#may as well just recover the yarn

[desultory-novice]

Question for funsies:

If you had to pick "top 10 Kirby characters that deserve a hug", which 10 would you pick?

I feel the point of a Top 10 list is to MAKE you narrow down your choices and that changing the rules is a cheat but I quickly found while writing I had divided this list into "deserves" a hug and "NEEDS" a hug. So you get two lists. Plus a bonus 3rd one.

None are in any particular order.

[Top 10 Kirby Characters Who Deserve A Hug]

Bandanna Waddle Dee Bandanna Waddle Dee always works so hard: studying, training, doing his best to both keep up with Dream Land's more bombastic residents and be representative of the Waddle Dees at the same time! That's a lot and yet, somehow Waddle Dee manages it!

Sillydillo Okay, well, not so much a hug but a pat on the head? The artistic armadillo needs acknowledgement either way. No one understands you, Sillydillo, and it's hard to say if you understand anyone/anything yourself, but I've never seen someone so enthusiastic about Doing Their Best! Shine on, you crazy diamond! Keep dancing to the beat only you can hear! You're perfect just as is!

Prince Fluff You did it! You got the magic yarn! This little prince has never been anything but flawless. Always generous and understanding with Kirby, even when Kirby has no idea how things work in yarn world. Plus like, he or an ancestor may have some kind of wild planet-saving backstory according to those cave paintings, so yes, Prince Fluff definitely deserves a hug for all that!

Adeleine It doesn't really matter if Adeleine has a traumatic backstory related to the destruction of Earth or not. The simple fact is, she canonically has ONE hit point and yet she's always ready to use it coming to the aid of her friends. Do you ever think she gets tired of painting food and refrigerators? Does she complain? No! She's just that sweet.

Gooey Gooey, you may not know what you have done to deserve a hug but you deserve a hug nonetheless. You're a wonderful gooey little miracle. You taught us that even the epitome of darkness and negativity is not incapable of becoming a friend. Good Gooey!

Rick I often consider Rick to be the leader/papa of the Animal Friends, and for staying devotedly by Kirby's side, helping him out whenever there is need (and as a married man, too!) Rick absolutely deserves a hug. He's been nothing but good and wholesome for over 25 years! (Ignore the gag manga.) I've said this before and I will say this again but Meta Knight as Kirby's dad? King Dedede as Kirby's dad? ...If that's your preference, but for me, it will always be hamster dad.

Susie I know people are going to argue forever about that Star Allies blurb and whether it's translated correctly or not or whether an alternate translation absolves her of her sins etc but sometimes, to deserve a hug, you just need to have survived a really goddawful time. And that's what earns Susie a place on my "C'mere!" list. She probably deserves a blanket and a warm cup of cocoa too.

King Dedede Not to be outdone by his own Waddle Dees, King Dedede has been working hard almost from the very beginning. Sure, he falls off the wagon sometimes, but when the chips are down, he's always trying to find some way (flawed or not) to make things right. Lazing around?! Never! He's recovering from his heroic sacrifice! Come on and get a hug, big guy! I hope it helps you feel like a hero!

Magolor ...He's going to say he doesn't and even after you deliver the hug, he'll probably playfully question your sanity and try to move the conversation on to getting you and all your friends a Merry Magoland season pass, but inside? He's wibbling like a small animal you rescued from the rain. He knows what he did, the good and the bad, and SOMETHING in him hopes... he really might just deserve this.

Kirby How could Kirby not deserve a hug?! Of course I'd hug Kirby!!

----

[Top 10 Kirby Characters Who NEED A Hug]

Taranza I don't like to woobify Taranza as much as others do. If you dig right down into it, he was basically Queen Sectonia's assassin, irregardless of his turning on her. The reason why Susie is on the "deserves" list and Taranza is on the "needs" list is honestly due to a bunch of what I see as subtle differences with the ways they're processing their own trauma and their responses after the fact.

Pres. Haltmann ...Not because he has particularly done anything to deserve it in recent memory ("memory" being the key word, hint hint) but because little Susie's disappearance was clearly the last time he ever got one. And that's a long time to go without a hug. I think I've mentioned this before, but you can sort of see in the way he laughs during his fight that he was probably a REALLY loving dad. I can't help but feel sorry for everything that happened to him. ...But also, if you're into petty vengeance, you could also do your best to crumple his fancy pressed suit while you're giving him that hug! ^_-

Dark Matter Poor Dark Matter has no friends and no idea how to even ask for them. Dark Matter invaded a whole planet because they were jealous that they couldn't have the fun everyone down on the surface was. (Zero probably forced them to do it also but...) And the result of this invasion was to be destroyed without ever experiencing joy or friendship. Depending on how you read DL3, their story only got worse from their! Dark Matter CLEARLY needs a hug!

Elfilin Quite possibly Elfy deserves a hug as well, but more than anything, he NEEDs a hug. Did you see how traumatized the poor dear was by the end of final fight? It's going to be okay, Elfy... The bonus of hugging Elfilin is that, post-game, you're sort of giving Elfilis a hug too only a) Eliflis won't try to kill you or melt your brain while you do it and b) it might actually have meaning for them now and even contribution to the act of untangling centuries(?) of abuse.

Queen of the Fairies She may be clumsy and scatterbrained but you know what? I think she did the best she possibly could. Even panicking, she sent the right fairy for the job! Given that she was soon after possessed by Zero 2 (...i-in her butt? Y-you know what, let's not go there...) she could probably, no, DEFINITELY use a hug after that.

Whispy Woods Has anyone ever asked what Whispy Woods wants?! No! In the RtDL Novel, Whispy didn't even attack because people were NICE to him! Instead of jumping into battle whenever the old arbor wakes up, maybe you ought to try singing it a lullaby? Put a soft blanket around its roots? Water it with a glass of warm milk?! Poor tree gets no love...

Shadow Kirby Shadow Kirby's record of good deeds versus causing trouble is kinda in the gray zone right now (haha, get it...?) so I can't say in good faith that they necessarily deserve a hug, but it's pretty clear the Mirror Dimension is a messy place. Who knows how much things have improved since they took over as hero(?!) I still think that they ought to have a hug just because of the whole Amazing Mirror fiasco.

Marx In storybook canon, Kirby hugging Marx surprised Marx so bad he fell off his ball!! That shows me that Marx has clearly not been hugged enough, and though the mischievous jester has done nothing to deserve it (Nothing! Not EVEN once!) I can't help but think Kirby's got the right idea here! Show the clown some love. If nothing else, it is effective in stopping his pranks for a time!

Zan Partizanne Franny and Berge seem to have always had each other to confide in, but Zan seems like the type to keep her feelings to herself. Even if Hyness WAS in a place to listen (he most definitely wasn't) she would probably consider it sacrilege to burden him with HER concerns! She's better now, as canon has informed us, but that doesn't mean she doesn't need a little something for all the years she had to bear up with the guilt and doubt and fear of her Jamba fellows...

Void Yes! Hug Void! Fill Void with positivity! Help teach Void love and hugs and naps and food and friendship! Bonus: it will save the planet!

---

Characters I Would Definitely Not Hug

Zero ...I just don't think it's gonna work out, folks? Also...gooshy...

Fecto Forgo ...Haha...that's a "group hug" you don't walk away from...

Galacta ...Possibly deserves it but I am 100% sure they would give me the "Star Dream" treatment before I got close enough to try.

Morpho ...Kumazaki vaguely implied during that Nintendo Dream interview touching Morpho means losing your soul so, uh, pass!

Kracko ...Cause of Death: electrocution. (Also, Kracko is a JERK!)

Mistleteinn (Master Crown) ...It's a hug that'll last you ~forever~

[repairingangelsworld]

Radioactive Cocoon

How is this sculpture important to dark nature

Radioactive Cocoon (2023) is a sculpture in reference to a non-human form growing amongst the troubles of a radioactive environment. My idea originated from the Chernobyl disaster and the way nature and animals thrived amongst the dangers of radiation. From reading deeper into Chernobyl I have come to understand that nature such as the animals and trees living in Chernobyl, have grown to become resilient over time. The resilience of these animals and plants within Chernobyl show that with time, things will adapt and grow differently in the form of a mutation. Mutation can however cause health effects on these animals or plants and this however can be a negative side effect. When an animal reproduces, the DNA they carry holds the mutation gene, which means the mutation gets passed on. But because of the resilience, these animals and plants have of way of still reproducing and finding ways to survive in the depths of a radioactive environment. In Dark Nature (2023) there is hope in the potential of mutations being a positive thing. Although it is known that mutation causes health issues, there could be a chance that it creates change too. For example there could be a deer with gills, so then it can breathe underwater. 

Radioactive Cocoon (2023) grows and forms under a radioactive environment, the areas of repetitive patterns and entangled vines show elements of mutation and the way the non-human grow in a radioactive zone. Mutation isn't always seen as something that looks pretty, but the idea around something being resilient and growing no matter the circumstances is what Dark Nature is about. The cycle of birth and death is shown because nature is always going to thrive and grow. I picture fish levitating and swimming in the sky, tree roots reaching up and soaking up the water from the clouds. All these beautiful moments will happen even when radiation seeks to damage the environment. Nature however will always fight back and adapt to its surroundings. 

I have introduced new materials such as wire to this sculpture because it contrasts well with the soft yarn I have used - it adds a man-made, apocalyptic feeling to the work. There is a push pull effect to this sculpture because it shows both chaos and softness. The chaos starts at the top where there are knitted spikes wrapped around a long vine, then it mellows out into soft yarn but still there are spikes, however they are less sharp. The constant push pull between the dark and the light is evident because Radioactive Cocoon (2023) is a balance between darkness and light. An example would be the mushroom on the reactor in Chernobyl. The mushroom eats the radioactive matter off the radiator which then converts into energy. In return the mushroom is reducing levels of radiation within the environment. Although this may not get rid of the radiation in Chernobyl, this is still a positive result towards the environment recovering from the nuclear power plant malfunction. 

What role does the sculpture play and why is it important that i made this sculpture in particular (what does it symbolise)

The role that this sculpture plays is to show that the non-human will continue to thrive in radioactive environments. It is important to understand this concept because it teaches us the strength and resilience that the non-human form has.  

Is the material I chose important?

The material choice I have chosen is woollen yarn for the majority of the sculpture. It is important that I use wool because it's a natural material grown from sheep and part of my practice is focused on sustainability and sourcing second hand materials to minimise waste. 

What do I want the viewer to feel when they look at my work?

This leaves the viewer questioning where Radioactive Cocoon stands, whether it is just about the darkness of nature because their are elements of brighter colours in this work. To feel somewhat on edge and confused is exactly what mutation is about because there is nothing simple about the way nature grows, let alone bringing in mutation and showing how complex a form can grow into. Mutation can be beautiful even when there are difficulties and complexities involved.

[bog-horse]

me frogging an old sock that’s been sitting, half-finished for probably 3+ years: oh wow this yarn is really nice maybe i should make an actual sock out of this sometime 🤔

[thatfanfictiongirl76]

Spider-Man Rec

With Spider-Man: No Way Home just coming out, I decided to post a rec of my favorite Spider-Man fics. Now these are all the Tom Holland Spider-Man, so no Tobey and Andrew's Spider-Man. Although in one They both make an appearance. Anyway, enjoy!!

The Spider-Man Conspiracy

By: TempestAurora

https://archiveofourown.org/works/16065365

Summary: "My name is Peter Parker, and with the help of my friends, Ned Leeds, Harley Keener, and my Aunt May, who provided me with a lot of red yarn for this project, are going to uncover the identity of Spider-Man."

My Comments: So I have to say that I love this fic so much. The format that it's in is really interesting. Overall I highly recommend it. It's part of a series, so the link to the two sequels are down below. I gotta admit that I would love to see Marvel actually make this.

Status: Complete

Length (Whole Series): 13,531 words

Series: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1140002

Sequels: The Peter Parker Conspiracy --- https://archiveofourown.org/works/16073411

Flash Thompson's Spider-Man Conspiracy --- https://archiveofourown.org/works/16287020

The Guardian

By: Emily_F6

https://archiveofourown.org/works/14428818/chapters/33325374

Summary: When a terrible accident claims the life of May Parker, Tony Stark steps up as Peter's guardian. But it's not just a traumatized super-teen he'll have to worry about when he receives a transmission from Thor.

My Comments: So I've read a few of these types of Spider-Man fics, and I have to say that this one is my favorite. I really love how it shows the dynamics Peter has with all the superheroes. Not to mention plenty of IronDad and SpiderSon in it as well. I also love how it shows Peter’s grief from losing Aunt May. Too many of these fics just sort of sweep it under the rug, or only dedicate one chapter to it. I like this one, how it shows how slowly you actually recover from something like this. I highly recommend giving this one a read! This fic is cross-posted on ff.net, so I'll link that down below.

Status: Complete

Length: 234,393 words

Ff.net: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/12914827/1/The-Guardian

Dad Said It’s My Turn to be Rhodey

By: BleuSarcelle

https://archiveofourown.org/works/36320956/chapters/90549676

Summary: Harley’s mourning, grieving. For someone he doesn’t even remember. In Tony’s last message he says to look after Peter. Problem is Harley doesn’t know who Peter is.

My Comments: I wrote the above summary myself. As you can tell this fic is post No Way Home. It only has four chapters, but you can tell that it’s really going somewhere. I am so looking forward to where this fic goes.

Status: Incomplete

Last Update: 3/25/22

Length: 27,065 words

Checkmate

By: Hwee

https://archiveofourown.org/works/17833667/chapters/42080216

Summary: Tony has been working on a rudimentary time-travel device since Ultron, and is able to send Peter back in time just as Thanos snaps his fingers. Armed with the knowledge of the events of Infinity War, a middle-school aged Peter must rally a pre-Civil War Avengers in contacting the rest of their fellow heroes and properly preparing for the arrival of the Mad Titan.

My Comments: The summary up above is actually from the fic’s TV Tropes rec, since the original summary was just writing taken directly from the fic itself, which some writers (myself included) do for their summaries. But it doesn’t really work well in a rec list. Anyway, this fic is an absolute gem. I love how they show Peter’s and Tony’s relationship. I mean we have Peter who comes from a time where he and Tony have a close relationship, and Tony who has just met the kid. I really like how Hwee showed the dynamic of it. Anyways the author is doing a rewrite of this fic, it’s only four chapters in but I will link it down below.

Status: Incomplete

Last Update (Rewrite): 11/8/19

Length (Original): 55,102 words

Rewrite: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21216794/chapters/50511512

Field Trips and Lab Days

By: BundiBirds

https://archiveofourown.org/works/32638660

Summary: What Peter’s trying to say is: he didn’t know that today’s tour group was going to be Midtown High. Ned knew, but didn’t say anything because he’s a traitor, and MJ knew, but didn’t say anything because she loves chaos, and look, the point is, Peter did not expect to glance up from the guts of one of Tony’s prototypes and come face to face with his entire class, staring at him through the glass.

My Comments: Yes, this is a field trip to Stark Tower fic. It’s a pretty nice short fic if you’re looking for a quick read. It doesn’t really have much of the “tour” part of Stark Industries, but more so of the class’s astonishment that Peter was telling the truth about the internship. You do need an AO3 account to read this fic.

Status: Complete

Length: 3,184 words

From Your Perspective, the World is Flat

By: Bleuh

https://archiveofourown.org/works/19835743/chapters/46969441

Summary: Peter successfully goes on a field trip, accidentally catches the school bleachers, survives a bus explosion, and reveals his identity as Spider-Man… Not necessarily in that order, much to the confusion of his entire decathlon team.

My Comments: This is another field trip fic. And it is a Spider-Man reveal. This fic is pretty great, and I love the take they did on Peter being held hostage. I also love the relationship Peter has with the rest of the decathlon team. This is part of a series, so I’ll link that down below.

Status: Complete

Length: 18,378 words

Series: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1497719

Sequel: Peter Parker’s Guide to Secret Identity Fails ---- https://archiveofourown.org/works/20798489/chapters/49432442

Bless the Broken Road

By: PinkEasterEggs

https://archiveofourown.org/works/19152037

Summary: In 1950, Peter Carter went missing. In 2005, a boy who looks exactly like Peggy Carter and Steve Rogers’ kidnapped son is found. Tony doesn’t even hesitate (okay, he may have hesitated a little) to take the boy under his wing.

My Comments: So in this fic, Peter is Peggy and Steve’s child, who Tony adopts. Now this fic focuses more on Tony and Steve than it does Peter. But I still think it deserves a place on this rec. There is a companion fic that is just outtakes on the years in between the chapters.

Status: Complete

Length: 114,816 words

Series: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1396354

Research and Disaster

By: Bleuh

https://archiveofourown.org/works/22827064/chapters/54555277

Summary: There should have been nothing remarkable about two people in a busy cafeteria, but Becket takes in the familiar sight of curly hair, brown eyes, and a t-shirt with a science pun on it talking animatedly alongside the actual Anthony Edward Stark and promptly drops his lunch. “So, uh, Mr. Stark definitely knows Roomba-Kid.” Becket says and discreetly tilts his head in the direction of the pair. “Oh my god,” Jess says. She almost sounds gleeful. “Oh my god, he’s not just some random kid. He’s Mr. Stark’s kid.”

My Comments: I absolutely love this fic! I love seeing the other interns' perspective of Peter, and the Roomba was also a delight. Seeing Peter through the other interns’ eyes and just how strange it would be if this high school kid had access to all the labs and things. You do need an AO3 account to read this fic.

Status: Complete

Length: 9,212 words

Quaranteens

By: Blueh

https://archiveofourown.org/collections/ironmarvel/works/28512807

Summary: “Peter Parker,” Cindy says. Peter’s head snaps up so fast that it almost looks inhuman. “Did Tony Stark just waltz in and pick up his child in the background of your Zoom call?”

My Comments: I’m pretty sure the summary above says it all. Anyway this is a delightful little read, and I highly recommend it. It definitely helps make light of the pandemic and make you laugh.

Status: Complete

Length: 6,666 words

If You Wanna Be My Lover (You Gotta Get With My Friends)

By: MindShelter

https://archiveofourown.org/works/22793854

Summary: MJ still remembers Ned’s initial disbelief when Peter -- infamous for missing class back in sophomore year, suspended for two weeks freshman year -- finished his bit of the group write-up four days early. The work was perfect, and so was Ned’s chemistry grade. After that it was Peter this, Peter that, Peter parted the Red Sea, it’s true, MJ, I was there; I saw it. Mj, hey, are you listening? ---- Then Ned says, “We should invite Peter to join AcaDec.”

My Comments: This is a delightful little AU that goes into how Peter goes from being the social pariah to Ned and MJ’s best friends. I love how it shows a different take on how Peter might be after getting his powers and how he slowly goes back to being a normal teenager.

