#sending my love to anyone in the rest of plague island who needs it

[hawkeish]

immigration is so intrinsically part of britain. the country would not exist without it in so many ways. like for fuck's sake can these national front wannabe fuckers not remember primary school history lessons? do they not see how vital organisations/institutions/pieces of infrastructure like the nhs are kept alive by the fantastic work of countless immigrants and people of colour?

[13uswntimagines]

Leave the Cooking to Me (Sam x Rose x Reader)

Request: Sam x rose x reader. Where R was a part time chef so she’s always cooking their meals and the team is jealous of the good food

Author’s Note: Special Thanks to @literaryhedgehog. We had way too much fun doing this one and spent way too much time looking up random food things. Gotta say that we are both a sucker for writing for Sam. 

Sam and Rose were lucky and they would tell that to anyone who would listen to them. You weren’t just the sweetest human being they had ever met, or the most thoughtful. You were all of those things, and you knew how to cook. Not just recreationally either. You were the full fledged winner of Top Chef season 19, and the Sous chef at one of the hottest restaurants in Washington D.C.

“How can you make such good food dressed like that?” Sam asked, leaning over the island and resting her chin on her hand. 

“What do you mean?” You raised your eyebrows at the woman, continuing to run your knife along the onion without looking at it. 

“Don’t all of your skills come from your chefs coat?” Rose asked, sliding up beside you, her hand trailing under the back of your shirt. You shivered at the cold hand touching your skin. 

“I’m not Iron Man. I can function without an outfit,” you said, rolling your eyes, as you grabbed an egg. You happened to like wearing an oversized pajama shirt and short-shorts while cooking. You never felt bad about spilling anything on them, since you didn’t exactly wear them in public. “Sam, since your hands aren’t literal icicles-” Rose stuck her tongue out at you playfully “- can you hold this and warm it up to room temperature while Rose helps me hold the pastry?” 

“Ohhh what kind of pastry? Why is that filling purple?” Rose squealed. You knew how much she loved when you baked for them (especially considering those croissants you made them for special occasions). She pulled the bowl closer to her, and scrunched her nose when she saw the contents. 

You may have had a good track record, but that color was crazy. 

“It’s Spanakopita, but we’re going to experiment just a little bit. If you don’t like it you have to eat it anyway,” You shrugged, rolling out the dough onto a cutting board, and positioning Rose’s hands right where you wanted them. 

“If you make it, we’re going to like it.” Sam snorted, and Rose raised her eyebrow at her. 

You bit you lip, wilting just slightly. “I just got inspired, cause the beats are going to look so good in the risotto for the Arancini,”

“If it’s anything like that curry you made last time you got inspired, I think we’ll be ok,” Sam said, kissing your neck with a grin while you worked. You squeaked a little and jumped, hip-checking her to keep her away from accidentally touching the food. 

“It’s just a shame Valentine’s day already happened,” Rose said, looking at the three bowls of filling in their various places on the counter or in the fridge, “Pink, red, and purple dishes would have made great themed appetizers for your restaurant!” 

You snorted and shook your head. “I wish, we could do anything this interesting.” The arancini, maybe. The other two would probably be avoided like the plague for fear of any garlic or other lingering spices. “People are too bougie to enjoy the simple things like strangely colored foods.” 

“Good thing we’re not!” Sam smiled broadly, stealing a piece of orange-colored pork from the bowl to your right. 

“Yeah, we get all the sass and none of the class,” Rose giggled, barely avoiding your slap at her hand as she also stole a piece of pork. 

Just then you heard singing from the couch. “We are family,” Sam stuffed the piece of pork in her mouth and jumped up to grab her phone from where it was wedged between the cushions. “I’ve got all my sisters and me.”

“Tha’s Kwsten,” She spoke through her mouthful then swallowed. Do you mind if I go take this?” 

“Go for it, we’re about to stick this stuff in the oven anyway,” You nodded, giggling when she tripped over a chair on her way to grab the phone. “Make sure you swallow before you answer,” 

“Took you long enough. What were you doing, trying to find your pants?” Kristie’s voice rang through your apartment the second Sam answered the call. You smiled when your girlfriend’s cheeks turned a light shade of pink. 

“No, Y/n is cooking. She’s so good with her hands Kris, it’s not fair,”  Sam said shaking her head. 

Kristie snorted, wiggling her eyebrows at the woman. “I’m sure she is,” 

“Stop trying to turn everything I say into a euphemism.” Sam groaned, sending a glare at Rose who was cackling like a madwoman. 

“But you make it sooo easy,” Kristie teased, “I mean what was it you said last time, ‘she kneads aggressively?’”

“Bread, Kris. She was making bread. And you’re supposed to do-I mean knead it aggressively, that’s how gluten develops.” 

“Stop trying to explain it babe,” Rose sang, her voice bubbling with suppressed laughter.  

“You’re just making it worse,” You nodded along. 

“You know, I’m not this mean to you when Emily and Lindsey pull this shit with you. I was even sympathetic with the Sketchers thing,” Sam pouted. 

“We agreed to never mention that again,” Rose said menacingly, but Sam was distracted as you handed her a plate with the Spanakopita.

Sam’s pout melted off her face at the sight of the plate. “Ooo goodies. Thanks babe,” 

You kissed her cheek and waved to her sister on the phone before heading back to the kitchen to finish the next set. 

“What is that?” 

“Just course one of the amazing appetizers lunch my wonderful girlfriend is making for me.” Sam bit in and rolled her eyes at the taste, holding up the other half of the Spanakopita so she could see the gorgeous and delicious purple filling. 

“For both of you Sammy. Don’t leave Rosie out, that’s mean,” You called out, your tongue poking between your teeth as you stirred the pot on the stove. 

In the background of Kristie’s call, Sam could see other teammates gathering around the phone to see her food. She stood and walked back to the kitchen, turning the facetime camera around so they could see the two trays out of the oven and then you stirring at the stove. You waved your spoon but stayed focused. The rice was just at the point when it was most likely to burn and you needed to make sure the texture didn’t go from delicious to goopy. Risotto wasn’t for the faint of heart. 

“Look at how fluffy this Bao is!” Sam said, slowly tearing one of the dumplings in half in front of the camera. Sisterly torture went both ways- her sister may turn half of what Sam said into sex jokes, but Sam could rub the delicious food in Kristie’s face. 

“Why is it so orange?” Emily asked, piping in from behind the older Mewis sister. 

“Some awesome Indonesian spices that Y/n thought would be good,” Sam said, taking a huge bite out of the bun. 

“Tamarind and Turmeric in the mix,” you called out from behind her.

“It’s not fair that your girlfriend is a literal chef who enjoys cooking in the weekend,” Emily whined, followed shortly by a “shut up Sonnett” from Lindsey and a thump. 

“Experimenting apparently,” Rose said, mischievously. 

“Not helping dear. Anyway, what were you calling about Kris?” Sam said pointedly. 

“We just wanted to know what you eta for camp was?” Kristie asked. 

“Um, the flight leaves tomorrow at what time was it again Rose? 8 am?”

“Try 4:30 am Sam,” You rolled your eyes. It was going to suck, but you were going to make sure to pack some tasty overnight oats so no one was grumpy on the plane. 

“Ugh. That’s bullshit. Anyway, takeoff at god-awful early in the morning, and then we’ll see you when we land!” Sam said. She hung up the phone and moved back towards the counter. 

“Don’t worry babe, I’ll schedule the flight next time,” You leaned up to kiss her cheek. “Now how bout you help me roll some balls?” 

*****

“I don’t know what we did wrong this time?” Kelley said, poking the overly pale cinnamon rolls that had just come out of the oven. Then she turned the roll over to see a crisp black scorch on the base. “It looks like we took them out just in time though?”

“They’re pale on the top and burnt in the bottom,” Rose whined, tapping the middle of one of the rolls experimentally. 

“Kind of line you Rose,” Sam laughed, patting her shorter girlfriend on the back. 

“Haha, at least they’re not hockey pucks like the last batch,” Rose grumbled. 

How they had let their teammates talk them into this, she didn’t know. What she did know was that cooking with you was way more fun than doing it with this bunch. At least with you everything turned out tasty in the end. And if she accidentally messed something up you always knew how to fix it. 

“Stop that,” Kelley swatted Alex’s hand away from the bowl of icing. “That’s unsanitary. Let us drizzle it on the rolls first and then you can clean the bowl.” 

“But then what are we gonna do with this caramel you insisted I stir?” Emily asked, looking up from the pot in front of her. 

“It’s for the next batch. You put it in the bottom before you bake,” Sam answered, beginning to roll out the next set of cinnamon rolls. 

“And technically, we didn’t insist you do anything Sonnet. We mentioned our idea to make caramel for the cinnamon rolls and you jumped up and said “I volunteer as tribute”” Rose grumbled. “You didn’t even let us suggest a recipe.”

“Which considering the success of the other recipes you picked, might have been a good idea,” Emily said, frowning slightly at the bubbling mixture in front of her. She was stirring but the bubbles weren’t going away like they did with pasta. Maybe because it was thicker? She stirred faster to compensate.  

“Hey guys, what are you-... oh shit,” You raced over to the stove, nearly barreling into Emily as you grabbed the practically overflowing pot of molten sugar and moved it off the heat, praying you had gotten to it before it was too late. You really didn’t want to have to explain to the trainers why you and Emily had third-degree burns if the pot exploded. 

You spun towards the group of older players, glaring at them. “Who let the child do the most dangerous job?” 

“Dangerous?!?” Kelley and Rose sputtered. Sam just blinked at you

You shook your head and pinched the space between your eyes. “If it crystallizes and you don’t take it off the heat it can explode. You don’t stir sugar,”  

“Oh. Well. At least there’s still icing?” Sam grabbed one of the better rolls and gave it a hearty helping of icing before handing it to you.

“What did you use, because Alex is vegan and she’s been eating it?” You narrowed your eyes at the offered plate, glancing sideways at a set of very pale rolls and a set that were very burnt and flat. 

“Flaxseed and applesauce instead of eggs and oat milk instead of milk. And margarine instead of butter.” Kelley said, automatically. She and her fiance had been making vegan substitutes for a while now, and while they might not have been traditional cinnamon roll ingredients, she knew the measurements by heart, so that’s what they had used. 

You bit your lip and squinted your eyes as you reached out and swiped a bit of frosting from on top of the bun and put it into your mouth. 

You gulped when the salty substance hit your tongue, trying and failing to conceal your wince after the flavor. Your girlfriends were a lot of things, but apparently good cooks wasn’t on that list. “Hey, what container was the powdered sugar that you used for this in?”

“Um, this one?” Kelley said, sliding you a container. 

Your eyes widened at the blue-lidded container. You had been experimenting for a new dish at the restaurant and had gotten a hold of some micro powder salt flour for it. You thought it would give the new cracker-jack-themed desert a better taste, and help to balance out all the sugar from the Caramel ice cream. 

“That’s not sugar,” you said weakly. 

Alex dipped her finger into the bowl and tasted it, gagging. “It’s salty!”

Sam frowned down at the plate in her hand. She hadn’t wanted to do this, to begin with, but the team had insisted. Assured her they knew what they were doing and that you would love the surprise. Instead, Emily had almost burnt down your kitchen and everything was a mess. 

“Is none of it alright,” Rose asked softly from behind you, her lip jutting out. 

You scanned the kitchen, looking from the still ominously bubbling ooze on the stove, to the cinnamon rolls so undercooked you could catch salmonella from them to the icing, then finally to a glass on the counter. You grabbed it and took a large swig of vanilla oat milk. 

“Your milk tastes great!” you said enthusiastically, as the others started laughing. 

Sam and Rose just wilted further. You sighed, wrapping your arm around your taller girlfriend and holding your hand out to Rose. “It’s the thought that counts guys. And I love the thought,” 

“That’s what your parents tell you when you give them shitty presents so you don’t feel bad,” Rose grumbled, and Sam nodded. 

You sighed, unable to keep your lips from tipping up in a smile. It was just. It was so bad it was funny. “Maybe next time start with something a little easier? I’d love some scrambled eggs and toast!”

 Sam sighed. “You hate eggs,” 

You laughed again. “But I love you, even if you two can’t cook,” 

You leaned up to kiss under Sam’s chin and over to Rose’s cheek. You loved them and would remind them that their skills were on the field. They should leave the kitchen stuff to you. 

[jbuffyangel]

Something To Live For: Arrow 1x10 Review (Burned)

I’m back! 

There’s a significant time difference between my 1x09 review and this review. No, I did not take a six year long holiday break. It just became too difficult to complete the Season 1 reviews the summer prior to Season 4. So, I decided to complete Season 1 and Season 2 reviews once Arrow was off air.

This means I have not watched 1x10-1x23 in eight years. I nearly forgot everything. Is L*urel still in this show?

She sure is.

“Burned” is the first real snoozer of Season 1, which kind of sets up the tradition of episode 10-15 slumps Arrow suffered nearly every season.  This has less to do with Arrow and more to do with it being a twenty three episode series. There’s gonna be some filler.

This episode still holds significant meaning to me though because it contains the SOMETHING TO LIVE FOR speech. This is my favorite John Diggle speech, which is why I named my blog after it. It is also the first time Arrow declares their mission statement.

Let’s dig in...

Oliver and Diggle

The bad guy plot is the worst part of “Burned,” so let’s just cut to the chase. There was a terrible fire in Starling City years ago. The fire chief recalled his unit but one of his men, Garfield Lynns, insisted the building could be saved. The chief refused to send in any more men and as a result Lynns died. Except, this is Arrow and nobody stays dead. Lynns is alive, ticked, insane and burning firefighters, which leads to Joanna’s brother (a firefighter) getting killed.

Cool? Cool. Moving on.

Oliver is having difficulty coping with the fact the Dark Archer kicked his ass all the way back to the stone age. It was a somewhat embarrassing loss and Oliver’s body wasn’t the only thing bruised. We are gifted a very lovely training sequences of a half naked and very sweaty Oliver Queen to show he is recovered, so his hesitancy isn’t physical. It is mental.

Source: @olivergifs​

Oliver is having a crisis of confidence and is avoiding suiting up like the plague.

Diggle: This guy, the other archer, he got in your head. He took something from you … he took whatever’s in your heart that lets you jump off buildings and take down bad guys.

Oliver worked for every skill he has. It was not gifted by a bolt of lightning. He does not come from an alien planet. Oliver is a weapon honed over time, which includes his superpower. 

Oliver Queen does not fear dying. 

That’s the “whatever” in his heart which gives him the confidence to jump off buildings. This superpower was honed after five years of fighting for survival. Oliver almost died so many times he’s built some kind of emotional immunity to it. It doesn’t freak him out like it would the rest of us.

The darker side of this superpower is Oliver doesn’t care if he lives or dies. Season 1 Oliver Queen is very fatalistic. He’s not suicidal, but he’s accepted death is the price he may have to pay in order to complete his mission. More importantly, he is drowning in guilt and believes death is the ending he deserves.

There’s rigidity in everything about Oliver – from his beliefs to even the way he moves. His posture is rod iron straight and there’s very little movement in his upper body and arms. It’s a physical manifestation of his PTSD. It’s like he’s encased in a brick wall, a tomb of suffering, which makes it difficult to breathe or move. It’s like the act of living is physically painful.

