#mention of loss of a parent

[ollieofthebeholder]

to find promise of peace (and the solace of rest): a TMA fanfic

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Chapter 97: February 1996

Red banners hang from every building and street pole, cheerful gold characters shouting their message to the skies. Lanterns are strung across the streets, their tassels fluttering, with kites hanging in between. The smell of good food fills the air. Children are laughing, people are cheering, and it’s overall a wonderful time.

And Melanie is miserable. Or at the very least she wants to    be. She wants to scream at everyone to stop celebrating, to make the laughter turn to sobs, to turn the cheering into silence, to change the red to black or even white, to make all the flowers into chrysanthemums. It’s not fair that the celebration should still be going on.

Normally this is her favorite time of year. It means two whole weeks—sometimes three—that she gets to spend with Gunggung and Popo, and all her aunties and cousins, a big family reunion with lots of good food and laughter. It also means excitement and joy and fun. It means red envelopes full of money and firecrackers    and riddle lanterns, and it means spring is coming soon. She likes the music and the dancing, the games and the parades, and she likes getting an extra birthday, even if she does have to share it with everyone else—not just in her family, in the whole wide world.

This year, though, she wants it to stop.

It’s a big crowd, but that’s not why she feels lost; she’s alone, but she’s not lonely. Still, there’s a cold spot next to her no matter where she goes, and she keeps squeezing her hand reflexively, wishing for the soft but strong fingers that always hold hers when the dragon comes by. It’s not really a New Year festival without her mama.

She begged hard, so hard, for the doctors to let her mama out for the festival, at least for one day. The hospital is so far away from this part of town, she can’t even see it from her window—surely they can let her have one teeny little day that she can get out of bed? But the doctors said no, and her dad explained that her mama is very sick and being out of hospital might actually kill her, and her mama smiled and touched her hand and told her she would see the lanterns. That’s not for two whole weeks, though, and Melanie doesn’t want to wait that long.

This isn’t even home, not like they usually go home. Popo and Gunggung are here, and Jima Ellen and Uncle Ben, and everybody else is coming this weekend for Renri, but it’s not Sheffield, it’s London. Her dad says she needs to be in school for right now, and since her mama can’t leave her bed, it’s obviously better not to go away without her, because Melanie won’t do that. But it’s not the same and she probably wouldn’t like it even if they were up north.

Jima Ellen is taking a turn visiting her mama now—grown-ups can stay after hours—but she brought Melanie here first; it’s a community, after all, so Melanie will be perfectly safe, she declares. Gunggung was just opening the Mahjong set when they left, and Melanie knows Jima Ellen wants her out of the flat before Gunggung starts using the words he’s not supposed to use around the cousins and demanding to know how he’s being beaten so badly by a pair of sai yan, which he does every time they play because her dad and Uncle Ben are very, very good at Mahjong because it isn’t that different from Rummy. Melanie is learning, too, and she’s hoping her mama will be well enough that they can play with her dad and maybe Jima Ellen tomorrow after school, but for now she’ll let the grown-ups play. So instead she wanders along the streets and looks at the festivities.

She’s trying. She cleaned the house all by herself yesterday, or tried to until Popo picked up the broom to help her, and she said all the right things. She wrapped all her pennies in red paper and tucked them under her mama’s pillow yesterday morning to ensure health and good luck. She even let Popo do her hair, which hangs almost to her butt, and wore the new red hanfu Jiji Ellen made for her to school even though she tries not to be too Chinese when she’s there (she’s only half, and she has her dad’s eyes instead of her mama’s so she doesn’t really look it, but the people who bully Sze bully her too and she’s not supposed to get in fights at school anymore). She wanted to stop and show it to her mama, but school starts before visiting hours and her dad said she was sleeping when Melanie tried to visit after, so she’ll have to wear it later. Maybe she’ll wear it when she and her mama go to see the lanterns.

There aren’t a lot of people wearing traditional dress, although everybody is wearing their very best clothes. She sees Sze with his family, all of them smiling and happy; he waves to her and she waves back, but then he laughs at something his mama says and she has to hurry away so she doesn’t get angry. It’s not his fault his mama is here and hers isn’t, but it’s still unfair.

Nobody is telling her what’s wrong with her mama, why she’s so sick. She’s heard the word cancer a few times, but that can’t be it, because that’s a very bad thing and people die from cancer and her mama’s not going to die, she isn’t. Anyway, they can cut cancer out of people and that fixes it, but nobody’s even talked about cutting anything out of her mama, so she can’t have cancer or they’d be trying to fix it. Surely they would do everything they could to fix her. Surely they won’t just let her die.

It doesn’t occur to Melanie that there might be other kinds of cancer, kinds that aren’t easy to cut out—like in the blood—or that her mama might be too sick for it to work, because she doesn’t want to even think about the possibility that her mama could die. It also doesn’t occur to her that there are worse things than cancer.

She walks, and she gets more and more upset as she does. Everything is wrong. The people around her are talking the wrong kind of Chinese, the words just different enough to be difficult or impossible to understand, and there are people talking in English just a little too loud like they think the people around them can’t understand it even though most of them were probably born or at least raised right here in London. The streets don’t turn and bend the way they do in the Sheffield area, and the buildings look different under the banners. The fu characters are all upside down, too, and that’s wrong because it’s pouring all the good luck out and it’s going to make bad things happen. On an impulse, she stops and reaches up to try and turn one right side up, but she’s too short and she can’t reach.

She wants to cry. She wants to scream. She wants to blow up like a firecracker. She wants to be one of the drummers in the dances so she can hit something and not get in trouble for it. She wants to know who, what, is responsible for her mama being sick so she can fight it and make it stop and let her mama get well again. Why can’t it be something like the nian or the sui, something that touches people and hurts or make them sick, something she can actually go after for real?

As the thought crosses her mind, the drums and gongs start up, getting louder and louder. The lion dance must be starting, and Melanie definitely doesn’t want to miss that. She turns towards the sound of the drums, picks up the hem of her hanfu, and runs. At least, she starts out running; the crowd gets thicker and thicker, and soon she’s having to squirm and elbow her way through so she can get to the front. She has to be able to see.

She squeezes between two people and unexpectedly pops into an open space. She’s stood just in front of the crowd now, just off the curb, in front of a big open space, and sure enough, here come the dancers. They’re all banging their drums and clanging the gongs, clashing the cymbals and skipping around, and prancing towards them—

It’s not just one lion, Melanie thinks with a sudden thrill, and she wishes again her mama was there, both to see and so she could squeeze her hand very tight, because as much as Melanie loves these dances the lions are very big and can be very scary, and this is the first time she’s seen more than one at the same time. In the lead is Lau Pei, the eldest, the first emperor of the Shu-Han kingdom, striding masterfully and scanning the crowd; beside him, and a little behind, is Kwan Kung, the Duke with the Beautiful Beard, stretching lazily and shaking his head. The crowd murmurs in surprise and delight, and Melanie wonders if they’ve ever seen two lion before either.

Suddenly, there’s a commotion and a cry, and from the other direction come three musicians. One is banging very fast on his drum, not in rhythm; the second is clashing his cymbals; the third frantically clangs the gong. Melanie’s blood sings, and she wonders what’s going on, why they aren’t playing the song, why they’re—

The man with the cymbals is shouting, yelling for everyone to beware, be careful, to run, but nobody seems to be looking at him or listening. They’re all laughing and clapping for Lau Pei and Kwan Kung, and the musicians that came with them are still playing like everything is normal. They don’t even seem to notice the men running towards them. Lau Pei turns his head, though, and looks where the runners came from, so Melanie looks too, just in time to see a third lion appear on the scene.

At first she thinks—or maybe assumes—it’s the third brother, Cheung Fei, the Fighting Lion, but she quickly realizes that isn’t right. His face is black, but his body is white—white like a funeral—and his feet are stained like he’s run through paint…or maybe blood. More blood drips from his jaws, and they open and close, the great red eyes rolling as they look around. This isn’t a lion Melanie has ever seen before, ever, and she wonders where it comes from and why it’s here…and if the other dancers knew this one was coming.

The man with the gong trips and falls to the ground with an almighty crash. The new lion roars—actually roars—and sprints forward. It’s going to attack the man on the ground, and this is a really weird way of doing the dance…

This isn’t a dance, a voice says in the back of her mind, full of horror and fear. Melanie tenses all over as she realizes it’s true. This isn’t…right. It’s not any story she’s ever heard. It’s—

It’s real.

The man with the drum is suddenly in front of her, and he falls to his knees. For the first time, Melanie realizes he’s hurt, he’s bleeding—the blood on the new lion’s paws are this man’s, it’s torn his back all to pieces, and he can’t move anymore. Gasping and panting, shaking with the effort, the man holds up what he’s been using to beat the drum.

It’s not a stick. It’s a knife.