Status: Complete

Length: 7,859 words

If They Knew All About You

By: MsHermia

https://archiveofourown.org/works/16757809

Summary: Tony Stark had lost his son when he was only 2 years old, stolen away in broad daylight with nobody the wiser of what exactly happened. Years later, Tony has just made it through the disaster with Ultron. He is trying to keep himself and the team together but relationships are strained and tempers are running high. Then a random turn of events leads to his path crossing with that of a particular vigilante. They are strangers to each other, or so they think. Meanwhile Peter Parker is on top of the world. After a few shitty years, losing his parents and then losing his Uncle, things are finally looking up. Sure he lives in a crappy little apartment with his Aunt, but he might have just found his mission in life.

My Comments: This fic sat in by tbr for years, and when I finally read it I couldn’t believe I waited this long. It’s over 500 thousand words and I just blew through it in a day. I can’t recommend this fic enough. It’s set during Civil War, which is what made me wait so long to read it, but I really like how it went over the events, and I liked how the beginning of this fic sort of set it up. Also all the Irondad and Spiderson was just to die for. I loved both Peter and Tony’s relationship, and I liked how it went over Tony and Peppers as well. I didn’t really like Steve in this fic, but I see why he was written that way, and I do think it worked for this fic. I highly recommend this fic!! This fic is cross posted on ff.net, so like always, I’ll link that down below.

Status: Complete

Length: 521,071 words

Ff.net: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/13295040/1/If-They-Knew-All-About-You

Marvel/Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse

What's Up Danger

By: TempestAurora

https://archiveofourown.org/works/17105591

Summary: Peter was just swinging over to the tower to have dinner with Mr. Stark and Aunt May, when an... anomaly appeared. An anomaly wearing blue ballet flats and has powers like his.

My Comments: So I wrote the summary above myself, since the fic's actual summary was a scene taken directly from the fic itself. I really love this work though and I highly recommend reading it. I've read quite a few Spider-Verse/MCU crossover fics, and this is the best one I've found. Highly recommend it. Tempest also managed to work in the Tobey Maguire Spider-Man, and the Andrew Garfield Spider-Man as well.

Status: Complete

Length: 7,800 words

[doctorbeth]

Bedelia and a bonus Rosebud

Since I started with Andy, I thought I’d share a couple more cloth doll stories (warning, this is a longer post). This is starts as the story of Bedelia.  She’s at least as tall as Andy, over 4 feet, and was handmade by her person’s great grandmother many years ago.  But over the years, Bedelia had a lot of adventures and when her person wrote to me, she looked like this:

We agreed that in Bedelia’s case, a spa was definitely in order, as well new hair (her person opted for all new) and eye repair.

Here she is in her spa (not the best photo, I know, but her person said “Awesome”):

Here’s here heart being made and installed with a bit of her original stuffing:

Here stay was a bit longer than expected, because it took some time to locate just the right color hair yarn, but finally she was ready to fly home!

Her family wrote:

"She almost doesn't look like the same doll, she looks so good!" 

Now Bedelia’s stay at the hospital had coincided with that of a very small doll, named Rosebud, who is only 6 inches tall.

Rosebud had had many bodies over his life, and it was time, once again, for a new one as a new generation had decided to love him.  Here is Rosebud’s original diagnosis photo:

Rosebud wasn’t being recovered.  He would get a new body, with a heart from his old stuffing and a touch of his old body (you can see the fabric in the inside heart photo).  Here’s the heart being made:

Here’s Rosebud with his new body:

In addition to a new body, Rosebud got a separate, new blue jumper, which wasn’t removable but added an extra layer of protection to his body.  Here he is all better!

Rosebud’s little person was ecstatic when he got home!  I saw the video and as his mom wrote “ He was beyond excited to have his buddy home and in new clothes and no more holes. “

Now some of you may be wondering... why didn’t you split up these two posts?  why are they together?  Well, as I mentioned at the start, they were in the hospital at the same time, and I couldn’t resist a photo of one of my tiniest patients (actually, probably the smallest doll) and one of my larger ones together. :-)  Here it is for you all to enjoy:

[doctor-loboto]

Not Sick, Chapter 1

I just posted the first chapter of the super self indulgent Milla/Loboto (with some Milla/Sasha and Sasha/Loboto) hurt/comfort fic I’ve been working on on AO3. You can read it here or continue to the first chapter in the post! WARNING: this fic focuses on a very romanticized portrayal of a therapist/patient relationship that has no consequences and is not really questioned, which is obviously not something that works that way in real life. also contains mentions of abuse and more explicit depictions of parental and medical abuse in future installments.

Chapter One: In Which Loboto Is Not Tortured (Much)

  Sasha was, of course, inordinately grateful that they had managed to uncover Gristol’s machinations before it was too late. Although the information hadn’t ultimately been necessary, it was quite an effort for both of them to extract it from Loboto’s mind out of under layers of emotional trauma. Sasha finally had to combine emergency psychological counseling with the use of his tools to get Caligosto to name his client (and, Sasha would learn, the latest in his shadow gallery of abusers; Loboto himself didn’t seem to entirely realize this, only describing Malik as a “milkbaby dickbrain” who yelled at him too much). 

   He was surprised at how his conception of the man had changed so quickly. When he had been abducted by Loboto just a few days ago, Sasha was convinced that he was a dangerous anti-psychic terrorist who had somehow slipped through the cracks and needed to be detained and psychically interrogated. He quickly learned that this was not the case. Caligosto had the mannerisms of someone who had suffered a severe trauma in childhood and wasn’t entirely mentally there. His memory was a sieve and his executive functioning skills amounted to a limp tangle of yarn. He could certainly help them track the people he had built things for, but there was no way he had ever independently plotted against the psychonauts. He seemed afraid of them as a concept, if anything. Sasha had to keep reassuring him that he wasn’t going to be tortured, they were just going to help him remember a few things. Now he still wanted to keep Loboto in custody at the Motherlobe, but it was mainly because he had so clearly been failed by whatever treatments they gave him at Thorney Towers and needed to see a real psychiatrist and therapist.

   First, perhaps, a general practitioner may be a good idea. They frequently had to pause their “interview” so Loboto could sneeze a few times and then clear his sinuses. Sasha provided a box of tissues as well as containers of antiseptic wipes and hand sanitizer. He couldn’t tolerate germs in his personal spaces. Still, he felt sympathy for Caligosto. When all was said and done, Sasha told him that he would have to stay at the base for a while for observation. “You’ll be assigned to a care dormitory rather than the usual isolation chamber. You’ve proven yourself to be sufficiently cooperative with treatment, and we feel that the higher comfort level will be more ideal, considering that you seem to be developing a cold.”

   He wasn’t expecting the response he got from Loboto, who recoiled dramatically. “I don’t have a cold!” He protested, sounding as if Agent Nein had just accused him of murdering a kitten or neglecting his flossing routine. “It’s just a little dusty in here, that’s all! I’m not sick.”

   “My apologies. Regardless, having a welcoming room to return to will be a good thing for you.” He didn’t need to press the issue. Either Loboto would recover on his own, or he’d be forced by circumstance to admit that he required medical caregivers. The underlying emotional issue making him so resistant to identify himself as ‘sick’ would need to be looked into later.

   There was some arguing, but Sasha managed to convince him that the guarantee of a warm bed, regular meals and access to medical care was preferable to going back on the run. Loboto still planned to attempt escape as Sasha lead him through the corridors, but his conviction wavered when he picked up the scent of food drifting from their destination. He hadn’t entirely processed the concept of ‘regular meals’ until his body reminded him of how hungry he was.

   He was able to eat dinner with the trio of secret-agents-cum-camp-counselors, the first time he’d been outside the isolation of the lab. Eager for hot food after spending so long on the outskirts of society, he had high praise for the offerings at the cafeteria. Milla found this endearing, another facet of the excitable, earnest personality that she felt increasingly drawn to. She wasn’t sure yet if she simply wanted to mentor and nurture Caligosto as a fellow trauma survivor or if, perhaps, she was beginning to consider him as an addition to her relationship with Sasha. But it was far too early to consider something like that. She’d need to wait until he was stable at the very least, and discuss with Sasha how their interactions had been and how he would feel about the possibility of involving Loboto in their intimate life.

   After finishing a bowl of pasta and several dinner rolls, Loboto yawned dramatically and announced that he was going to hit the hay. He had, at least for the time being, given up on the idea of breaking out. Sasha escorted him to his room, which earned his approval aside from a comment about how it needed some plushies to liven it up. Sasha was quietly amused by this and told him that perhaps they would be able to find some stuffed toys around the premises that wouldn’t be missed. Caligosto was pleased and shucked off his massive smock-coat before snuggling into his blankets like a raccoon burrowing into a nest of stolen armchair stuffing.

[taleweaver-ramblings]