The problem is - Oliver came home and it is having an unexpected emotional impacted on him. He’s been laser focused on this mission, but bit by bit, the feelings he’s long since buried are resurfacing.  Moira, Thea, Tommy, Diggle, Laurel (AND FELICITY) are chipping away at this brick wall. Oliver didn’t adopt this machine like persona because he doesn’t feel anything. It’s because he feels so much, which means even the small holes in this wall are having a profound impact on him.

This all leads to the greatest John Diggle speech in history! Yes, I say that knowing full well Diggle has spectacular speeches throughout the series, but this will always be my favorite because it’s such a universal theme. 

We all must have something that makes life worth living.  This “something” is not limited to romantic love. It can be family, or work or a cause – basically whatever makes you get out of bed every day. It doesn’t have to be just one thing either. In fact, I hope you find many things/people to live for because that means you are living a full and connected life. By that same token, if you don’t have something to live for then you’re not really living. You just exist.

Or in Oliver’s case - survive. He’s known nothing but survival for the last five years. I think he absolutely cares for Yao Fei, Shado and Slade, but that’s exactly why Oliver shut down. He did care for people and it led to nothing but heartache, betrayal and loss. So, Oliver decided to be done with all that and has worked very hard to keep his loved ones at a distance ever since returning home.

He’s been extremely successful at it in many ways because Oliver refuses to share who he really is with anyone outside of John Diggle. So, that’s why it had to be John Diggle to tell him that it was okay to feel again.

Oliver: I’ve been close to death on the island more times than I can remember and I never feared it. Because I had nothing to lose. But when that archer almost killed me, when I stared death in the face then, I thought about all the people I’ve let into my life since I’ve been back – my family, Laurel, Tommy. And that made me afraid. Afraid of what would happen to those people if they lost me. Again. And for the first time in so long I had something to lose.

Oliver may not fear death, but he does fear what his death will mean to those who love him. Like I said earlier - Oliver is not suicidal. If that was true he wouldn’t have fought so hard to survive the island, but that doesn’t mean he’s ready to live. He’s far from it. But this is the first time in a long time Oliver cared whether or not he died. And that scares him.  

Diggle: Maybe you’ve got it backwards Oliver. You think the people you’ve let in have taken your edge. I think it gives you one. Maybe a stronger one even. You can stare down death with something to live for or not. SOMETHING TO LIVE FOR is better.

That’s endgame folks. Oliver’s story is about a man learning to live again. He will collect more and more people/things that he cares about as he walks this road, which means there is more to lose. Losing his life is far preferable than losing someone he loves again.  Oliver can tolerate a great deal of physical pain. It’s the emotional pain that scares the crap out of him. This is why he fights tooth and nail to keep emotions at a distance. It just hurts too much.

Opening our heart to others often means opening our hearts to pain, but that’s not the only side of love. It brings happiness and contentment too. You take the good with the bad. Diggle is trying to open Oliver’s heart to the good.

Is Oliver alive? Or is he just breathing? The answers to those questions make all the difference in the world. A difference Diggle knows will make Oliver an unbeatable weapon.

Lynns: I'm not afraid to die

Oliver: I know. You're afraid to live.

COULD IT BE A PARALLEL?

Methinks yes. It’s interesting “Burned” revolves around fire. Fire is where Oliver’s story began. Lian Yu was about purification, but it was also a rebirth. 

A rebirth we see expanding as Oliver opens up his heart. A fire is lit from within our hero and it’s growing beyond penance, justice and retribution to hope, passion and enlightenment. Oliver Queen is finding reasons to live again. And it will make all the difference for his survival.

L*urel L*nce

If you sense I have less patience with L*urel’s character in Seasons 1 and Season 2 than I did in Season 3 and Season 4 then you’d be right. My opinions on this character changed radically so I’m coming into Season 1 and Season 2 reviews with a Season 8 perspective on L*urel.

Tommy wants a drawer. That’s all. A drawer. Tommy Merlyn is a simple man. Doesn’t take a lot to make him happy. He even wrote a list explaining all the reasons he deserves and needs a drawer. We never see the list, but I’d imagine it looks something like this:

I AM HUMAN PERFECTION.

I did not sleep with your sister.

I am asking for a drawer rather than run screaming to the North China Sea with above referenced sister.

I make you omelets.

I make your character moderately tolerable which is a miracle in of itself.

I could continue, but you get the idea. What’s absolutely ludicrous is OLIVER gives L*UREL relationship advice.

Oliver: Well we're friends.

Me: Oliver, my son, NO YOU ARE NOT. 

At least she had the common sense to scoff at Oliver’s friendly attempt to intervene on Tommy’s behalf. (Seriously, dude just stay out of it. This is wildly inappropriate.)

L*urel was ready to move in with Oliver (even though she knew he cheated on her regularly), but freaks at faithful Tommy requesting armoire access. JFC this woman is a dating disaster zone.

L*urel: I don’t take things slow remember? I close my eyes and I jump just like you. 

My initial reaction to this speech is to call it nonsense. 

I thought this was a case of Arrow telling rather than showing with L*urel’s character. However, upon further contemplation I have reversed my opinion.

L*urel may be a pragmatic attorney on the surface, but we have watched her run the gamut of human emotions week to week. So much so it’s difficult to get a read on the character the writers are trying to construct. (Spoiler alert: they don’t know what kind of character they are trying to construct). One week she loves Oliver. The next week she’s condemning him to hell. L*urel L*nce’s feelings definitely control her.

She has been reckless too, working outside the law, by contacting the vigilante for assistance. A relationship she resumes after telling her father in 1x09 that The Hood is a killer with no remorse. See what I’m saying about the ever changing emotional spectrum?

I’m not saying L*urel having emotions and expressing them is bad. That’s a healthier reaction than what Oliver is doing, but she has been all over the map. It’s less about who L*urel is as a character and more about the writers needing her to react a certain way to make the episode work.

Oliver likes to present himself as a cool cucumber, but he has a rather unpleasant temper too. It may seem like he’s emotionless, but that is just a façade. It’s a cover for the torrent of emotions he keeps at bay.

Laurel: I think that’s why we spooked each other. Our feelings, our fears, they control us. Not the other way around.

L*urel’s “spooking each other” statement is a big line of bull, which we’ll find out later in the season. L*urel was not spooked by Oliver. She was the furthest thing from spooked, which is why she asked him to move in with her.

Oliver wasn’t spooked either. Anytime I reflect on L*uriver I’m reminded of a scene from Sex in the City. Oliver isn’t freaked out by his feelings. He’s just not that into you, L*urel.

The process in which we get OLIVER to realize this and admit it to himself will take much longer, but I can be patient. It’s time will come.

But do I think these two characters are similar? YES. They are too similar in fact. It’s one of the main reasons they don’t work as a couple. This is exactly why Tommy and Felicity are perfect for L*urel and Oliver.  They need someone steady to temper their emotions. 

They need someone happy to balance out their anger. They need someone with a bright light in order to find their own.

It’s also worth noting that Tommy was ready to run into a burning building to save Oliver so GIVE HIM A DAMN DRAWER L*UREL.

Stray Thoughts

Flashbacks were kind of boring. Fyers kidnaps Yao Fei. Oliver saves his own life by accident. Meh

Thea calling Moira out was long overdue. This kid needs a parent ASAP.

Everyone's fall clothing is really adorable.

JUST UNBUTTON THE FRACKIN BUTTON OLLIE.

Merlyn kidnapped Walter right? Or Moira? I seriously don't remember. I don’t think I care either. lol

L*urel: I am not the best example of healthy grieving.

LL has a rare moment of self awareness, which is lovely.

Oliver: I heard what you said to your father. That I'm a killer with no remorse.

L*urel: Do you?

Me: You impertinent little snot.

I like Joanna much better than L*urel and I wished she stayed, but removing Joanna from the show is the first step the writers took to limit L*urel's role. The shift is upon us.

  Not to be unsympathetic, but Moira is starting to rack up the dead husbands.

Thea fantasizing that Walter is cheating on Moira with a stewardess as the hopeful pitch is YIKES. Goodness this show could be dark.

Musings of the Kiddo  

Kiddo: Yeah! He's actually putting his family first!

Me: Settle down. It doesn't last long.

Kiddo: I thought L*urel was gonna find out.

Me: Oh my sweet summer child.

Disclaimer: Any gifs on the blog are not mine. If you would like a gif removed from my reviews, please message me.

If you’d like to support the blog, please buy me a cup of tea!

[rosiecottonbud]

The Lunar Chronicles Headcanons part 3: return of the king

the rampion crew become celebrities and get plagued by reporters following Cinder’s coronation. Thorne and iko love the attention. No one else does.

Once the letumosis outbreaks are eliminated and the antidotes have been distributed, cress becomes the most highly demanded programmer/ hacker in the world. She’s the breadwinner and Thorne is the trophy husband.

Thorne loves to plan all the events that he and cress host! He develops such a knack for it that winter and jacin let him plan their wedding as well as the annual party where all of the crew gathers.

It becomes a trend for lunars who look up to winter to draw three scars under their eye to mimic her. Lunars who choose to get a bioelectricity inhibitor wear the scars as a symbol of pride in following in the footsteps of the strong lunar ambassador, the prettiest girl in the galaxy who chose to suffer through lunar sickness rather than manipulate another human being.

Since every single character has parent problems, they all donate so much money and hands-on time to helping out orphanages.

Cinder and Thorne have weekly FaceTime calls.

Winter is known for sending random and sickeningly sweet messages and little presents to members of the group for no other reason than she was thinking about them. The rest of the crew is infuriated that they can never match her thoughtfulness. Scarlet and Thorne both refuse to admit that winter has made them cry a couple of times.

Jacin, despite his cold nature, gives surprisingly spot on presents, which shocks everyone on the first birthday they share with him.

Wolf is cuddly. Once he feels safe he will curl up next to anyone, usually if scarlet is busy in the kitchen or doing chores while they have the crew over as guests. Being chosen by wolf is akin to having the family dog choose to sit on your lap. Everyone brags about it to everyone else for the rest of the night.

As part of kai’s inheritance, he found out he owns a small island in the South Pacific. Everyone in the rampion crew has access to use it whenever they need. Cinder and kai find themselves needing it...a LOT.

Everyone is very protective of cress. If she is crying because of someone or something ever,,,,then we’ll,,,, honey, you got a big storm coming 😳!!!1

Since most if not all of them were robbe of their childhoods (cinder and cress are only 16!!!!!Thats insane!!!!!) they spend the next few years experiencing those things that they didn’t get growing up. They consume children’s media, they fight with each other in dumb ways and learn how to makeup on their own, they let themselves be teenagers. Torin sees them during one of their slumber parties and his heart melts. There’s cinder and kai, forced to be monarchs and take the thrones in all of their weight, and cress who was isolated her whole life, and wolf who was taken from his parents at 12 and forced into a violent military, and scarlet who lost her grandmother—the only adequate parent she’d ever known— at 17. And winter, whose father had died and left her in the hands of the cruelest tyrant he could name. All of these people, despite being mature, were only c h i l d r e n. He tried to keep an eye on them and give them fatherly advice when they need. He also arranged for them all to have therapy.

Cinder, cress, winter, and jacin all go to school for awhile. They hire tutors and form a study group so they can learn what they were deprived of in their neglected states of upbringing. Cinder learns that language and composition is not her strong suit, or Jacin’s. But they both excel in math, science, and history. Cress is good at everything. Winter is extremely gifted in the realm of language arts and social sciences, but finds math difficult. Luckily, they can all help each other out.

Jacin keeps studying and becomes a doctor.

When she knows she won’t be making an official public appearance that day, cinder will wear cargo pants and a tshirt and use her glamour to make it look like she’s dressed up nice if she happens to see someone important in the hallway.

When/if anyone of them has kids iko is everyone’s favorite aunt no exceptions

If anyone has suggestions feel free to comment them and I’ll put them in my next one :))

[evabellasworld]

Storm of the Republic

Chapter 9

AO3 Link | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9

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Summary:  When Tup murdered General Tiplar during a battle, Anakin Skywalker and Captain Rex dispatched Ahsoka, Fives, and Yara to solve the mystery that was plaguing the Clone Army. Meanwhile, Senator Padme Amidala contacted Commander Fox, Commander Tori, Riyo Chuchi, and Dipper to help her continue investigating the death of Palpatine, suspecting that Dooku was behind the evil plot. But when Dooku send an ISB agent to stop them, the team had to race against time to search for the truth, which could alter the course of the galaxy.

————————————————————————————

Jumping out of hyperspace, the 212th Attack Battalion and Coruscant Guards have arrived at the planet Horuca. Led by General Obi-Wan Kenobi and Commander Thire, respectively, both the battalions were armed to the teeth, prepared to take down their enemies.

Horuca was a planet which was surrounded with colourful plants and mountains on the surface. Similar to a tropical jungle, the rainforest was thick and was surrounded with fog, showing that it was raining cats and dogs.

The ocean surrounding the planet was pastel pink, but thanks to the dark purple clouds in the sky, the water looked rough to swim or catch some fishes in the sea. But Marshal Commander Cody doesn’t let it stop them from fighting.

To him, the heavy rain gave an advantage for them to hide themselves from the Imperial battle droids, which weren’t equipped for this kind of weather. Still, that doesn’t mean the Empire wouldn’t send aqua droids after them.

“Alright men,” he spoke, catching the attention of his troops. “In a few minutes, we will land in the shallow part of the beach. Make sure you get into position. We don’t want to leave anyone behind.”

“Yes, sir,” the 212th answered in unison. Faven put on her helmet as she took a deep breath, hoping she would die in this battle.

“You seemed down,” Boil pointed out, making her face him with her unimpressed stare. “Is everything alright?”

“Who wouldn’t be down, Boil? For all we know, this could be my last mission in the war.”

“Hey, come on. Aren’t you supposed to be cheerful right now?”

“How can I, when Amala is not here anymore?”

Boil was speechless. He knows who Faven was referring to. Both of them were close since the Second Battle of Geonosis. They didn’t know each other on Kamino, but it didn’t matter to her.

Faven blamed herself when she watched Amala killed in the trenches. It happened so fast. One moment, she was firing against the battle droids. The next thing she knew, her best friend was lying on the ground, blood spilling from her helmet.

I miss her so much; she thought about her. I wish I could see her again.

“I’m really sorry, Fav,” Boil sympathised with her. “It’s difficult coping with someone’s death, especially when they’re close to you.”

She bobbed her head and turned to her brother. “I’m sorry about Waxer too. He was a great guy.”

“Yeah, Waxer,” his voice quivered, before clearing his throat. “Well, at least he’s in a better place now. Somewhere peaceful, where there are flowers everywhere.”

Faven smiled. “Waxer always loved flowers, especially the yellow ones. And I’m sure Amala is there with him too, carrying a bunch of rabbits in her arms.”

Boil chuckled as he put on his helmet, agreeing with every word she said. “We should get moving. We don’t want to be left behind.”

“Right beside you,” she gave a small salute, as she stood in front of Obi-Wan, who gave her a warm smile.

“Good luck, all of you,” he wished them. “May the Force be with all of us.”

The trap door opened below them, with the icy wind blowing towards them. Taking a deep breath, Faven and Boil exchanged a look of determination with each other and jumped towards the pink ocean.

Holding her breath, she quickly swam towards the surface and exhaled, wiping the surface of her helmet. Glancing at the rings in the rainy lavender sky, Faven stared at the beauty above her. Amala would have loved this place.