There’s a scream from the man with the gong, abruptly cut short, as the lion rips out his throat. Blood sprays everywhere, and still nobody seems to notice but Melanie…well, and Kwan Kung, who shakes his head and nudges his older brother. Lau Pei dips his head, stretching like a cat, then straightens and roars, too, and the new lion roars a challenge back.

The musicians play on, seemingly oblivious that the dance has changed, going over the same steps as always, but Lau Pei and Kwan Kung are ignoring it. Lau Pei stands calm and steady in front of the challenger, which is gearing up to attack, and it can’t do that, Lau Pei is the emperor, he can’t be defeated…

But Lau Pei isn’t the fighter, he’s the old and wise brother, the one with sense. Surely he can fight…but what if he can’t?

Lau Pei dips his front end again, either submitting or getting out of the way, Melanie isn’t sure. And then he speaks, which never happens, but which Melanie isn’t surprised by because of course he can. In a voice very like Gonggong’s but much, much older and more fragile, he cries, “Help me, Little Moth!”

Nobody knows that’s what she’s called. Nobody except her mama and her dad. Even Popo and Gunggung don’t know. Melanie is the only one of her cousins who didn’t get a Chinese name too because she’s the only one who doesn’t have a Chinese last name—only Jima Ellen married someone who wasn’t Chinese and they don’t have any kids—so her mama secretly gave her a name, Sai Ngo, Little Moth. Her dad calls her that in English sometimes, since he still can’t speak Cantonese very well. But they never do it where anyone else can hear, so if Lau Pei knows it—well, of course Lau Pei knows it, he’s the emperor, he knows everything.

But he’s asking her to help. And she knows what to do.

It’s bad luck to give knives on the first day of the new year. She takes the knife anyway, and the man falls dead at her feet.

The music is still playing, and even if the lions aren’t dancing, Melanie does. The music seems to become part of her, to travel into her feet, her spine, her whole body, as she dances forward and puts herself between Lau Pei and the new lion. The lion seems to laugh at her, shaking his head from side to side, and then leaps towards her, lunging for her throat. Melanie dances out of the way and slashes at the lion with her new knife. She misses, or at least she thinks she does, but the lion roars and she sees blood on its shoulder and she knows she got a little of it, anyway.

The sight of the blood, and the knowledge that she put it there, fills her with strength and confidence. And the sight of the lion still laughing at her, still thinking she’s as nothing, that she can’t stop him, fills her with anger. She can stop him, and she will.

“Nei dim chingfu a?” she shouts at the lion. What is your name?

The lion laughs scornfully at her, rearing up on his hind legs, and there’s supposed to be a performer, but there isn’t and that’s not right.

“Ngo hai Ngaam Sei Mong,” he sneers. His voice is like fingernails on a blackboard. Melanie shudders at the name he gives her: Ngaam Sei Mong, Cancer Death. It’s like he knows, and that just makes her angrier.

He comes at her again, teeth wide. Melanie dodges, moves with the music, and the great teeth of the lion snap where her head was a moment ago. It bites her hair, bites through her hair, and it falls in a jagged bob around her face, and she realizes that this lion cut her hair, the hair that is her mama’s pride and delight, the hair that Popo took such care of, the hair that she has never, ever cut in her whole life.

She screams, not in fear but in rage. How dare he? How dare he take a moment that should be happy and turn it into one of fear, how dare he attack a festival, but most importantly, how dare he take something of hers that she didn’t tell him he could have?

The drums and cymbals and gongs get louder and faster and more frantic, and Melanie takes it and uses it, dances with the music, whirls on her heel, ducks under the lion’s mouth, and, still screaming, buries the knife deep in its heart.

Blood and black ichor gush from its heart, and the lion roars and screams, throwing its head back, its whole body back. The movement is so sharp and severe that it wrenches the knife from Melanie’s hand, and she stumbles back, hair tickling her chin, breathing heavily. Her hands are stained, deep, deep red like the hanfu, but at least the blood doesn’t show on her dress, at least…

A hand grabs her and pulls her hard, and she stumbles and jerks her arm free and whirls around to find herself face to face with Sze, who looks wide-eyed and also worried. Nobody else seems to be looking at them. Everyone else is watching the lion dance, which…

…is still going on like nothing happened?

Melanie balls up her hands into fists and scowls at Sze. “What?” she demands.

Sze shakes his head, still looking worried. Loudly, he says, “You almost got stepped on.”

He tugs her arm again, and Melanie wants to hit him, but she follows him anyway to an alley a little way away.

“What?” she asks again, still angry but less loud.

“I saw,” Sze says in a half whisper. “I saw the lion, the bad lion, and I saw you stop it, and then it all went away. You saved us all. You’re the hero…but you took a knife. That’s bad luck.”

Melanie stares at him, then turns back towards the street. Everyone claps and cheers as Lau Pei and Kwan Kung dance between the musicians, the steps just the same as Melanie has always seen them, and they’re…costumes. They’re just costumes with performers inside. There’s no blood. No dead bodies. No third lion. Everything is normal. She could almost believe she imagined it.

But Sze saw it too.

Turning back to him, she tilts her chin up defiantly, and there’s more evidence that it was real. Her hair still hangs, rough-cut and free, between her chin and her shoulder.

If no one else believes us, she thinks, looking at her classmate, at least we know the truth.

Out loud, she says, “Dying is bad luck, too. At least we’re alive. And I won’t ever let something like that hurt anyone ever again.”

“Melanie!” Jima Ellen’s voice calls from somewhere in the crowd. “Melanie, it’s time to go!”

Melanie starts to leave, but Sze grabs her arm again before she can. She jerks it away harder this time. “What?”

“Be careful.” Sze’s voice is serious, and at the same time, he suddenly sounds much, much older than eight. “Remember, it wants to hurt you, too.”

Melanie stares at him. Sze only turns away and disappears back into the crowd, heading towards his parents and the lion dance. For a moment, Melanie considers following him, but then Jima Ellen calls her again and she turns to leave. There will be time to ask him about it the next time she sees him. For now, she just wants to go home.

She’s suddenly very, very tired.

[canadiannationalfox]

Murder Drones Fanfic - Dove Feathers

tw// disordered eating, unhealthy weight loss, self hatred, depression, abusive parents, illness

Another day working at the Elliott Manor, it was pretty normal as of late for the little maid drone known simply as J. Every day was usually the same. Wake up her dearest friend Tessa, lay out Tessa's clothes, make sure Tessa made it to studies on time, bring Tessa some mid-morning tea, some tidying in the manor, bring Tessa back to her room from studies and then keep Tessa entertained until dinner time, and then the nightly routines.

Lately, N had been having some minor programming issues, so J had to pick up the slack on his work load.

"Fucking hell, it's almost like I have to do a lot of the workload myself," J groaned as she brought up some fresh dresses for Tessa to wear while on wakeup call for the beloved human girl.

J smiled a little thinking about her favourite human. The maid drone might have been stern, stoic, and grumpy, but around Tessa she didn't feel those emotions as much. She felt happy to help, more receptive to feed back from the girl, and looking for loopholes so they could make the best of the situation. The platinum haired drone blissfully, with a skip in her step, strolled down the hallway, thinking about part of a story Tessa had to study.

"The lovely gift of finding a strand of your beloved's long hair is like finding a feather left behind by an angel," J thought, not thinking too much at first, but recalled that in the last couple days of cleaning Tessa's bedroom, she was finding a bit more than usual of the cool-dark strands about. "Dove feathers," J joked to herself as she got closer to Tessa's bedroom door, but stopped upon hearing the soft sobs of the 11 year old girl.

J gently pushed the door open of the room, and as soon as Tessa heard the sound of the door, she stuffed something into her left night table drawer and put on a mourning veil, the dark heavier-tulle draped however over the back of Tessa's head instead of her face.

Tessa wiped her eyes and smiled happily to J. "Good Morning, Jaybird," Tessa greeted, trying to sound cheerful.

The maid drone approached Tessa and greeted, "Good Morning, little princess," before seeing Tessa's sparkling grey eyes fight back teardrops, "What's wrong?"

"I'm 'right, Jaybird... honest," the girl with the big dark blue bow insisted, finally able to push her sad feelings away. She was about to speak when her stomach grumbled.

"Sounds like you could use something to eat," J chuckled, smiling happily until she saw the 11-year-old girl's expression of sorrow.

"Just tea today, J, I'm not that hungry."

J stood in waiting, worry filled her core, standing by for Tessa asking for assistance.

The Elliott Heiress stepped behind her changing screen with a dress and was changing. "I don't need to eat, I'm..." she stopped explaining in a somber tone before trying to sound more cheery, "Pretending to be a drone today, I don't need to eat anything, just a spot of coolant or oil will do."

J, upon being called by Tessa, began walking over to the screen, seeing a lot more 'dove feathers' than before, in a trail, even a bigger group of strands, this was worrying.

"Could you synch the back for me, Jaybird? My dress is a little loose."

The platinum haired maid began to comply, helping tighten the ribbon at the waist. "You really like your mourning veil from the mausoleum, huh, Tessa?" J assessed politely, trying to make conversation.