Shadowed Sanctuary

So, this took longer than it ought to have, but here's my piece for @inklings-challenge! I was Team Chesterton, which means I got to write intrusive fantasy. Oddly enough, I didn't end up going either of the routes I expected to take, instead ending up with . . . well, let's just say it's inspired by a particular post by @theriu and my love of turning horror wholesome. Enjoy.

~~~~~~

There was something in the church, and it sure as the hot place wasn’t a holy thing.

The wind screamed through the sanctuary windows and the steeple in the dark autumn night as Opal Seymour sat in the third pew from the front, knitting by candlelight. Her wrinkled hands looped and pulled the yarn in a rhythm so steady and regular she could’ve done it in blackest midnight and never dropped a stitch. And through each row of stitches, she sent up a prayer. Lord, be with Reverend Jordan; give him wisdom to lead the congregation and courage to not be shaken by the thought of haunts in Your holy place. Turn the work. Lord, be with my son, wherever he may be. Guard him and guide him and bring his heart safely back to you and me. Turn the work. That prayer had been said so many times, it was as much a part of the blanket as the yarn. Lord, be with Charles as he recovers from his heart attack; lay your hand of healing on him and keep it steady til he’s well.

Another turn. Opal eyed the space between the flickering altar candles and the massive cross hanging on the back wall, its lower reaches scored and scarred by great claw marks. And Lord, protect me as I wait for the thing that scared him into the attack.

She didn’t have much longer to wait. She’d knitted through only one more row (Lord, be with my son) when she felt hot breath on the back of her neck, too hot to be human. Her nose wasn’t too sharp anymore — it never had been — but even she could smell the blood and rot on each exhale, just like Eugenia Williams had told everyone half a dozen times when she declared she wouldn’t set foot in the sanctuary until the thing cleared out. That made everyone sit up and listen. Eugenia had sat and played piano at choir rehearsals, worship services, and her own personal practice for fifty years, and she’d budge not for power outages or riots or tornado warnings, but this had shaken her, and Opal could understand why.

Still, she hadn’t come here just to run at the first sign of trouble. Without so much as turning around, she said, “If you’re tryin’ to frighten me out of here, you’re wastin’ your time. Stop your lurkin’ and come out where I can see you.”

A low growl came from behind her. The hot breath moved on, accompanied by the scratching of immense claws on the wooden floor. The suggestion of a shadowy something appeared in the aisle, in the corner of Opal’s eye. She nodded approvingly. “That’s better. What do you think you’re doin’, creepin’ around our church and scarin’ people half to death?”

The shadow growled again. Opal turned her work. This’d be another protect-me-Lord row. If not for the fact that she was always cold these days, she’d be getting chills down her spine. “None of that, now. You talked well enough when you scared the elders out of their meetin’. What do you want with our church?”

“What is it to you, old woman?” The voice was anything but human: unnaturally deep and gravelly and seeming to come from everywhere at once and echoing off the wooden beams of the ceiling for far too long. “Do you think you can chase me out?”

The wind grew louder, rattling the windowpanes, howling like a pack of hunting hounds. Opal cast a quick look at the nearest candle as the flame fluttered and stretched, making sure it wasn’t going to spill hot wax on her work. “If I have to, by the good Lord’s will, I’ll send you scampering. But I want an answer to my question.”

“Too bad.” The shadowy figure paced up the aisle. It lingered by the altar, making a void in the candles’ light.

“None of that!” Opal snapped, using the same tone she’d used on her son when he was a boy of nine with a knack for trouble. The creature’s most frequent trick, she’d heard, was knocking over candles. “You set the church aflame, the whole congregation will be too angry to be feared of you. You’ll have a mob after you with torches and pruning shears.”

A pause. When the shadow spoke again, its voice had lost some of its growl, instead taking on a more familiar inflection. “I thought it was torches and pitchforks.”

“We haven’t been rural enough for that since I was a wee girl. Most folks, the closest thing we’ve got to a pitchfork is a rake.” Opal turned her work again to start a new row. She hated to repeat the same prayer two rows at once, but protection seemed a fairly urgent need just now.

“Rakes still hurt,” the being growled, with the tone of someone who knew from experience. The shadow prowled around the altar and then stopped. Though no eyes were visible, Opal got the sense it was watching her. “Why’s an old lady like you sitting here at night with a monster like me lurking?”

“Well, someone had to come and find out what you are and why you’re makin’ a mess of our church.” Opal paused to straighten out the twisted mass of her blanket.

“And the congregation’s so full of cowards they had to send an old lady I could snap in half without even trying?”

“Why someone else didn’t choose to come is between them and God,” Opal snapped. “I volunteered. Figured I’d survive or not as the good Lord willed, and I’m too old to be afraid of dying or the dead. Not as if there’s much left for me on this earth. My Richard’s moved on and savin’ me a dance at a heavenly party, and only God knows what’s happened to my son. Whatever it is, he’s not interested in me anymore. Anyway, it’s not the first time I’ve sat vigil in this sanctuary, prayin’ through the night. Won’t be the last either.”

“Hmph. Tell me about this son of yours.” The shadow’s tone had shifted somehow from scornful to curious. “Since you’re so careless about leaving him behind.”

“Careless? No.” Opal managed a sad laugh. “But he ran off when he was fifteen, and I’ve only seen hide or hair of him once since then. He came back when he was twenty-one. Wanted his papers and such. I hardly recognized him when he showed up. Drove up in a big black car and came out wearin’ black and walkin’ like he’d’ve kicked a pup that got in his way, with scars that said he’d got caught up in something evil. We asked him to stay anyway, Richard and I did, but he just laughed at us and drove off again with what he’d come for.”

“It sounds like you don’t have much reason to care, then, since he doesn’t.”

“If he doesn’t care, all the more reason I should. Still . . .” Opal sighed. “It’s been a long time since I saw Andrew. We tried reaching out once or twice, particularly when all that newfangled internet business made people say it was easy to find anyone. He doesn’t want to hear anything we have to say. He’s run from us and, worse, from the Lord. Maybe if my life wouldn’t reach him, me dyin’ would be the shock he needs to get back on the straight and narrow way.” She tilted her chin. “There. I’ve answered your questions. High time you started answerin’ some’a mine. What are you, and what do you want in our church?”

“What am I?” the shadow echoed, growling again. “Are you sure you want to know the answer to that, old lady?”

“Wouldn’t’ve asked if I didn’t, would I?” Opal reached the end of her row and lowered her knitting. “Seems you’re more than just a shadow.”

“You’re right.” Another growl wore into a sigh. “You want to know? Then look.”

The shadow gathered itself and became more distinct. There, between altar and pews, sat a giant wolf — no, not quite a wolf, even aside from the fact that it was still spectrally insubstantial. Opal had seen wolves, wild wolves, when she was a girl. This was something else. Too big, with teeth too long and eyes too narrow and yellow, with hulking shoulders and legs meant for something more violent than long runs through the forest.

She contemplated the sight for a moment, then picked up her knitting again, sending up another Lord, be with my son. “Well. You’re certainly somethin’.”

The ghostly not-wolf blinked its giant eyes at her, confusion and perhaps even disappointment practically radiating off of it. “You’re taking this more calmly than I thought you would. Most people scream. Some people faint.”

“Some people will scream at a ladybug.” Opal shrugged, though she carefully didn’t look at the wolf’s mouthful of pointed teeth or at the knife-like claws on the creature’s feet. “Anyway, my mother and father told me plenty of old stories. Told me which ones were true and weren’t, just like I told my boy, mistake though that might have been. So. Werewolf, are you? Still doesn’t answer what you’re doin’ hauntin’ round our church."

The wolf growled, low and long. "My business is mine."

"Yours and the Lord's, sure enough." Opal nodded. Wolf or not, this was familiar territory, and she made her next three stitches with a prayer of thanks. "But folks come to the church because they're lookin' for help."

"Or looking to make trouble. How do you know that's not all I want?"

"If trouble's all you wanted, you wouldn't've stopped when I warned you off the candles. You would’ve gone further than growlin’ and breathin’ down people’s necks to give them a fright. You wouldn't've howled ‘til help came when you scared Charles Wallace into a heart attack." Opal raised a thin eyebrow at the wolf. "Am I right?"

The wolf paced around the altar once, twice, ears back and head lowered. "Do you know what the Wild Hunt is?"

"I've heard tell of it. Evil creatures and unhallowed dead, led by the devil himself, screaming through the sky and dropping good and ill on folk at their whim. Never heard it was true."

"Oh, it's true." Familiar bitterness filled the wolf's voice. "It's not the devil leading them, though it might as well be. And it's not the dead that fill it, but once you're in it, you might as well be dead and damned. Werewolves are the hounds of the hunt, and we all dread the day we're summoned to it."

His voice lowered, and the glow of his yellow eyes dimmed as he drew into himself. "In the hunt, you're only ever the monster. You lose the man. And you're dead long before your body wears out. I won't die like that. So I came here with the hunt on my heels. They almost caught me on the doorstep. But I made it inside just in time."

"You came for sanctuary." Opal nodded, and as she started her next row, she sent up another prayer for the wolf. "What's your plan now? Haunt us until the hunt moves on, then leave?"

The wolf let out a quiet growl, hunched low. "That was my plan. But I'm half in the hunt already, and they know it. As long as I am what I am, I can't leave. And there's no way to change what I am."

"Bold words for someone standin' before the cross of our Lord."

The wolf let out a snort. “Don’t tell me you’re going to try to give me the whole sin-cross-death-redemption spiel.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it. Seems to me you’ve heard it plenty before now.” Opal paused, an eyebrow raised. “Am I wrong?”

“No.” The wolf’s voice was low, though not quite a growl. “But this isn’t like those stupid stories the church bookstores peddle. My problems won’t go away because I say a prayer. Whether or not I wanted to make that choice, I’m a monster, not a man. And that can’t be fixed.”

“You’re more man than monster. A monster would’ve gone through with a kill by now — gone through and been cast out in the doin’. And if you’re a man, you’ve still got a soul to be saved.” Opal picked up the blanket she was working on and spread it out so it flowed over the back of the pew in front of her and puddled on the seat. “My boy ran off all those years. But I’ve kept praying for him — every other row in this blanket, near enough, is a petition to the good Lord on his behalf. There’s still hope for him. There’s still hope for you.”

A long pause. The windows of the church rattled with the wind. Then, in a near-whisper, “What are you saying?”

Opal huffed. “What I’m sayin’ is that you’d better unblock your ears and your heart and start listenin’ again to what I’m sayin’, Andrew Richard Seymour!”

The wind outside picked up. The shadows whisked back together, coalescing into the wolf far faster than they had before. The wolf shook himself, all the fur on his back standing up, his eyes wide. “What — how —?”

“You think I wouldn’t know my own son? I didn’t raise no fool, Andrew Richard Seymour. So stop actin’ like one and claimin’ you’re past savin’ when all you’ve done is get yourself tangled up in a nasty briar-patch. As if God couldn’t use the Wild Hunt to chase you back to himself!”

The shadows bled out of the wolf until it was as white as it had been black a moment ago, the only color its yellow eyes. The church windows rattled and shook so hard with the rush of wind around the church that Opal half expected them to crack. But her gaze remained on the wolf as he backed up the steps. “What are you doing?”

“I taught you the stories better than that. Think for a moment. A werewolf wantin’ to change just needs his flesh and blood to call him back to himself and maybe give him a good scoldin’ to make it stick.” Opal stood as the howling storm outside reached hurricane pitch. “And one last thing, Andrew Richard Seymour. You stop blasphemin’ God while you’re standing in His house. He can do whatever He dang well pleases, and that includes settin’ you to rights!”

With a final wail, the storm outside stilled. At the altar, the wolf shrunk, squeezed, shifted, until it wasn’t a wolf standing there but a man dressed in a short-sleeve shirt and jeans stained with dirt and blood. Scars decorated his arms and neck, some jagged and others precise. He collapsed onto his knees, staring at his hands.

Opal edged out of the pew and strode forward to the altar. She gingerly lowered herself on the step beside her son. “High time you were home, Andrew. I’ve missed you.”

“More than I deserved, probably.” Andrew looked up, his eyes brown now instead of yellow. “I said some pretty cruel things when you saw me last. And what I’ve done since . . .”

“Doesn’t matter. You’re my son.” Opal wrapped one arm around him and squeezed. “Now, let’s go. I’ll make up a bed for you at home and then the both of us can get some rest.”

[nah-she-didnt]

Inheritance

Knitting may be a less physically painful hobby than sewing, Lily thought bitterly as she unraveled her work for the third time in an hour, but it was no less frustrating. True, her fingers bled less while knitting than they did during her needlepoint phase. She’d jabbed herself more times than she could count last time she tried to embroidered a sad-looking flower onto the corner of her least favorite pillowcase. No, knitting certainly yielded less bloodshed than sewing, but it didn’t come without a price.

“Ouch!” Lily cried as she poked her humungous stomach once again with the end of the long, metal knitting needle. She could never get used to her belly, which seemed to swell more and more every day. “Damn- stupid-” She growled with frustration, crumpled up the ruined baby jumper, and hurled the bundle of yarn and needles across the room.

Lily watched the bundle soar through the air as her chest heaved slightly from her outburst. She rubbed absentmindedly at the spot where she’d impaled herself on the needle. Couldn’t break the skin, she reminded herself, but she still bruised like a peach. Little purple bruises all over your stomach weren’t typically a comforting sight in the ninth month of pregnancy.

Eight months. She shuddered a bit at the thought. Eight months of being sick, of stretching and expanding, of reminding herself that she was not a selfish cow for bringing a child into the world in the middle of a war.

For bringing this child into the world.

She groaned as she leaned forward to brace herself to stand. With a huge effort, she was able to push to her feet and shuffle over to retrieve her knitting. Won’t be long now, she thought to herself as she settled back into her spot on the couch to finish her work, stop messing around and get this done before he gets here or you'll never finish.

He.

Her heart sunk at the thought. It had been difficult to hide her disappointment when she’d heard her baby was male. She remembered how James had smiled softly at the scan and squeezed her hand. “A boy,” he’d whispered to her, “a little boy.”

She’d smiled and squeezed his hand right back. A boy.

Lily remembered the moment perfectly, how she’d fallen deep into that all-consuming fog. It was official, at least part of the prophecy was true after all. A boy, born at the end of July...

Three days. That’s all she needed. Three days until the sticky summer days of August. She would distract herself with this horrid jumper for three whole days, and then the baby could come whenever he pleased.

“Having fun?”

Lily jumped in surprise, causing her once again to drop a stitch. “Git,” she grumbled as she squinted down at the yarn, trying desperately to recover her mistake, “can’t you make a noise once in a while? You’ll startle me into early labor.”

James grinned and hopped over the back of the couch, landing next to her with a soft thwump.

“Whatcha got there? Is it a…” he regarded her lumpy, misshapen jumper, “a bib?”

“Very funny,” she snapped, refusing to look at him as she knitted, then purled, then knitted again.

“I’m sorry,” he grinned, clearly trying not to laugh, “I know it’s a jumper. Why the mad rush to finish, anyway?”

“I want it to be ready in time,” she said through teeth gritted in concentration, “he’s going to be here soon.”

“Right.”

Lily waited. She’d known James long enough to know when he was holding back. She turned her head slowly and fixed him with a glare. “What? Go on, spit it out.”

James had long grown used to Lily’s hormonal bitchiness. Nevertheless, he looked unsure of how to proceed without getting his head ripped off. “Well,” he sighed, eyeing the jumper hesitantly, “it’s just that, the jumper’s a bit small, don’t you think? I mean, won’t he be a bit big by the time it’s cold enough outside to wear?”

Lily felt the heat rise in her cheeks. This was absolutely the last thing she needed to hear right now. “I don’t think so. He’s a baby, how big can they be?”

“Well,” James said carefully, “let’s see. It’ll get chilly enough for jumpers by, I dunno, October? So he’ll be three months? He might have some meat on him by then if he’s anything like me when I was a baby.”

“No,” Lily shook her head and returned to her work. Knit. Purl. Knit. Purl. Purl again. “He’d be two months. Two.”

James sighed. “Lil-”

“If he’s born in August he’ll be two months in October.”

“We have to be prepared for the wo-”

“No.” Lily said the word quietly, but with a danger she hadn’t realized she possessed.

James held up his hands in surrender. “You’re right. Ignore me. I didn’t mean-”

“He’ll be tiny,” Lily said into her hands. Knit. Purl. Dropped stitch. Damn. “Tiny enough to fit into this sweater. And he’ll be perfect. And safe and healthy and loved.” Another stitch dropped. It was getting hard to see her work through her tears.

“Lily,” James said softly as he reached for her hands. He brought the needles slowly down from her face and tucked his hand over hers in her lap. “Let’s take a break for a moment, alright?”

She nodded. She could have wrestled her hand from under his to wipe the tears from her cheek, but she let them fall freely. James wrapped an arm around her shoulders and pulled him into her chest.

They stayed that way for a while, Lily crying silently into James’ chest. After a while, she became aware of his own warm tears on her hair. She wondered dully if he was thinking what she was thinking. What have we done?

“Why the knitting?” James murmured as he ran a hand up and down her arm comfortingly, “why the rush?”

Lily sniffed. She hadn’t expected the question, and she suddenly found she didn’t have an answer. Knitting just seemed like a thing to do for your baby. “I just want him to have something of mine. Something to...remember me by.”

It was a mark of the bond between them that James did not protest at her words. He knew more than anyone how their stories could end. How little time they might have with their son.

“He’s going to love it. But you know,” James nudged her chin gently with his forefinger so that she looked up into his face. His cheeks were still blotchy from his tears, but a real smile shone on his lips. “You know he’s going to have your eyes. How could he not? That’s something he could never get from anyone else.”

Lily smiled too. She tried to picture her own green eyes looking back up at her from a bundle of blankets in her arms. Her eyes, maybe James’ hair. It was a lovely picture.

“Three days,” she leaned up and kissed James gently on the lips, “let’s get through the next three days. We’ll have plenty to worry about when he arrives and I won’t have time to finish this stupid jumper.”

James laughed. He stood from the couch, stretching his arms above his head as he went. “He’s going to love the sweater, Lil. Who knows, maybe he’ll give it to his own baby someday.”

“Oh, god,” Lily murmured as she resumed her work with a renewed intensity, “don’t say that. He’ll need something nicer than this for his own kids, this one’s shite.”

---

“I can’t believe you didn’t let me at the baby boxes first,” Ginny grumbled as she poured through a trunk of useless artifacts from her and her brothers’ infancies. A torn sweater here, a lone bootie there. A Babbity Rabbity book that was so worn from years of use that it tore at the binding. Ten years and seven children later, even the hardiest hand-me-downs could fall apart. “Bill got all the good stuff for Vic.”

“Well, dear,” her mother sighed as she levitated yet another trunk onto the kitchen table, “he was the first in the family to have children, after all.”

“It’s not like Fluer lets her kids wear any of our old jumpers,” Ginny muttered bitterly, “it isn’t from Paris, so of course it’s all rubbish.”

“What about this, Ginny?” Hermione called from her spot across the table. She’d spotted a dusty, but beautiful, mobile made up of stars and whirling planets folded up in the corner of a trunk. Small silver chimes hung from the top of the mobile which could almost certainly be charmed to play softly as the baby slept below. “This is lovely, isn’t it?”

Ginny, despite her determination to be a grumpy, hormone-filled nightmare today, eyed the mobile with interest. “It is nice.”

“Hmm,” her mother hummed as she dug through a bag of old baby socks, looking for a matching pair, “I suppose I didn’t let all the good stuff go to your brother after all, then?”

Ginny huffed as she accepted the mobile from Hermione and gingerly placed it into her bag. “Fine. Maybe not. But he’s still always been your favorite child.”

“What about me, then?” Ron called as he strode into the room, Harry at his side.

Ginny threw a faded plush snitch at his head, which he caught easily. “Not you, git. Bill.”

“Oh, true,” Ron shrugged as he leaned down to kiss Hermione on the cheek. By the time they got married and had kids of their own, Ginny thought savagely, there would surely be nothing usable left in the trunks. This was her only consolation.

“Gin, it’s alright. We don’t need anything from here,” Harry said reasonably as he peered into the trunk with interest. “Of course, Molly, it’s all lovely. But we’re buying loads of stuff for the baby, he’ll be just fine.”

“But still!” Ginny protested as she dug further into the trunk, “I want the memories, you know? I want to pass something down to my kids. Something like...like this.”

At the very bottom of the trunk lay a tiny, perfectly folded Gryffindor jumper. No years of wear-and-tear, no moth holes or loose strings hanging from the sleeves. Her mother had even added a tiny lion to the front in perfect golden stitches against the crimson background. Ginny pulled the jumper gingerly from the trunk and ran the tips of her fingers along the ridiculously soft wool.

“Oh, Molly,” Hermione murmured in awe as she stared at the jumper in Ginny’s hands. “It’s beautiful.”

Her mother smiled softly. “I knit that jumper when I was pregnant with you, Ginny.” Her voice had grown hoarse, as if she was trying her best to keep the emotion at bay. “I wanted you to have something of your very own. You only wore it a few times before you got too big. It was silly, really, to spend so much time making something that you’d grow right out of, but I couldn’t help it.”

“No wonder we were all in Gryffindor,” Ron grinned, as he eyed the jumper, “you and dad have been priming us since birth.”

“Oh, hush,” her mother snapped at Ron, “you know we didn’t care, not really. After all, I was almost sure Percy would be in Ravenclaw when he first went to school, but then-”

“Harry?”

Hermione’s voice was barely above a whisper, but it stopped mum’s story at once.

Harry’s eyes were on the jumper in her hands, and they were wet. His chest rose and fell rapidly as he stared at the bundle of red and gold. He didn’t give any indication that he’d heard Hermione say his name.

Ginny felt her heart sink into her stomach. “Harry, what’s wrong?”

“What?” Harry shook himself a bit as if coming out of a dream. He glanced around at all the eyes fixed on him. “Oh, sorry. I just thought- never mind. Being silly.” He ran a hand through his hair absentmindedly, his chest still heaving slightly. The legs of his chair scraped loudly across the kitchen floor as he stood suddenly.

“Got to get some fresh air, excuse me,” and Harry practically bolted through the kitchen and through the back door.

Her mother gazed sadly after him. “Oh dear, I should have thought before bringing all this out. I hope he’s not too upset.”

“It’s alright mum,” Ginny patted her mother’s arm gently, “he’ll be fine. I’ll go talk to him.”

Ginny crossed over to the back door and eased her way through it. How on earth had her mother, a woman who had been pregnant at least seven times, been able to live in a house with such tiny doorways? She waddled down the porch and into the back garden towards her husband’s form.

It was difficult to see him in the early evening light, but she did not like the look of the way his shoulders slumped forward where he stood.

“Hey,” she breathed as she reached Harry. She could tell he’d been crying by the way his breath caught in his throat with each inhale. The sound made her feel faintly sick. “What happened in there?”

Harry shook his head sharply. “Nothing. Being stupid, that’s all.”

“It’s not stupid,” she took his hand in hers and gripped it tight. “Having a baby is scary. I get it. I don’t have any less faith in you for being scared.”

“It’s not that,” he whipped around to look at her, his eyes alight with adrenaline. “I’m not scared. I’m going to protect our baby with every breath I have left in me, I promise you that, Ginny.”

She smiled patted his hand gently. He had these moments every now and then, the wild sense of panic that always preceded a fight. She couldn’t blame him exactly, given everything he’d lost, but she was worried for him. “I know you will. I will, too.”

Harry nodded vigorously and turned back to the garden. She could feel his body relaxing slightly, could sense some of the panic recede from his muscles and release through his exhale.

“I’m sorry I freaked out,” Harry breathed as he brought their clasped hands to his mouth and kissed her knuckles, “it was that damned tiny jumper. It was unnaturally small. I don’t remember Teddy being that small, do you?”

Ginny laughed and leaned her head against his shoulder. The sun was really setting now, casting the entire yard in a soft orange glow. Somewhere in the distance, a family of gnomes grumbled to each other as they dug through her mother’s tomato patch. “He was never that small, though I suppose Teddy was a bit of a fat baby.”

Harry snorted. “I’m telling him you said that.”

“Don’t!” Ginny swatted at him playfully, “don’t you dare!”

He just laughed again and pulled her close against his chest, the back of her head resting comfortably against him.

“It is nice, though,” he sighed, “the idea of passing something down to your kids. Giving them a little part of you. I wish I’d had more of my parents’ things.”

Ginny nodded slowly. She couldn’t imagine a childhood without hand-me-downs. A little bit of history in every toy, every piece of clothing. “Perhaps we can make up for it. Create some new traditions.”

“Yeah?” She could hear him grinning through the word. “How would we do that?”

Ginny sighed, a little horrified with herself at what she was about to say.

“Well, we could always ask my mother to give us knitting lessons.”

Really. Married, pregnant, and finally letting her mother teach her to knit after years of protestation. What had her life come to?

[klaineccfanficlibrary]

Hi! I hope y'all are doing well. It's been a few months since I've been on Tumblr. I'm back for some new fics. I'm interested in suggestions for WIP that y'all are really enjoying and I should catch up on. I just started @gleefulpoppet Better Knot Bow Tie Company and it's so lovely but I'm looking for more to read. Thanks for all you do in keeping this library.

Unless noted, all the fics listed below are active WIPS. - HKVoyage

LYNNE I am completely and totally in love with this story. I hope I don’t catch up before it’s complete but I can’t stop reading it!

A Summer Story by Kb.Ellen  (This updates Wed/Sat every week) When an injury forces Kurt to take the summer off from his dream job as a principal dancer with the NYC Ballet, he's anxious to recover and get back to life as he knows it. But can a tiny town in southern Arkansas, a joyful aunt, a town full of good-hearted people and an intriguing local handyman make Kurt reassess what his dreams actually are? Welcome to Cassville.

On my TO-READ list:

Turn Into A Pose by @little-escapist   [WIP] Singer-songwriter Blaine Anderson wants to come out of the closet. When his publicist sets him up with movie-star Kurt Hummel, he’s ready for anything, but the last thing that Kurt wants is a relationship with anyone, let alone Blaine. He hates his publicist for setting him up, hates the idea of lying to the world, and hates letting the world invade his personal life. But maybe Blaine Anderson is exactly what Kurt Hummel needs.

~~~~~ The Prince and the Pea by dreamcatcher (darcangell23)  [Complete] When a young man shows up at the palace doors drenched from the rain inside, Prince Blaine begins to suspect he may be the missing prince of another kingdom. But when his father refuses to believe the young man to be anything but a peasant, Blaine formulates a plan to prove he is royalty.

~~~~~

Stargazing Memories by @jayhawk-writes  [WIP] Kurt reminisces on some of his experiences here in Cassville while waiting for Blaine to show up. This is one of those memories.

*A second thank you to kb.ellen on FF.net for giving me permission to write a fanfic of her fanfic, A Summer Story. Go check it out…it’s fantastic!!

~~~~~

Crimson Yarn by @teddyshoney   [Complete] Back from New York, Kurt has just purchased a lake house in need of fixing up to keep him busy while he tries to heal from his past relationship. Back from LA, Blaine reluctantly takes a job from his father while he mourns the loss of his dream. Will red yarn, coffee, and some heavy conversation be enough for both boys to realize that there many be an answer to their healing right in front of them?

HKVOYAGE I’m on a summer hiatus of reading WIPs while I read the Klaine Fanfic Award finalists that are new to me. However, these are the WIPs that I will definitely read when I’m ready. Too many fics and not enough time!

Turn Into A Pose by @little-escapist Singer-songwriter Blaine Anderson wants to come out of the closet. When his publicist sets him up with movie-star Kurt Hummel, he’s ready for anything, but the last thing that Kurt wants is a relationship with anyone, let alone Blaine. He hates his publicist for setting him up, hates the idea of lying to the world, and hates letting the world invade his personal life. But maybe Blaine Anderson is exactly what Kurt Hummel needs.

~~~~~

Better Knot Bow Tie Company by @gleefulpoppet Blaine Anderson has been a Better Knot Bow Tie Company monthly subscriber for years. He's taken a hiatus from Broadway to facilitate the Journey Performing Arts School's summer program in New York. What happens when a zany bow tie sets off a chain reaction of events that may change their futures forever?

~~~~~

Show Me Love, Show Me Life by CoffeeAddict80 | @caramelcoffeeaddict When Blaine Anderson became a vampire over 800 years ago, he gave up on the idea of having close relationships – platonic or romantic – with anyone. As long as he could still have sex, feelings were unnecessary. But there was something different about the new transfer student, Kurt Hummel, that kept drawing him in. Kurt was unlike anyone Blaine had ever met. And Blaine was starting to think that he wasn’t the only one at Dalton with a supernatural secret.