Commander Cody and Obi-Wan were the last ones to join them, along with the Corrie Guards, with Commander Thire and Commander Stone leading them. “Is everyone accounted for?” Cody asked, counting all of his troops present.

“We’re all here, Commander,” Crys reported.

“Thire, Stone, are all your troops present?”

“They’re all here, Cody,” Thire informed him. “Though I wish Fox and Thorn were here with us right now.”

“We can’t all have everything. Now come on, Team B is counting on us.”

“Yes, sir,” Hyewon saluted respectfully, marching beside her brothers and sisters.

Since she survived the Battle of Coruscant, the Corrie Guard is determined to prove her worth on the battlefield, where she had no experiences at all. Hyewon may have trained in a simulation, but when she was shipped off to Coruscant, she didn’t get the chance to fight battle droids like the rest of them.

Instead, she had to deal with prisoners who caused nothing but stress. There are prisoners who were decent with her, and there are prisoners who made a mess for her to clean up.

Hyewon pitied the ones who were in jail for something they’ve never done, and she also felt sorry for prisoners who were only there for self-defence. She thought they deserved better, and the Republic had failed them. I hope they’re okay.

As they approached closer to the island, Obi-Wan sensed something unusual in his surroundings, prompting the troops to stop in their tracks. “Be on guard,” he advised them, gesturing towards the rocks. “We may be watched.”

“You heard the general,” Cody barked. “Stay hidden behind those rocks. Our enemy might be closer than you think.”

Hyewon nodded as she hid beside Boil and Faven, who she never interacted with till today. “I hope you don’t mind me joining you both. All my friends died on Coruscant.”

“Don’t mind at all,” Faven offered her hand. “I’m Faven, by the way. This is Boil. We went all the way back to Kamino.”

“Pleasure to meet you,” she shook her hands. “I’m Hyewon, from the Coruscant Guard. I was discharged from a coma a few days ago, so this is my first time on the battlefield.”

“I have faith that you’ll survive this,” Boil encouraged her. “Trust me, you’ll do great out there.”

Thire saw the three of them having an animated conversation with each other and tossed her a binoculars, making her attentive. “I understand you want to catch up with what you’ve missed, but please pay attention. We’re at war right now.”

“Sorry, sir,” apologised Hyewon, as she scanned the entire area, which was suspiciously empty. “But where are our enemies, anyway? I don’t see anybody in my scope. Not even a single soul, Commander.”

“It’s strange for the Empire to sneak around, but we’ll have to be patient,” Stone said. “It’s one of our best options right now.”

“That sounds boring,” Harley expressed her opinion, expecting more fun for her. “I came here for some action, not to wait the entire day long.”

Cody couldn’t agree more with his subordinates. The wait made him more anxious, aware that this wasn’t what the Empire was like. Out of countless battles he fought against them, the droids aren’t like this. Something is up. I can feel it in my gut.

“General, what do we do?” he asked the Jedi Master. “We can’t go on like this. Team B is waiting for us.”

“I have an idea.”

Stroking his beard, Obi-Wan stood up and climbed on the rock, crossing his legs in meditation. As he closed his eyes, he reached through the Force and levitated the rock towards the mangrove, causing the battle droids to pop out from their hiding spot.

“There they are,” Obi-Wan pointed out, activating his lightsaber. “Everyone, get into position.”

“Sir, yes, sir,” Thire responded, turning towards his troops. “Come on, blast those clankers.”

”I’m happy to do that,” Stone laughed as he opened fire. “Eat that, you fucking clankers.”

Hyewon’s eyes widened as she saw Boil and Faven blasting the droids with their blasters, listening to the sound of blasters firing against each other for the first time. She wasn’t used to all of this, but luckily, she can adapt to a new environment. Well, this seems more fun than babysitting a bunch of prisoners.

Gripping on her weapon, she shot down a SBD in front of her, making her pulse run. She had training in shooting, but she hardly had the chance to utilise her skills, until today. Shooting another droid, Hyewon couldn’t contain her excitement as she repeated her actions again and again. “Okay, is anyone going to tell me that this feels good, or am I the only one?”

“You’re not the only one,” Boil shared his feeling. “Wait until you have to deal with the bigger droids. That one is an immense challenge, even for me.”

“I can’t wait for that.”

If only she knew the genuine horror that comes with it, Faven sighed.

Stone stepped forwards and gunned down the B1 units with his twin pistols, not missing a single aim at all. Jek continuously fired with his favourite weapon, the rotary blaster, destroying every droid single handedly. He never had this much fun since accompanying Master Yoda on the moon of Rugosa.

As the B1 were cleared from the field, Cody spotted the Super Battle Droids heading towards their position, making him signal towards Boil, Faven, and Hyewon. “You three, get over here.”

Hyewon let out a soft gasp. “Are we in trouble?”

“No, we’re not,” Boil calmed her down, dragging her towards her commanding officer. “What do you need, commander?”

“Take these to the other side of the line,” Cody passed them a box full of ammunition and supplies. “These are important for all of us here. Understood?”

“Yes, sir,” Faven acknowledged. “We won’t let you down.”

“Good luck out there. You’re gonna need it.”

Together, the trio took a deep breath together and counted to three, lifting the long box with their bare hands. They had their armour on, but Hyewon wasn’t sure whether they were going to last this long. She didn’t think it would be this intense.

Watching her comrades getting shot to the ground, she was horrified at the sight of blood soaked on the soft sand beneath her. Some of their helmets were separated from their heads, revealing a horrifying face that stood out. Hyewon noticed one of her sisters was coughing out blood, desperately fighting for the will to breathe.

Is this what war is like? Hyewon questioned herself, realizing the truth. I don’t want to die like this.

Thire shifted his attention to Harley, who was killing the droids with her sniper. Trained as an assassin clone, she could kill without hesitation, which was hardly utilised until they fled to Raxus. She was stuck as a call operator for three years, dealing with obnoxious citizens that abused their services. Harley’s grateful she doesn’t have to do that anymore.

“Harley, I need your help,” the commander requested for her assistance, much to her satisfaction.

“What is it, boss?” she jumped in excitement.

“I need you to go rogue right now. It’s what you’re good at.”

“Easy-peasy lemon greasy,” Harley squealed loudly as she grabbed a couple of explosives and sprinted towards the excitement, releasing a war cry. The rest of the troopers who observed her crazy act did the same as well by joining her antics.

Cody could only blink in confusion as one of the Corrie Guards bombed the barbed wires that shielded the Imperial army without getting shot. The rest of them followed suit by infiltrating through the trench, ambushing the droid army. “I have a bad feeling about this.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Thire assured him. “We’re doing what we can to divert their attention towards our scouts. They’re the ones carrying our supplies.”

“Speaking of Team B,” Obi-Wan joined in their conversations, deflecting the blasts. “Once we’re through, we need to let them know when they can land.”

“I hope they’re doing much better than us,” Stone maintained his positivity despite hearing one of his brothers screaming in pure agony. “We’ve lost a lot of lives today.”

[jungnoir]

destiny | 08;

⇢ summary: you’re just about ready to give up on life altogether; your love life is in ruins, you’ve lost your job, and your family couldn’t care less about you… and then you meet your blushing guardian angel, and maybe life isn’t so bad after all.

⇢ relationship: jeon jungkook/reader, min yoongi/reader.

⇢ genre: supernatural, angel!au, demon!au, romance, thriller.

⇢ words: 7.5k words.

⇢ warnings: mentions of depression, violence, murder.

previously |  next

a/n: lots of scenes now that we’ve got the whole cast introduced! I think I cleaned up everything I needed to... I hope I did, at least ;-;

“You’re taking your sweet time.”

Seokjin shivers at the sudden intrusion into his thoughts. How long had it been since he’d last spoken to him? Chancing a glance around the dark alley, he confirms it’s empty, no onlookers in sight. “It’s barely been a week.”

“And in that time, you’ve had several chances to complete your task, no? One very early on, if I recall.” God’s voice is mocking, if not irritated. 

Wincing, the angel curls further in on himself against the brick wall. It felt like he was perpetually stuck here, pacing outside Hell’s Kitchen with his tail between his legs as he plotted your demise. It was supposed to be quick, over with the night Jungkook had fallen, but he’d been cowardly, hesitant. God knew. He always knew. Now he paid the price.

“I’d assumed... there was no way I could’ve known that the fucking prince of Hell would be brought into this.”

“That’s why we strike when the iron is hot, child. Now you’ve just made it harder on everyone who will be affected by your mess. That poor human would have died like planned if you’d just done it then and there on the bridge, but you were weak. They would have never thought to align themselves so stupidly with evil if you hadn’t been a coward.”

He couldn’t have. How would that have been handled? Killing an angel in plain sight, perhaps in front of you if he was particularly cruel? The angels that would see, the whispers that would spread, there was no way- 

Of course—all of that—he knew.

It was part of the punishment, forcing him to deliberate every step he took next. To carry out this task alone, letting the shame fall on his shoulders alone, to shirk himself of his own most potent morals... all of it was for his amusement. He was turning him into the thing he despised the most. “I will handle it... I am handling it.”

God laughs, “By bringing someone else into it?” 

“You’ve given me no choice!” Seokjin’s voice rises before he can catch himself. Anger is seeping out of every pore. A few passing by the mouth of the alley startle, but see nothing. 

“You had a choice the day you defiled yourself with that demon scum. You betrayed me. It hurts me to hurt you, but you must know the severity of the pain you’ve caused me... the pain you’ve caused that boy. It’s evil. You must purge yourself of it. I’m giving you a chance because I love you-”

“I did what you asked.”

God’s voice vanishes from Seokjin’s head in an instant, cowering away into the darkness at the sound of the new angel’s voice. Quickly schooling his expression into indifference, the elder angel stands tall in front of the younger, “And?”

Jimin sighs, “You should give up. The demon is too intertwined now.”

“Did they suspect you?”

“No, not that I know of. I told them everything they needed to know.” Jimin looks around the alley with an uneasy look, “They’ve got someone else helping, too. The demons didn’t say much about them, but supposedly it’s a friend of the prince, someone who could take you down. That’s where Jungkook went with him earlier.” 

“I saw as much,” Seokjin swears under his breath, “and after he left, the demon trailed them back home. They’re making things messy.”

“Then give up.”

Faking a smile, Seokjin draws closer to the other angel until he’s practically mounting him. The air grows very tense between the two, “Give up? Now, where’s the fun in that, Jimin?”

Jimin keeps a guarded expression even as his hands shake, “You’re not God.”

I’d do a damn better job, Seokjin bitterly muses. What would’ve resulted in an immediate death for any other angel just leaves him with a sudden, annoying headache. “What else did you say to them?” He growls through gritted teeth.

“Are you going to do what I asked?” The smaller angel grabs Seokjin by the collar, a brave move on his own part, “You promised.”

In retaliation, Seokjin grabs Jimin by the shoulders and shoves him so far back that he stumbles to the ground with a thud. Quickly overtaking him, Seokjin straddles Jimin and yanks his head closer with a hand clenched about the back of his neck, “I’ll keep my side of the bargain if you keep yours. Remember, runt, I run shit around here. If anyone should be worried about following through with what they promised, it’s you.” Jimin’s eyes widen and spark with fear, setting something off in Seokjin that makes him jump off of him in an instant. The angel on the ground can only stare up at him in hopes that he could discern what the other would do next. “Find out who and where that friend is. Don’t get caught. God thanks you for your cooperation.”

To further drive home his intention, Seokjin raises a hand and sends the wounded angel flying into a wall, effectively cratering the brick. 

“Mook, come on,” the first grumble of a voice is heard throughout your home early that next morning, definitely not your own, “you can’t just- Mook!” The frustrated grumble rises an octave as the clatter of ceramic against ceramic calls you from the dregs of sleep. Eyes closed, you can sense the body moving in front of your window toward the unoccupied side of the bed. A dip in the mattress makes you roll more onto your side, lazily peeling your eyes open.

Jungkook is there, hair neatly combed and lying limply over his flushed features. There’s a tray in his hands (a tray you hadn’t seen since the last time you had entertained at your home, way back when Yongsun would bring a couple of her friends over for brunch to “get you socializing”) holding two mugs of something steaming; just by the smell alone, you can tell it’s tea. There’s also a plate separating them with a modest omelette in the middle too, and you aren’t sure if it’s his, yours, or... both.

Jungkook’s cute bunny teeth are revealed when his lips form a face splitting smile; he looks between the food he’s made and you with an expectant look, “Hungry?”

You stare at him blankly, tiredly for a little longer before rubbing your eyes with the backs of your hands. “Whatever that is,” you wince at the deepness in your voice, plagued with sleep, “smells really good.”

Jungkook beams with pride when your eyes flutter back open to examine him, “Thanks. Thought you might want something simple to start the day. I already ate some cereal that hadn’t expired.”

Ah. Your small fantasy of sharing an omelette with Jungkook in bed was quickly shot down and perhaps for good reason. Jungkook ate like a teenage boy who’d been starved on an abandoned island his whole life, and god forbid he tried to be playful and feed you! You’d burn up like a hot stove. 

Heh, “god forbid”.

“Shit, I forgot... I haven’t gone shopping for you or for food.” You look over the clothes that Jungkook had been wearing; he’d alternated between a few makeshift outfits of yours for the last two days, but you could only keep washing the same clothes over and over before it got tiring (and costly). He had virtually nothing of his own. No clothes besides the ones he’d fallen in, no personal belongings, nothing.

Jungkook was new to being a human, so thoughts of personal items probably hadn’t been on his mind. As an angel, things like showering, eating, sleeping, and the like had never been a requirement to stay alive. Now that he was human however, those human needs were becoming hard to ignore. Hunger pains after several hours of not eating would make him unnecessarily irritable, and he definitely disliked the smell that would begin to emit from his skin if he hadn’t washed in a while. Being a human was... incredibly burdensome.

You didn’t need to go over board; technically, the room down the hall could be his bedroom (as soon as you got around to tidying the rest of Youngho’s things you’d bought him that he’d respectfully left) and as a new human, he was going to be incredibly low maintenance. You doubted he’d want tens of pairs of shoes or designer accessories to match. It wasn’t even really just that; Jungkook was fairly simple in everything. He really was godsent.

“Whatever you wanna do,” Jungkook says, setting the tray between you two, “but we should be wary. We don’t know where Seokjin might be waiting to pop up from next. I want to be able to protect you... but I’m not used to the limitations of this body.”

Mook hops up into bed the next moment, her beady eyes observing the scene before settling herself next to you. You hadn’t spent much time with Mook since the Youngho incident, and you could tell from the way she rubbed against you that she was glad to have you back. You reach a hand to gently comb at the fur on her head before taking one mug from the tray. The aroma that hits you is a pleasant vanilla and white tea that instantly soothes your nerves at the mention of Seokjin. Taking a sip, you notice that he’s made it just the way you like it too. You guessed after watching you make it so many times, he’d gotten the hang of it.

You hum and settle back into your cushions, “Jungkook... I’m thankful you want to protect me, but I think you should be worried about yourself too. All these sensations are going to be new to you... this is a new life you’re going to live, if we live. Being human looks simple but compared to what you had going on before, it’s really not.”