"Oh, y-yeah, thank you," Tessa replied trying to sound cheerful, but her voice was a bit sad, "It helps me feel better about things."

J offered politely once she made sure the bow at the back of Tessa's dress was secured and tied, as over the last little while Tessa had been rescinding the offer, "I haven't been on night-time brush duty for a while, Tessa, are you doing alright on your own or do you want some-" stopped before she could even finish the sentence.

"NO!" Tessa yelped in fright while jumping back a little, realizing who she was talking to. "I'm sorry, J... but, no thank you. Sorry I got scared." Despite needing a hug badly, Tessa had to go downstairs to the dining hall since it was too rainy for the family to enjoy breakfast in the sunroom.

J stayed back, deciding to help clean up in Tessa's room, but also as a way of sleuthing. The drone kept cleaning up around the room, little stray pieces of wire, some screws, some slags from a soldering gun. And a lot more cool-black hairs.

J approached Tessa's vanity desk, where there was a lot more broken strands laying about. She opened a drawer to find Tess' hairbrush and she felt her LED eyes go into the ring mode.

There was clumps of frail black hair stuck to the brush.

The maid looked more closely at the hairs, assessing the ends. Having been the drone that helped Tessa when collecting for wigs and sewing them, she knew what a point cut or blunt cut or even the drag marks of a razor comb looked like when Tessa borrowed them from her dad when she couldn't find the sewing scissors. But it was clear that this was breakage, the ends were frayed and straw-like.

J went to find N who was in the library working close to the drone Tessa affectionately called "Vivianna" when she was younger.

The cheery little butler was trying out his recently repaired wrist nodes in helping put away the books Louisa had read the night before. V was working diligently to take out all the books Tessa would need for her tutoring for the day.

J approached N and bonked him on the back of the head. "Hey, Insipid Intern!" she greeted in an aggressive tone, "Why didn't you tell me about Tessa."

N turned his attention to where the slap came from, almost turning his head most of the way around like an owl, trilling with a happy voice, "Oh, Hi J! I don't know what you mean."

The pigtailed drone held up a clump of black hair and ordered with a snarl, "The fact Tessa's shedding hair like a border collie in the summer!" she put her hands on her hips, still holding the scraggled cluster of strands, "That and the fact she's not eating. So spill the tea or I'll spill some tea on you."

N blinked his bright alabaster LED eyes in confusion, still smiling in bemusement.

The maid with her grey hair done back in a low bun, knew some intel and spoke up, "Louisa has been trying to get Tessa to cut back on caloric intake," she adjusted her glasses and said in a matter-of-fact tone, "It's likely in an attempt at keeping Tessa thinner, despite the fact that a growing girl needs nutrients and calories to grow."

"That still doesn't explain the hair loss."

V went over to a medical book of symptoms for kids and opened it up, reading aloud to try to be helpful, "Hair loss, can be caused by lack of proper nutrition, stress, certain medical treatments, over exposure to chemicals, or ailments." She closed the book and stated with a half smile, "Hope that gives some insight, boss."

J turned her attention back to N. "N, I don't like you but I'm going to need you to be a mule for me."

The happy little snowy-haired butler giggled happily before responding joyfully, "I like doing anything."

J commanded, "I want you later when you're in the kitchen to go into the pantry and get me some protein bars and some dried fruits. Hide them under your helmet so when you do go up to Tessa later you can give her something to eat."

"Is there anything you want me to help with?" V asked curiously, standing at attention but smiling in a hopeful manner, "Mrs Elliott is sending me on a pharmacy run."

"You're going to have to buy a bottle of children's chewable vitamins for Tessa. We need to do absolutely everything to get her healthy again without arousing suspicions from Mrs Elliott, who is likely monitoring Tessa's figure."

The two drones nodded, accepting their tasks.

N asked curiously as he tilted his head like a dog, "But what about you, J? What's your mission?"

"I'm going to be Tessa's emotional support and try to coax her back before she starts having an ED like her mother."

After Tessa was done her studies, she was feeling really light-headed. The poor girl had trouble focusing at all to the tutor's lesson. She grabbed an umbrella to go outside despite it still raining.

The Elliott girl was about to take a step when she started to lose her balance, when suddenly she fell into the arms of a drone. She smiled as she heard the voice behind her.

"Oops there, don't want you falling down, Tessa."

"Th-thank you, Jaybird," Tessa spoke somberly as she was helped to stand upright again, "You didn't have to, I would've been alright."

J worriedly asked, "Why are you going out?" she talked in front of Tessa and held her hands soothingly, "You're not feeling well and you could catch cold if you go out in the rain."

Tessa shrugged it off with a smile. "Oh, it's no issue, J, honest."

"Princess, I need you to listen to me," J ordered firmly, "I can't risk you getting more sick."

Tessa got really upset now, her temper flared like a firecracker due to her being more ravenous than a dingo in a bakery's dumpster. Tessa's heart stung, the adoring little pet name was now an insult. "Don't call me that, and maybe there's a reason I want to go outside, J. Why are you controlling me?"

"What's wrong with calling you a princess, Tessa? Princesses are strong and brave. They lead with kindness and endure perils that no little girl should ever have to live through."

"PRINCESSES ARE ALSO BEAUTIFUL!" Tessa screamed back, her eyes welling up with tears as she took off her veil, showing the tattered wreck a-top her head, all uneven from breakage. Tessa sank to the floor, holding her self in a hug and crying. "How can I be a princess when I'm not thin enough and probably going to go bald as an egg? I'm just a mistake. A stupid, ugly, worthless mistake."

J sat on the ground next to Tessa and held the crying girl tightly. "Shhh, hey... We can get through this together,"

Tessa's hands shook as she held them out to look at them. "I'm so hungry that I screamed at you, but if I eat then I'll get in trouble, it's not fair. It's not fair, J, it's not fair. I just wanted to go to the raspberry plant by the graveyard so I could eat something."

J hugged Tessa from the side still, being reassuring and gentle as she spoke. "I know you're scared, but where is your Mother right now?"

"She's with Father right now, drinking wine in the bar area," Tessa answered as she wiped her tears, "Wh-why?"

J stood up, putting Tessa onto her shoulders like when the girl was much younger. "Well if that's the case, we're getting you to the kitchen, we're going to give you something to eat." She asked curiously as she started to walk along, Tessa hanging onto the top of the maid drone's head, "How little have you been eating?"

"I had some salted cucumber for breakfast and a single piece of toast with jam."

"Okay, that's good, that means Refeeding Syndrome won't be too big of a factor."

"Wait, what?" Tessa asked, as J brought her to the kitchen, "Have you been reading my medical books?"

"Somewhat," J replied, helping Tessa down off her shoulders before she went to the large industrial sized fridge, "What are you fixing for then, Tessa?"

"Strawberries... lots, please!" the ebony haired girl pleaded enthusiastically.

J brought Tessa a bowl of grapes, strawberries, and an apricot. "I know you want lots, but you don't want to shock your body and make yourself sick by over eating," the maid instructed caringly as she placed her hands on Tessa's left hand, "remember, small steps, Tess," she let go of her favourite human's hand to let her have the healthy snack.

Tessa still ravenously ate all the fresh fruit she was given, feeling a lot better once she had eaten. "I needed that, thank you Jaybird. I'm sorry I screamed at you."

"Hey, you had to get it out of your system. I get mad at other drones all the time when they get on my nerves," the wise words of the drone managed to make the human she adored giggle, J's most favourite sound in the world.

"C-could you maybe still call me a little princess, though? I... I still want to be called that, even if I don't feel that pretty."

Without missing a beat, J replied cheerfully, "Who said you're not pretty, princess?"

Tessa's eyes welled up and she hugged J tightly. "Thank you!"

"Remember, it's like that fairytale about the ogre princess, it's not about what's on the outside but about what's on the inside."

V came up to Tessa's room later, having snuck in the pocket of her dress the vitamins she had bought secretively at the pharmacy, she knocked on the door, and was happy to hear Tessa's voice sounding cheerful.

"Come in!"

The bespectacled maid drone opened the door to see J putting some very light weight bows on two braids of long hair at the back of Tessa's head. V came in and said cheerfully, "Oh! Miss Tessa, you look different."

Tessa giggled as she held up the stolen razor comb, "I'm trying out a new look!" she didn't want to admit what was going on, and she was in better spirits now, not realizing V knew. "Look, it's long at some parts and shorter in the back!" the girl trilled, showing off her black hair that was shoulder length at the back but much longer closer to the front. "It'll be a lot easier to care for."

J laughed cheerfully as she patted the 11-year-old human girl on the back, "Tessa's so talented and clever."

V gave Tessa the bottle of vitamins and responded while playing a little dumb, "I was sent down to the pharmacy to get some things and I saw these and thought you'd like them. They look like candy and are labelled as berry flavoured."