To most people, Kurt Hummel seems like your average high schooler; but there's nothing average about him. Kurt is a warlock – a warlock that can’t use magic. When he was born, his magic went dormant, and no one knows why. But sometimes, he's capable of things that no one – not even Kurt himself – can explain.

~~~~~

Undiagnosed by @esperantoauthor “As he glanced at the calendar, Burt Hummel contemplated—not for the first time—how little he had in common with his only child.”

Burt Hummel doesn’t know how to connect with his son but when he discovers that Kurt has a serious problem, Burt will do anything to help him. Told from multiple perspectives, this is a story about what happens when a problem goes undiagnosed, and what happens when it finally is.

[winterscaptain]

intellectual guesswork.

Aaron Hotchner x Gender Neutral Reader

a/n: another ajf update that requires absolutely no context to enjoy! i love you all so much. send some extra love to your favorite writers this week :)

one quick thing - if you’re on my taglist, please consider dropping a reply or a reblog! i love to see what you all think, and it encourages me to keep going :) it’s also getting a bit long, and i want to make sure my mutuals and people who engage are seeing everything - tumblr sometimes has a hard time with a lot of mentions. 

words: 1.6k warnings: none!

summary: “ignorance of the law excuses no man - from practicing it.” - addison mizner. au!may 2008

masterlist | a joyful future masterlist | ajf faq | taglist | what do you want to see next? edited: january 12th, 2021

You all settle into one row. Aaron’s on the end beside you, looking very sharp in a crisp black suit, his favorite Rolex, and a settled kind of confidence you’ve only seen in him a few times. It’s like he’s in his natural habitat. 

Aaron’s record as a federal prosecutor speaks for itself, of course, but you’ve never seen him in action. As often as they can, the bureau’s leadership sends him in as an expert witness. This time, the case happens to be one of yours. The judge hasn’t required a sequestration for Aaron, so you get the treat of sitting together in the courtroom. 

He’s scoffed and mumbled snide remarks under his breath all morning. You’re just itching to see him get up on the stand and give this joker an education. 

Emily leans over, whispering in your ear. “I promise you’ve never seen anything like this before. Hotch is going to rip this clown to shreds.” 

You stifle a laugh and look over at Aaron. He heard her. Leaning toward you, he murmurs, “All my JD does is collect dust. When I use it, I’d like to enjoy it.” 

“Your Honor, the prosecution would like to call our expert witness, Supervisory Special Agent Aaron Hotchner, to the stand.” 

He takes a breath and rises, buttoning his suit jacket and crossing the courtroom. His presence commands respect and everyone in the courtroom seems to shrink before him. 

The prosecution’s questions go over smoothly, and the defense attorney stands with an unreasonable amount of confidence. 

Emily leans over. “He thinks he can get Hotch with at least one of these questions, and he might. But just watch.” 

You nod, taking everything in. 

“So you’ve stated that it was your profile of the killer that led you and the police to my clients door that night.” 

“Behavioral analysis was a factor in our investigation, yes.” 

Without hesitation, the attorney follows up. “And was behavioral analysis also a factor in the Olympic Park bombings case in Atlanta?” 

“Yes, it was.” Aaron’s eyes and tone never waver, no hint of arrogance or cheek. 

“And was that suspect you identified,” the attorney asks, far too aggressively, “Richard Jewell, ever convicted of the bombings?”

The prosecution objects, and you watch Aaron. Every part of him observes the proceedings with an outwardly detached interest, but his eyes are alive - strategizing and anticipating. It’s like you can see the wheels turning as the lawyers bicker. 

 The judge ends the squabble. “I’ll allow it.”

Aaron, now with permission, answers simply, “No, he was not convicted.”

“Because he was innocent. Your profile led you to the wrong man.” 

Oh, give me a break. It takes everything in you not to scoff and you can feel Emily’s eye roll.

“Jewell was not the perpetrator, but if you look at the real Olympic Park Bomber, Eric Rudolph, you’ll see that our profile was dead-on.” 

Dead-on indeed, Aaron. 

“Well, how about we look at the Baton Rouge Killer? Your unit said that he was white and living in the city. He was Black and from the suburbs.”

Aaron’s eyes narrow and you feel Spencer shift beside you. Emily shakes her head. “Don’t worry,” she whispers. “He always recovers, never in the way you’d expect.” 

“How do you know?”

Emily’s face pulls into a little smile. “I’ve read the transcripts. Hotch is terribly clever.” 

“You said that Dennis Rader, the B.T.K. Killer,” the attorney continues, “was divorced and impotent. He turned out to be married with two kids.” 

JJ huffs, and you hear her whisper to Spencer, “Can we quit with the sermon?” 

His lips turn up. “Just wait.”

Dave leans over and stares them down over Derek. Stop talking. 

All of you look down at your hands like chastised children, but your gaze floats back to Aaron right away. 

The prosecution objects again, this time on the grounds of preaching. The judge forces a question, and the attorney turns back on Aaron.

“Having been wrong on those cases, isn’t it possible that you were wrong about Brian Matloff?” 

“No.” Your chest squeezes. He’s completely firm in his denial. 

How does he do that?

“Fact is,” the attorney continues like Aaron didn’t speak at all, “behavioral analysis is really just intellectual guesswork. You probably couldn’t tell me the color of my socks with any greater accuracy than a carnival psychic.” 

“Objection!” 

Her outburst is unnecessary. Aaron has a plan. His eyes track to you as if to check in. Are you paying attention? 

If you weren’t watching before, you’re certainly watching now. Always. 

“Withdrawn.” 

“Charcoal grey.” His flat assertion makes you gasp and you immediately cover your mouth with your hand to stifle the sound. 

The attorney turns around. “Well, look at that,” he exposes his socks to the court, and they are, in fact, charcoal grey. “He got one right.”

Aaron’s not finished. “You match them to the color of your suit to appear taller. You also wear lifts and you’ve had the soles of your shoes replaced. One might think you’re frugal, but in fact, you’re having financial difficulties.” 

You do your best to school your expression and remove your hand from your mouth. Checking down the row, you see six smirks watching the witness box. 

“You wear a fake Rolex…”

And you’d know. 

“...because you pawned the real one to pay your debts. My guess would be to a bookie.” 

Is he smiling?

“I took this case pro bono.” There’s tension in Mr. Charcoal Grey’s voice. You can hear it behind the false confidence and it pulls a smile from you. “I am one of the most successful criminal attorneys in the state.”

Hotch continues, completely bypassing him. “Your vice is horses.” There’s definitely a little smile on his face now. “Your Blackberry’s been buzzing on the table every twenty minutes, which happens to be the average time between posts from Colonial Downs. You’re getting race results.” Your smile gets wider, and Emily grabs your hand. 

“Just watch.”

“And every time you do, it affects your mood in court, and you’re not having a very good day.” There’s something that looks almost like concern on Aaron’s face, but you know it’s nothing if not facetious. He’s ripping this poor man to shreds without changing a single thing about his presentation.

I love - 

Don’t finish that thought. 

Why not?

Remember how he’s freshly divorced?

I know, but have you seen him?

“That’s because you pick horses the same way you practice law -” 

You lean forward and Emily follows, her thumbnail between her teeth. 

The final blow. 

“- by always taking the long shot.” 

If this was any other setting, you’re sure the entire team would be on their feet, shouting and jeering. But alas, you’re in court, so you settle for a wide smile and a suppressed laugh. Amused brown eyes meet yours from across the room and you shake your head just the tiniest bit. I can’t believe you.

His lips twitch. 

“Well, you spin a very good yarn, Agent, but as usual, you’ve proven nothing.” He’s just trying to recover something, anything left of his dignity. He fails, miserably. 

“If I’m not mistaken,” Aaron says, his eyebrows raised just a little, “the results from the fifth race should be coming through any minute.”

Just then, his Blackberry buzzes on the defense table. “Why don’t you tell us if your luck has changed?”

You raise your hands to your face to cool the rising heat in your cheeks. 

“Your honor, this is - “

The judge takes matters into his own hands. “What do you want me to do? Either show us your Blackberry or cut him loose, counselor.”

Hotch and the defense attorney share a loaded look. It’s a battle of wills. 

Aaron wins. 

“Nothing further.”

+++

When you all leave the courthouse, you practically latch onto Aaron’s arm, completely floored. 

“How did you do that?”

He laughs and Derek jumps up beside him, shaking his shoulders. “Come on, Hotch. That was incredible.” 

“Why have a law degree if you aren’t going to use it?”

+++

He offers you a ride home later that evening and you take him up on it. You’re both still in the car, idling in front of your house. 

“That really was impressive today,” you admit, your eyes on your hands.

You can feel his soft smile rather than see it. “Thanks. I know it didn’t quite go the way we wanted as far as the case itself, but there’s more to come.” 

“It’s never as bad as it looks in the first couple of days.” 

“Exactly.” He sighs. “Thanks again for being there today. It’s…” his lips twist as he thinks, “nice to have the team around.” 

You reach out, squeezing his forearm before immediately letting him go. “Of course. We’ll always be there for you. Plus, there’s nothing better than watching you tear blowhard lawyers to shreds in a court of law.” 

“I’m not sure that’s exactly how it went.” 

“You’re kidding!” You laugh. “That’s just what happened. The man left without half his soul! You absolutely tore it from his body.”

The pair of you quiet, and you move to get out of the car. He stops you with a hand over yours as you unclip your seatbelt. “Really. Thanks for being there today.” 

“I can’t emphasize this enough - it was my pleasure.” 

Enough of a pleasure as it was, his smile in the dark of the car is the best part of your day.  

+++

tagging: @arganfics @quillvine @stxrryspencer @agenthotchner @wandaswitxh @hurricanejjareau @fics-ilike @ange-must-die @ughitsbaby @rousethemouse @criminalsmarts @shrimpyblog @genevievedarcygranger @ssaic-jareau @good-heavens-chris-evans @davidrossi-ismydad @angelsbabey @gublergirls @writefasttalkevenfaster @venusbarnes @hotchsflower @micaiahmoonheart @ogmilkis @thatreallyis-americas-ass @marvels-agents100 @hotchslatte @risenfox @mrs-dr-reid @captain-christopher-pike @joemazzello-imagines @pinkdiamond1016 @sebbybaby0 @pan-pride-12 @hotchlinebling @lee-rin-ah @sunshine-em @word-scribbless @jdougl-love @sageellsworth05 @nohalohoseok @giveusbackourbucky @writerxinthedark @bauslut @yourlovelynewsbian @sparklingkeylimepie @aili28 @kingandrear @reader4027 @spnobsessedmemes @rogers-mouth @dreila03 @forgottenword @aaronhotchnerr @ssa-morgan @hotchnersgoddess @buckybau @phoenixfyre374 @sana-li @tegggeeee @abschaffer2 @ssacandi-ass-prentiss  @dontkissthewriter @ellyhotchner @lotties-journey-abroad @mrs-joel-pimentel-23-25 @laneygthememequeen @ahopelessromantic @violentvulgarvolatile @andreasworlsboring101 @mooneylupinblack @ssareidbby @violet-amxthyst @bwbatta @roses-and-grasses @lcvischmitt @capricorngf @missdowntonabbey @averyhotchner @mandylove1000 @garcia-reid-lovechild  @cevanswhre @colbyskoalas @qvid-pro-qvo @jeor @spencers-hoodrat @infinity1321

[leos-regression-cove]

Nothing in the Parenting Books Prepared Me For This

36. Dr. Strange

(Extended) Synopsis: Once the multiversal drama wrapped up, Loki, Sylvie, and Mobius settled down into an adjacent universe where age regressing is a common and widely accepted.

When Loki realized Thor was missing from his life, Mobius helped him nab his big brother from a recently post-Endgame universe where the God was still mourning, depressed, and debating whether he'd join the Guardians of the Galaxy.

Now, Thor's recovering and kindling a healthier relationship with both Loki and Sylvie being their big brother and secondary caregiver.

Chapter Synopsis: To make sure the multiverse is still in balance, Thor has regular appointments with Dr. Strange-- Well, his home universe's Dr. Strange. However today, Thor needs to take the littles with him.

Word count: 6,144

Stand Alone?: The extended synopsis should give you enough to get the jist. If you'd like more context, chapters 9 through 11 will give you a more detailed idea of what's happening.

Warnings: Diapers/messing, blood, mention of physical abuse/trauma, grief for a dead parent.

Notes: This chapter is NOT compliant with Multiverse of Madness and is lore heavy. You may want to know a little bit of mythology for it.

Read it on AO3!

“Are you sure you can take them today?” Mobius asked as he fixed his tie in the bedroom. 

“Positive,” Thor responded from his spot on the couch, letting Sylvie lay atop his chest and helping Loki nestle into one of his large arms, snuggling his face into his brother’s big, warm hand as he sat criss-crossed on the floor. 

It was a lazy Saturday morning for the two little toddlers and Thor, and they were watching cartoons. As Thor was not up-to-date on his Sofia the First lore, Sylvie had to keep explaining characters to him, and Loki, the ever talky, also interjected with his own opinions and explanations of events. 

“Can you say ‘bye-bye’ to you daddy?” Thor asked as Mobius picked up his briefcase. He paused the tv to give them their moment to say goodbye.

 Loki and Sylvie got up to run to Mobius in their match-y long sleeve pajama sets. Loki’s were yellow while Sylvie’s were green. Both were covered in patterns of cats and balls of yarn. They hugged him and clung, begging to go with him dramatically despite not caring until just now. 

Mobius embraced them back. “Hey, hey, listen, you guys are going to go on an adventure with your big brother today. I’m super jealous, but I gotta go to work.” He grabbed a toy camera out of his pocket, and handed it to Loki, who was especially clingy. “Take some photos for me, alright?” 

Loki nodded tearfully. 

“Alright, go see Thor, he’s going to take good care of you both,” he told them, kissing each of them on the cheek. 

“No! No!” Sylvie yelled burying her face in Mobius’ trouser leg, sitting on his foot, and refusing to get up like a little shackle. 

“You gotta go with him. I’m sorry. Would you rather come to the office and do paperwork for me all day?” 

“No! Daddy stay!” she cried, starting a fussy fit. 

“I know, I know, but it’s just for a few hours. Now, I need to go, but I love you both, alright?” 

Sylvie tried to enchant him, Loki tried to teleport with him, but Thor and Mobius saw through their tricks and brought them back, kicking and screaming, to the main room. 

“I love you,” Mobius reassured them, giving kisses on their cheeks. “I’ll always come back to you both. It’s just until…” he checked his watch, “four. Then I’ll be home. 4PM. Count on it. And I’ll see both of you after work and we can talk about your great adventures then. Sound good? Now, I love you, got that?”

“Love daddy,” they muttered back in reply. 

Mobius smiled, ruffled their hair, and left with his briefcase. 

The littles eventually settled back down, and as the credits rolled on Sylvie’s cartoon, Thor sat up, knocking the littles off him. They squealed and giggled, forgetting their separation anxiety for a moment, as the large god dramatically stretched and yawned, and then scooped them up quickly and without warning. 

He got the two bathed with them giving him pointers and directions during the process: “Wash Sylvie lots! She’s covered in dirt and lake water!” Loki joked. 

“No! Get Loki, he still messes his nappies!” Sylvie said, much more seriously. 

“Why don’t I scrub both of you?” Thor playfully threatened, holding up a soap covered washcloth puppet to the both of them and grabbing Loki to start scrubbing. Thor was rough, but it didn’t hurt or make any of the little’s skin tender, actually it felt quite nice, even though they tried really hard to pretend they hated the bath. 

When all was done, Thor helped dry them off, handing them hooded towels in frog and lion designs before getting both of them changed. Although the two littles insisted they were too big for diapers, Thor knew better. He knew not to trust them on most things. 

There were some things he did trust them to do, though, and one of those things was to pick their clothes. 

Loki and Sylvie sifted through their drawers while Thor told them about the plans for the day; how they were going to go see Dr. Strange and all the boring adult business that needed to be conducted to keep multiversal and intergalactic peace. 

Sylvie, hadn’t listened to a word and flipped through the drawers looking for her fairy wings, and her fairy wings alone. When Thor asked what else she was going to wear with it, she simply shrugged and put on Loki’s overall skirt with a lavender shirt that had subtle ruffles around the sleeves. 

Loki on the other hand, was having a very difficult time looking for something to wear. He went through pretty much the entire dresser looking until Thor stopped him, snapped him into a romper that bunched around the waist to give the illusion of shorts and a shirt, and gave the little his comfy rabbit hoodie to keep him all warm.

Even if Loki didn’t need it, the thing looked adorable on him.

Thor zipped it up for him and then gave him a little pat on the shoulders, “There. How’s that?” 

Loki nodded and smiled. 

Thor let the littles play while he packed them separate backpacks with everything Mobius said they’d need: almost a full pack of diapers, a change of clothes for each of them, bottles, sippy cups, teethers, burp cloths, headphones, and of course, mystery toys Thor selected at random, which he stuffed into the bag, fitting as many as he could.

He then took each little by the wrist, probably a little bit too tightly, as he led them outside. 

Loki hopped up and down, snuggling into his brother’s arms, anticipating the odd sensation of flying. But instead of being shot into the sky in a big Thor hug, an orange circle filled with runes appeared beneath them. 

The littles innocently stomped on it, trying to see if they could cover the glow with dust from the forest floor. 

Thor smiled at Loki’s confusion, silently reminiscing about his first experience with the magic circles and Loki’s. But this Loki did not remember that, and he had only met Dr. Strange once or twice in passing. For both of the littles, this experience was entirely new, and they were not prepared for the floor falling out beneath them. 

Sylvie looked around for roughly 0.2 seconds as soon as they arrived, looking for any immediate danger, and then immediately focused all of her attention towards glaring at Thor for not warning her about the disappearing ground.

Loki, on the other hand, tapped the floor with his foot to make sure it was really there. Then, he clung to Thor’s arm and whipped his head around to observe the dark living room around him. 

“You can set their bags at the bottom of the stairs,” a voice said. 

Sylvie stopped glaring at Thor for a moment to search for the other person, and Loki stepped nervously behind his brother, hiding shyly; this voice was not familiar. 

“You needn’t fear,” Thor whispered. “Wong is a very nice man. He will not hurt you.” 

Wong stepped out of the shadow and the littles peered at him momentarily.

Sylvie still frowned apprehensively at him and Thor. 

Loki waved timidly but continued to cower behind his brother until Thor picked him up, hoisting him onto his back. 

Wong seemed to understand that the littles, although adult sized, were mentally much younger.

In most cases, this wouldn’t be necessary to acknowledge; Loki and Sylvie didn’t think about it much anymore, but it came as a little bit of a surprise to Thor, as this wasn’t even the same universe. Littles weren’t common here, and he knew because he had spent most of his life here, and Loki had, too, but that wasn’t immediately obvious. 

“How old are they?” 

That was always a question with Loki and Sylvie. 

“Uh, four… and two,” Thor guesstimated.

“Keep a close eye on them. We don’t want any incidents,” Wong warned, unhelpfully. The good news was that Thor knew he’d have help today from him, even if he dispensed some slightly redundant advice. 

“You finally showed up,” Strange said from the top of the stairs. 

Loki tried to hide while being held, but Sylvie seemed excited. “Wizard!” she squealed. 

“I’m not a wizard.” 

“She’s merely a child,” Thor justified, protectively taking her hand. 

Sylvie sucked the back of her other hand and stepped closer to Thor. 

“Three,” Thor corrected. “Three and two,” he said to himself, still memorizing how little ages work. 

“Right…” Strange said, hesitantly.

It was extremely obvious that he did not work with littles, ever.

Sylvie got that vibe from the Christmas party, but she had been so fixated on Thor and her daddy and baba, that she hadn’t really noticed. 

Strange brought them to the room where business was expected to be mostly conducted and Thor found an open space to set up a play fence around his little brother and Sylvie.

He handed the littles their toys and sat next to the side railings in an old fashioned office chair, probably THE original rollie chair, in case one of the tots needed something while trying to keep the very official business conversation going. 