Jungkook begins to protest, yet his halt is immediate. Who was he to say that you were being too worrisome? After all, you’d been the human this whole time. You had a better grasp on it than he did. Angels could watch from their perches in a world between human reality and the afterlife, but at least they were safe there. You, on the other hand, and the other billions like you were not so lucky.

And you were right. Being a human... it was terrifying.

Yoongi’s offer had bothered him all night long, and even now as he was getting used to these new urges and needs, he wasn’t subscribed to the idea of it lasting. Demons truly were closer to humans than angels, but demons were also closer to angels too. If he became a demon, he might feel more at home in his body- no, he couldn’t simply give up just because of bodily needs. He... he had to be stronger than that.

Being a demon meant he was stronger, possibly as strong as he was in angel form, and by extension it also meant that he could take care of you. As a demon, he was more apt to fight off any supernatural (or human) pests that dared to hurt you. As a demon, he also could form a connection to you that, while paling in comparison to his angelic one, would still be a hell of a lot stronger than his human one.

But as a human... he could die with you.

As a guardian angel, the worst part of being a guardian is the inevitable moment when your charge would have to move on to the afterlife. There were charges that would pass in their sleep peacefully, but then there were charges who would die in house fires, drown, be shot and killed in a robbery, be hit by a car on a night of sadness and impulse. He was told it’d get better the longer he lived. He didn’t believe it. He couldn’t. That’s why he was here, and that’s why you were now alive and suffering alongside him.

If he hadn’t done a thing, you’d be dead. A life of pain ended, but a life of happiness never found. It hurt him to think you’d never know a true lover’s touch or feel elated with the sun soaking into your skin. You would never know true happiness, and that’s what scared him about humans the most. He did not want that for you.

Maybe he was selfish. He might have tried to play God. Some grand plan aside however, your life meant more to him than that.

“...You’re right. I’ll take it easy, okay? Until I get the hang of it all, that is.” Jungkook gives you a patient smile despite the turmoil in his eyes, and that’s that on that.

You match his smile and take another sip of your tea at the same time an idea pops into your head. The outfit Jungkook had been stranded in was nothing special, which of course begged the question... what did he like to wear?

Jimin, from what you’d seen of him, dressed simple and stylishly, a contrast to Jungkook’s casual athletic clothes. You had assumed all angels had a standard issue outfit to wear, but now you weren’t so sure. “Where did you get your clothes, Jungkook?”

Jungkook glances down at the hoodie of yours that was just big enough to fit him and then back to you, “You mean the clothes I first appeared in? They’re kind of… a choice of ours, as angels. There are times when we may need to show ourselves to humans, and in those cases, we very well can’t walk around in ivory robes and sandals,” the image of Jungkook in such a getup makes a laugh tickle in your throat, “so we pick out human clothes that we feel we’d best blend in with. For guardians, they’re also something we believe our charges would find appealing.” It’s unsaid, but the way Jungkook’s eyes fix on you gives you the feeling that he was curious if you had found them appealing.

“Did you have different types of outfits for different situations?” You draw your knees to your chest as Mook gets bored of your petting and makes her way into Jungkook’s lap. 

He nods, “As an angel, my clothes were a glamour. I could change them at the snap of a finger, but once I became human, the clothes I’d been wearing became real and the only clothes I could keep. However, you’ll never find anything like them. No tags, no earthly material, stain-resistant. All the works.”

“Your only clothes, huh? Glad you didn’t have to save me at a swimming pool.” You snort.

“You wouldn’t have wanted to see that outfit? The board shorts were nicely fitting.” Jungkook even bothers to smirk, posing his hips toward you, and the image of a smirking Jungkook in nothing but shorts flashes in your mind’s imagination. Said imagination had always been terribly vivid and you physically jolt as the details appear in your mind. You were not about to think about Jungkook like… that. Right now.

You shake your head quickly, “I-I think I’m good.” The crack in your voice says otherwise. 

Jungkook probably would have teased you more had your phone not alerted you then. You blink, retrieving the phone from your nightstand to see who it had come from.

(1) Unread Message(s)

received: 9:31 a.m.

Min Yoongi (Boss): Forwarding your first paycheck to your account now. Don’t ask how.

“Wha...?” You look at the phone in disbelief, feeling Jungkook lean over your shoulder to peek at the screen too. You exit the message as soon as it registers and, sure enough, once you’ve pulled up your bank app, there is... $50,000 more in your account than there was yesterday. You almost drop your scalding hot tea all over your lap.

sent: 9:35 a.m.

you: I think you may have added a few too many zeroes??

received: 9:36 a.m.

Min Yoongi (Boss): Enjoy your day with lover boy, (Name). Emphasis on enjoy.

Min Yoongi (Boss): :)

You had a feeling if you tried to press the issue longer, Yoongi might actually block you.

Like a weight had been lifted off your shoulders, the numbers in your bank account comforted you down to the core. Even in the midst of supernatural feuds centuries older than you, one of your biggest worries had been how you were ever going to pay your bills. Going from your job before to a waitress job practically spelled a major downsize for you until you could get back on your feet, and now that you had another mouth to feed, you had seriously feared that every meal would be your last.

Something told you this was only the tip of Yoongi’s generosity. After all, he was a demon prince. He didn’t run a bar to make a living, he ran a bar because he had the time. That’s why prices were so low when the quality was so high: money was no issue.

“I have to be honest, I never expected Satan’s spawn to be so... nice.” Jungkook comments, taking a sip from his own cup of tea, frowning when the liquid had since gone cold.

You look up from your phone dazed; if you still were convinced your life had turned a vivid hallucination, you now how had half a $100,000 in your bank account to say otherwise. “Me neither.” Is all you can muster, letting the phone drop to the covers in order to motivate you out of bed. Jungkook looks up at you, then forlornly at his omelette. “Heat it up again with your tea. I need a... cold shower.”

An hour later, Jungkook is sitting cross-legged in the spare bedroom with his eyes glittering, “I can have it?”

There’s an old PS4 resting in his hands, covered in a fine layer of dust but otherwise functional as far as you can tell. Youngho probably didn’t have the balls to take it with him given that you’d bought it for him, so for now, it laid here untouched. “Of course you can. I don’t play it that much and I doubt he’s coming back for it.”

There was a litany of gifts lying around that you had given your boyfriend over the years, many of which had been bringing back painful memories, but some of them felt like they could be rebranded. Coats, colognes, video games and the like. What he had claimed for his own at his place was either up for sale or Jungkook’s pleasure.

“I’ve always wanted to play one of these. Whenever Youngho would come over, I’d just sit and watch.”

“Does Youngho have a guardian angel?” You ask, “I’m just curious. I mean, that night you kicked him out... wouldn’t his angel have intervened?”

Jungkook shrugs, “Of course. Everyone has a guardian angel.”

“Except me now, I guess.” You laugh bitterly. Jungkook’s head snaps up to you, eyes flashing with hurt. The guilt you feel is immediate. “Oh, wait, I didn’t mean it like that.”

The longer it takes Jungkook to reassure you that it’s fine, that he understood what you really meant, starts to make your breath quicken with anxiety. All he does is look down at his lap, sadly fiddling with the console in his hands with much less excitement than before. God, you’d royally fucked up with that comment, huh? 

You’re about to give him a much lengthier apology when Jungkook speaks up again, “To answer your question, his angel was there. We are- I was trained to stop demonic threats toward humans, nothing more, so I could only imagine that angel’s confusion at my interference. Perhaps, they were too afraid to do anything. It’s only a guess though.”

“...Maybe they were aware of how much of an asshole he was and decided to sit that one out.” You offer, trying to lighten the mood. Jungkook says nothing.

He only looks up when you’ve walked over to his spot on the floor, reaching a hand out to softly tangle in his hair. His breath hitches as you move down to cup his jaw, “Jungkook, I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. It was insensitive to you when you’ve been working so hard to protect me. Who cares about a title or wings? You’re my guardian angel no matter what. God doesn’t get a say in that, not this time.”

Little tears prick at the corners of his eyes. He just keeps looking into yours, switching back and forth between each of them as his lip tremors, “What... good am I to you when I’m like this? You should have someone else. God should’ve sent you someone else. If he doesn’t send someone else and he knows I can no longer protect you, then he’s letting you die and I can’t- I can’t do anything about it. What good am I if I can’t do the one thing I was made to do?”

You drop into a crouch until you’re face to face with him, “Jungkook, you are more than a guardian.”

“Am I?” His voice cracks, “I don’t know who I am. I’ve never had a reason to be anyone.”

“I know... I know what it’s like to feel like you have no purpose anymore, believe me. I know what it’s like to be unsure of who you are. I want to tell you that it gets easier, and that there will be more days where you feel whole than when you don’t, but I can’t. It’s up and down. It’s never the same for everyone,” you wipe at a stray tear that escapes his eye, “being human sucks for that. You don’t have any guidelines and apparently everything is already laid out for you without your consent. But I think I can say this with certainty: you, for one, have made it very clear it’s possible to change that.”

The boy scoffs, “And look where that’s gotten you. Now you’re in danger.”

You smile. Cupping both his cheeks firmly, you bring him so close to you that he thinks he’s doing the human version of short-circuiting, “And I found out that there’s someone who loves me so much that he’d defy God just to let me know.”

“Is that enough? To make you happy?” 

Was it? You’d always assumed it would be. A lack of love, easy to explain away. If you could just get that feeling you’d been missing, you’d finally be happy, right? You couldn’t lie to him.

“It won’t magically fix everything, that’s not how these things work, but love does give you something to fight for when you don’t want to fight for anything. I’m still going to hate being awake some days. All I can say is that I would like to at least be awake with you. Does that make any sense?”

He sniffles, then nods.

“Can I hold you?” You inquire.

He nods again, “Yeah, sorry.”

You shuffle some things out of the way so that you’re laying against the carpet and he’s leaning against your shoulder, one arm of yours thrown around him while the other holds his hand in your lap, “What are you sorry for, silly? Being a person?” You giggle, squeezing his hand tightly. “I don’t know, I think you’re doing pretty good all things considered. Some people become serial killers under way less stress.”

Jungkook laughs softly into your neck, giving you delightful little goosebumps. Was he aware of what he was doing to you, or was he just clueless? Part of you wanted to hope it was the latter. The last thing you needed was a hot, self-aware angel. Wait, when did you start thinking of Jungkook as hot- “Then I guess I feel much better. Can we stay like this for a while longer?”

“As long as you like. We’ve got all day to ourselves.”

Taehyung mutters a soft prayer, “Be at peace.”

It’s one of the quickest ways to death when the target isn’t struggling, and the second quickest way when he didn’t have his gun on him. He preferred the closeness of knives anyway. It made it make sense to him, but it also made him feel less like a contract killer and more like he lacked the empathy to be repulsed by killing up close.

The truth was that he did feel empathetic, especially when he really didn’t want to. He imagined how much it might hurt his mother to know of what he was doing, and if he could see her face just once, he’d probably stop for good. He’d tried.

When he’d asked Yoongi that one time, after far too much thinking, if he could see her, the prince had made it clear that to see his mother was to go against God’s wishes and that alone could start a war that didn’t need to happen. It was to be like this. Taehyung was to die alone.

All he could have were the little moments.

The demon falls at his feet with a soft thud, her heart releasing the blade of his knife. Blood drips over the corpse, staining her waitressing shirt red. Slowly, sinking back into the earth, the body disintegrates until there’s virtually no trace left. That was the one upside of dealing with demons: they never left a mess.

Taehyung sends a simple confirmation text to his client that the work has been done and the money is wired moments later. Stashing his now clean knife away into its scabbard at his waist, he makes his way out of the alley and directly into the human traffic of the city, blending in with ease. There’s no rush to be anywhere or see anyone. The world is moving with or without him, just as he likes it best. 

It’s only the middle of the day but he’s already considering which bar he wants to linger at at the moment. If he wasn’t working and he wasn’t sleeping, he was drinking. Had he a human liver, he’d probably have been dead a long, long time ago.

Just as he’s about to slink into one, his phone vibrates with a text.

(1) Unread Message(s)

received: 2:08 p.m.

suga: About the kid—are you sure you want to help? 

sent: 2:09 p.m.

taehyung: you asked me that already, wouldn’t have said so if I wasn’t

received: 2:09 p.m.

suga: You know that’s not what I meant. You’ve never seen him. Are you ready for that?

sent: 2:11 p.m.

taehyung: I don’t think I ever will be so I might as well get it over with

Not waiting for another response, Taehyung locks his phone and shoves it into his back pocket, ignoring the vibrations that signal Yoongi’s concern. As kind as it was, it really wasn’t what he wanted to hear right now. All he should be focusing on is the best way to kill the bastard before he killed anyone else.

“He’s scaring me,” the demon sighs, holding her head up on her fist, “I can feel how angry he is, Lucifer. He’s going to do something he regrets.”

The king of hell is perched on the edge of a bed of satin and silk, one leg crossed over the other as he watches the young servant delicately braiding Inhui’s hair back from her face. “No offense but if I was the kid, I’d also want to kill my father. You can’t blame him. You should want to just as much.”

“I’ve told you time and time again that he didn’t do it for greed. I know him.” Inhui growls, snapping around to stare Lucifer down. The servant girl pales at the sudden change in mood, hands stilling around the black strands weaved through her fingers. Knowing it would be another one of those days, Lucifer waves a hand at the servant girl to leave and Inhui’s hair comes undone with the speed at which she exits through the iron bars of the prison cell. “And now my braid is ruined.”

“You think that an angel would ever give up their cozy seat in heaven for fucking this? You knew the boy for how long? 17, 18 years? That’s barely a second in time.”

Inhui huffs indignantly, looking away from him to the mirror once again to take her hair into her own hands. Roughly, she begins braiding where the servant had left off, “I saw him most of that child’s life. The way he cared for her, the way he cared for me... I had expected you to understand. We were angels once.”

Lucifer snarls, “Don’t remind me.”

“You should be reminded. It’s like you forget where we came from. You’re angry at them when you should be angry at God. He’s the one brainwashing them.”

“I personally don’t care what he’s doing with them. I care what it has to do with my demons.”

“So you don’t care about the angel your son is so interested in?”

At that, Lucifer frowns. “...that one doesn’t count. He’s fallen.”

Inhui huffs something like a laugh when she’s finished her braid, tying it off. Then, she steps around her chair and moves over to her bed until she’s hovering over Lucifer, being one of the few who was ever capable of being in such a position. “You’re worried about your son too, aren’t you? Then you know he’s caught up in the same situation. Have you talked to him about it?”

“I... trust him to make the best decision.” 

“And you think that the one he’s making is the best one?” Not at all, Lucifer thinks, but who am I to stop him? “You have him so close, and you don’t say what you want to. You’re lucky that you can see him.”

“But he doesn’t want to see me. I can’t make him do anything he doesn’t want to do. Whether it’s staying in hell or taking the throne or staying away from people he thinks he can save, he doesn’t listen to me. At least your boy wants to listen to you.” Lucifer doesn’t mean to sound so snippy, doesn’t mean to come off so bitter. Yet, all he feels is bitterness. And sadness. And genuine worry for what is unfolding with their sons right in the thick of it.

It’s silent for a while.

Inhui drops down onto the mattress next to him holding her head in her hands, “What great parents we are.” Nudging Lucifer, she leans back until they’re both looking at each other, “Do you think that fallen will be much trouble?”

Lucifer sighs, “Weren’t we?”