"Oh, silly, Vee!" the girl with the bows in her hair giggled, "These are vitamins! Not candy! But, I will still enjoy them!"

V went on her way, feeling happy she could sneakily help her friends' favourite human.

Once again it was just Tessa and J after V had left and N had dropped off some snacks that Tessa could hide in one of the decorative vintage jars she liked to collect.

Tessa took one of the vitamins and smiled happily to J, once she was done eating it, she giggled happily, "I guess you had a lot planned for helping save me, Jaybird."

J responded joyfully, glad to hear the joyfulness returned to her beloved's voice, "Anything for my little princess."

The Elliott heiress sat with her back straight and her head held high, because despite the set back and the lost dove feathers, she was once again soaring emotionally thanks to her Jaybird helping her, which after a few more weeks, Tessa was a lot healthier, helping carry her through until her Father put an end to the restrictive diet on his daughter.

The End

[fandomsnrambles]

I know this might be an unpopular take but I think I’d prefer it if Jay didn’t get his memories immediately, or even not at all

I want him to grow as an individual character & immediately giving him his memories back quickly won’t work for that.

And honestly, Jay has retroactive amnesia which means he forgot past memories and his amnesia could be post-traumatic amnesia or dissociative amnesia which can take years to heal and even then, he won’t remember everything. I’m also pretty sure his amnesia qualifies as a disability because memory impairment is a disability but i’m not 100% sure on that

I think i’m just really tired of the trope where a character gets an injury/disability but magically resolves it and its never brought up again. I really really hope that outcome does not occur. Like it’s seriously weird to me

If Jay does get his memories back I hope it’s not everything and some of his memories are still missing to him

Basically, what i’m trying to say is I want his amnesia to have lasting consequences if Ninjago does go the ‘he remembers things’ route

I also hope it’s not magical, I hope it’s gradual. No amnesiac gets all their memories in one sitting, thats unrealistic but I can see ninjago going this route

[dietaggie]

todays mealspo!!🎀🎀

[mahou-no-momo]

I know the ending was bleak and tragic but I find it hard to believe that the crew's family would not be outraged with the company and go off to search for them on their own or at the very least hire a PI/search & rescue to find them. It definitely wouldn't take 20 years for them all to be found. Months at best. However, they all likely still would've been found dead because they didn't have enough supplies to last until they were all found.

At the very least I just can't fathom them all floating through space rotting away and NO ONE actually looks for them. No way. Specifically Daisuke and Swansea's family.

Like I think about this so much. How much would it cost? What would the company say to cover their ass? (We all know how corporations are. Especially this one.) Would they not even acknowledge any concern? How much hush money would they attempt to offer? How would the families cause enough of an uproar for the company to take action? What lies would the company spread before finally accepting that they're at fault? How long of a battle would the families put up with before taking matters into their own hands? Would this cause there to finally be proper work regulations? Not specifically for a crew since the Tulpar was the last, but in general for any job with humans at the helm.

I don't even wanna think about if any of the family finally finds the ship and goes on board. Daisuke's parents would be devastated and guilty. Swansea's kids would be outraged, seeing the bullet hole in their father's head. You even have to wonder about Curly and Anya's family too. I don't think they'd be allowed on the ship just simply for the fact that the investigator/S&R would know that the crew would likely not be in a good state when found. So that puts my mind somewhat at ease. None of their families has to immediately see that whole scene. But they would have to identify the bodies, and that's what hurts me.

[theshadowrealmitself]

My poor friend (the one I went to the movies with the other day) apparently got into a car accident the day after and just got released from the hospital (I thought she was just taking awhile to get to my texts because she usually does that) and she says she’s fine but her mom passed away and holy shit???

I know tragedies are sudden, but still, I saw her mom that day we went to the movies, she looked so happy and healthy, I can’t even imagine what my friend is going through rn and everything I’m saying to comfort her feels so…inadequate. just. what the fuck.

[cattatoir]

I think I have unpopular Sandman takes bc I'm usually on his side

[halfyearsqueen]

the way ‘ the realms delight ‘ was a wholly innocent nickname once

[heretherebedork]

I am maybe twenty minutes from saying goodbye to my mom because we went from working on PT to infection to pneumonia overnight and I rushed out at 6:30 am and I don't know what to think so I keep thinking about the shows I'm gonna watch today and I just wanna say how much I love everyone of you reading this and please don't make this my most popular post just go read all my La Pluie meta and love that part of my life.

Anyway.

Love people. Don't stop loving them. See them when you can and love them.

[ollieofthebeholder]

to find promise of peace (and the solace of rest): a TMA fanfic

<< Beginning < Prev. || AO3 || My website

Chapter 58: April 2004

Gerard puts the finishing touch on his work and steps back, brush in hand, to study it critically. It’s the most ambitious piece he’s ever attempted, and he’s been working on it so long his hands are cramping up, but he thinks he’s got it. He’s just got to get someone in to view it who hasn’t been staring at it for…how long has he been staring at it? His stereo, a joint gift from Martin and Melanie last Christmas, plays five CDs and will automatically cycle through them until he tells it to stop, so the fact that the music is still playing is no help, nor is it the fact that it’s only the second album in the rotation. The fact that nobody’s come pounding on his door demanding he shut off that godawful noise before I strangle you with the wires might be, but he isn’t sure.

As the thought crosses his mind, his door opens, and he whirls around. Paint flies off the end of his brush and very nearly misses Martin, who squeaks and ducks back behind the door.

“Shit, sorry! Forgot I was holding it.” Gerard drops the brush into the water jar, then turns the volume on his stereo down. “It’s safe. Come in and tell me what you think.”

Martin comes back in carefully, followed—to Gerard’s slight surprise—by Melanie, who has her coat folded over her arms. Both of them look like they’re up to something. They also look rather damp. Martin’s gaze locks with the canvas on the wall opposite the door, and he flinches back, obviously startled.

“Bad, huh?” Gerard asks, his heart sinking a little.

“Wh—? No, no, it’s great, it’s…wow.” Martin blinks hard and sidles in so Melanie can come in and close the door. “That’s so…realistic. It’s…it’s huge.”

“Well, I couldn’t have done this any smaller.” Gerard gestures vaguely at it.

Melanie drifts closer and peers at it. “Oh, cool. Martin, come look at it up close, it’s not as terrifying…did you use a compass or a ruler for this? Or, what do you call it, that Spirograph thing?”

Martin moves towards the canvas as Gerard shakes his head. “Nah. Freehanded it.”

“This is some utterly precise bullshit, this is. Look at that! And that’s—” Melanie’s finger hovers over a point on one side of the canvas, but doesn’t touch. “Is this Chinese?”

“Yeah. It doesn’t really mean anything, but I found this book that tells you how to transcribe different sounds into Chinese.” Gerard steps up beside her and indicates the characters as he sounds out the syllables. “Me, lan, ni…and then over here is mah, tan. It’s, uh, it’s kind of the closest I could get.”

Melanie socks him lightly on the arm, but she’s grinning. Martin’s eyes trace the lines and curves of the patterns, seemingly hypnotized. “It’s…brilliant, Ger. How long did this take you?”

Gerard snorts. “Dunno. What day is it?”

“Sunday. It’s just gone midnight.”

“Which Sunday?” Gerard doesn’t actually think he’s been in here for a week, but he’s hoping to make them both smile.

Melanie smirks and whips her coat off her arm with a dramatic gesture. “It’s the eighteenth, Gerry.”

Gerard blinks. She’s holding a parcel wrapped in bright paper—its neat, sharp corners speak to Martin’s precision, but the monstrosity of ribbon on top is one hundred percent Melanie—and, tearing his eyes away from the painting, Martin reaches under his jacket and produces a card.

“Shit,” he says, not sure what else to say. “That’s today?”

“It is,” Martin confirms. “Happy birthday.”

Gerard laughs and hugs them both. Before he takes the present and card, though, he pauses. “Wait. You said it’s just gone midnight. What are you doing here this early?”

“Spending time with you,” Melanie says pointedly. “We thought we were going to have to wake you up, but here you are.”

“Okay, but—is there a reason you didn’t wait until later?”

Martin shrugs. “School starts tomorrow. We can’t stay out late with you, so we thought we’d come get you early instead.”

“You two are nuts.” Gerard sits down on his bed and waves for the other two to join him. “Did Mum say anything when you came in?”

Melanie shakes her head, hitching herself up to sit on the edge of his dresser. “She’s down in the shop still, I think.”

Gerard stops with his finger halfway across the flap of the envelope. “How’d you get in without going through the shop?”

Martin produces a roll of half-rusted metal tools. “I bought these at a swap meet a couple months back. I’ve been practicing with them, so I figured I could jimmy a window if I needed to. But the one in the kitchen wasn’t even locked.”

“Did you two climb the walls?”

“What, like it’s hard? There’s what’s left of the fire escape that got us most of the way up. It’s fine. It’s not even raining that hard.” Melanie rolls her hand impatiently. “Go on, open it!”