Sylvie and Loki remained entertained for a while, and Wong was very helpful, sometimes kneeling by the rails and asking about their toys. “What’s that one’s name?” he’d ask. 

And Loki or Sylvie would answer and ask him a silly question back: “what’s your favorite color?” 

“Have you ever seen a dinosaur in real life?”

“How about a pegasus?” 

Loki paused, “You haven’t?” He turned to Sylvie. 

“No…? I don’t think so,” she replied. 

“They’re very pretty,” he said. 

“Hm.” There was a twang of jealousy in that little hum. 

Wong quickly tried to distract them to discourage any further escalation. However, after getting them settled, his phone rang and he had to step out to take the call. 

Loki and Sylvie went through their backpacks until Thor moved the bags outside the pen where the littles couldn’t reach. He didn’t want them getting into the baby powder, or their snacks, leaving crumbs everywhere. 

Loki and Sylvie quietly played next to each other with noisy toys that lit up and sang songs when buttons were pressed.

At first, Strange did his best to ignore them, continuing the conversation at a slightly louder volume to talk over them. But eventually that didn’t work and Thor had to turn off the noise makers on each toy, individually, if he could.

That didn’t deter Loki though, as the little found non-electronic toys, fitted with rattles and bells, and tried to show Thor. “Tor! Look!” 

“I know, that one’s very nice.” 

Sylvie on the other hand, had gotten the message and was respectfully playing with a small, collapsible, playset of a barn with animals, she had even turned off the sounds. This was one Loki could play with, too, but he seemed much more interested in distracting his brother from work. 

Thor lifted the toddler into his lap and quieted the noisy toy with the palm of his bear-like hand, muffling the sound as he contented the little with lots of attention, while keeping the conversation steady. 

Strange gave him a slightly impressed smile at his ability to hold the 6 foot tall little and not lose any composure, but that’s what comes with dealing with a Loki for a thousand years, little or otherwise. 

Thor pet Loki’s back and curled the black locks around his fingertips. When Loki tried to babble to him, repeating a few of the overheard words, and hoping to join the conversation, Thor at first thought it was quite cute, and tried to include the child, letting him echo the conversation back to them. But as it became a distraction, he ended up having to shove a pacifier into Loki’s mouth and politely ask him to quiet down. 

Utterly offended by this, Loki crossed his arms and whined. 

“Brother needs to get his work done, Loki. Now, be quiet and go play with Sylvie,” Thor instructed. 

Loki made a series of muddled babbles behind his pacifier before being gently lifted off his brother’s lap and back down onto the floor. He huffed and tried to make himself cry to get Thor to pick him back up, but it didn’t work, and Thor saw right through him. 

“You can sit on my lap later.” 

Loki laid down next to Sylvie and tried to join her game of farm animals. 

“You play cow,” Sylvie said, handing him the plastic animal. “And the horse!” she added. 

Loki took them without hesitation and joined in the game, clumsily. He wiggled slightly as he did so. The clicking of rubbery plastic bumping together and whispery babbles were, for a long while, the only noises that they made. 

The adults had a calm conversation about horribly uninteresting topics like flesh eating bacteria and black holes while Strange dumped cream into his white, modern looking, mug of coffee, which looked horribly out of place, with his home’s  old fashioned stylings, and Thor sipped on a large stein of beer, somewhat of a tradition when he went to the house at this point. 

“And you’re happier in this new universe?” Stephen asked.

“Yeah it’s nice…” Thor admitted. “Not in any small part due to these two of course.” He gestured to the toddlers with his foot. 

“Loki, Sylvie, what about you guys. How are you liking the new universe?” 

It was the first time he had even addressed the two littles, and they took a few seconds to register that he was speaking to them.

Thor poked each of the babies in the small of their backs, watching them tense up to get their attention before pointing up at Stephen.

“It’s nice,” Sylvie said. “Relaxed… Quiet, but still fun. I like it,” she added in a grown-up tone. 

“Odd answer coming from a Loki,” Strange observed, jotting something down on a piece of paper. 

“Not a Loki,” Sylvie informed him. 

“You’re the same entity. I’ll call you by the same name,” he condescendingly replied.

“I’m not a Loki!” Sylvie yelled suddenly. 

Maybe Mobius could say that when referring to the two as a pair or a collective, it was especially convenient when one of them was big while the other was little and neither “partners” nor “littles” would suffice, but that was it, the only situation where she’d let it slide. And alone, she was NOT a Loki. 

A little green burst of energy around her knocked over the toys, both in the sense of magical doo-dads Strange kept, and ones that the littles had brought,  and sent a large crack creeping up the glass front a China cabinet closeby.

She had tried to lunge at Strange, too, but Loki held her back, causing her to throw a rather large tantrum, almost biting Loki’s hand if Thor hadn’t pulled her away so quickly. 

“She’s… hostile, still. Are you sure we shouldn’t still consider them threats?” Strange asked as the little tried to get out of Thor’s grip. 

“No, not at all. They’re just as worthy as myself,” Thor said as blood started to drip from his forearm where Sylvie was gnawing. “Heroes, both of them, once treated properly… You just have to get a grasp for it. It’s not simple.”

“Positive?” 

“Absolutely. They’re just… particular. Like, you violated one of their rules very flagrantly.”

“Which is…?”

“You called her ‘a Loki’. You can’t do that. Sylvie’s not male nor neutral, and she doesn’t have the same abilities as my little brother; she is her own being. Perhaps they’re the same person from alternate universes, but they are VERY different. The name doesn’t suit her.” Thor’s speech made him seem like he knew what he was doing very well. So much so that Sylvie stopped aggressively wrestling to get out of his arms. But in reality, he was reciting from the guide book Mobius had created for him.

“My apologies, Sylvie. Do you think you can forgive me?” Strange asked, trying his best to talk as if he were talking with an actual three year old as Sylvie hid her face from view in Thor's neck. 

Both the toddlers gave him a skeptical and slightly pitiful glare. 

“Psst, Sylvie, can you forgive him?” Thor asked, nudging her slightly. 

“Fine,” she spat. 

“Wonderful,” Thor said, beginning to stand up. 

“I can heal that for you,” Strange offered, motioning at Thor’s wounded arm. 

“No, no, it’s alright,” Thor replied with a smile, not wanting to be a bother. “Mobius said she’s just teething.” He got up with both of them in his arms. 

Loki was being uncomfortably held under the ribs, nearly horizontally, in a position that was uncomfortable at least, if not painful, and with Loki’s gangly limbs, it was not very convenient, either. Thor eventually transferred him into a better position, and tossed Sylvie up onto his shoulder, holding her knees with his injured arm so it didn’t have much weight put on it, just enough to keep her in place. 

Thor was led by Strange to a nearby bathroom.

 The tiled floor was cold. And it was one of those bathrooms you wouldn’t want to be stuck in after a bad bowl of curry; the water pressure from the taps was low, and the old door had a lock that wasn’t to be trusted. The bathtub was large, VERY large, big enough to entirely submerge Loki if lying down. 

Thor tried his best to wash off his arm without breaking the tap, as there was only about 3 inches of space between the countertop and the faucet, and bandaged the bite with whatever he could find in the diaper bag’s first aid kit. 

Now that that was taken care of, he decided it would be a good time for a diaper check, and subsequently found that that would actually be diaper changes for both of the littles. Unfortunately, in order to let the tots lie down, he had to open the door. To keep their modesty, Thor kneeled in the doorway, acting as a barrier, shielding them from the rest of the space. 

Loki played with the shut toilet lid, trying to flip it up from where he was laying down until Thor jingled a soft, textured cube for him.

The little took its rubbery attachments into his mouth, shaking it slightly and turning over the softer sides because they felt nicer than the rough cotton. 

Meanwhile, Sylvie waited at the door, sitting with her back against the wall, waiting for her turn. She probably would’ve gotten up if it wasn’t for Thor’s foot resting over her ankle, monitoring her movements. 

When Loki was all clean and dry, Thor got Sylvie down on the mat. 

He knew that his ankle alone wouldn’t keep the illusion-casting little mischief maker at bay, so he set out Sylvie’s pegasus in front of where Loki was expected to stay seated in the hallway. 

“She’s going to watch you and make sure you don’t go anywhere,” Thor warned him. 

“He,” Sylvie corrected. 

“Yeah… Right.” 

Loki nodded and sat still, staring the pegasus down while planning his next means of mischief on the house.

Meanwhile, Sylvie took her change with a grumpy face and furrowed brow. She did not fidget, but didn’t exactly try to make the process easier. 

Thor returned to his business with Strange while also keeping the toddlers comfortable.

Loki tried to go back to his toys, but as they didn’t sing back to him or strobe with unnatural colors, he lost interest nearly immediately, deciding that maybe his environment was more entertaining. 

He stood up, taking both Thor’s and Strange’s attention momentarily, and started to peruse the built-in bookshelf on a wall nearest to him. 

The adults went back to their conversation when Loki didn’t do anything for a moment. 

Then, the little started to pull books off the shelves. He would look at titles, maybe flip through a few pages, and then toss the textbooks, manuscripts, and even photo albums, onto the floor next to Sylvie, occasionally hitting her with one; usually small paperbacks which flew further when he tossed them. 

“Loki, cut that out. Those books are ancient,” Strange said calmly. 

Loki ignored him and continued to rummage through the shelves. 

“Loki… Loki! Stop that!” Thor hissed at his brother. 

Loki turned to look at him and made a pouty face, but then continued until Thor physically pulled him away. 

“Booored!!!” Loki screamed, wiggling out of Thor’s arms and falling backwards onto the floor dramatically. He kicked his legs and pounded his fists, shrieking and crying. It would’ve been pretty obvious to anyone who had ever dealt with a toddler before, that Loki just needed a snack. But no one besides Sylvie knew that, and she was so bored and hungry, too, that she fully welcomed and embraced Loki’s outburst. 

“Perhaps we should extend that break?” Thor suggested.

“Yeah. Yeah, that’s a good idea. Do you need anything?” 

“I don’t think so.”

Sylvie rubbed her belly to give Thor a hint. But when he didn’t catch on, she had to vocalize her needs with a whimper. She then tried making the baby sign for “eat” once she knew his attention was fully given to her.  

Thor picked up his fussy little brother from the stacks of leather bindings and loose papers, as the toddler tried to fight back to the ground. “Hush. Sylvie says she’s hungry. Would you like food, too?” he asked. 

Loki’s breath hitched with sobs as he hiccupped and tried to calm himself back down. He nodded, letting tears finish rolling down his face. 

“Lunch it is, then,” Thor responded, nuzzling Loki’s reddened cheeks and kissing the tot on the forehead. 

Loki sucked on his hand to calm himself as Thor opened up the backpacks and tried to find the snacks he had brought: two bottles of puff snacks (one in cranberry orange and one in beet flavor), a toddler-ish Hello Kitty lunch box filled with a food Mobius had packed, and a jar of banana smoothie baby food. 

“I’m not an expert,” Strange chimed, “but isn’t he a little old for baby food?”

Loki, who had been excitedly trying to take the puffs from Thor’s hand, suddenly froze and shook his head, unsure if he wanted it anymore, leaning away. 

“It’s what we had in the house that was ready to eat without refrigeration,” Thor replied. “They’ll be alright.”

Sylvie was also trying to take the snacks from his hand at this point. When she successfully did so, she fumbled with the lid and accidentally dumped them out onto the floor.  

“I’d prefer you have them eat downstairs,” Strange commented, looking down at the ornate carpeting behind his desk, which was covered with Cheeto crumbs. “They’ll get the room dirty.” He made a little spell which seemed to clean the mess and repackage the can like new for Sylvie. 

Sylvie studied the plastic can curiously. But when she looked back up, she realized she was in a different room. 

A dining room to be exact, with aging wallpaper and ornately carved wooden chairs. Thor had Loki sitting in his lap in an adjacent chair, and Wong and Strange seemed to have joined them. Strange sat at one end of the comically large table while Wong stood nearby, having not sat himself yet. He doted on Thor and the littles, attending to them since Strange had no idea how to be a good host when littles, or children, for that matter, were involved. 

“Do they need highchairs?” 

“Do you have one that’ll fit them?” Thor replied. 

Wong nodded silently. 

“I think Loki would like one. And… uh Sylvie…” Thor studied her for a moment until she gave him an outright head shake. 

The sorcerer scribbled something on a post-it note, and drew a circle with his hand. Orange sparks flew which Loki and Sylvie watched with wide eyes. It looked like the one they had fallen through. 

Wong reached through it, grabbing a highchair and sticking the note on a nearby wall. 

Upon inspection of the note, it said: “Will return in a few minutes. Having little guests over - Wong unv.199999” 

The chair was rickety and creaked slightly. Thor was unsure it would even hold Loki. It was all oak wood stained to look like cherry (except the metal hinges and some gears on the legs) and probably handmade, too. Each piece was carved with intricate designs. It fit with the aesthetic of Strange’s house, and could probably even look at home with Scott and Hope. 

Loki was incredibly excited to be set into it, cooing, babbling, and giggling as Thor sprinkled some snacks onto the tray for him while Sylvie ate her puffs at the table, kicking her legs and watching Loki with great interest. Having a different flavor than him fascinated her. She reached up and set a couple of her cranberry ones on his mostly beet covered tray. 

Loki grabbed at the pieces with uncoordinated hands and dropped a few of his onto Sylvie’s plate for her, too. 

Thor took a quick photo of them and sent it to Mobius with the caption “there sharing” (misspelling included). 

Wong and Strange stayed close to them, eating their own lunches of leftover food from the fridge, but they didn’t take much interest in the littles, obviously just there as supervision for the Asgardians. 

“Okay,” Thor said, getting up. “Shall we begin the main course?” 

Loki clapped and finished the last of his snacks, sticking his fingers in his mouth afterwards. As Thor walked around the table so he wouldn’t have to reach over it, Loki looked down at his big sister’s lunch. She had a nice chicken and veggie wrap, whole grapes, a hard boiled egg, and carrot sticks. 

While Thor tried his best to put a bib on his unruly baby brother, Sylvie did her best to appear as interesting and grown-up as possible in front of Strange and Wong to contrast Loki’s babyish squeaks and screams, using the situation to her advantage to make herself look more mature by sitting up straight as she ate and asking about work and cars, adult things that Mobius talked about with other adults.

Thor finally got a bib on the tot and opened the lid of the jar. 

He spooned out some mushy baby food for Loki. 

The little opened his mouth, taking it. 

Thor was quite good at feeding his little brother; hardly getting any of the banana on his bib and not actually getting any on his face. However, Loki being the talkative baby he was, had a pretty gross, nearly constant dribble of mush on his lower lip and chin. 

Getting bored, he began to play games with Thor, pretending he didn’t want any and then acting sad when Thor tried to close the jar. 

“He wants the jetski! Like daddy does it,” Sylvie realized with her mouth full. 

Thor paused, trying to think of what a jetski sounded like, as he had moved in over winter and hadn’t seen Mobius use it yet, only seeing it out of the water. He tried with a vague engine noise, but Loki didn’t take to that much, especially when the spoon didn’t move right. 

So Sylvie got up and tried making the proper noise by making a sputtering “B” with her lips and making the spoon do little “jumps” as it got to Loki’s mouth. She handed the spoon and jar back to Thor, who scraped out the last of the banana and then tried to mimic her movements and noises, much to Loki’s delight as he finished the jar without a second thought and let Thor clean him and the tray up.

 “Mr. Doctor wizard?” Sylvie asked before the adults could return to being boring with their stupid work. 

“Doctor Strange. I’m not a wizard,” the wizard corrected. 

Sylvie ignored his revision, “can we explore?” 

Strange paused to consider, “I don’t know if that’s a good idea…” 

Getting Thor not to break things was difficult enough, so much so that Strange wouldn’t have been surprised if Thor was a little himself, so he tried to explain lightly that he would very much not like two toddler gods of mischief running around his home, and he was much more at ease knowing they were confined to one or two rooms. 

“Please? I’ll be good!” she pleaded.

Loki, at this point, was invested, as well. “Please? Wanna explore! Look!” 

“What are you showing me?” Strange asked with a raised eyebrow and crossed arms.

“Fancy shoes!” Loki said, kicking out his shoes from the highchair step to show them off. 

“Why?” 

Thor took over, hoping to explain, “They’re his magic shoes. They let him walk on air and water-”

“Um! Goo’ care!” Loki bragged, trying to bring attention to the fact his favorite shoes were in such nice condition. 

“Fine… Fine, fine. I’ll let you see the artifacts. But no touching, got that?” Strange relented, knowing the three gods would not let up until he showed them around the house. 

Thor picked up Loki and stuck around while Wong returned the chair and retrieved his sticky-note with a smile as if it were (and it was) an incredible magic trick. 

As Loki watched with an open mouth face of slight surprise, Thor exaggeratedly mimicked him until the little grabbed his brother’s nose and giggled, a non-verbal subject change. 

“You guys are gonna miss it! Let’s go!” Sylvie demanded, standing by the doorway near Strange. 

Now, Strange didn’t know a lot about littles, but he did know he really saw himself in Sylvie, which only blossomed as he led Thor and the tots through the home museum of artifacts. 

Thor held his baby brother, who, pacifier in mouth, tried to touch everything. Thor batted his hands away continuously, but Loki still got some mischief-making done: magically bonding items to their stands, loosening jar lids just slightly, and the like. 

Sylvie then had a question, for their tour guide, “Um. Doctor Strange?” - the spellcaster smiled when she got his name right - “What’s that thing?” she asked, pointing to a glass case across the room that they had bypassed, something bright gold hung inside it. 

Loki squinted at it from his spot in his brother’s arms trying to get a good look at it. “Mumma cloak!” Loki yelled as he recognized the blanket of feathers. 

“Is that mother’s?” Thor asked, diverging from the path to get closer to it. 

Strange teleported them closer, causing Thor to bonk his nose into the glass and for Loki to hit his head on a low hanging chandelier. 

The toddler wiggled down and pressed his face to the case. “Mumma cloak!” he repeated, this time a bit sadly. 

Sylvie also looked up at it, with big, shiny, eyes. 

Thor touched her shoulder, causing her to flinch slightly before accepting his hand and putting her own over it. 

“Sylvie, when my- (our?) Mother was alive, she wore this cloak to every battle, banquet, and ceremony that she went to-”

“Birfday!” Loki cheered. 

“Yeah, every year on Loki’s birthday she’d wear it in celebration. But she loved this cloak. It could turn her into a falcon.”

“Birdie! Birdie!” Loki shouted eagerly.

“Right, we know, Loki,” Thor responded, beginning to get slightly agitated by his little brother for ruining the somber mood. “Loki got my Mjollnir with that cloak, huh, Loki?”

Loki stiffened in reaction to the comment, not wanting to think about that memory. “Um…” he shifted back and forth, avoiding eye contact.

“She would’ve loved you, Sylvie… She would’ve loved you.”

At that, Sylvie started to cry. Soft, quiet, tears for a nostalgic past she had never known, something that Thor was good at bringing up in her. 

He put his arms around her, setting his head on her shoulder in a gentle hug, swaying her back and forth, after he picked her up. “How’d you get it?” he asked Strange. 

The sorcerer shrugged. “Sometimes magical items just come and go as they please. This one’s probably just in for a visit knowing you three would be here.”

“Try?” Loki asked, pointing at it. 

Strange pondered, but remembering it was their mother’s, he unlocked the display with a sigh for not upholding his own rule, and allowed Loki to snuggle into its warmth.