You’ve somewhat setup a neat little space for Jungkook, and while it’s lacking in decorations and style, he looks more than happy with what he’s got. He’s even gotten attached to you calling it “his” room. 

With Yoongi’s gracious gift, you’d spent some time paying off bills and handling some of your pesky student loans. By the time you were through, you’d taken a big gulp of fresh, relieved air. 

Now came shopping, the fun part.

“Jungkook! Are you ready to go yet?” You shout up the stairs.

“Just a minute!” He yelled back, and you could faintly hear him over the sound of video game sound effects in the background. You made a mental note to be ready for him to drag you into a GameStop at some point. 

With how quickly things had been moving for the past few days, you felt that all of the free time and leisure you’d enjoyed today had invigorated you something fierce. You could go for a run, or maybe start some new hobby. The only issue with either of those options was that your reality was not lost on you in the slightest. Your days were forever being haunted by the shadow of Seokjin. In fact, he was starting to haunt your dreams even. He always appeared as a lifeless, indefinite aura, suffocating you in your sleep to the point that you’d wake up thinking you’d died and gone to hell.

And while you were enjoying spending time with Jungkook, you couldn’t help wondering what you could be doing right now to keep him safe. He was so obsessed with protecting you, and yet you were equally as obsessed vice versa. Even though Yoongi had told you to enjoy the day off, it was quickly becoming harder to do so with the places your mind was heading.

You decided to mindlessly scroll through your phone, answering messages you hadn’t gotten around to yet from your old co-workers. You see some messages from Jaebum but decide you’ll get back to him later. Your mother had sent you a few things asking how you were doing while demanding you come to the family reunion that upcoming summer, all of which you completely ignored. It seemed the world was still turning. That was nice at least.

About fifteen minutes later with no sign of your new roommate, you begin to grow irritated. Just as you’re about to yell for him again, you hear a peculiar sound. It’s your doorbell ringing. Your doorbell hadn’t rang since...

A hard lump forms in the back of your throat. You quickly check your phone for any warning messages from Youngho about him stopping by again, perhaps with a lawyer and police in tow. Maybe he was going to sue you for that night and how Jungkook had handled him. You could not deal with that on top of every other thing going on in your life right now.

You quickly preen yourself in a nearby mirror and huddle over to the front door, heart accelerating. You take a peek through the peep hole but can only see a sliver of hair that doesn’t look anything like Youngho’s. A sigh of relief is followed by stark confusion. Who the hell would come to your house uninvited like this? Your mother would, perhaps, but you highly doubted that she would... you needed to check.

Slowly opening the door, you peek around the barrier between you and the outside world. 

“Hey,” Yongsun greets you with relief, “you’re alive.”

Alive? Did she- there was no way she knew...? “Huh?”

She chuckles, shaking her head at you, “Jaebum texted me all worried saying you hadn’t been answering his messages. I thought it was weird so he asked me to come to check on you.”

“You didn’t text me yourself?” You ask, frowning. 

“I... didn’t think you’d answer.”

Shit. She had a point.

She awkwardly fiddles with her fingers and looks down. Part of you was angry at her, another part angry at yourself, and an even bigger part angry that all of this had done to one of the closest relationships in your life up until this point. All over a stupid job. 

“You want to come in?” You offer. She looks up with slight shock but nods anyway, slowly stepping closer as you open the door up enough to let her in.

Her heels clack against the hardwood floor lightly as if to not make her presence anymore imposing than she probably felt it was. She looks around the living room with slight confusion, “Where’s Mook?”

You grumble at the mention of your cat, realizing she was probably upstairs too, “In Jungkook’s room, no doubt.”

“Jungkook? Is that... is that the guy you told Jae was my little brother? I’d been meaning to ask about that.”

Oh, fuck.

With royally good timing, Jungkook makes his presence known as he stomps loudly down the stairs. Yongsun’s eyes widen at the boy, trying to recall when she had ever seen someone like him around you before. You surely would have told her about a guy like that, right? 

Jungkook’s expression is impenetrable, his eyes darting over to you as if to gauge what you were thinking. You give him a helpless look back.

But ever your knight in shining armor, Jungkook forces a laugh that seems genuine enough on the outside looking in. Then, he makes his way over to Yongsun and holds out his hand, “Ah, so this is the famed Yongsun I’ve heard so much about? It’s so nice to finally meet you, ‘big sis’.” 

Yongsun is bewildered but takes his hand nonetheless, a light blush dusting her cheeks, “B-Big sis?”

Jungkook takes his hand back and shoves it in his pants pocket, “Sorry about the identity theft and all. This one here wasn’t quite ready to spill the beans.”

“I’m sorry, I’m completely lost here. What beans? (Name)?”

Did you look like you had any clue about what was happening here too? Jungkook had all the self-assuredness in the room!

“It’s... a bit complicated. You know how silly (Name) can be sometimes, getting flustered over nothing. They weren’t ready to introduce me to Jaebum as their boyfriend yet and we kinda ended up going along with a little white lie for the time being. (Name) doesn’t know how to break it to him.” Huh. Were angels supposed to be this quick at lying?

Yongsun looks absolutely stunned. Looking back between you and Jungkook, she can’t seem to form a coherent sentence easily, “You’ve moved on from Youngho already? I had no idea... how long has it been? Are you-”

“Yongsun,” Jungkook draws her attention back to him with a charming, apologetic smile, “me and (Name) were actually just about to head out and do some shopping. I’m so sorry.”

“Oh,” the girl looks deflated, “I wanted to... I had some really important things I wanted to talk about with you, (Name). Can we talk, at least for a little bit? Alone?”

Jungkook looks about ready to sweep in with something positively corny with just the right amount of socially repulsive to save you. All you had to do was give him the look. And yet... Yongsun looked so sincere. So worried. You couldn’t lie; you missed her. You wanted to talk too.

An idea forms in your head, “How about... we all go shopping together and then we can talk? I just wanted to get Jungkook some new things to wear, it’s not a date or anything.”

At that, the girl perks up immediately, “T-That sounds great! We can even take my car. I’ll go start it.” She sends you a tentative smile and quickly squishes past Jungkook to get to the front door, making her way down the pavement to her sedan parked on the curb. You groan softly. So much for a relaxing day. You guessed it was better to rip the bandaid clean now than never.

You glare at Jungkook as he sidles up beside you, handing you your bag, “Of all people, Yongsun’s little brother?”

“Of all people, a little brother?” The indignant fallen glares right back.

Shopping turns out to be not as stressful as you’d expected. 

Jungkook takes the reins completely the minute you arrive at the mall, going in and out of different stores with a firm understanding in what he wanted. You felt more like a bodyguard, watching him flit about with different bomber jackets and chunky boots. You were finding that you quite liked whatever sense of style he was forming for himself, absentmindedly wondering if he was picking it all based on what he assumed was your preference on purpose.

Yongsun, up until now, had only been making small talk with you about how things were going. Given that you couldn’t disclose a third of what had been happening in your life without sounding insane, you only tell her little bits and pieces about finding new work and spending time with your new “boyfriend”. She spends most of the time asking about him, finding it quite amusing when you get bashful at her questions about when he’d first fallen for you and vice versa. It seemed, however, that even her well of boyfriend questions could run dry at some point.

“I... wanted to apologize to you. About going radio silent. And the job.”

She finally acknowledges the elephant in the room when Jungkook goes to the dressing room to try on some jeans. You share a bench with her outside the changing rooms, a small smoothie in hand (a treat that you’d distributed amongst the group of you about halfway through the trip) that drips cold perspiration onto your pants legs. You’d been pumping yourself up for it for about an hour and a half now, so it hadn’t hit you with quite as much force as it probably would have back home, “What is there to apologize for? You were clearly the more qualified of the two of us.”

“You were going through hell because of Youngho. I wasn’t more qualified, I was just... available,” she sighs deeply, “and I just wanted to tell you that I didn’t know that it was your position at the time I accepted. They’d only told me that another, better position opened up and that they wanted me to move up and... yeah.”

You churn the thick fruit mixture with your straw thoughtfully. “It had all happened so quick. I believe you.”

“But it doesn’t change the fact that I took your dream away from you. You had wanted that job so badly, and I... I feel terrible everyday that I come to work.”

“Yongsun,” you command her attention immediately, meeting her sorrowful eyes, “...it’s not your fault, it never was. We both have dreamed of jobs at that place since we were freshmen. You worked just as hard as I did. I didn’t keep up to par and they did what companies do. I can’t fault you for being in the right place at the right time.”

“I should have...” Her voice trembles, “I should have done more.”

“We both were caught off guard, huh?” You ask with a sympathetic smile, reaching a hand out to touch hers. Yongsun lets a few tears fall from her eyes in response. “I’m sorry for ignoring you over it. That wasn’t cool.”

“It’s okay,” she sniffles, squeezing your hand back, “I understood why you did. I... I really love you, (Name). I don’t know what I’d do without you. I don’t want to lose you.” 

God, it had been a long time since you’d heard something like that.

You reach out to her and pull her into a tight hug, letting her hiccup into your shirt even as bystanders give you both odd looks in retaliation. You only hold her tighter. 

After a few minutes, Jungkook has exited the changing room with a few pairs of the same jeans slung over his arm, quietly assessing the situation. When it looks like Yongsun has calmed down enough, he makes his way over, “I think we’re almost all good on the clothes front. Can we stop by one more place?”

If Yongsun is confused about you paying for all of Jungkook’s clothes, she doesn’t say anything about it.

Jungkook ends up taking you to a much different store on the third floor... a very familiar one. “Jungkook...” You ask, looking at him in confusion, “you want to shop here?”

The boy grins, “It’s your favorite, isn’t it? It’s my treat.” You try to tune out the cooing that Yongsun is making in your ear from behind. 

“But I’m paying- okay.” He doesn’t let you finish your thought, dragging both you and Yongsun into the store with relative ease and dumping you off at the first rack you see. You couldn’t remember the last time you’d really treated yourself to anything nice. You rarely felt like you deserved to lavish yourself with anything back in the day, but after all you’d been through in the past few days... you can splurge a little, right?

You find yourself enjoying the moment the more you walk around, picking up pieces here and there and knowing that money was virtually no issue. You could get whatever you wanted. It was... kind of heaven, actually.

Yongsun would follow you around, dropping off things she found herself that she thought you would like. When your arms were nearly overflowing with clothes, she’d pushed you toward the changing rooms to try some of them on, urging you to show each and every one of the outfits off to her and Jungkook, and show them off you did.

You hadn’t even made a dent in the pile by the time you’d shimmied into the fifth outfit, quietly admiring your figure in the lit mirror before you. A small smile graced your face: who knew it could be this nice just doing something fun for yourself?

You smooth down the fabric of your clothing and prepare yourself to leave when you feel the room grow a little warmer behind you. Odd. You look back up in the mirror and almost scream out loud.

The not-so-strange stranger hovering behind you grabs you by the throat from behind and shoves you against the wall, making the stall shudder in response. The lights on the mirror keeping the small room lit flickered and burned out at the same time by no natural coincidence.

He was there. The beautiful man you’d passed on the street before. The one who you’d thought was from out of this world. How did he...?

“You and that angel of yours are awfully hard to get alone, you know?”

[queeniewritesce]

Shall We Dance 6/?

Lucy lazily opened her eyes, blinking to adjust to the light feeling the room, streaming from the beautiful arch windows near her side of the bed. Her head throbbed a little, she felt sore in places that hadn’t been used in quite some time, and she admonished herself for not taking some ibuprofen before falling asleep last night.

She tried to move but a firm hand gripped her waist, keeping her in place, digits digging the soft skin of her tummy. She turned her head, carefully to not worsen her headache, and regarded the sleeping man by her side; apparently, they were both stomach sleepers, arms under the pillow type of people and she wondered if that was uncomfortable for him, as he was not lacking on that department. Like, at all. She giggled quietly at her teenager mentality, studying the beautiful profile of Chris’s face, fingers itching to get closer, to lose themselves in the soft fur covering his jaw, trace the fullness of the lips that had driven her crazy the night before.

Ghost memories heated her skin as she slid out of the bed, padding softly to the bathroom, her thighs protesting the burn his beard imposed upon them, the sensation not dissimilar to the friction the pole created when learning a new move, but much more pleasant. She washed her face and used his moisturizer, the mirror showing her the purple marks he left on her neck and the top of her breasts, hair in disarray, and a small grin graced her face. She had been loved hard, and she reveled in every minute of it.

Lucy glanced at Chris’ sleeping form, grabbing his folded sweater and her socks and quietly slipping from the room, Dodger following behind her.

“Morning Dodger,” the stairs were cold on her bare feet as she descended. She makes quick work of his sweater, smelling the collar and folding the cuffs. She pulls on the thick socks while scanning the living room, locating her purse on a side table and to find a hair tie, tying a messy bun on top of her head. She grabbed her phone, opening the small bottle of Advil she always kept with her to grab two pills and walked back to the kitchen, where Dodger sat patiently by the door. “Listen, I’m not too keen on the idea of the alarm going off when I open that door, so I’m really sorry, but there won’t be any visits outside till your dad wakes up, alright?”

She could’ve sworn the dog ruffed before a small whine escaped him. Lucy spotted the treat jar on the island and gave the pooch two small ones as a peace offering. Satisfied, she opened the fridge, grabbed a bottle of water and sat on the same stool she had occupied yesterday, unlocking her phone. She sends Penny a quick message saying she won’t be back till later because Chris is taking her to one of the museums and snorts when her sister’s reply is a bunch of eggplant emojis. Siobhan is next and she asks about Morris, quickly retelling what happens without naming Chris and promising to call soon. There’s a message from JP enquiring if Garret’s plan was to propose on Christmas’ Day, and she thinks it’s odd, ‘why wouldn’t he ask Garret directly instead of asking me?’, she ponders and decides to call her brother later. Her last new message is from Sunny, inviting Lucy to stop by whenever she has the chance. She replies explaining they’ll arrive early on the 23rd, maybe she could have dinner with the family that night.

Opening Instagram, she clicks the plus sign, it’s a habit to always post something about the latest football game she attends; a picture of everyone she’s with, a few words about the game and when the Patriots were involved, a sarcastic remark about Tom Brady. She scrolls through her photos and it suddenly hits her she can’t share the incredible day she had yesterday. Not only all pictures feature Chris, either smiling to the camera or in the background, but he’s also in every quip and every joke she can think of writing. Sure, her account was private, but when was the last time she weeded out her followers? She sighs and closes the app, adding the task to her mental to-do list.

“I was about to file for my missing sweater, but it looks so much better on you than it does on me.” Chris’s voice is right behind her and she jumps a little, but she smiles and spins the stool around to look at him. “Even when paired with those goddamn awful socks.”

“I have cold feet.” Her eyes follow him around and she licks her lips at the sight of the half-naked man turning on the coffee maker, sweatpants hanging dangerously low on his hips and she is almost certain that is the only piece of clothing he’s wearing.

“I kinda noticed that.” He pats Dodger on the head before disarming the alarm and opens the kitchen door, a very happy dog now bouncing on the fresh snow outside. “You might want to have that checked, I believe they’ve frozen some time ago and you just haven’t noticed.” Chris grins at her indignant face and she scowls at him, trying to elaborate a good comeback when he invades her personal space. “Good morning, gorgeous.”