Gerard figures that at this point, it’s a bit late to scold them for taking risks, and it’s not even like it’s the worst thing they’ve ever done. Instead, he finishes opening the card and reads it. It’s a sturdy, brightly colored card with metallic accents and pop-up components and glitter all over the place, and when Gerard opens it, it begins playing a cheery but shrill rendition of “Auld Lang Syne”. It also spills a great deal of confetti that looks suspiciously like the leavings of a hole-punch onto his lap, and subsequently his bed. He decides not to complain about that, but he does shut the card quickly, laughing.

“We tried to find one in black,” Martin says. “But all the black birthday cards were for turning forty, so…”

“So I suggested we go as far as possible in the other direction,” Melanie says brightly. “You can thank Martin for talking me out of the pink one with the princess crown on it.”

Gerard tries very hard not to look as though he’s going to throw up. “Thank you.” He sets the card aside and reaches for the wrapped gift. It’s surprisingly heavy, and he wonders how the hell they got it up the wall. “Gee…I wonder what this could be.”

Melanie shrugs. “Well, keep in mind that unlike somebody in this room, we’re not legal adults yet.”

Gerard stills as that realization sinks in. “Shit. I am eighteen now, aren’t I?”

“Depends on what time you were born, but yeah, Ger, you’re officially grown up,” Martin reminds him.

Gerard grins. “We’re so going to Venice next year.” He pries the tape loose and unwraps his birthday present.

It’s a box, perhaps a foot long and half as wide, made of some kind of wood, not particularly dark but not terribly light either. Except for the very edges, which are smooth and rounded, the whole thing is covered with an intricate pattern of vines and flowers. The hinges are cunningly hidden, barely visible unless you look closely. Gerard runs his fingers over the carving and looks up at Martin in astonishment, then at Melanie. “Did you…make this?”

“Oh, God, no,” Martin says with a slightly incredulous laugh. “Found it at the farmer’s market a couple years ago. Someone had a booth with all kinds of baskets and boxes and things like that.”

Which means there’s something inside it. It’s pretty, and Gerard loves it, but he also knows Martin and Melanie well by now and knows how much time and thought they put into their gifts (it’s made him up his game somewhat as well); if this box isn’t handmade, they’d have given it to him ages ago if it was meant to be his whole present. So he turns the box around, slides his thumbnails into the crack, lifts. And stares.

The box is full, almost to the brim, with colored pencils. Not just any colored pencils either, but the expensive, professional grade ones he’s been talking himself out of buying for months now, always reminding himself that he has his oils and acrylics, that colored pencils aren’t really suited for the large-scale artwork his mother encourages. It’s colored pencils that have always held his heart, though, and while Melanie and Martin certainly know he likes them—he still remembers the awe on their faces the first time he took the cheap set Martin had for school and drew a hasty portrait of the two of them sitting on his bed while he perched on his desk, kind of like Melanie is doing right now—he can’t imagine they knew he wanted these.

“How…?” he whispers, picking one up and studying it. Jesus, there must be every color of the rainbow in here. He’s always considered buying the smallest possible tin, but this looks like the full set.

“There, um, there are definitely a couple of duplicates in there,” Melanie says. She’s obviously striving for nonchalant, but there’s a little spark of anxiety in her eyes. “We couldn’t always remember what colors we’d already got and which ones we hadn’t. Martin finally made a list, but by then we’d already been getting them for a while.”

Relief floods Gerard. He knows how expensive these are, and he knows that the jobs Martin and Melanie pick up after school don’t pay much and they turn more than half of what they earn over to Uncle Roger and Aunt Lily for household expenses; they have precious little to spend on themselves, so it would have taken them ages to save up enough for the full set, or worse. On the other hand, he can’t help but ask curiously, “How long?”

Martin and Melanie exchange glances. “Two years?” Melanie guesses.

“Three,” Martin says. “We started after we got back from Poland. You remember, we watched the sun come up over the mountains and you said you wish you had the pencils to capture it with you?”

Melanie nods emphatically. “Yeah, yeah, I remember. I was taking that figure drawing course that term, so I asked my teacher and he recommended these.”

“Are they all right?” Martin asks, and unlike Melanie he’s not trying to hide that spark of anxiety. “Really all right? It’s, it’s not the presentation tin, a-and I know you’re really good with oils, but—”

Gerard closes the lid of the box. He gets up, ignoring the shower of paper that falls from his lap. He lunges forward, and he hugs Martin hard, then Melanie.

“They’re perfect,” he says, and he’s not ashamed to admit that there are tears in his eyes.

He manages to convince them they won’t lose out on spending all the time they can together if they rest for a while, and all three of them end up dozing off in a pile on his bed. They’re still up well before dawn, though, and they’re able to sneak out of the house before Gerard’s mother can spot them. The streets aren’t exactly deserted, but they’re quiet, and they don’t encounter many people between Pinhole Books and their destination.

Said destination is a particular spot on a particular bridge overlooking the Thames. It’s more or less at the halfway point between where the Blackwood-Kings live and the bookstore, so when they’re all meeting up, it usually involves them gathering here. It’s also perfectly situated for the three of them to stand shoulder-to-shoulder…well, more or less…and lean on the rail to wait for the sunrise. Probably in vain, if Gerard’s being honest. It’s raining to beat the band, and it’s not likely to clear up enough that they can see much. Still, Martin’s got a huge blue umbrella, and with all three of them pressed together they can all fit. Mostly.

As she always does, or always has since the disastrous Halloween party six years ago, Melanie wedges herself between Martin and Gerard, which means she’s stuck holding the umbrella high above her head. She’s caught up to her age in height, but she’s still a few inches shorter than Gerard. Martin, of course, outstrips them both; none of them are done growing yet, but he’s going to be tall when all is said and done. Gerard figures he’ll be lucky to hit six feet. His mother is barely five feet tall, if that, and…well, Gerard can’t remember his father too well. Of course he remembers a giant of a man, but he’s remembering it through the eyes of a very small child, so who knows.

“How tall was your dad, Martin?” The question pops out of Gerard’s mouth before he thinks about it, and he immediately wishes he could take it back. It’s been eight years since they met—to the day, actually—and the only time Martin has ever brought his dad up is at the wedding. It’s obviously still a sore spot.

To his mild surprise, though, Martin doesn’t seem upset, merely pensive. “I don’t really remember him too well, honestly. I think he was taller than Mum. He was probably big, because I remember my hand getting lost in his when I was holding it, but that’s all I know.”

“What did he do?” Melanie asks curiously. “Mum never talks about him.”

“Something to do with boats, I think. I remember being on the shore of the North Sea with Granddad once, he put me up on his shoulders and asked if I could see Papa’s boat from there. I must’ve been…three, maybe? Three or four? He took me for a week to Norfolk for something to do with the Jubilee.” Martin stares vacantly across the Thames. “Huh. I’d forgotten all about that.”

They fall silent, content to just stay in one another’s company. The rain doesn’t really stop, but there’s enough of a break in the clouds to the east that they can all see the first edge of the great disc of the sun peeking over the horizon, then slowly rising higher and higher until it bathes the clouds, the rain-spattered river, and their faces in a golden and rosy glow, at least for a few moments.

It’s not quite as pretty as a sunset, Gerard decides, but it’s pretty enough. He pulls out his camera and snaps a picture. Maybe he’ll try to recreate it with his new colored pencils.

Once the clouds close ranks around the sun again, they head back to Melanie and Martin’s house for breakfast. Uncle Roger greets them with a warm smile and a hug for all three. He seems surprised to learn it’s Gerard’s birthday, but once he finds out, he insists on making his extra-special birthday waffles. Melanie jumps up to assist him, and it has to be admitted they taste delicious. Even Aunt Lily, who comes in looking tired, doesn’t have any complaints about them. Gerard entertains her while Martin and Melanie clean up the kitchen, and they make their escape into the streets of London once more.

“It might be a bit wet for a picnic today,” Martin says, a little uncertainly.

“Pish-posh,” Melanie says, elbowing him. “There’s that shelter on the Broad Walk, it’ll be fine. And nobody’s going to be in the park today. We’ll have it to ourselves. Come on, Ger, what do you want to do in the meantime?”

Gerard thinks for a second. “Have either of you ever been to the London Zoo?”

It transpires that Melanie has, although not since her mum died; Martin, for as long as he’s lived in London, never has. Neither has Gerard, despite living there all his life. The three of them pay their ticket fees—Gerard tries very hard to pay for his ticket, especially since neither Martin nor Melanie will be sixteen for a few months yet and are therefore still getting the cheaper rate, but they won’t let him—and head inside. There are surprisingly more people about than Gerard would have expected, huddled under umbrellas, bundled into mackintoshes, and stomping through puddles, but it’s still easy enough to move around. The reptile house is the most crowded part, presumably because it’s indoors, and they give it a wide berth. Gerard gets some good pictures of the other two. He particularly hopes the one of Martin delightedly greeting, or being greeted by, a cow in the Children’s Zoo comes out well, although he also likes the shot of Melanie staring down a lion. He’s only aware that Melanie has taken a picture of him when he stands up from letting a small child who seems to consist mostly of big eyes peeking out from between a rain slicker and a sou’wester put their finger through the gauge in his earlobe when she hands him back the camera with a smirk, but he doesn’t mind too much.