The feathers, despite appearing to have been dipped in gold leaf, were as soft as cashmere. 

The fabric pooled itself around Loki in a mysteriously sentient way, gathering Sylvie and Thor in its embrace, as well. 

It smelled like her still. It had been roughly twelve years for Thor. For Sylvie it had been a thousand since it filled her lungs. She didn’t even recognize it anymore, and yet it felt like home. But for Loki, the scent had faded so much that it upset him. He had only been gone, what? A year since 2012? And yet things were so different, so changed now. “Wan’ mumma,” he cried, nuzzling it. 

“I know, brother. I miss her, too,” Thor comforted. 

Loki even found his mark on it; a missing chunk in part of the train that he had cut out when he was probably five or six or the Asgardian equivalent. He’d been beaten by his father for it then, but at least he slept easier those next several years knowing he had a piece of her with him, protecting him through everything. 

“Okay, little ones, I think we need to let Dr. Strange get back to his work so we can go have naptime,” Thor suggested after a deep breath that ached with hidden tears. 

Loki kept the cloak wrapped around himself and Sylvie. 

“I know, it’s all very fun, but we need to put it back now,” Thor told them, empathetically. 

Loki tried to put it back silently and maturely, but the item stuck to him as if it were sewn to the collar of his jumpsuit.

Then, Thor tried, almost choking the little.

It just would not come off him.

The side of it reached out for Sylvie, bringing her in close and hugging her into it, protecting her. 

“You guys should keep it,” Strange commented. Normally he wouldn’t with magical items, but this was a special exception. He knew this bond; understood, well, something similar to it. 

And so, as Thor and Dr. Strange finished their business meeting, there was peace. After Loki reshelved the books in the study, the littles found a nice spot to nap, letting the artifact drape over them.

For a long while, there was only noise of the occasional pacifier snuffle or sniffle.

Thor occasionally looked back at them from over his shoulder to make sure they were still there and felt his heart ache slightly every time he did. 

“They’re sweet kids,” Strange said towards the end of the visit as Thor tried to quietly fold up the fence without disturbing the toddler gods. 

Sylvie winked open an eye when Thor unzipped her bag. She kept Loki wrapped in a hug and refused to budge from beneath the cloak but kept watching her big brother and Dr. Strange. 

Loki stirred soon after Sylvie, beginning to play with his pacifier and reach out from under his coverings to try and touch Thor. 

Once finally getting his brother’s attention, Loki made a little babble. To which, Thor responded by stroking the baby’s hair and face which Loki leaned into like a cat.

“Are we ready to go soon?” Thor asked, noticing Sylvie’s gaze, as well. 

Both the littles nodded and let Thor scoop them up. 

He pretended not to notice Loki’s squirming and fidgeting upon being picked up nor the bulge at the back of his diaper, as they said their “thank you”s and “goodbye”s to Wong and Doctor Strange. The cloak floated behind them, much like Strange’s would, and used its corners to “shake hands” with the other magical objects around the sorcerer. 

Strange opened a portal back to their own universe and, instead of falling, Thor and his little siblings merely needed to step through with the cloak wrapping itself around Thor, making his blond hair appear even more radiant as he waved back to his colleagues and the portal closed. 

As soon as they were back home, Loki began to cry and fuss over having a messy diaper which Thor helped him take care of while Sylvie made a spot for the jacket in their master bedroom closet, hugging it and petting the feathers with gentle care. “Love you, mum,” she said quietly with an awkward smile (look at her talking to a piece of clothing. She must look crazy) as she shut the door. 

The feathers moved slightly, as if blown by the gentlest wind. 

[needtherapy]

The Necromancer’s Apprentice

Xue Yang has seen The Dark House and he’s heard the rumors that a zombie, a witch, and a necromancer live there. It’s stupid, obviously, but...well...maybe he’ll just sneak in one night and find out.

It’s better than doing nothing. It’s better than going back to the group home. It’s better than sleeping on the street.

Aka, three mildly feral twentysomethings are forcibly adopted by one (1) very feral thirteen-year-old Xue Yang.

Read on AO3

Many thanks to @coslyons for co-writing this with me (all the funniest parts belong to them) and @kevinkevinson for beta.

There is a Dark House in Ballard, and people say to avoid it.

It is probably not called the Dark House because evil lurks inside, although there is some debate about that. It is called the Dark House because it is black from threshold to cupola, from shutters to frames, and it looms on a block where whimsical shops of brick and steel are far more common. Unlike the thrift store and the record shop, the hiking outfitter and the vegan patissiere, no ivy reaches toward the roof of the Dark House. Unlike the local yarn store, no dogs sniff the Dark House’s gate, although at least two cats—also black, naturally—are always sitting on the porch.

It may not be fair to judge a house by its color, but the local legends are clear. If you step on the cracks in the sidewalk, the Dark House will steal your soul. The wrought iron gate of twining snakes comes alive under the light of the full moon to snap at unwary joggers. Children who walk alone after dark get eaten, and the yard is full of bones that wail songs of their murders.

Xue Yang sits on a bench, across the street, eating ice cream and admiring the house. He wonders about the sanity of people who mow the lawn and trim the roses, yet painted their pretty little house black, until it occurs to him that he could just go inside and find out.

He waits until dark, not to stay hidden, but because it’s a more terrible idea, and Xue Yang always gives himself permission to do more terrible things whenever he gets the chance. The high iron fence buzzes with a strange kind of energy that crackles in his palms, so Xue Yang wraps his hands tightly in his flannel shirt as he climbs over. His mother always said he was a practical boy, back when she was still around to say things.

Xue Yang lands in the backyard with a quiet thump onto thin and scraggly grass. The center of the yard is dark under the watery moonlight, with the dirt churned up and loose, and for the first time, a tiny twinge of warning pings in the back of his mind.

He ignores it.

With a flick of his wrist, he summons his knife, a long black switchblade that is seven kinds of illegal and which he loves more than anything else he has ever had, not that there is much competition. With nimble and practiced hands, he slides the knife between the door and the frame, twisting just right when he reaches the lock. With a grin of triumph, he turns the handle, shaped like a gaping mouth, and opens the door.

In the center of the room, there is a long sort of table that seems somehow to pull all the darkness of the room toward it. The shadows gather most thickly around a large, human-shaped lump laid out stiffly on top of it. Xue Yang reaches out to poke it and feels something unexpectedly warm give slightly under his finger.

The shadowy lump on the table sits upright with a sudden jerk.

The shadowy lump on the table sits upright with a sudden jerk.

“AHHHHHHHHHHHH!” Xue Yang shrieks.

“AHHHHHHHHHHHH!” the shadowy lump shrieks back.

“Why the fuck is everyone yelling?” a voice says, and the room is suddenly filled with light.

The shadowy lump rips off the sheet and turns into a guy in his early twenties with a scraggly little beard and wicked bedhead. The voice belongs to a grumpy-looking woman wearing a fluffy pink bathrobe. She squints at him in the oppressive brightness, glaring for a long moment before apparently deciding to deal with the man on the table first.  

“Wei Wuxian, I’ve told you a thousand times that the workshop is not a place for sleeping.”

“Technically—” the man begins, before being abruptly cut off by the woman.

“If the next words out of your mouth aren’t ‘yes, Wen Qing,’ then I don’t care. Go to bed.” She rounds on Xue Yang and he takes a tiny, involuntary step back. “You. What are you doing here?”

Before Xue Yang can answer, another guy—this one with long hair, killer tats, and a dedication to the goth look Xue Yang has to admire—runs in with a baseball bat held in his hands like a club.

“Jiejie! Is there something wrong?”

The woman—Wen Qing, she’d said—pinches the bridge of her nose and says, “It’s fine, A-Ning. I’m just trying to figure out what this little hooliganthinks he’s doing breaking into my house and tripping all of my wards while I’m trying to fucking sleep .”

Xue Yang is now convinced that what he’s broken into is some kind of madhouse, and he pastes a charming smile on his face, the one he uses when fists are clenched and the smell of alcohol burns in his nose. The smile whispers words like “anger issues” and “prone to destruction,” and it’s usually weapon enough, but he holds his knife a little tighter too, just in case.

The woman snaps around like she’s felt his fingers grip the handle of the blade and holds out her hand. “Give it to me.”

No. He will not. His chin tips dangerously, his smile grows icy spikes.

Her eyes narrow. “I could just take it.”

They face off for a minute, the tension almost palpable. Actually, Xue Yang thinks, it’s not tension after all. There’s something else in the air. It reminds him of the buzzing fence, and he doesn’t like the way it confuses him.

“Ah, Wen-jie, let him keep her. Can’t you tell? The kid is scared, they’re both scared, and it’s not like he can hurt us.”

Xue Yang is offended. He is not scared, but he’s relieved that Wei Wuxian spoke up all the same, because even though Wen Qing purses her lips and looks annoyed, she drops her hand.

“Fine.” She crosses her arms again. “Wei Wuxian, make sure our little guest leaves. I’m resetting the wards in five minutes and going back to sleep.”

“Yeah, sure.” Wei Wuxian grins and shoots finger guns at Wen Qing. “Sleep well and dream of me.”

Wen Qing rolls her eyes. “Yes, because I love having nightmares.”

“Oh shoo.” Wei Wuxian flicks his hand at the goth man and Wen Qing. “To bed with you both. I can handle it.”

Their footsteps creak on the wooden floors as they walk further into the house. Xue Yang and Wei Wuxian wait in silence until the footsteps quiet, and then Wei Wuxian turns to Xue Yang. The grin he’d been wearing drops off his face and he looks serious, his eyes shaded and dark.

“Look kid, you should know better than to piss off powerful witches. It tends to be bad for the health.” The side of his mouth just barely tilts upwards, more wry than mirthful, and he looks old now. Old and grey and tired. “So, we’ll just call this a learning experience, and you’ll never come here again, right?”

Xue Yang snorts. “Are you kidding? If you’ve got real magic why the fuck would I leave now?”

“Toddlers shouldn’t swear.”

“I’m almost fourteen, fuck you very much.”

“Ah yes, I am now so convinced you are an adult.” Wei Wuxian rolls his eyes. “It’s two in the morning. You want to go home and go to bed. There’s nothing here for you to be curious about at all.”

Something sibilant and musical weaves its way through the words, and Xue Yang has his hand on the door knob before he fights off the slithering compulsion.

Holy fuck that was cool.

“Nah, I think I’ll stay,” he says, sauntering back casually, pausing to look at a weird painting of a monster facing off with an axe-wielding guy in front of a lighthouse. He feels a very strong sense of camaraderie with it right now.

Wei Wuxian sighs. “Sure, maybe you’ve got a little gift. But you’re a kid. Don’t you have parents who are going to, you know, notice you’re missing?”

Xue Yang stares him in the eyes, willing himself not to flinch. Something tells him this is a chance he’s never going to have again, a chance that requires honesty.

“No.” Xue Yang lifts his chin stubbornly. “I don’t.”

Wei Wuxian stares back, and Xue Yang gets the feeling that he sees all the years and all the disappointments that fit into that no. He doesn’t care. No one gives you what you want unless you take it.

This standoff lasts forever, or maybe it’s only a few seconds.

“She’s going to kill me,” Wei Wuxian mutters, and a little louder, “You can sleep on the couch tonight, but I’m locking you in the room and if you touch anything, I will turn you into a mannequin.”

He turns to leave, but looks back with a frown. “Wen Qing builds beautiful, elegant wards that you’ll never feel, never even notice if she doesn’t want you to. Mine will hurt. Don’t. Touch. Anything.”

Xue Yang decides, in the principle of magnanimity, to agree. “Whatever.”

Wei Wuxian shakes his head and points a finger at Xue Yang. “Go to sleep, kiddo.”

The words hold Xue Yang’s hand and lead him to the couch, make him lay down, and within minutes, he is asleep.

He opens his eyes to piercing sunlight and a pale face inches from his.

“What the fuck!” he yelps, instinctively grabbing for his knife and snapping it open.

“Mr. Wei, he’s awake and noisy,” the face says, and Xue Yang focuses on its features.

It’s the goth guy. His arms have full-sleeve tattoos, matching patterns of stark black geometric lines and circles, but his neck has weird black veins tattooed on it. His eyes, which are still way too close to Xue Yang’s, are so dark they’re practically black.

“Where’s the witch?” Xue Yang asks, sufficiently recovered to be an asshole.

“Boiling children,” Wei Wuxian retorts. He’s leaning over the table and taking notes in a tattered book, poking something with a tiny screwdriver. “It’s the only reason we let you stay.”

“Really?” Xue Yang can’t decide if that’s cool or terrifying.

“He’s always like that in the morning,” Goth Guy says conspiratorially. “By ten, he’s pretty nice again.”

“I’m never nice,” Wei Wuxian grumbles. “A-Ning, can you take our miscreant home, please? The last thing I need is cops knocking on The House door asking if we’re kidnapping children. Again.” “Okay, Mr. Wei.”

Xue Yang panics. He can’t go back there. Not since they found him alone with the fire. He knows what they’ll do, and he can’t go back. He won’t . He ducks under Goth Guy’s arm and has his knife angled under Wei Wuxian’s chin before he’s even processed the motor function commands “get up” and “don’t let him send you away.”

“No! You have to…” He scrambles though thoughts, desperate ideas, each one crazier than the last before he hits on words that work themselves loose from his mouth. “You said I had a gift, you have to teach me to use it.”

Wei Wuxian frowns, but instead of being afraid or angry, he tips his head and whistles, two notes that almost sound like a name. To his great shock and horror, Xue Yang’s knife vibrates in his hand, and his fingers snap open like a broken trap, dropping the knife onto Wei Wuxian’s waiting palm. He carefully folds the blade back into the handle.

“Jiangzai,” he says, almost affectionately.

It doesn’t mean anything, but then it does , and it hits Xue Yang so hard he collapses to the ground. The knife has a name, and he knows it’s right as soon as Wei Wuxian says it. Xue Yang’s heart pounds, and he hates it. He hates this motherfucker who just took his knife away and he hates the Goth Guy who is helping him back to his feet. He doesn’t want to stay anymore, and he shakes off Goth Guy, wishing he could throw his kindness on the floor and stomp on it.

Wei Wuxian rolls his eyes. “Okay, maybe you have a little bit more than a little bit of a gift. But you still can’t stay, and I’m not teaching you anything.”

Xue Yang snatches his knife— his Jiangzai—out of Wei Wuxian’s hand and stomps to the door. “Fine. Fuck you.”

He gets as far as yanking the door open and slamming it against the wall before he realizes that there is a person in the way, and she doesn’t look inclined to move.

“Here you go, kiddo,” she says, handing him a bag. “I bought you some clean clothes and a toothbrush. A-Ning will show you where the bathroom is. Come back down for breakfast when you’ve changed.”

This is somehow more terrifying than when she was yelling at him. Yelling he understands. Now she’s just being...creepy. He stares at her belligerently, and she sighs.

“Listen, you little shit,” she says, bending over to look him dead in the eye. She doesn’t have to bend very far, he realizes. She’s actually tiny, even though she seems as big as the Fremont troll. “You will either go willingly with A-Ning, who is very nice, or you can test my patience and get buried in the yard with all the rest of the naughty children who break into my house. Your choice.”

Yeah, that’s more solid ground.

“Fine.” He grabs the bag from her and waves at the Goth Guy. “Lead the way, A-Ning .” He means it to be an insult, but Goth Guy just grins.

Xue Yang hears Wei Wuxian ask, “Wen Qing, what the fuck,” before Goth Guy herds him up the wide staircase, and he doesn’t hear any more of her answer than, “A-Xian, I can’t let him leave. You don’t understand, I did a location…”

This close to the Goth Guy, Xue Yang decides to acknowledge that the pale translucence of his skin is probably not makeup.

“I’m Wen Ning, by the way. I doubt Mr. Wei or jiejie introduced me,” Goth Guy—Wen Ning—says in a casual tone.

“So are you actually dead or what?” he asks Wen Ning, and Wen Ning grins.

“Or what,” he answers enigmatically, and gently shoves Xue Yang in a bathroom with pink tiles and a claw-foot tub.

Once he’s bathed and changed, Xue Yang heads back downstairs. Breakfast is bacon, eggs, and toast, and he doesn’t even pretend it isn’t the best food he’s eaten in a week. It is, in fact, the first food he hasn’t stolen in a week, and that alone is a novelty.

He’s halfway done with his food when Wei Wuxian, who hasn’t touched a bit of his and looks as sullen as an orange, says, “I have been informed that there is some arcane rule about teaching a gift you discover, and my...how did you put it, dear Wen Qing? My immortal soul and earthly being will be in danger if I don’t capitulate to the inevitable?”

He glares at Wen Qing, and she smiles sweetly at him.

“Whatever,” Xue Yang says around a mouthful of eggs. “Are you going to eat that?”

Wei Wuxian passes him the plate of food, and Xue Yang closes his eyes in bliss. Food is amazing.

“There are conditions—don’t look at me like that, Wen-jie. I agreed, okay? I get to set conditions. First of all, you do whatever I tell you. If I tell you to sell turnips on the street corner, you better sell some goddamn turnips. Second, you don’t touch anything unless I say it’s okay. A lot of this stuff,” he waves his hand around the white and yellow room, which looks surprisingly cheerful for a kitchen in a black house, “is priceless and dangerous, so…”

Wen Qing clears her throat and glares at Wei Wuxian.

“Uh...don’t touch anything.” Wei Wuxian finishes, snaking a piece of bacon from Xue Yang’s plate and shoving it into his mouth before disappearing back into his workroom.

Wen Qing rolls her eyes. “I promise he’ll actually teach you stuff once he pulls his head—” She visibly checks herself. “Once he stops being an idiot. More bacon?”

The rest is on AO3

[thora-jane]

Twin-Way Mirror Pt. 1 (Weasley Twins/Reader Love Triangle)

Series Summary: You've been friends with the Weasley twins since your first train to Hogwarts, but as the three of you start your 6th year, you start to question if your feelings go beyond friendship.

Summary for Pt 1: as Summer draws to a close, some old friends come to take you off to the Quidditch World Cup

Warnings: none, I don't think. Maybe some tension between you and your parents.

Word count: 2,200

female!reader, 2nd person POV

Summer Holidays were special, you supposed, what with everyone taking a break from classes and unwinding for a couple months. You personally hadn’t been as big of a fan since you started Hogwarts. You were a Muggleborn, and Hogwarts was the first time you felt you actually understood school. You had been a horrible student in muggle school and consistently got terrible marks, but at Hogwarts? You were the brightest witch of your year. Even before your first day of classes, you had poured over every book cover to cover, examined your wand and robes for hours on end, and it took everything inside you not to start making potions.

Summer holidays were just the months in between. The time when you would lie to all your muggle friends about your new school (a private school, meant to reform students doing poorly in the academics department), and hold your breath amidst the tension of your muggle parents heavily encouraging you to continue to study muggle subjects and go to a muggle university after you graduate (“Come now, (y/n), you can’t possibly think you can just live out your life as a witch, do you?”).

A silver lining to all of this were the letters you would get from your friends. Once the sun had gone down and you could release your pet owl, Eros, with a letter or two strapped to his foot. In the morning, he would fly back with a letter or package before falling asleep in his cage. The letters would be from a few different friends every once in a while; Angelina would write to you about the latest news in Quidditch, always assuring you that this would be the year you make it onto the team, Hermione would send you newspaper clippings as your parents didn’t want you subscribing to a wizard newspaper, even Oliver would write and tell you about how his summers were going since he knew you didn’t see your friends much. And of course, there were the letters from the Weasleys.