He’s pressed right at her side when he speaks those last words, tilting her head back and kissing her soundly, the hands on her neck keeping her in place, and does she really need to breathe because she just wants to kiss him forever. Her whole body awakens, his touch moving like lightning on her skin. Her palms sprawl over his chest, fingers combing the short hairs covering the muscles and she’s delighted at the small moans coming from him. Sadly yes, they do need air to live and so they part, foreheads touching, fingers caressing and smiles on their faces.

“I believe it’ll be, yes.” She eyes him as he draws on her skin, following the pattern of the cherry tree branches on her arm, reaching the last flower perched near her inner elbow and she tenses. As wonderful as he is, they barely know each other, the scars on her forearm and wrists are part of the demons that plague her dreams, ones that she’s not willing to discuss. She feels better when his fingers skip the scars, going straight to her palms and tangle themselves with her own, bringing her hand up to kiss the knuckles.

“How about some breakfast?” He offers while his mouth skims over her hands. “There’s this great place right around the corner that serves breakfast till 3 p.m., we can walk over there and get my car afterward, go to the Museum?”

“Breakfast food for lunch?” her stomach grumbles at the mention of food. “I was gonna make a joke about it being so very un-Hollywood of you, but as you heard it, parts of me are already on board with the plan. But I do need coffee first.”

“As milady wishes.” He goes back to find two cups in the higher cabinet, grabbing the creamer from the fridge and setting it all on the island in front of her before seating by her side, “How are you feeling today?”

“I woke up with a bit of a headache, a little sore too, but I took some Advil when I came down, I’ll be right as new in a few hours.” She rests her chin on her hands watching as he scoots the chair closer to hers, knees touching as he runs slow circles on the small of her back.

“I’m sorry about the soreness baby, but damn, it was a tight fit, I almost blew my load when I first entered you, you felt so good.”

He says it like he’s commenting on the weather, not of giving her the best sex of her life. Her cheeks felt warm; the man had no filter, did he?

“It’s been a while since I last fooled around with anyone, it’s been mostly me and my hand for the past twenty months.” Apparently, she had no qualms talking about it with him either. Lucy felt at easy with Chris, from the first time they looked at each other she felt like a missing piece of herself finally found its way home. How would she keep going after today? She shook her head to clear her head, she wouldn’t think about that now. “And you're going around with a large concealed weapon in those pants. How do you get past TSA with that?”

He laughs with a deep bass guffaw, slapping his knee.

“Wanna give me a pat down, Officer Seabrook?” a waggle of his eyebrows had her chuckling before he got serious. “But almost two years baby, are New Yorkers that blind? You look smoking hot, do not give me that look, ‘cuz you do. I’d be following you around like a lost puppy for that ass alone.”

“There were plenty of opportunities, it’s just… It never felt right, I guess? I…” she stopped, unsure about giving up too much of her past. What was with this guy and the need to know all her secrets? And what was up with her and wanting to tell them all to him, hoping he wouldn’t run away screaming?

“Then I’m extremely glad it felt right yesterday. Because it felt right to me too, the moment you walked into that room? I was a goner. You had me at hello and all that shit.” He grinned at her over his cup, but she could tell his eyes were studying her and at some point, they would come back to this conversation.

“And all that shit uh? You’re such a romantic. Wait, the fact that you even know that the movie is awesome enough. It’s one of my favorites”

“Figures you’d have the hots for Tom Cruise being angsty as fuck” He laughed and batted away the packet of Splenda she threw at him.

“Oh shush, he’s not angsty, he’s had a revelation and it’s acting upon it. Plus, the ‘show me the money scene’ is already movie history.”

Chris lets Dodger back inside before grabbing the coffee pot, and he sits facing, a sheepish grin on his face while he poured himself a cup.

“So, if you had to choose, wine or coffee?” he asks as he prepares his drink; three sugars, a splash of creamer.

“Coffee, no doubts about it. I love wine but by this point in my life, I have coffee running in my veins instead of blood. There’s no way I could give the liquid gold up.” She pours half a cup, skipping the sugar and filling the other half of the cup with the creamer.

“What the hell,” he eyes her cup suspiciously, “that is not coffee baby, that’s an insult to anyone who drinks coffee.”

“Says the person who puts enough sugar in his cup to rotten teeth.” She scoffs before taking a long drink. “Delicious.”

“Oh my god, you’re one of those girls.” Chris grabs his chest, pretending it hurts. “You order a PSL at Starbucks.” He finishes with a low, horrified voice, whipping an imaginary tear from his eye.

Lucy was glad she wasn’t drinking when he finishes because she laughs so hard, she snorts.

“One hot, venti, two-shot, almond milk, no whip pumpkin spice latte. I’m a basic bitch who loves her PSL, so sue me.” She shrugs and brings her cup to her lips, sipping slowly.

“I bet the barista knows your name and draws a smile on the damn cup too.” He raised an eyebrow at her, and she smiled over the brim of the cup, giving a little shrug. “I knew it!”

“There’s a store on the same block of my apartment and it’s on the way to the subway, they’ve been there since I moved to New York, of course they know me by name by now.” Pouring more coffee into her mug, she acknowledges, “This is absolutely delicious though, it’s Hawaiian Kona coffee, right?”

“Color me impressed.” Chris grins, nodding his head. “It’s one of the few things I splurge on, I have the company send a few beans bags every month to wherever I am staying. I refuse to drink the goo they serve at most places when I’m doing press for a movie.”

“You’re a coffee diva.” She states, amused by his confession.

“Some people hate green M&Ms, I hate bad coffee.” He concedes laughing. “I even provide the coffee, it’s not like they have to go and buy it, you know? Just follow the instructions or let my assistant make it and I’m a happy guy.”

“What is that like, having an assistant?” Lucy glances at Chris, untrimmed beard, mussed hair, no shirt, ratty sweats and barefoot. Incredibly good looking, but more of guy-next-door than a movie star, she almost forgot he was more than Garret’s hot best friend.  Their worlds differed so much, she couldn’t imagine having someone on her beck and call, or worst, a publicist. That gave her pause and she pursed her lips in thought while he responded.

“It’s weird at first, someone controlling your schedule, telling you where you need to be and when. But you get used to it so fast, especially since they seem to know exactly what you need and they deliver it, you know? Almost like a superpower, they learn how to read you and anticipate your moods.” Chris pondered and looked away embarrassed when he continued. “It’s… convenient. If you’re not careful you can get lost inside the Hollywood lifestyle, get jaded by the lights and you end up forgetting who you truly are. It almost happened to me once and I swore I wouldn’t let it happen again. It’s one of the reasons Tobias stays in Los Angeles whenever I’m here, I can take care of myself, I can be Chris.”

His words reassured her, but one question lingered. He was famous, he had an image to protect. As Samuel clearly reminded her, most people only saw her as a glamourized, overweight, stripper. She turns to face him, “Do I have to sign an NDA? Would pictures of the two of us together be bad for you?”

“What, Lucy, NO.” he shakes his head startled. “First of all, NDAs are ridiculous, they rarely work, I know that first hand. Maybe if you’re into some hard kink sex and doing it with random people, then okay, an NDA would be ideal, but I don’t ask people who I sleep with to sign them. And no, a picture of us together wouldn’t be bad for my image, it might stir some pots because some people believe they can dictate who I date…” Shaking his head, he grabbed her hand, linking their fingers together. “I know we’re still getting to know each other but one thing you should know is that I rarely give a fuck to what the media or the general public think of me. I keep my people close to my vest, I don’t talk about friends and girlfriends in interviews, but that’s because it isn’t anybody’s business what I do on my personal time. But I won’t shy away from being around someone I care about either. If a picture leaks or if they follow me when I’m with someone, I set my publicist on their cases because they are assholes, but the one thing I won’t do is to acknowledge their presence or react to them. It’s what they want, and I learned to tune them out.”

“I’m sorry doing what you love comes with so much bullshit involved.” Her thumb rubbed circles on his palm, in a soothing manner, her free hand combing his tousled hair. “Just so you know, if you decide a week from now that maybe I should sign one of those ridiculous things, I’d do it.”

“Thank you. The fact that you offered is enough.” Chris leaned into her hand, almost purring from the feeling of her fingers massaging his scalp. He closes his eyes, enjoying the moment and Lucy wants to save this forever, a perfect reminder of their time together.

He tastes of coffee when she kisses him, molding her mouth over his, dragging her lips sweetly across his own. She tastes like cream when his tongue touches hers, light touches that entice her, coaxing her lips to follow his when he retreats, seeking more, needing more.

The whiskers on his face tease her skin when he drags a line from her mouth to her neck, nipping hard at the pulse point, sucking the skin to sooth the bite. She gasps at how pleasurable the tiny amount of pain feels, fingers splashed on his hair, pulling him back till she devours his mouth, taking the lead.

His hands are everywhere, cupping her neck to hold her in place, squeezing the soft flesh of her breasts, gripping her thighs, finally circling her waist to bring her closer to him, hiking up legs over his, making the sweater she’s wearing ride up, his eyes popping when he realizes she’s not wearing anything under it.

“Such a naughty girl you are baby.” Chris murmurs against her mouth with a grin.

“I’m full of surprises.” She pulls the string securing the pants and it pools on the V of his abdomen, his cock springing upwards to rest against his belly. “I see I’m not the only one not wearing underwear.” Fingernails rake on the hard muscles of his abdomen while her teeth do the same to his collarbone, biting his neck. A thumb grazes the silky skin of his head and he twitches underneath her palm, his soft moans delighting her.

Her sweater is halfway up her body now, a large hand cupping the globes of her buttocks, while the other is busy massaging a hard nipple. Ripples of hot lava dances over her with every pass of his finger.

“I love how responsive you are, how you look ready to cum just with me playing with your tits.” Chris lowers his head to take a hard peak in his mouth when Lucy hears the low rumble of his stomach, making her raise an eyebrow at him. He ignores it and shushes her with a kiss, slating his mouth over her giggling lips, bringing her back to the moment.

A second, louder rumble follows. There is a pause and their eyes open, green meeting blue, mouths pressed together turning to grins before they are both laughing.

“I guess I’m hungry.” He remarks.

“When was the last time you ate something?” a hand smooths down her sweater when she stands up.

“I had a pretty nice snack last night.” A wiggle of his brows had her punching him on the shoulder as she narrows her eyes at him, still laughing.

“Oh my god, you’re such a man Christopher.”

“Glad you noticed babe.” He embraces her, kissing her shoulder. “Come on, we can shower together and save time.”

..__..__..__..__..

Showering together did not save time, she remarks when Chris closes the door behind him. It’s almost noon when they finally leave his house, all bundled up, gloved hands clasped together. There was no snow right now, but it’s supposed to start back late afternoon, so the plan was to be back home before that.

Lucy wasn’t sure exactly what he meant. Would he drop her off at Garret’s house after their outing (she didn’t dare call it a date) or would they go back to his place together? Sure, she understood the concept of one-night stands; she’d had her fair share of them but spending the day with one of them was never part of the deal, they had never asked, always leaving her house before the sun was up. In the beginning, she didn’t care about them leaving, her walls kept her safe, away from heartbreak. She had given herself away twice before and she had the scars, emotional and physical, to remind her not try it again.

Being single wasn’t something that bothered Lucy like it had bothered Penny or Siobhan and, unlike her sister and her best friend, she had welcomed it, focusing her energy and passion into dancing. She was proud of what she had accomplished in the last twelve years, the dance studio was thriving, she had made a name of herself and was now giving back to the community as much as she could.

Yet she now yearned for more. She couldn’t pinpoint exactly when that happened but somewhere in the last six months the feeling snuck up on her and was now part of her daily routine, accompanying her from dusk to dawn. She pushed it aside, tried to bury it under her work but, no matter how late she stayed in her studio, how hard she danced, how tired she was, the loneliness that greeted her when she arrived home made her ache.

She wanted what JP had with Marianna. She wanted what she saw between Penny and Garret.

She had no idea how to get it.

Her eyes glanced over at the man walking beside her. Chris was funny, charming, interested in what she had to say and what she did for a living. It didn’t hurt the whole package was contained inside a sinful body, and boy, did he know how to use that body. She shook her head. This was a one-time thing, it’s not like he would want to see her again.

“We’re here,” Chris announced with a muffled voice, concealed beneath the heavy scarf covering his mouth, pointing to the red stone building that occupied the corner of the block they just turned. “The food here is amazing, you can’t go wrong with anything really.”

Lucy looks up before they enter and sees a neon sign with Mike’s City Diner written on it. The place had an old school vibe, a red, black and white theme that reminded her of the diner in Cooperstown, the one she went to almost every day after school for milkshakes and grilled cheese, or for family breakfast during the weekend. She’s about to ask if he comes here often when his name is called by a pretty brunette wearing an apron with the diner’s logo on it.

“Hi Chris,” the woman is all teeth and pink lipstick when she winks at him. Lucy tries to not pay attention to the way the hand, not coffee pot squeezes his biceps in hello.

“Hi, Corinne. Is my table occupied?” he questioned, removing his winter gear.

“It is, but the booth next to it is free, if you seat turned to the back wall, I’m sure no one will bother you. We’re past the rush hour anyway.” She grabs a couple of menus from the counter and leads them to the very back of the restaurant, away from the windows. “I’ll bring some fresh coffee for you.”

Chris helps Lucy out of her coat and mentions for her to get in first. He slides next to her and wraps an arm around her back, pulling her closer.

“I take you’re a regular?” She asked while reading over the menu.

“Yeah, I come almost every day when I’m not at my mom’s house. I’m an okay cook, but breakfast food is my favorite and I rather not screw it up.” He nods, not even looking up at the menu. “Very kind people, delicious food, most patrons are either engrossed on their food or too deep in conversation to notice me, which is a plus.”

“I grew up going to a very similar diner back home. My friends and I would spend whole afternoons at Patty’s, doing homework and playing the arcade games he’d kept in the back room. He was the sweetest guy, always looking out for the town’s kids, running fundraisers for a neighbor in need… And the food was so, so good.” Wistful eyes looked around the place, taking in the decor and the warm way the waiters would talk to the customers.

Corinne approached with a smoking pot of coffee, sashaying her mint skirt as she did. She poured Chris’s coffee and points the pot to Lucy in question. “Want some, sugar?”

“Please.”

“Alright, you guys know what you want?” she placed the pot on their table, whisking out a white pad.

Chris signaled Lucy to go first and she orders cinnamon walnut waffles with a side fruit, saying no to the meat.

“I’ll have the Dynamic Duo with bacon and scrambled eggs. And she wants cream, lots of it.” Chris says with a teasing smile.

“I can drink my coffee black, you know?” Lucy huffs after Corinne leaves them alone.

“Yes, but do you like it?” He gives her a pointed look, a lone eyebrow raised at her.

That was so unfair, who could resist that damn eyebrow?

“No,” she answers with a pout.

He laughs and steals a quick kiss. “So, no meat?”

“No meat. I can’t call myself a vegetarian because I love cheese and eggs and still indulge in some seafood, but it’s been almost ten years since I decided to stop eating red meat, eight since I last ate chicken.”

“Impressive. Hemsworth is thinking about adopting a plant-based regimen on our next bulk up. We’ve been discussing it for a while.” He plays with the empty sugar packets, sighing. “I don’t think I could do it.”