They stop to purchase sandwiches and lemonades from a shop that seems surprised to have any visitors whatsoever, then head into Regent’s Park proper. As Melanie said, this part is pretty much deserted, save for the serious strollers and joggers, and there aren’t too many of them this late on a Sunday. The three of them make their way along the Broad Walk until they find the shelter—a small, octagonal structure with a couple wrought-iron benches in it. They eschew the benches, electing instead to spread their cloth on the concrete floor and have a true picnic of it.

“We could have skipped, you know,” Gerard says as he unwraps his sandwich. “I wouldn’t have been too terribly upset.”

Martin shrugs. “Yeah, but yours is the only birthday we’re going to get to celebrate proper this year, if all goes well, so…”

“Wait, what? What do you mean?”

Martin’s cheeks turn pink again. Melanie is the one who speaks up, though, once she swallows. “We’re planning for college in the fall, Ger.”

Gerard frowns. “Doesn’t your school have—doesn’t it go all the way to the top?”

“Yeah, but it doesn’t have the programs we want. My guidance counselor gave me a few schools to look into that’ll get me into the uni programs I want, and it turns out one of them is the one Mum went to, so I’ve got a pretty good chance at getting in. And Martin…” Melanie nudged him. “Go on, you tell him.”

The blush on Martin’s face grows darker. “Um, you remember that woman I told you about, the one who was at the Christmas concert and said she knew Granddad? She was telling me about the music program at Edinburgh College, and she suggested I apply. So I did, and…well, I didn’t expect much, but I got a letter the other day with a couple dates for auditions to choose from, so I’m going to be going up for that in May. Still no guarantee I’ll get in, but—”

“Of course you will,” Gerard says, delighted. “The woman was probably a recruiter for the program, her recommendation will go a long way.”

“It might’ve got me an audition, but I still have to be good enough to actually get a spot. But thank you.” Martin rubs the back of his neck. “A-anyway, the term starts in August, so we’ll be gone by my birthday and won’t be back until after Melanie’s.”

Gerard takes a quick breath as the implications of what they’re saying hit him. “So you’re managing it. You’re getting out of London.”

“For now, anyway. We hope.”

For now nothing. Gerard knows them both. If there’s nothing tying them to London, they might come back to visit, but not to live. And if the only thing tying them to London is Gerard…

Then and there, he makes a resolution. Once they’re settled, once he’s sure they’re good to go, he’s going to leave. He’s going to make the break once and for all, leave his mother and this world behind. He’ll make a new life for himself somewhere else, somewhere Mary Keay and her ilk will never find him, and then when Martin and Melanie go on holiday they can come stay with him. All of them can be free, can stop spending their lives chasing after Leitners and Fears and things that go bump in the night.

That’s for later, though. For now he turns to Melanie and asks, “What are you going to study?”

They chat and eat and toast one another, and then Melanie produces a square of pound cake; Martin pulls a candle out from his jacket and sticks it in the cake, and Gerard offers his lighter so they can sing him “Happy Birthday”. As they finish, Gerard closes his eyes and wishes harder than he ever has in his life.

Once the cake is gone—he insists on sharing with them every year and he doesn’t know why they still protest every time—they roll up the cloth tight and stow it in the deepest pocket Gerard has, then Martin puts up the umbrella once more and they head out into the rain. If anything, it’s raining harder now, and Gerard is already mentally betting against whether they’ll find anyone to help with the next part. Still, though, they make their way across Regent’s Park to Primrose Hill and make their way up to the top. Melanie arranges Martin and Gerard in their usual positions, fussing at them about the umbrella.

Just as Gerard is about to suggest they figure out a way to manipulate a photograph after taking it, a small family walking a pair of well-matched dogs comes up the hill, and Melanie accosts them. “Excuse me, would you be willing to take our picture for us?”

The man hands the dog’s leash over to the plump elderly lady and takes the camera. Gerard reaches over and takes Martin’s arm, forming a stable bridge for Melanie to sit on. Before they can bend down to give her better access, she runs at them and leaps, landing bang on target but knocking the umbrella free of their hands.

Gerard finds he doesn’t care. Instead, he throws his head back and laughs as Melanie’s arm loops around his neck. Martin and Melanie are laughing, too, and as they lean in for the dog-walker to take the shot, Gerard thinks this might be the best birthday he’s had in his life.

[smilepebble]

the biggest misconception i had about octopath lore when i first played ot1 was that every time anyone mentioned "the war" they were talking about a huge realm-wide war that started over 21 years ago not long before the destruction of grynd and ended 8 years ago with the fall of hornburg. that this all encompassing war was the cause of ophilia and therion being orphaned, was a major factor in the fall of house azelhart, was the main cause of the great pestilence that nearly killed alfyn as a kid, and was of course a very influential event in olberic's life. and when i started reading into extended canon and such it was extremely disappointing to find out this wasn't the case.

in my opinion it is so much more interesting to read octopath 1 as a story that takes place in "the aftermath". to see how people's lives were affected by the war and how they rebuild after such devastation.

[onlytiktoks]

[villainousshakespeare]

Therapy Fit for a God Chapter 27

“Loki/OFC Rated E: Trigger Warnings: Smut, Sex, Oral Sex, Angst, talk of suicide, therapy, unhealthy family dynamics, mention of torture and mind control, touch starved, drinking, memory loss.

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7, Chapter 8, Chapter 9, Chapter 10, Chapter 11, Chapter 12, Chapter 13, Chapter 14, Chapter 15, Chapter 16, Chapter 17, Chapter 18, Chapter 19, Chapter 20, Chapter 21, Chapter 22, Chapter 23, Chapter 24, Chapter 25, Chapter 26

Loki’s plans to conquer and rule Midgard have come to a disastrous end. After being captured by the Avengers, he is being held on Earth. Odin has refused to interfere, and the outlook for the God of Mischief appear bleak. His only hope may lie in one mortal woman, a Psychiatric expert brought in to interrogate him.

Dr. Caroline Thorpe is intrigued by Loki and thinks that more lies beneath his actions than is commonly known. Can she find out the truth before he is shipped off to die for crimes against the Earth? And can Loki bring himself to care?

@yespolkadotkitty @just-the-hiddles @hopelessromanticspoonie @wine-and-whines @arch-venus25 @caffiend-queen @devilish–doll @enchantedbyhiddles @hiddlesholic @i-do-not-fangirl-i-fanwoman @kellatron55 @ladyoftheteaandblood @latent-thoughts @yespolkadotkitty@maryxglz @myoxisbroken @nuggsmum @nildespirandum @pedeka @redfoxwritesstuff @sinfully-lustful-darling @vodka-and-some-sass @wrathkitty @kingtwhiddleston @wolfsmom1 @poetic-fiasco @shiningloki @dangertoozmanykids101 @bookworm-christina @amwolowicz @delightfulheartdream @frostbitten-written @what-a-flammable-heart @tom-hlover @nonsensicalobsessions @myraiswack @loki-yoursaviourishere @ghostypau @ms-cellanies @colorfulfreakstudentpizza @mareebird @colorfulfreakstudentpizza  @szycha22 @chokemedaddyloki @queenofallhobos @just-the-hiddles-reads  @alwida10  @justjoanne242 @chantsdemarins @lovelysizzlingbluebird @lokiprompts @evieplease @unlucky-number-13 @bitchassbecky691 @georges-left-ear

Eir was an imposing looking woman. Easily over six feet tall and crowned with a cap of snow white hair over steel grey eyebrows, she looked more like a general than a healer and tended to run her medical team accordingly. Loki had always had a great deal of respect for her, but he also found himself unaccountably ill at ease in her presence.

They were seated in his mother's study having gathered to discuss, much to his irritation, Loki's condition. Eir was the last to arrive, entering with the air of one barely humoring her inferiors. This look was lessened slightly as she nodded deferentially to Frigga but returned in double intensity as her eyes swung to Loki and Caroline.

"Thank you, gracious Eir, for agreeing to meet with us at this late hour," Frigga said, indicating a high-backed chair similar to the one in which she sat.

"When the AllMother calls, it is our duty to answer," she replied, sitting bolt straight in the chair, back not touching the carved wood. "The young Prince looks to be healing nicely from his wounds. I sense no lasting cellular deterioration beyond the elasticity which he always has possessed."

Her words were clipped, spoken in a deep, resonant voice. It was all Loki could do to keep himself from slipping back into the posture of the boy saw him as, slouching down to draw less attention to himself. To say the healing goddess had intimidated Loki, Thor, and their friends would hardly be stretching the truth.