You were in the same year as the twins, Fred and George, but no one could ever be friends with just a few of the Weasleys, it was always all or nothing. Ginny would write to you about quidditch (also assuring you you’d make the team, though you never did), Mr. Weasely would write and ask for common muggle objects, or with a whole laundry list of questions about muggle life, Mrs. Weasely would write asking you if you were being taken care of, sending you recipes and craft patterns, knowing how much you loved to cook and work with yarn, even Ron and Percy would write you, though mostly because Mrs. Weasley made them. Percy never let on as he scribbled about ministry business, but almost all of Ron’s consisted of “How are you, I am fine, mum wants me to write you. The twins miss you. xoxo Sorry, that was Fred and George.”

Ah, the Twins. Their letters were always your favorite, filled with page-long jokes or stories of their epic pranks and escapades, sometimes with a chocolate frog or some other sweet taped to the inside of the letter. Of course, when they mentioned making a line of pranking sweets, you were a bit hesitant to eat some of the things they sent. But you always seemed to walk away from the experience with all your teeth and toes, so you figured you wouldn’t get pranked unless they were there in person.

You kept all the letters and souvenirs and clippings sent, and even hung some up on your bedroom wall. Of course, none of the letters sent to you went unanswered, there would be days on end when you would write and craft responses to them, especially when one of the twins sent you a letter. You always closed out their responses assuring them that the three of you would see eachother again soon, and that next term would arrive before they knew it.

Granted, when you said this, you didn’t expect anyone to show up on your doorstep one day.

You were up in your room, writing out a response to George’s most recent letter and scrounging around for one of the candybars you had bought for him after finally convincing him to try muggle candy. It was then that you heard the doorbell ring. You paid it no attention, and chalked it all up to one of your mum’s friends stopping by for a coffee.

This of course, was not the case. You heard a few different voices, besides your mum, one or two of them belonged to who you assumed were women, but the others sounded much deeper. Then you heard thumping footsteps coming up the stairs and down the hall. The next thing you knew, there was a loud pounding on the door.

Then there was silence.

You weren’t quite sure who was there, but you hadn’t heard anything from your parents about company. And if there was one thing you’ve learned at Hogwarts, in these past few years especially, is that you always need to be on your toes.

You drew your wand out from your tied back hair and, holding it at the ready, opened up the door.

You weren’t quite sure who you were expecting, but not a second later two messes of red and black hair came flying towards you as Harry and Ron yanked you into a half-hug, half-tackle.

“(y/n)!” Harry laughed, moving your hand holding your wand so it didn’t stab him in the face, “the look on your face!”

Ron almost snorted, “Bloody hell, the twins would have paid galleons to see that!”

It took you a moment to recover your breath, but once the two boys stepped back from their hug, you managed to stutter out a question.

“Why are...uh...what are you doing here? And where are the twins?” You turned to Ron, who had walked over to your desk and started looking up at all the letters tapped to the wall, he started talking, but you could tell he was much more absorbed in all the papers and pictures and doodles.

“We’re here to pick you up, you’re all packed, aren’t you? The cup is in a few days and-say, were you going to eat this?” he interrupted himself, holding up one of the candy bars.

You walked past your bed and yanked a pillow out from Harry, who had seemed to make himself comfortable before you hit him with a pillow, then did the same to Ron.

“No, you may not eat that, that isn’t for you. And what cup? What do you mean all packed?” You tossed the pillow back onto your bed, and it landed on Harry’s face with an ‘oof’ before you pulled your trunk out of the closet and started tossing some of your cleaner and folded laundry in there, “Ronald I have no clue what you’re talking about. Harry, what does he mean?”

Although neither of you were in the Weasely family, you and Harry treated each other like siblings. Maybe not close friends, but the two of you were close enough that talking to him wasn’t too difficult.

“The Quidditch World Cup. Ron, didn’t you tell her?” He sat back up on your bed, looking over at Ron with his brow furrowed, “Your mum had you write her about it the other day, yeah?”

Ron smacked himself in the head, “I knew I was forgetting something! (Y/n), Dad got enough tickets to the Quidditch World Cup and you’re coming with us. Now, mum thought I wrote you and you’re supposed to be packed for school too, we’re taking all your stuff to the burrow and dropping you off at the Hogwarts express with the rest of us.”

“You’re only just now telling me?!” You tried not to shriek as you started packing faster, racking through your brain for all the things you’d need. You hadn’t gotten the list of books yet this year, but you intended on going before the year started. After running to the closet again and tossing your school uniform into the trunk, you ran over to the desk and shoved Ron aside to grab your box of letter writing things and some of the magical books you thought might be useful this year. While hastily stacking the boxes and books into your trunk, you ordered Ron and Harry from over your shoulder, “Ron, my potions kit should be under the bed. Harry, run to the bathroom and grab the small bag with butterflies on it, it should have my toothbrush, soap, shampoo, makeup -bathroom stuff. Well?”

The two boys nodded, a little intimidated at the speed you were packing. As Harry Ran to the bathroom, you turned to Ron.

“Do you remember the extra thing on the list this year? Fourth years and up needed…?”

“Don’t remind me. Fourth years and up need dress robes. I hate mine, they’re bloody awful,” he sighed, looking morose as he handed you your cauldron full of potion tools, “I’ll look like an old lady in them. What about you?”

You ran over to the closet, rifling through the jumpers and other clothes, tossing a Mrs.-Weasley-Handmade-Jumper into the trunk, “My mum took me out to get a dress a few days back, it should be...ah yes, here it is,” You pulled out a dress with see-through billowy sleeves and a skirt that went almost to the floor when you wore it, “You think this is good enough?” He raised his eyebrows, nodding.

“It looks nice,” You could tell he wasn’t too interested and agreed only to be polite, but you appreciate the sentiment as you carefully tucked it into your trunk. Harry came back and tossed the bag to you and you added it to your trunk before closing the lid and placing Eros’s cage on top. Sticking your wand back into your hair and slinging your yarn bag over your shoulder, you looked back at the two boys.

“Where are the twins? I thought they would have wanted to come pick me up?”

Ron tossed you the candy bars on your desk before walking to the other side of the trunk and helping you lift it, “Well, mum needed Hermione and Harry to help us get to a muggle house, and I tagged along. They wanted to come, but mum said she wanted to make a good impression on your parents and the last time they picked someone up from a muggle house dad had to go to at least a dozen ministry hearings.”

You chuckled, remembering how back in their third year they stole the car to pick up Harry from his aunt and uncle’s, “That sounds about right, Harry, could you get the door?”

Harry picked up Eros’s cage and held the door wide open as you and Ron waddled the trunk out of your room, stopping as you got to the edge of the stairs.

Your mum, Hermione, and Mrs. Weasley turned at the sound of you making your way down the hall. The two witches waved, their faces lighting up as you greeted them, then Mrs. Weasley pulled out her wand and waved it gently, “Let me help you with that, dearie,” She smiled as your trunk delicately floated down the stairs.

“(y/n), Mrs. Weasely and Miss-” She looked over at Hermione for a second, before Hermione answered. “Granger,” She smiled politely.

“Yes, Miss Granger just explained to me that their family was going to take you to a...Wizard Football match?” She smiled a little, puzzled by the own words coming out of her mouth, “they offered to have you stay at their house,” She glanced at your trunk and the wide grin on your face, “I take it you’re interested in going?”

You nodded vigorously before pausing, “Is...Is that alright with you?”

She smiled, though it looked a bit forced, “Yes, yes it is. Just make sure you brush up on your real school subjects, please. And do mind your manners.”

You practically squealed, your hands shaking excitedly as you ran to grab your normal shoes (school shoes and dress shoes had been packed in the trunk).

Mrs. Weasely thanked your mum again and the boys and Hermione helped carry your trunk out to the car. Once you had all settled in and started to drive off, Mrs. Weasley looked at you through the rearview mirror.

“Your mum seems like a wonderful lady, but she isn’t too fond of magic, is she?” She asked gently, and you noticed the whole car go a bit quiet.

“No, she isn’t. I think she’d rather I focus more on traditional muggle subjects than magic,” You answered shyly, looking down at the yarn in your bag.

“Ah well, I wouldn’t fret too much over that, dearie. Muggles can be like that sometimes, but she’ll come around,” She offered a smile through the mirror again. Before you knew it, you were back to talking with your younger friends, excitedly asking about their summers as the five of you made your trip back to the burrow.

[fandomhorde]

Can you imagine if Maeve was a guy? Like.

Maeve is now uhh Maeverick and (I may not correctly remember that plotline bc uh I don't like women getting fridged for manpain) Spencer's trying to figure out what's wrong with his headaches, and all the older professionals he goes to either a) don't take him seriously, b) see his family history and say that it's schizophrenia and call it a day, c) are offended by his sass/competence/expertise/communication style, d) won't answer his questions about treatment pros & cons so he won't work with them, e) all of the above, so

Spencer seeks out a young medical professional because he thinks he might have a better chance of someone young listening to him and working with him. He finds a doctor who did his schooling faster than average, implying he's intelligent and might further be relatable, and Dr. M. Donovan, geneticist, does not disappoint. Due to Reid living and working in Virginia/D.C., and Donovan living and working in Massuchusetts, they correspond over email primarily, phonecall periodically, and video call occasionally.

He carefully listens to Spencer's theories for his headaches, carefully examines Spencer's MRI scans, takes Spencer's medical family history into account without making instant assumptions, answers all of Spencer's questions or lets Spencer know when he doesn't know (yet) (frequently he'll research until he has the answer; the first time spencer's coming back from a case and opens his tablet to find an email titled 'Eureka!' and an answer, Spencer's glad everyone's asleep because he can't stop grinning.)

M. Donovan recommends that Spencer try to treat his symptoms as they try to figure out if it's an uncommon genetic condition: after trying out various exercise/entertainment/enrichment options, they find a good selection of activities that chill out Spencer's brain when he's overwhelmed or stressed; it's stuff like turning on instrumental music and doing katas or tai-chi before and after playing Animal Crossings, Stardew Valley, or Minecraft on some days and knitting on other days - Spencer finds out that he really likes knitting complicated socks and rapidly expands his mismatched sock collection; M. Donovan is also a knitter and they have several lengthy email chains about yarn types and needle sizes and knitting methods. Spencer definitely finds himself deliberating about whether or not he could knit M. Donovan a pair of socks without making it weird.

He also helps Spencer set up a sleep routine (weighted blankets, colder temperatures in the apartment, a noise maker, and keeping a 'write it out as soon as you wake up' journal by the bedside help with the stress related nightmares, which massively improves his quality of sleep and his willingness to go to sleep, whaddya know) as well as recommending him to someone who helps him figure out meal plans to figure out if his diet is affecting him adversely.

He recommends various support groups since Spencer feels that the one-on-one therapy he's in isn't everything he needs. (M Donovan also researches other therapists for ones that might get along with Spencer better; Spencer ends up doing a trial session with a few, but sticks with the one he found bc it's working for him). Spencer is startled when he sees a queer support group on this list, but goes without mentioning it to anyone. Spencer stands outside the building deliberating for a long while before a friendly lesbian sticks her head out the door and compliments his socks, inviting him in, and when someone quotes The Once and Future King in the group, he decides he's coming back the next week. He also finds a support group that's specifically a recovering addicts knitting group and it's a really good place for him.

With the stress outlets, meal changes, sleep routine and support groups, Spencer finds the headaches few and far between, usually after stressful cases, and he asks M. Donovan if it really could just be psychosomatic/stress-induced. M. Donovan says that that's a possibility, although if any other inexplicable/distressing symptoms begin, he wants to be informed, and they conclude their medical correspondence.

But Spencer has Maeverick's personal email from a mix-up where Maeverick was trying to send Spencer a specific file over his phone and shared it to the wrong email app, and like two weeks after their medical correspondence, he sends a nervous email like 'hey, it's Dr Reid, since I'm no longer your patient, can I ask what sock size you are?' and he gets a call like two minutes later and Maeverick asks if one of Spencer's teammates got into his email to ask about socks, and Spencer snorts and says that even if they could crack his passwords, he hasn't come out to them so they wouldn't send prank emails to the guys in his contacts, and then realizing about 0.2 seconds later that he just admitted to a) not being straight and more pressingly, b) liking Maeverick Donovan in a nonheterosexual way, and he's just frozen when Maev huffs out a tiny laugh like "oh good, I was worried I was crushing on yet another straight guy," and wow have I written a lot for this but uh, idk, this is a kinda cute concept

[lovelivingmydreams]

Paper Flowers: By any other name

Happy New year! I’m back with the fifth chapter. Other chapters are listed in the master post under Paper Flowers.

Thomas gets tmakes a fun youtube Video. Patton thinks there might be a breakthrough with Virgil. And Roman gets a surprise.

Thomas and Joan are sitting down at Joan’s kitchen table for a youtube video.

Earlier that week Thomas had sent out a tweet to ask the Fanders to send in questions and links for them to react to.

The video was a lot of fun so far. They saw cute dog video’s, inspiring coming out video’s, and then there was the artwork inspired by his vine stuff. Some fanders made misleading complement themed cards, and there were cute drawings of his teacher and dad character. And of course there was that stainglass/yingyang drawing of the Prince and his nemesis.

“This is just amazing, you guys are all so talented.” He gushes, not for the first time as he studies the gorgeous detailing on the latter. This must’ve taken hours and he can’t get over the fact that something he did inspired that.

The questions were fun to answer too. What subject is teacher’s favorite? What is Dad’s favorite cookie? What was the funniest interaction he’d ever had after a storytime? Some serious ones too. How did Joan know they were non binary?

What made him decide to come out as gay to his Christian parents? How did he know it was the right time?

Is it hard being out and proud while being a public figure?

Tips on how to handle social anxiety.

“Okay, final question, I peeked on this one,” Joan admitted, making Thomas let out a dramatic scandalized gasp. “I wanted to make sure we’d end the video on a fun note. Go on read it.”

Joan is chuckling already, so Thomas quickly reads the comment.

“Thomas love your content! But the people need to know. Is it Marcus or Kevin?”

Thomas frowns in confusion. There is a link and when he clicks on it he is brought to a long reblog chain on tumblr. He quickly reads through the first few posts and snorts.

“Oh My Goodness, that is just amazing!” he squeals in delight. He loves that the fanders are so enthusiastic about those two. And from what he can tell both ‘armies’ are battling it out in good fun.

“Well, I can’t confirm, nor deny either name at this time. But I think he’d very much approve of the one his faithful minions have chosen for him. Personally I do think Kevin would be hilarious though.”

Joan chuckles and nods in agreement.

“We might learn the dark overlord’s true name someday,” Thomas smiles. “But for now, take it easy guys galls and non-binary palls. Peace out!”

“Are you quite done Princey?” Virgil huffed. Roman had been laughing nonstop since Thomas heard about the debate going on in the Fanders comunity.

“Sorry. I’ll stop. Honestly it’s not that funny. Please do forgive me… Kevin,” And just like that he was doubled over again. Virgil groaned in annoyance.

“Okay, okay, I’m done. I honestly didn’t mean to. You can’t always help it when you laugh though. And you must admit it is a little funny,” Roman said once he got a hold of himself, whipping the mirth out of his eyes.

“What’s all this commotion about?” Patton wondered as he entered the commons.

Virgil tensed up. Patton had been… Different lately. He’d been checking if Virgil took enough food when he ate in his room, and that he ate everything when Roman coaxed him into eating with the others. He knocked more often to check if Virgil had laundry to be done, or to tell him that it was time for him to go to bed. He was taking this whole dad thing a little too seriously.

And some part of Virgil wanted to just accept and appreciate the effort, but the other kept wondering why Patton was doing all that for him when he clearly wanted him to just move back downstairs already.

It was in the little things. The way Patton would tense when he entered the room. How he would hesitate before smiling at him or greeting him. The way his voice wavered when he asked him stuff. And sometimes Patton would say stuff like “I don’t care how Deceit does things, but up here we…” Insert whatever rule Patton was trying to get Virgil to accept.

Honestly. He didn’t mind doing chores. Even if it was redundant when you can just will stuff to be clean. He didn’t mind making an appearance in the commons once a day either. Patton had just jumped from not involving him in anything into expecting him to fight him on everything.

Sure he’d roll his eyes and huff a little, but he wasn’t that difficult. Patton clearly expected him to be though. Perhaps even expected him to get tired of the rules and leave.

The problem was, Virgil had actually tried a few times in the beginning, and he couldn’t go back downstairs. Not really. Not for more than a visit when Thomas was asleep. The rest of the time, he was stuck in the in between only able to go to the upper commons.

Virgil’s best guess at how this worked was that Thomas had acknowledged his existence, but was still trying to push him down most of the time.

It’d been Janus’ decision to reveal this truth, when Virgil had been triggered into a panic attack one morning out of seemingly nowhere. Janus and Remus had been very calm that day and that had been exactly what had made Virgil worry that something big was coming. Janus realized this was not a healthy environment for him. So he lifted the denial on Thomas’ anxiety and told Patton and the others that Virgil would be living with them from now on.

Next thing Virgil knew his room was moved up, just not all the way.

He wasn’t sure, but he felt like he’d gotten closer to the upper level since he and Roman became friends. Logan didn’t seem to care one way or another. So that left Patton as the one to push him down right?

Virgil closed his eyes to calm his reeling thoughts for a moment. He couldn’t get swept up by his own head when in public. Princey got it by now, but how would he explain this to Patton.

“Oh, hello Padre. Kevin and I were just discussing the latest video and…”

Then Virgil found himself crouching on the kitchen counter ready for an attack. Patton’s high pitched squeal had been unexpected and terrifying.

Roman, once he recovered from his own surprise, moved a little closer to Virgil, putting himself in between him and the perceived danger. It helped calming him down a lot faster and adjust his position to look more casual and less terrified.

Patton was still squealing and clapping. It seemed like he had missed Virgil’s panicked reaction.

“Your name is Kevin?” he gushed.

“No,” Virgil objected immediately. Holding up both hands in a stop sign.

“That’s just one of the names the fanders gave the villain character. Princey thinks he’s hilarious for calling me that,” he explained.

Patton deflated. “Oh… Well, it’s nice the fanders enjoy your character so much,” he smiled awkwardly. Virgil suppressed the urge to roll his eyes. He wanted to get out of here, like now.

“Padre! You just must see the gorgeous artwork this fander did about the prince!” Roman declared as he grabbed Patton by the arm and led him away.