“Chris, you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to. I don’t know the guy, but if he’s your friend I’m sure he’ll understand.” Her hand closes around his, giving it a squeeze. “Quitting anything is hard, my friend Terry has been trying to stop drinking soda since I first met him, sometimes he goes months without a single drop, other times he drinks Coke for breakfast, lunch, dinner and midday snacks.”

“Don’t I know it. I’ve quit smoking maybe a dozen times now. But I pick it back up whenever I’m stressed or if I go clubbing a lot.” He picks her hand up, dropping each finger on the table only to do it again. “I stopped after I broke up with my last girlfriend.”

Lucy pursued her lips. She once had called Penny to see how her sister was doing and throughout the conversation, Penny had been curt with her, until Lucy snapped and decided to end the call. That was when Penny apologized and explained she was mad by proxy because Chris’ girlfriend was being a bitch, divulging personal details about their relationship. Lucy didn’t know the actress was, but she instantly disliked the woman.

“Uh, so maybe a good thing come out of that?” her smile was sympathetic.

“Yeah,” Chris gave her a warm smile. “I was single when I met you.”

“And if you weren’t?” it was a serious question disguised within a light smile.

“Here’s the thing, I don’t cheat. I may be a shitty boyfriend at times, especially with all the traveling and time away from each other, but cheating? That is inexcusable.” His eyes were fixed on hers when he continued and the intensity she found in those eyes made her squirm in her seat. “Had I been dating someone I’d have watched you from afar, cursing whatever deity for giving me a glimpse of yourself when they’d know I couldn’t act on it… The truth is I would have left the game. I was drawn to you like a compass needle is drawn to the north and I wanted you. Anything from the moment we said hello would be considered cheating in my book.”

A flustered laugh escaped Lucy’s mouth; she wasn’t expecting any of what he said, admittedly his stand on cheating mirrored hers but the other half of his speech floored her. Never had a man been so candid in his interest towards her and she was at a loss for words.

She was saved by the arrival of a boisterous man who introduced himself to her as Jay, the owner of Mike’s City Diner. He and Chris shared that typical bro hug after he set down the plates.

“I took the liberty of making your waffle with almond milk when Corinne told me you said no meat.” He had an accent she couldn’t place it. “I hope it is to your liking.”

“That’s very thoughtful, thank you.” She took a bite of the waffle and moaned at the taste, speaking between bites. “This is amazing Jay, best waffle ever.”

“Thank you. I’m happy you like.” He looked between Chris and Lucy. “It is the first time you bring woman with you. Corinne was… disappointed. I can see why she can’t compete with your chosen fire head. Beautiful woman.”

“Keep it up and I’ll tell Janet you’re hitting on my girl.” Chris pointed his forkful of pancakes at Jay, before popping it in his mouth.

“Janet more prettier than Lucy because Janet is my wife.” Jay grinned at them. “I’ll leave you to your food. Wonderful day friends.”

She busied herself with another forkful of waffles and strawberries, trying not to focus too much on Chris calling her his girl.

“Don’t mind Jay, he’s a flirt. Didn’t I tell you the food was good?” Chris drizzled more syrup on his pancakes. “The man is a breakfast food king if I was a billionaire I’d hire him as my personal breakfast chef!”

“But you gotta eat more than just breakfast though. Who would you hire for dinner service?” she dumped most of the cream in her coffee, smirking when Chris cringed.

“Uhm… that’s a tough one.” He stroked his beard in thought. “Either Tyler Florence or Jeff Mauro… I’m going with Jeff Mauro; I love sandwiches and he is the king. What about you?”

“I don’t even need to think about it, it’s all about the good vanilla and the Italian mascarpone! Ina Garten is the Barefoot Contessa for a reason.” She observed.

“Now that would cost you an arm and a leg.” Chris countered. “And if you want Jeff to go make the cheese in a climate-controlled cave in Connecticut, then you’d be bankrupt by the next dinner service.”

“But she told me store bought was fine.”

“Store bought is never fine.” He gasped in mock horror.

Trying to contain her laugh had Lucy wiping away the moisture from the corner of her yes. “I can’t believe you watch Food Network, Chris!”

“Well, there’s just so many times you can play Boggle while on set. Sometimes you just want to watch something to take your mind off things you know?” He pushed his empty plate away, mirth in his voice. “Plus Chopped is psych! Scarlett, Sebastian and I place bets on our favorites. I usually leave a hundred dollars richer by the end of our marathons.”

..__..__..__..__..__

The Museum of Science was somewhat busy for a Monday since most schools in the city were already off for the Holidays, making Chris lower his cap to cover his eyes as they entered the building.

Lucy’s eyes got big when she took in the place. “Oh my god, this is incredible! It’s almost bigger than the Museum of Natural back in New York.”

“I believe New York has more exhibits but we have more square footage or something like that. They grow everything big in Mass.” He winked.

“Don’t I know it?” Lucy waggled her eyebrows, laughing before grabbing the map she had picked up at the entrance. “Alright, what’s the plan?”

“I got us tickets to the Lightning! show at two, the Planetarium at three thirty and the butterfly garden at five pm.” Chris held her hand and lead her to the right side of the building while pointing things up in the map she held. “Maybe we could start with the dinos and make our way back to the red wing for the show?”

“Let’s head downstairs and see the Triceratops exhibit then, they are my favorite.”

“So, you like then horny, uh?” Chris whispered in her ear while they descended the escalator.

“Horny and big boned.” She whispered back with a straight face, a sneaky hand landing on the fly of his pants. “Small boners just don’t do it for me.”

A mother cleared her throat behind them just as they reached the lower level, and they moved quickly out of the way, looking sheepishly at the woman giving them a death glare before bursting into giggles.

“You’re such a bad influence on me.” Chris tutted at Lucy, bringing her close to his side and putting an arm around her shoulders.

“ME?” she protested with a laugh. “I was merely stating the fact that I like big dinosaurs, like a triceratops or a brachiosaur.”

“I’ll show you a brachiosaur when we get home.” He winked at her.

“If I recall correctly, your brachiosaur has quite a thick neck. Can I pet it? Maybe kiss it a few times?” She teased him, rubbing his forearm in a suggestive manner.

“Are you trying to make me pop a boner in public woman?” she saw him discreetly adjusting himself. “Come on, let’s see those dinos.”

The exhibit was fantastic, three full skeletons held the main floor, including a small, unhorned hatchling that made Lucy tear up. They admired the displays, taking turns pointing something they liked and debating which dinosaur would in against various superheroes, in the end deciding Hulk would probably join the dinosaur side, just to even things out. When they got to the T-Rex exhibit, Chris joked about this being Dodger’s wet dream and that he the only reason he wouldn’t steal a bone to take home to Dodger was that it wouldn’t fit inside his house, prompting Lucy to ask about it.

“The whole main floor is gorgeous, but I looooove your kitchen, it’s freaking amazing. If I ever move, I want a huge kitchen just like yours!”

“It was the first room I renovate when I bought the house last year.” Chris beamed. “Every detail, from the island to the fixtures have a history or a special meaning. I installed the backsplash myself.”

“Wait, you did it yourself?” Lucy asked, wide-eyed.

“The backsplash yeah, but I’ve had a lot of help from Dix and Garret during the reno. I also stained the hardwood and installed the mantle over the fireplace.” Chris grinned proudly and pulled up his phone, opening the gallery app and showing Lucy the before pictures. “Dix’s a contractor, damn good one too. We hired a design to come up with a general idea of I wanted and went from there. We’ve finished all the main floor, the master bedroom, and bathroom plus the staircase, but the other three bedrooms, the guest bathroom, basement and the backyard are kind of a mess. We only work on the house when I’m not filming, so it’s going slow.”

They walked over to the entrance of the Theater of Electricity as it was almost time for the show to start, and sat on a backless wooden bench, away from the main area, Chris straddling the bench and Lucy facing him, one leg bent over the smooth surface.

“Chris, the fact that you decided to tackle your own renovations when you could just pay someone to do it for you is remarkable. It speaks volumes of what you are as a person and what you want in life. My dad always quotes, we shape our buildings: thereafter, they shape us. You’re turning that place into a reflection of what you want for you and it shows.”

Chris regarded her for a moment, wistful eyes scanning hers.

“My ma’ always told me something similar before I moved to Los Angeles: whatever good things we build, end up building us. I’ve been trying to live by it, surrounding myself with people that want to build each other up, who share their talents with others in the best way they can. It takes a while to weed out the bad, especially in a place that thrives in being fake. There are many good, hard-working people in L.A. but there are at least three times as fakers and clingers who just want to use you. I love my house there, but sometimes it feels less like a home and that’s especially true now that I’ve bought the condo here. Ma’ was ecstatic when I told her I had found a place here, granted she wanted me closer in Sudbury, but I reckon Boston is a heck of a lot closer than Los Angeles. She helped decorate the living room and the big ass island was more of her idea than mine, but in the end, I loved it.”

“She’s got an awesome taste; I have the biggest case of kitchen envy now. I absolutely adore my apartment, it isn’t small by the city standards, but it doesn’t have much kitchen space. It certainly doesn’t have a big ass island, but it’s home.” She shrugged.

“I remember Penny mentioning you guys are from somewhere upstate, when did you move to New York?”

Lucy shifted in her seat. She would not think about him and what made her move back home.

“Late 2002. I had just gotten back from England; I went through a rough patch for a while and I wanted to start fresh some place where I could lose myself and not worry about everyone from the neighbors to the Mayor knowing your name. So as soon as I could I packed again and moved to New York. My father was supportive, but my Mamma was livid, she didn’t speak to me for a whole month.” she saw the confusion on his face. “That might not sound like a lot, but my Mamma is originally from Trento, Italy. She embodies all the stereotypes of an Italian woman you can think of. Not talking to me was maybe harder on her than it was on me!”

“My mother is like a quarter Italian so I can relate a little when she gets going is you better shut up and listen because she means business.” Chris nodded. He looked her over and Lucy had the distinct feeling he was trying to pierce some of her story together. He was much more perceptive than she initially thought, there would be no glossing over details with him. “England, uh? For dancing school?”

“Yeah… I joined when I was sixteen. Did almost six years with the company.”

He looked impressed. “That’s a whole lot of time dancing. What was the school like?”

“Demanding. We had to be the best one hundred percent of the time, you could lose your spot if you ever slacked on grades or on your dancing. I had a private tutor for classes, so I had no free time until I was finished with their version of high school. Then I got promoted to first soloist when I was twenty, so I barely know any touristy spots in London.”

“I keep wondering why you don’t want to tell me that you actually danced for the Royal Ballet of London and not some random school.” Chris gave her a pointed look and Lucy’s eyes widened. “Your sister is your biggest fan you know? She might have mentioned you danced with them once… or twenty times.”

Lucy looked away, her face heating up. Penny had been so supportive back in the day, even at thirteen, she was Lucy’s most supportive family member, encouraging her older sister to apply to the scholarship, staying in during the weekends so they could practice together. The events that preceded her return to the States still stung Penny and Lucy never thought her sister would look over them to hype her up to her friends.

“I don’t know really, I feel like I’m bragging when I mention their name. And some people look at my body and think ‘yeah right’ because a ballerina is supposed to be always this dainty girl and I’m now the opposite of that.” She waved her hand in front of her body. “I got rather crafty with not saying exactly where I studied, they mostly assume it was just a regular dancing school.”

“People are assholes.” He conceded.

The theater doors opened before Chris could comment further and they were ushered inside after handing their tickets to the greeter. They chose a seat near the middle row, moving all the way to the last seats, Chris pulling his cap down and slumping a little in the seat while everyone got seated around them. When the lights diminished, he righted himself up, removing his hat and running a hand through his hair.

Chris brought her arm over her shoulder, drawing her closer. He leaned into her, whispering in her ear. “I’m sure you were the cutest ballerina ever, but I much prefer the upgraded version of you.”

Even if she had any cute comebacks, and she didn’t, lights went up on the stage and the presenter introduced Professor Lightning, who proceeded to show the audience how Tesla coils worked and how to create lightning strikes at the comfort of their own lab. That was the first of the many corny science jokes of the thirty-minute show and Lucy lost herself in it, along with Chris.

..__..__..__..__..

“Maybe they’ll get it ready before we die, can you imagine it? A holiday trip to Mars?” Chris was walking backward while talking to Lucy, hands waving around in excitement, and she thought he looked like a little kid dreaming about what he’d do when he got older. It was the cutest thing.

They had just left the planetarium wing and they decided to head back down to the Starbucks locates at the atrium for some coffee. Chris had fake gagged when she ordered a Caramel Brûlée Latte and she made a show of drinking it slowly, moaning and making faces to get back at him. He ordered three double espressos in a grande cup, making the barista blink and repeat the order back to him.

They were now sitting by one of the many tables overlooking the Charles River, and Chris was dreaming of spending weekends on Mars instead of down in the Bahamas.

“I guess if you had thirty million dollars you could do it.” She agreed just to appease him. She saw his smile get bigger, probably already deciding which investments he’d give up being in that voyage. “You know, for each leg of the trip.”

Chris dropped his shoulder, defeated. “Maybe I could just go to the moon then. A quick getaway to look at Earth from another perspective.”

He looked serious and Lucy had a feeling he was indeed planning for that excursion.

“Would you really do it?” She inquired with a tilt of her head.

“Hell yes, I’d do it in a heartbeat. I’d crap my pants while going up but man, that would be so fucking cool.”

Lucy watched as Chris got a dreamy look on his face and she contemplated if he would think she was crazy if she got him a Christmas gift. She just had the perfect idea for one.

“Send me a picture when you get there ok? You’d pay to go, I wouldn’t go even if they’d paid me.”

“Is it the heights?”

“Actually no, I love rollercoasters and I’ve bungee-jumped before.”

“You what?!” He stared at her with wide eyes.

“I did yeah! It’s such a cool experience, I’ll tell you about it sometime.”

“You better! So, if it isn’t heights, what is it?”

“I’m terrified of enclosed spaces. I can barely make out off an elevator without going into a mini panic attack.” Her body did a quick shake at thought of being inside a spaceship. “It’s not too much of being in a tight space but I need windows and I need to know I can quickly get out of the situation if the need arises. You can’t exactly do that while going to the moon.”

“I can see how that would pose a problem.” Chris nodded and finished his coffee. “How do you cope with flying?”

“I have a prescription for Xanax, but I try to avoid using it. I rely on lots and lots of distraction.” She picked her up her phone, unlocked and pulled up Spotify, showing him a playlist labeled Flying Sucks, and he scrolled through her picks. “I’m so glad I don’t need to turn off our phones anymore, I have my headphones on and music blaring from the moment I step into the plane.”

“I’m afraid to ask, but how does one go from Chopin to Slipknot in two songs?” He turned her phone back to her pointing from Nocturne op. 9 to Duality.

Lucy cocked her head at him, a grin on her face.

“My tastes are very singular,” she whispers trying to contain her laugh. “You wouldn’t understand.”

Chris paused for a bit and she saw the moment he got the joke.

“Did you… Did you just quote Fifty Shades Of Grey to me?” Chris was laughing so hard he dropped her phone on the table, his hand automatically landing on his chest. That was the third time she saw him doing that and vowed to try and make him laugh that hard again, it was the most adorable thing.

A few other visitors turned around startled by the sound of his laugh and Lucy shushed him, ineffectively. She saw a teenage girl squinting at Chris, trying to place the man sitting two tables away from her and Lucy immediately got up and stood in front of him, blocking her view.