"Indeed, his injury seems to be well on the mend," Frigga smiled.

"Pardon me, dear ladies. Do you think you might consider talking to me? I am in the room after all,” Loki asked with a look of false courtesy plastered on his face. His self respect, after all, would not allow them to completely send him scurrying back to the school room.

"Loki, behave yourself," Frigga chastised him gently, causing his eyes to roll.

"You see, they treat me as a child," he complained to Caroline who gave him a small smile of commiseration.

"That is what you are, comparatively," Eir said, though no intended offense was detectible in her voice. "I had lived two lives before you were even born."

"I must be an infant then," Caroline said weakly.

It was a valiant attempt, and he admired her for finding her voice among such imposing women, but Eir was ancient even by Asgardian standards.

"Less than that," the healer turned her ice grey eyes on Caroline. "You are the blink of an eye, a wave on the shore. Here now, but soon gone with barely a trace to show you existed at all."

Sitting close to her on the sofa, Loki could not help but feel the wince that Caroline tried to hide from the room. Knowing what a slap that sentence would be, squeezed her hand in support. To Hel with Eir and her superior manner. Caroline deserved better.

"Dr. Thorpe has made more of an impact on me in the past month than all the population of the Citadel of Asgard did in my entire life," Loki defended Caroline, glaring at the woman who had saved his life.

"Has she? May I ask in what way? I am curious about the lasting effects of Midgardian exposure."

To left, Caroline smothered a laugh. Alarmed at first that something was wrong with her - a reaction to all of stress he had put her through would not be out of place - he belated realized with surprise that her humor was genuine. Something clicked inside Loki's brain. Caroline had looked at Eir, a Goddess who terrified most of Asgard, and realized the truth of her. The woman was not trying to be rude or offensive, not a bit. She simply looked at the world in through a scientific lens rather than an emotional one. Eir was legitimately intrigued by their connection. She would probably like to take Loki and Caroline's clasped hands and study them under a microscope.

"Well, young prince?" Eir prodded again. "What changes did the Midgardian girl make on you?"

"Well, that is just the problem," Loki sighed with a rueful smile. "I don't seem to remember."

"The spell we wove, clouding the disruptive memories," Frigga jumped in to explain. "It seems we obscured more than we intended."

"Ah. I see. The brain is a complicated piece of machinery, and we were pressed for time, if you recall. Had he woken up again and continued to fight his recovery, he may not have had enough energy left to heal."

"I do recall," Frigga's voice trembled a bit at the memory. "I am not reprimanding you, or myself, Eir."

"I should hope not. How much time has he lost?"

"A year or more," Loki answered for himself, the barest trace of annoyance in his tone, even though Eir looked at his mother. "I have no firm recollection of anything between Thor's would-be coronation and waking up in the infirmary."

"Well, a year is hardly so great a matter. It may come back eventually. Or not. It is difficult to say."

"It was a rather significant year," Frigga put a slight emphasis on her words that added to Loki's misgivings.

"Meeting a Midgardian woman hardly seems significant to me."

"And your opinion of it seems even less so to me," Loki snarled. Quirk of nature or not, he would not allow anyone to disrespect Caroline.

"Loki," Frigga admonished with a glance. "As much as I am sure Dr. Thorpe was important to my son, there were other things that transpired that may hold more wide scale significance."

Ah yes, the mysterious other things. Loki stole looks at his mother and the healer under lowered lids. What was it that had them all so on edge? He knew from what Thor and his idiot friends had let slip that he had committed some errors in judgement in regard to Midgard, but instinct told him that this was not the extent of his actions. Torture had been alluded to, as well as some sort of break down. The more he heard of his lost year, the more anxious it made him.

"Frigga, have you seen Thor? Ah, Eir, what brings you here this time of night?"

The door to the study slammed open and a man strode in. Considering he had entered without so much as a knock or a by your leave, there was only one person this could be. Not that Loki needed to know that to recognize his father.

Odin was huge, not just in stature, but in presence. Burly in a similar manner to Thor, if perhaps not in such dramatically fit shape, his presence made the room feel as though it had shrunk to half the size. His hair was mixture of white and grey, with a few dark strands showing the color it once had been. One eye hid behind a golden eyepatch, permanently affixed to his face, but the other shrewd orb seemed to hold a stormy sky tossing in its depths. A similar storm surrounded him, it always seemed to Loki. He radiated an energy that pulsed through the room, commanding all attention rest immediately on him.

"AllFather," Eir greeted Odin, nodding from where she sat. Even she sounded deferential when she spoke to Odin.

"My queen is not unwell, I trust?" Odin's eyes flicked from Eir to Frigga, concern clouding them.

"I am fine," Frigga brushed off his worry. "We are discussing Loki."

"Good evening, Father," Loki stood to acknowledge his sire, bringing Caroline to her feet with him as he was not about to drop her hand now.

"What has he done now?" Odin demanded. "You are awake, I see."

"I am. Your well wishes are much appreciated," Loki couldn't resist from adding in the last words.

"Loki has not done anything," Frigga told her irritable spouse.

"Well, there is a first time for everything," Odin said with a hard look at Loki.

"You are not being fair, father," he said with the merest hint of a smirk. "At least half of the time it was Thor's fault."

"SILENCE!" Odin shouted, causing Caroline to let out a squeak she would be relieved to know only he could hear. "Now, would someone tell me what I walked in on?"

"Loki has lost some of his memories," Frigga said, shooting Loki a look when he opened his own mouth. "It is a side effect from the spell Eir and I wove on him."

"The Princeling is missing approximately a year of time," Eir added.

"Considering how he spent that year, I would think that would be all to the better," Odin opined, making him even more uneasy about his deeds. "If he is truly innocent, or at least not culpable for his actions as you claim, then it is better to let the unpleasantness lie in the past and hope we all forget it."

"That is the worst thing you could possibly do!"

Loki heard the words ring out in Caroline's clear voice. If he could have jumped in front of her and stuffed them back in he would have. Odin's eye, dark with anger at being gainsaid, swung to pin her to the carpet like a bug in one of Eir's experiments.

"And who is this person who dares contradict me in my own palace?"

"A Midgardian woman the Prince has befriended," Eir was the first to answer in a voice that said she was impervious to the tension crackling in the room. "He claims she is important for some reason, though I have yet to discover how."

"Caroline is my consort," Loki said boldly, puffing out his chest and hoping he sounded confident.

"A Midgardian woman? Consort to a Prince of Asgard? Don't be absurd. Call one of the guards and have her escorted to a room in the servants' quarters at once. We can send her home on the morrow."

"If Caroline goes, I go," Loki was angry now, and used it find the confidence he had never had to stand up to his father head on. "I am in love with her."

"He is obviously more disturbed in the head than you led me to believe," Odin said to Frigga.

"Dr. Caroline is a brave woman who saved Loki's life. Thor told me all about it today when we went to retrieve her. Perhaps we should hear her out." Frigga defended her, surprising Loki himself with the revelation. How had Caroline managed to do that? What other secrets did this wonderful woman hold?

"Regardless, she knows nothing of these matters. Her opinion is irrelevant."

"On the contrary," Caroline countered, taking a step forward. "I know a great deal. Loki and I have spoken at length, before he lost his memories, about what he was put through. I would go as far as to say that at this moment I know more about the situation than anyone alive. What's more, I have made the study and aid of trauma victims my life's work."

Loki stared at Caroline with love and admiration as she locked eyes, or eye, with his domineering father. Few even among the other Gods would dare to stand up to the AllFather when he was in a temper, and here was a diminutive mortal doing just that. He was immensely proud of her.

"Your life's work," Odin mocked. "A child on Asgard would have studied longer."

"Yes, we have already been through the disparaging of my age," she said. "I admit that my life is short by comparison, but I believe in this one matter if nothing else my expertise should be respected."

"You talk of respect - "

"Father - "

"My love," Frigga cut through Odin's next growl and Loki's protestation. "I believe we should listen to her. Just hear her out. After all, what harm could it do? If she fails to convince us, we have lost nothing. On the other hand, if it could harm Loki or anyone else to keep his memories buried, better to find out how and deal with the problem."

Loki held his breath, waiting to see if Frigga's calm and common sense would carry the day over her husband's pride. Sometimes it did, but not always by a long shot.

"Very well," Odin agreed at last. "We will here this person out. But I warn you, my decision will be final."

"Of course," Frigga assuaged him.

Loki didn't say that regardless of what Odin decided he would stop at nothing to recover his memories, but he was fairly certain everyone in the room knew it to be true. He bit his tongue instead as his parents seated themselves in the highbacked chairs that were not quite thrones.

"Loki, you should wait outside."

Caroline spoke so softly to him that at first he thought he must have misheard her. Surely, she did not expect him to leave her to face his father's wrath without him? Did she thing him such a coward?

"I most certainly will not," he insisted.

"We need to discuss what you have been through," she said practically. "Part of my concern is about the way in which you find out what you are missing. For you to hear it baldly discussed would be particularly cruel."