Virgil finally fully relaxed. Roman was really pulling through on every level.

Protecting him from Patton’s parenting, deflecting Logan’s tough questions, and even making Virgil feel appreciated. Whenever Virgil had had a rough day of keeping Thomas safe, Roman would come find him in the field and just hang with him, humming his favorite music, set up one of his favorite movies with him, telling him stories of his grand adventures. Just hanging out. Once they did each other’s nails. That was a lot of fun. Virgil had actually quit nailbiting  all together because he didn’t want to ruin them.

At first Roman had tried gifts and lavish praise, but that did not sit well with Virgil. He panicked over not being able to live up to the praise or give good gifts in return. And Roman listened and adapted.

Virgil in turn had been trying to give Roman verbal praise whenever he did something nice for him, or did a good job with Thomas. It was hard for Virgil to say this stuff out loud though.

Virgil entered his room trying to think of a way to thank Roman for today without making it awkward for the both of them.

His eye fell on some purple craft paper. One of Roman’s early gifts. He’d thought that maybe Virgil might enjoy creating things to take his mind of off his worries every once in a while.

Virgil had never really found a good project to use it for… But now.

When Roman got back to his room after bidding Patton a good day he could feel a slow rhythmic knock on his door. They never agreed on a code, but he could tell that this was just Virgil trying to get his attention, but that he could take his time if needed.

He decided to note down his new idea for a Vine first so he wouldn’t lose it. When he opened the door, Virgil was nowhere to be seen. Not that Roman noticed right away, he was far too focused on the purple paper rose hanging from the doorframe by a piece of yarn.

It was clearly hand crafted. Which must have taken Virgil quite some effort. He carefully untied the flower and brought it to his room where he put it on his vanity in a little vase.

He smiled softly at the little token of appreciation. A friendship with the emo knight wasn’t always easy to navigate. But it was definitely worth it.

He picked up the idea again, confident it would be another hit.

The dark overlord scowled at the bright morning sky. "Curse you, eternal sun." He turns his attention to the star map on the table in front of him "and every single one of you stars." He raised a picture of the solar system and glared. "And to hell with all you planets! I hate you all!" Then he dramatically turned and picked up a small ball resembling a certain non-planet. "Except for you,” he says softly stroking the ball delicately as if to comfort it. “You get me. You may stay."

Next: everyone falls

[teacupfulofstarshine]

pattonella part 13: kingdom alert: the princes are fiiiiiiiightiiiiiiiing!

cw: mentions of injury/infection/illness, mentions of death, arguing, overworking, parental figures who are not the best 

wordcount: ~3.3k

part 1 // part 2 // part 3 // part 4 // part 5 // part 6 // part 7 // part 8 // part 9 // part 10 // part 11 // part 12 // read it on ao3!! 

virgil stays in the infirmary for almost a week after he first wakes up. 

he spends a lot of his time sleeping, since he’s too weak to do anything else. for the first few days of wakefulness, he barely has the strength to squeeze logan’s and patton’s hands when they hold them. despite his barely-open eyes, he smiles every time he sees them. 

“i’m sorry,” he says once, voice raspy and hoarse. patton tilts his head in confusion.

“why are you apologizing?”

“for scaring you. i came home unconscious . . . on logan’s horse . . . and you didn’t know . . . what was happening . . . i’m sorry . . .” his chest heaves slightly with effort, and patton leans in to brush his hair out of his eyes. 

“it’s not your fault. you saved roman’s life, vee, you saved everyone. you all came home alive, and that’s all i can ask for.” virgil smiles at him, eyes half-open, and yawns. “are you tired, vee?” 

“‘m always tired lately.” 

“that’s normal,” emile says, carrying over a large teapot. “you expended an enormous amount of magic when you were fighting. your body is trying to recover that energy; that’s why you’re sleeping so much. this tea helps you recover your energy as well, so keep drinking.” 

virgil makes a face at the cup of tea emile has in his hands, but he still lets patton help him sit up. he takes the tea and sips at it gently, blowing off the cloud of steam. emile dips a washcloth into a pail of cool water, wrings it out, and drapes it across virgil’s forehead, removing the old cloth that has grown warm. 

“is logan going to visit today?” virgil asks. 

“prince logan said he would stop by after attending to his duties at court,” emile says. “remy will be back in a little while, he’s attending to the king.” a somber tone falls over the infirmary at the mention of the king. 

“what . . . exactly is wrong with the king?” patton asks. “we know that he’s sick, of course, but - but we have no idea what’s actually wrong with him. do you know? are - are you allowed to tell us?” 

emile exhales, nodding slowly. “the king was injured in battle. he hid it because -”

“he’s a self-righteous idiot and a coward,” remy mutters, shoving the infirmary door shut behind him. emile’s face brightens when he sees his husband, dimming when he sees how pale and drawn remy looks. “he didn’t want to worry people, so instead of letting me treat his injury and having a recovery time of maybe two weeks, he hid it until it got infected and then he hid the infection until he collapsed and now it’s so far gone that there’s nothing i can do to heal him. it’s killing him from the inside out.” 

“the king will die?” patton asks. 

“we all die eventually,” remy says, “but it’s true that the king is ailing more swiftly than most. i’d say he has . . . three years left to live, at most.” emile reaches up and gently kisses remy’s cheek, pressing his face into his shoulder. 

“there’s a reason the rush is on to get thomas officially named crown prince,” emile says. “if he does not bear the official title when the king passes on, there will be a power struggle.” 

“why? thomas is the eldest prince. roman and logan would never stand in his way of becoming king, would they?” 

“no, but without an official heir appointed, it is possible that anyone with a connection to the royal bloodline, however small, could present themself as heir apparent. it would take months, perhaps even years to sort through the muck and mire of all that inherently political bullshit, which would derail the peace and prosperity of this kingdom. it is imperative that thomas is officially named the crown prince before the king dies.” 

“do we have to be married for thomas to be named crown prince?” patton asks. “is an engagement enough to satisfy the law?” 

“unfortunately, no. engagements can be made and broken at the drop of a hat, but a marriage is not so easily annulled. the wedding ceremony must be completed before thomas can be named crown prince.” 

“i think that’s a stupid rule,” patton mutters. virgil laughs softly, and patton squeezes his hand. 

“the most likely scenario at this point is a triple function.”

“a what?” 

“logan and roman will have a double wedding to the two of you, and then once the wedding ceremony is completed, thomas will immediately be officially named crown prince. that way, no matter what happens, the kingdom will be secured.”

“and then we party?” patton asks. remy laughs. 

“yeah, babes. and then we party.” 

*~*~*~*~*

“everything alright?” 

logan jumps three feet into the air at the sudden noise, whirling around to see roman behind him, hand raised as though he was about to lower it onto his shoulder. “take a deep breath, lo, it’s just me.” logan presses a hand to his chest, exhaling sharply. 

“you startled me, roman. please do not do that.” roman rolls his eyes, bumping his shoulder against logan’s as he steps towards the window logan’s been pensively staring out of. “can i be of assistance?” 

“do you know any good smiths?” 

logan hums, clasping his hands behind his back. “you spend far more time consorting with the villagers than i, roman. if anyone were to possess such information, it would be you.”

“yeah, but you spend all your time with the tax records and shit, i figured you’d know.” 

logan frowns. “what is all this about, roman?” 

roman looks at him, and logan realizes he’s been crying. “roman -”

“i went to see father.” 

logan wants to swear. “roman, i thought we agreed to go together if we went -”

“we did! but i saw remy going to treat him, so i followed him, and when the door opened he saw me and he beckoned me inside and what was i gonna do, say no to the king?” 

“what did he say to you?” 

“he asked me if i was married yet.” 

“and you told him?” 

“no, but i have a partner.” 

“what did he say?” 

“‘that’s not good enough, roman,’” roman grouses, dropping his voice into a gruff imitation of their father’s. “'you of all people should understand how imperative it is that there is no issue with succession. thomas must be named my heir and become crown prince before i shuffle off this mortal coil -’”

“don’t talk about father’s death like that,” logan snaps. 

“and how else should i talk about it, logan? father has been dying for years. and he’s making me rush my relationship with patton just so that thomas can get the official version of a title we all know he has!” 

“father does not want to die without officially naming an heir. i understand that.”

“you really think someone’s going to be stupid enough to challenge thomas’s birthright?” 

“it will not hurt to be prepared. you are responding irrationally.” 

“right, because you’ve never done anything irrational in your life, logan, like riding into battle with no backup and no plan because your stupid magic boyfriend thinks i can’t take care of myself! what does he know, anyway? he doesn’t know anything about me or us or -” 

“virgil saved your life,” logan says, voice low and thunderous. he takes a step forward, then another, and roman takes a step backward, then another. “if it wasn’t for his vision, you would have died . many more people would have been injured or killed if he had not come when he did. or did you forget the fact that he fell into a coma because he expended so much magic saving you? healing you? keeping you alive?” roman flinches away from his anger, and logan can’t bring himself to care.

“logan, i -”

“this conversation is over,” logan says, voice icy and cold. “i will see you at dinner, prince roman. send a servant if you have need of me.” he turns around and stalks down the hallway, footsteps sharp and precise against the stone floor. he hears roman throw a punch at something behind him, but he doesn’t call out, and logan doesn’t turn around. 

*~*~*~*~*

“lord san - patton?” 

patton looks up from the basket of yarn he’s picking through to see nate standing in the doorway, fidgeting with the hem of his tunic. “nate! come in!” 

“you have a visitor,” nate says. he sounds oddly formal, and patton tilts his head in confusion. “sir claire, knight of the kingdom, second in command to his royal highness prince roman, requests an audience.”

“oh! um . . . send her in, sure!” patton remembers her riding just behind logan and roman when they’d returned from battle, but he’s never actually spoken to her. 

nate steps into the hallway and murmurs something, and then claire steps in. she’s not wearing full armor, but there’s leather wrapped around her forearms and legs, and her hair is tied up in a knot atop her head. she’s panting slightly, face shining with sweat, as though she’s just come from the training grounds. 

“lord sanders,” she says, bowing to him. patton stands up, not sure if he’s supposed to curtsy back at her or not, but as he’s gathering the material of his dress claire continues speaking. “i would request something of you, lord sanders.” 

“um . . . okay! is it something you need from roman?” 

“it actually concerns his highness prince roman.” 

“is he hurt? is he alright?” 

claire shakes her head. “i believe he had an . . . altercation with his highness prince logan earlier. prince roman came to the training grounds two hours ago, and he has been putting any guard he can through rigorous dueling. he’s finally exhausted his supply of human opponents, and he has been hacking away at training dummies for the past thirty minutes. his hands shake with exhaustion, but nothing i do or say convinces him to stop and rest. i worry he may pass out from heat or over exertion or -” 

patton wrings his hands nervously, and claire takes a deep breath. “i do not mean to alarm you, lord sanders. i merely thought perhaps, as you are beloved of prince roman, you might accompany me to the training grounds and convince him to rest, if only briefly?” 

“of course,” patton says. “nate, go to the kitchens, get some cold water, as much as you can carry, and some sort of snack. cheese, maybe? and nuts? something to get roman’s strength up. meet me on the training grounds.” 

“at once, lord sanders,” nate says, bowing his head respectfully to patton and claire before sprinting out into the hall. patton slips his shoes on and follows claire out to the training ground. 

“how long have you and roman known each other?” 

“the prince and i entered knighthood training at the same time. were he not the prince, i suspect i may have been picked for captain of the guard, but i am not stupid. i know the ways of the kingdom. the third prince, should there be one, becomes captain of the guard, leader of the knights. prince roman has the skills to back the position up, at least. he is the only person who has ever bested me in combat.”

“it sounds like you really like him.”

“i admire and respect him greatly. it pains me to see him like this.”

“i’ll get him to calm down,” patton says. “what was he fighting with logan about?” 

“it is unclear to me, lord sanders, but it distressed him.” 

“you can just call me patton, if you want!”

“that is very kind of you, lord - patton.”

the stone walls of the castle keep it cool, even in the warmth of summer, so patton had chosen a dress with a long skirt made of lighter fabric. the minute he steps foot outside, he can feel himself starting to sweat. claire, wearing training clothes and leather guards, doesn’t seem bothered at all, so patton pretends that he isn’t, either. 

he can hear sounds of exertion before they even reach the arena. patton gathers the fabric of his skirt up into his hands so that it doesn’t drag along the dusty ground as claire opens the gates to the training arena for him. roman is surrounded by a series of training dummies, stuffed with straw and carrying crude replica weapons. roman is shouting and grunting as he throws himself at the training dummies. 

“his strokes are sloppy,” claire says. patton doesn’t know anything about fighting, but he sort of sees what she means. he’s watched roman train before; he usually keeps all his limbs close to his body, watching with narrowed eyes and striking with quick, precise movements in rapid succession. this looks like a hurricane given human form. roman’s limbs flail wildly, his chest is heaving, and his hair is matted with sweat. 

patton hurries across the arena floor. “roman!” 

roman whirls around, holding his sword out, but his arms are shaking and the tip of the blade drops down into the dust. “patton?” he pants. 

“ro, sweetheart, how long have you been out here?” 

“not - not long, i don’t . . .” roman drives the tip of his sword into the arena floor and leans on it heavily. patton lets his skirts fall down around his ankles again as he reaches out to take roman’s arm and help support him. 

“come sit with me, ro, okay? come on. come sit down.” roman doesn’t protest, quietly staggering over to the wooden benches lining the arena. patton moves slowly to allow roman to shuffle along at his side, carefully helping roman sit down. “claire said you’ve been here for hours, ro.” 

roman sighs. “so she sent you to come reign me in?” 

“she sent me out here to ask you to take a break. she’s worried about you. so am i.” 

“i’m just training. that’s my job, patton.”

“you’re destroying yourself,” patton says firmly. “what happened?” 

roman stares off at the horizon. patton doesn’t pressure him to talk, gently leaning his head against his shoulder. after about ten minutes of sitting in silence, roman finally says, “lo and i got in a fight.” 

“a fight?” 

“i went to see father today. we had an agreement with the two of us and thomas that we wouldn’t go see him on our own. he can be a bit . . . intense. and lo and i got into an argument, and . . . he used my full title. he never uses that unless he’s super pissed off. and like, i’m pissed at him too! he was being an asshole! but . . . so was i, i guess . . .”

nate approaches, setting down a pitcher of water, two cups, and a basket of bread and cheese and nuts. roman shoves a hunk of cheese in his mouth as patton pours them both water and nods his thanks to nate. roman downs a glass and a half of water before staring off again, eyes unfocused. 

patton hums, reaching out to set his hand on roman’s knee. “do you wanna talk about it?” 

roman hesitates for a moment, swirling the water in his cup around, and then he does. 

*~*~*~*~*

“are you going to tell me what you’re brooding about?” 

“i do not brood,” logan grouses. 

“are you going to tell me why you’re pouting, then?” 

“i do not pout either.” logan pouts at virgil, who bites his lower lip to keep from laughing. logan continues to pout as he gently picks up a clay teapot and pours virgil another cup of the magic-replenishing tea. virgil wraps his hands around logan’s as he takes the cup, and logan’s face smoothes into a small smile.  

“i . . . had a disagreement with roman, earlier.” 

“i don’t like the way you’re saying disagreement.” 

“he saw our father.” virgil, sitting up to sip at his tea, pauses as logan’s hands ball into fists. 

“how is he?” 

“our father? the same as always. asking about if we’re married yet so he can name thomas crown prince and die already.” virgil winces, and logan sighs. “forgive me, my love. our father . . . he is constantly rushing our lives. he would have had us wed to anyone, regardless of feelings, so that thomas could have his position as crown prince secured. thomas fought for us to have a chance at happiness, hence the ball for roman’s birthday. our father gave in, but he is . . . irritated that we have not yet wed.” 

“would it make things easier if we got married?” virgil says. logan reaches out and takes one of his hands. 

“i am not going to rush you or have roman rush patton because of our father’s succession issues. you are more than a political bargaining chip to me, virgil. you are . . .” logan’s cheeks and ears flush pink, and virgil can’t hide the besotted smile on his face as he watches logan’s gaze fix on a specific point over his shoulder. “you are invaluable to me. you are incredibly precious. i will not have you feeling like a pawn to be manipulated when you are - you are so much more than that to me.” virgil’s gaze slides to the black chess queen, propped neatly on the nightstand where he can see it.

“you’re important to me, too, l.” 

“roman was insinuating that we were irrational for running into battle to save him. he was implying that you are - are stupid or something, that you don’t know things, when without you he would be dead and we would have suffered innumerable casualties! that fool, what was he thinking , he -” 

“you were worried about him,” virgil says. 

“roman is capable. he does not require worrying about, so he likes to say.” logan scoffs.

“you’re his big brother, lo. you were going to worry no matter what happened. i worry about patton no matter what, and i bet thomas worries about you and roman no matter what. that’s just what brothers do.” 

logan pulls his hands into his lap, fidgeting with his fingers. “i . . . suppose i should apologize to him.” 

“hey, if he was being a jackass, he should apologize to you, too.” logan leans in and gently presses a kiss to virgil’s cheek. virgil makes a very undignified squeaking noise that he will deny vehemently to anyone else. 

*~*~*~*~*

“logan?” 

“roman.” 

“i . . . uh . . . ‘m sorry. i didn’t, uh . . . mean to insult virgil, or . . . or imply that he’s stupid. i know his magic takes a lot out of him, and i know he . . . he really used a lot when you guys came to save us. i just . . . i don’t like feeling like the stupid kid brother you all have to chase after, you know?” 

“i find that i owe you an apology as well, roman. i was, perhaps, unnecessarily harsh on you when last we spoke. i felt that someone had to defend virgil’s . . . honor is not quite the right word, but it is the closest i have.” 

“i can take care of myself, you know.” 

“i know, roman. but when virgil burst into the throne room and told us that he had seen you being slain . . . after the truth of his prediction with my horse incident, thomas and i were understandably distraught. we always fear the worst when you ride out into battle, and virgil seemed to be implying that those worst fears would be realized.” 

“i get that. and i . . . i am grateful, for what he did. for what you did.” 

“i know.” 

“father just . . . rattled me.” 

“i confess that i am irked as well. he has been ill for years, and remy is confident that he is not on death’s doorstep despite his illness. there is no reason for him to be so insistent on this marriage. patton and virgil are more than just marriage partners.” 

“i love him, lo. i - even if i didn’t have to, i would want to marry him.” 

“i share the sentiment.” 

“. . . i do love you, lo. even if you’re an annoying big brother sometimes.” 

“and i love you as well, despite your constant annoying younger brother status.” 

“hey!” 

(patton, hiding in the hallway, giggles and scurries off to the hospital wing.)