage, instead going to grab the one with the kits Lance has been trying to protect.  “Perhaps I should give you an incentive to make you fight harder.”

 Stop, Lance cries inside his own mind as he whines and barks in heart-throbbing distress, his breathing coming in in erratic puffs, his paws digging deeper into the metal bars, stop stop stop stop–

 The hunter opens the smaller cage just enough to get a kit outside as he reaches the table, his hold on the scared little fox unforgiving.  Lance cannot close his eyes, he cannot breathe or think or even remind himself that if only he would try again, reach inside, connect with his magic, then—

 The little fox in the hunter’s hand cries as it is thrown onto the table.

 Lance’s eyes are wide, wide open.

 A knife is lifted into the air by a monstrous hand, and Lance hates —truly hates— being a guardian now.

 His bond with magic breaks and blood and screaming and laughter pollute the air all around him.

 This is something that will never be erased.