"I can deal with whatever it is."

"You could, but you shouldn't have to. Please, Loki. You have been torn apart once already by this. There is no need to have it go that way again."

"Dr. Caroline is right, Loki," Frigga echoed.

"Why don't you come into the next room with me, Princeling. I will look into your brain and see if I can determine just where the edges of our spell lie, in case we want to attempt to alter it."

"I do not like this," Loki looked from one of them to the next, eyes landing last on Carolines.

"I promise she will be fine, Loki," his mother assured him. "I will look after her."

"I am not a damsel in need of rescuing, Loki. This is my job. Please, let me do it."

"I will be just next door," he said reluctantly.

"I am hardly going to harm the girl," Odin grumbled.

Ignoring his father, Loki searched Caroline's eyes one last time before sighing in defeat. She was right. If he had really shared his story with her, she was the best equipped to decide what to do. He just wished he could spare her the unpleasantness of a confrontation with his father. Leaning down, he gave her a long, lingering kiss. He had meant it as a show of loyalty for the others in the room, but the moment his lips met hers he forgot them.

"Come along boy, you have made your point," Eir interrupted.

"Call out if you need."

As Caroline nodded, eyes slightly glassy, Loki reluctantly allowed Eir to lead him from the room.

***

Caroline's father had warned her that someday her need to ease the emotional pain of others despite the circumstances would land her in hot water over her head. Well, it didn't get much hotter than where she was now.

The departure of Loki and Eir had left her alone in a room on an alien planet (that she wasn't even sure actually was a planet) with her lover's parents, beings of immense powers who had inspired the gods of ancient Earth societies. It was all a little daunting to say the least.

"Very well," Odin grumbled, pinning her to the spot with his one eye. "Let's get this over with. You will tell us everything that Loki said to you, leaving not out a word out."

"Oh, I'm sorry, I cannot do that," she replied automatically, taken aback by the brusque request.

"I do not understand," the God glared at her. "I thought that was the reason we were allowing you to remain."

"Perhaps you can explain what you mean, Dr. Caroline," Frigga suggested with an encouraging smile.

"Loki is - was my patient," she tried to keep her voice professional. "As such, some of the details of what we spoke about are confidential. Ethics will not permit me to share them with anyone."

"Your ethics are of no concern to me. We are dealing with the safety of whole realms."

"They may not concern you, your Majesty, but they are of great concern to me," Caroline shot back, before taking a deep breath. "I cannot tell you word for word what Loki said, but I can discuss matters in general."

"Go on," Frigga said, as her husband just glowered. "Though some of it I have pieced together. He was tortured?"

"He was. For months on end. I do not know, and I do not wish to know, all of the ways in which he was tormented, but I do know that included mental and emotional torture as well as the physical. Loki was broken down bit by bit by someone who knew exactly how turn someone's mind, a creature he referred to as The Other, in service of Thanos."

"The Mad Titan!" Odin seemed interested now. "He was involved in all of this?"

"He was," she nodded. "His children abducted Loki and he used The Other, with the help of one of the Infinity Stones, to bend Loki to his will."

"The Mind Stone," Frigga said. "Thor told us it was in the scepter Loki used in his invasion."

"The invasion was guided by Thanos through the Mind Stone," Caroline went on. "I believe Loki was fighting against it as much as he could."

"I did wonder how one I trained could be so clumsy," Odin said grudgingly. "The Mind Stone is a powerful tool."

"I have had some small experience with it. Nothing compared to what Loki endured, I was only possessed for a matter of minutes, but it was the worst thing I have ever experienced."

"You were possessed by the stone and survived with your mind intact?" Odin sounded marginally impressed.

"Only thanks to Loki. He had prepared me for what might happen, and when I could not prevent it he sacrificed himself for me. That is how he came to be injured."

She couldn't quite bring herself to confess to Loki's disapproving father that he had sacrificed himself by jumping in front of a gun and allowing her to shoot him. He already had reasons enough to dislike her.

"If what you say is true, then perhaps Loki is not to be blamed for the battle on Midgard. While I am disappointed that he would be careless enough as to fall prey to the Mad Titan, once subjected to the Mind Stone even Thor might have difficulty resisting its urges."

Caroline almost bit a hole in her tongue at that. Thor was physically strong, but compared to Loki his mind was that of a child. He would have been easy pickings for the jewel.

"I did not think the details we heard of the invasion sounded like our son," Frigga agreed with Odin, tactfully ignoring the second part of his statement.

"I still do not see the current difficulty," Odin said. "You claim to care about Loki; why would you wish him to have to remember the pain and torment you say he endured?"

"If it was only the torture and invasion he had forgotten, I might agree with you," Caroline struggled not to take offence. "But we all know there was more. The memory loss goes back further, to the day of Thor's coronation."

"What of it?" Odin crossed his arms across his chest, in a gesture Caroline had seen Loki mirror many times before.

"Loki has forgotten he is Jotun," Caroline said baldly, deciding the best way was to rip off the band aid.

"He told you, did he?" Odin's words were laced with contempt.

"He did. But even had he not, it was in his SHIELD folder that I was given at the start of our sessions. Thor apparently informed his fellow Avengers when they were attempting to form a defense plan against him."

"Damnation!" Odin growled, banging his fist on the arm of the chair.

"The secret is out, your Majesty. Earth knows. From what I have gathered, many people on Asgard know. The lie of him being your son is no more."

"He is my son!" Odin shouted, face turning red.

"Then perhaps you should have treated him as such!" Caroline snapped back.

He was an innocent, and brilliant, and longing for love and you treated him like a possession. You never thought to look at the potential locked within and find a way to help it to bloom. You took him into your home and your family, you should not have done that if you were not willing to open your heart to him as well. The words screamed in her head unspoken, but she was sure her face said them all.

"How dare you!"

"Odin, please!" Frigga placed her hand on his arm. "Caroline, despite what you may believe, we raised Loki as our child."

"But he was not born your child," she replied, getting a handle on her emotions, "and he found this out in the worst way possible. There was no one for him to talk to about it. Thor was gone, his father was incapacitated, and you were tending to him. Loki's entire world was broken, and he had to deal with it all alone."

"I admit, the timing was not ideal," his mother said in an extreme understatement.

"That knowledge is still there, somewhere in his psyche. He may not be consciously aware of it, but on some level Loki knows. On some level, he probably has always known. It was difficult, but I was finally beginning to convince him that this truth did not make him a monster, condemned to be alone and hated."

"Thank you," Frigga said simply.

"It was my pleasure. I would have done as much for anyone, but Loki is special."

"He is."

"If we keep this knowledge from him, particularly when everyone else is beginning to know, I worry what will happen this time when he finds out. All of the work we have done to get him over the worst of his self-hatred will have been for nothing. The last time he learned of his true origins, he descended into an identity crisis that led to an attempt on his own life followed by the lives of millions. Don't put him and those around him in that danger again."

[sonknuxadow]

also looks like they are taking aosth off of netflix soon and its already not showing up in the sonic collection anymore .. sad ! well theres other sonic shows

[thats-by-the-by]

Denial

This fic is crossposted on Ao3. Find it here. This is OC content. Mind the tags.

Lauren sits in the hospital bed, staring up at the doctor. He sighs, looking over her chart with a sad expression. She wonders if he's new here - she's certainly never seen him before now - and what she's doing in the hospital.

"Do you know when my parents are going to come and visit?" She asks. "Why am I here, by the way? Who are you?"

"Lauren," The man sighs, but puts his name badge on his jacket rather than his shirt. "My name is Doctor Marcus Thorne, we met three weeks ago after your parents death. You're here because your cousin is worried about you."

"My parents aren't dead." Lauren snaps. "They can't be dead. Alistair is about to graduate high school. They aren't dead, this isn't fucking funny."

"Lauren." Doctor Marcus says, giving her a sad expression. "Please calm down. You were doing so well yesterday, it's alright. You need to calm down."

"You aren't fucking funny. What's the real reason that I'm in here." She snaps, standing up. "You can't keep me here. Where are my parents. I want my Mum and Dad."

"They're gone." The doctor says softly, pressing a button on the wall. Something from the I.V - when did she have an I.V put in. "Please sit down. You're going to hurt yourself."

"Fuck. You." Lauren spits, the world growing softer. "I want my Mum. Where's my Dad? I want my parents. Why can't I see my parents. Let me see my parents, please."

The door of her room opens, and a nurse walks in. She's familiar, soft blonde hair tied up in a bun, with curls framing her face. Lauren doesn't know her, but the nurse leads her back to the bed with a practiced ease. As though they had done this all before. As though she had had to help Lauren get back into bed while the drugs ease her to sleep before.

"I want my Mum and Dad." Lauren whispers to the nurse.

"I know." The nurse says, smoothing a hand over her head. "I know, I'm sorry."

[ridaine]

Such Terrible Things...

A question with no answer.