“Let’s go, doofus, there’s a very curious teen staring at you and I say she’s seconds away from figuring it out who you are.” She gestured with a thumb to the table behind her. Lucy grabbed his hand and pulled him up, Chris lowering his cap while they left the cafeteria area.

“I still can’t believe you quoted that awful movie at me,” Chris said while tossing their cups on a nearby bin.

“And I don’t understand how you know that line at all.” She pointed at him, waggling her finger.

“They uh, may have offered me the role?” Chris glanced sheepishly at her.

“THEY WHAT?” Lucy shrieked and immediately covered her mouth. Chris pulled them into an empty alcove to get away from prying eyes. “I’m sorry for yelling but what?”

“They offered me the role. Twice. The second time they even threw veto power on whom would’ve play Anastacia.” He shook his head. “It was a hard pass from me. The sex scenes in the book were passable, but the plot felt iffy, very constricted and oversimplified.”

“You’re the first guy I know who actually have an opinion about the plot and do not dismiss it as being mommy porn.” Lucy praised him.

“I make a point of having an informed opinion and not rehash what others think.” Chris nodded. “If that means I have to read a book about kinky fuckery, hey, let’s do it!”

Lucy threw her head back with a laugh and they resumed their walk, discussing their favorite books and authors and soon it became very clear they did not share the same interests. Chris tended towards non-fiction, biographies, science and spirituality books while Lucy rarely picked up something that wasn’t about fantasy, especially vampires and wizards. They did agree on Harry Potter and A Brief History Of Time, so they called it a win anyway.

They circled back to the blue wing where the Butterfly Garden was located when a voice over the intercom announced that everyone with tickets for the five pm showing was now welcomed to enter the Garden, and they quickly made their way there.

They started the tour on the opposite side of the entrance, walking around a path brimming with the colorful wings of the kaleidoscope who lived there. Lucy took pictures of her favorites and marveled at how nature worked, turning into what most would consider an ugly nuisance into such an exquisite animal.

The thick, lush foliage extended all the way to the glass ceiling, the various shades of green a great contrast against the gray skies above. Each section of the garden filled with different types of flowers and plants to attract the butterflies, it was a cacophony of plants from all over the world, turning the area into something quite magical in Lucy’s eyes.

Chris stopped here and there to discuss whatever butterfly they could see, Chris pointing what he remembered of his previous visit and telling Lucy anecdotes of his time there with his family.

“Then he convinced Shanna to lick the picture! So she goes up, takes the mounted frame from the wall and low and behold, licked the fucking leaf!” Chris remembered laughing. “Of course, the moment she lifted the frame a silent alarm must’ve sounded somewhere, and two guards appeared out of thin air… and that’s how the Evans Family got banned from the MOS for six months.”

Lucy wheezed as she laughed, trying to control her breathing. “Poor Shanna! You and your brother were not kind with your sisters uh?”

“We’re vicious sometimes.” He agreed. “But we’re also very protective, I got in trouble once because I bit a guy for pushing Carly off the swing set. Granted I was six at the time, but man, I drew blood and everything! Dad had to pay for his hospital visit and I lost dessert rights for a month.”

He pouted, making Lucy giggle.

“Your family sounds amazing Chris! Are you guys doing something special for Christmas?”

“Mom’s hosting a huge party this year, so the whole family will be there. Lots of Evans and Capuanos, plenty of food and booze, games, I live for those parties, they are my favorite, so much love going on. Big breakfast in the morning, let them go crazy opening presents, then we take the kids sledding or to ice skate on a pond nearby and then we all gather to the party. How about you?”

“That sounds lovely. It’s just the immediate family this Christmas for us. Mamma insists on having all her kids there at least every other year, it’s a deal she makes with all in-laws when they become family.” She paused. Lucy was the only one who had never taken a boyfriend to one of their gatherings. She had mastered the art of ignoring the looks of pity her family sent her way every time she arrived alone, dodging questions about her failed love life now second nature. “We don’t have many relatives in America, mamma being Italian and Dad from Scotland, so we kinda created our own family traditions; we decorate cookies on the 24th, mamma chooses the Yule log, and we sit around talking about our year while listening to the Beatles and drinking wine. Then on Christmas Day we go ice skating, hold the ‘Annual Seabrook Snowman Challenge’, which I suck at by the way, and consume way too much wine and crostoli.”

“I love crostoli, my mom never got the recipe right from her grandma so hers it’s not so great… But I’ll deny it to my grave if you ever tell her I said that.” He tapped the end of her nose, making her giggle. “It’s been such a long time since I had them though.”

“Mom makes a ton of them to give the neighbors as gifts, I’ll save you some and send them back with Penny.”

“That’d be awesome, thank you.” He ran a hand through her hair and brought her closer, intending to kiss her. His lips almost touch her when a group of kids no older than six-year-old breezes by them, screaming ewwww and making kissing noises. “I guess you got cooties.”

They giggle and separate, but he clasps her hand while they toured the winding paths.

Walking further into the garden they got to a small section where hundreds of white or blue butterflies floated over the flowers, enjoying a rare ray of sun that filtered from the glass ceiling above. Chris took his phone out from his front pocket and handed it over to Lucy before embracing her, arms closing around her front and pulling her closer, her back molded to his front. She shivered at the full body contact and had trouble opening the camera app. Searching for the best angle, she took a couple of pictures of them surrounded by the clouds of wings, including one where a blue butterfly sat on Chris’ shoulders and Lucy had a surprised look on her face, which quickly become their favorite.

“Ladies and gentlemen, the museum will close in ten minutes.”

The voice over the intercom made them both jump, and Chris looked at the clock.

“Wow, it’s almost six already?” He looked surprised.

“Are you serious?” Lucy couldn’t believe how fast the day had gone by.

Yesterday had been amazing, all the teasing leading to a frenzied and amazing night of sex but if she had to choose her favorite time with Chris had been today. There were no awkward moments, not long silences where they didn’t know what to say to each other. As much as she was pressed not call it a date at the beginning, there was no denying today had been exactly that. And she loved every second of it.

Now came the hard part, letting go of Chris and going back to her own life.

“At least it’s not snowing yet, roads should be clear.” He talked absently. Chris scratched his beard appearing to miles away from the museum already and Lucy tried not to let it bother her.

The escalator had a line and the elevator was for seniors, pregnant women and people in need of assistance, so they took the stairs, keeping closer to the wall as to not draw much attention.

He picked up her left hand, drawing patterns on her palm before twisting their fingers together while they descended the stairs to get to the garage. Lucy noticed how touch drove he had been the entire day, always reaching out to her, holding her hand while they walked, circling her waist while they waited in line for tickets. It occurred to her he would distance himself from her while they were in public and she understood why he would do it but in a deeper level, she was elated when he didn’t. She thought back to that morning’s conversation; I won’t shy away from someone I care about’, and her heart skipped a beat. Could he care about her in a more permanent way than a one-night stand? She shook her head. No, that wasn’t possible, right?

Then how you would explain your own feelings? Her heart had terrible timing, as always. Okay, so maybe today had been better than good. I was a fucking great day okay, could you at least own up to that? And Lucy couldn’t argue because it really had been that.

At least she’d had the memories of their time together, the last thirty hours had been incredible, and she knew a smile would always accompany those memories, no matter what happened from now on.

They got to the garage after a few minutes, people shuffling around them to get to their cars as quickly as possible. They walked fast, not bothering with their coats, just wanting to get inside his car. Lucy was really looking forward to sliding against the heated leather seats.

“Fuck, it’s cold!” Chris exclaimed pulling her along. His wide stride made her almost run after him, air leaving her mouth in smalls white clouds as she breathed out. He hit his key fob a few meters before they reached the car and engine came to life with a hum. He opened the door for her, and she placed a sweet kiss on his cheek before getting inside. Chris quickly went around to the driver’s seat and moaned when the heated air hit his skin. “Oh, much better.”

“Do you think Audi would sell me just one of these seats? The heating at the studios sucks, I’d love to have one of these for my office!” She wriggled happily in her seat.

“Or you could buy a proper office chair that does the same thing?” He pointed at her when he got behind the wheel. Soft jazz music filled the air around them when he turned the key, the melodic sound swirling around them.

“Uhm I could, but then I couldn’t tell people how I convinced fucking Audi to make me a custom chair. Now that’s a story.” She chuckled and turned on her seat, facing him.

“So buy a chair, slap an Audi sticker to the back of it and tell the story anyway, how ‘bout that?”

“Uhm… There’s an idea.”

He laughed. “Why are we discussing this particular one anyway?”

“’ Cuz there’s like a hundred cars trying to leave at the same time and we’re stalling?”

“Such a smart girl.” Chris reached over the console and picked up her hand, playing with her rings. “Are you hungry?”

“Not really.”

He nodded and concentrated on the traffic inside the garage, managing to get out and merge into the exit lane, all with one hand, the other still holding hers.

Why in the world did she say she wasn’t hungry when he asked? She wasn’t, that was true, but they could have gone somewhere to just talk, she could have a few more moments with him and now she blew it. God, she was stupid. She thumped her head in the back seat, cursing herself. Was it too late to say something, hey, changed my mind, let’s go grab a pizza or something.

She kept her body turned to him as he drove, a leg bent on the seat, studying his profile, the little bump on his nose, the mole on his left cheek, how his beard was not dark blond but auburn like Penny’s hair. She wanted to commit it all to memory so she could relive it once she got back home. Maybe daydream about not being a fucking coward and ask him to take her back to his place instead of back to Garrets.

They drove in silence for the next ten minutes, the only sounds inside the car coming from the speakers. He pulled to the curb of Garret’s house and Chris killed the engine, turning to Lucy. She felt the intensity of his gaze while she studied his face, waiting for his final words. This was it. He would thank her for a good time, say she was a nice girl and send her away.

Was it even possible to have feelings for someone you’d met in person just the day before? Maybe it was just some leftover infatuation from the night before? Sure, she had heard of him from Garret and Penny, they were practically his personal cheerleader squad, but meeting Chris had been a whole different experience. She couldn’t remember the last time she’s had so much fun with a man. It wasn’t just the sex, which by the way had blown her mind after twenty plus months of celibacy, but how he’d made her feel like the most important person in the world when he talked to her, how he listened with his whole body, really paying attention to what she was talking about. How he laughed at her jokes, cracking up with that adorable and dorkable laugh of his. He had cut through her walls and her fears with his witty banter and a charming personality and she had been impotent to resist him. She liked everything about him. She was falling for the guy.

No.

She had already fallen.

The realization hit her like a ton of bricks.

Stupid, silly girl. Why on earth would someone like him ever want more than a one-time thing with the likes of her?

She screamed at that poisonous voice to shut up, she didn’t want to hear it today. She concentrated on the affirmations Doctor Clark had given her.

She was worth it; she was not perfect but every being deserved love.

She was happy with her body; maybe she wasn’t a size four or even a six, but she was stylish, some days she would be so bold as to call herself sexy.

She was a good person; a loving friend, a kind person, a passionate lover,

She was deserving of love.

She closed her eyes, exhaling slowly, willing away all bad thoughts, breathing in and out, centering herself.

Maybe not his love, but he had awakened something inside her, if Captain America himself thought she was worthy of his time, that voice surely must be wrong.

“Lucy?”

She opened her eyes and leaned forward, resting her hand on his knee.

“Thank you for an amazing time, Chris. I haven’t had this much fun in quite a few years.”

She kissed his cheek, lingering just one second more. Unbuckling her seatbelt, she moved to open the door.

“What, no, Lucy wait.” He hit the lock button, breathing rapidly. “Just wait, give a man a moment to breathe, will ya’?”

“Chris?” She tilted her head, watching as he took deep breathes, counting on his fingers while murmuring what looked like affirmations, much the same she did earlier.

“Sorry, I had to run a few scenarios in my head. A trick my therapist taught me for when I get anxious.” He explained, tangling the fingers of one of their hands and pulling her to him, kissing her square in the mouth. “None of that cheek kissing thing alright?” he pleaded when he released her.

“Alright?” she had no idea what to answer so she nodded instead.

“Good, good. We had a great day together, didn’t we?” his free hand reached for a stray lock of her hair, twirling it between his fingers.

“I believe I thanked you for it already.” She looked nonplussed at him.

“That you did baby.” He kissed her again, this time biting her lower lip. “What if this wasn’t the end of that time?”

“Chris?”

“What if instead of dropping you here, you get out, get your bags and go home with me?” his clears eyes shone with hope and he licked his lips, waiting.

“You know we leave after lunch, right, I told you that.” Her heart was speeding up and she was sure he could feel her hands getting clammy. Was he really asking her to spend the night again?

“That would give us more,” he checked his watch, “eighteen more hours together.”

“Are you sure Chris? I’m okay with this being the end of our little rendezvous, I really liked the day we had.” She regretted the words as soon as they left her mouth.

His smile vanished.

“Oh, unless you don’t want to, I can understand that.” He chewed on his lip, defeated.

“Unlock the door, Chris.”

“Okay.” He hit the button and bowed his head. “Can I… can I kiss you goodnight?”

“Yes, you can kiss me goodnight.” She opened the door but didn’t move, waiting for him to look up. “You can kiss me goodnight after I have my wicked way with you after we get back to your place.”

“Seriously?”

“Yes! I was beating myself up for not saying yes when you asked if I was hungry.”

His face broke up in a huge grin.

“We can eat, then go back home.”

“I just want to spend more time with you, I don’t care what we do.”

His lips were cold when she kissed him, the outside air rapidly entering the car, but neither cared, too lost in each other to bother closing the door.

“I’ll go grab my bags.” She said when they separated.

“Hurry up woman, we have just nineteen hours and fifty-five minutes left.”

She threw her head back and laughed, getting out of the car and running up the stairs.

“Hey Lucy?” he yelled from the lowered window. She turned to him, after knocking on Garret’s door. “I hope you don’t have plans to sleep tonight.”

[alltheworldsinmyhead]

OUR FUTURE WILL BE A BRIGHT ONE: CHAPTER NINE                                                              (finale)

                       eremika soulmates through time modern au

                                     (previous chapters/ff.net/ao3)

IKIGAI

JAPANESE; "A REASON FOR BEING", ‘A THING THAT YOU LIVE FOR”  – THE THING THAT GETS YOU OUT OF BED EACH MORNING

 I think we deserve

 a soft epilogue, my love.

 We are good people

 and we’ve suffered enough.

 SEVENTY YEARS OF SLEEP # 4. NIKKA URSULA

 She’s a shy girl, but she’s also a  quick learner and it doesn’t take her very long to pick up the games that kids play on the narrow streets of Shinganshina. It’s a completely different world here,  such alien and strange for somebody who used to have daffodils and squirrels for friends before. The morning comes and all of the doors fly open as kids practically burst out of their homes to run around until their little legs get tired or the dinner is ready and their mothers usher them back to wash up dirt from their hands and faces.

Mikasa begins to participate in this ritual as well – Carla Jaeger never forgets to give her and Eren a piece of bread with honey and a kiss on the cheek before she waves to them as they disappear in the crowd. And while Eren and Armin usually prefer to do other things than play with neighbors’ kids, the three of them sometimes join one of the small bands scattered in the district and spend an afternoon with them - and that’s how Mikasa learns it all, this collection of games created when the lack of resources crashes with children’s boredom and creativity. There’s hide-and-seek and tag and  hoola hop that requires a narrow, wooden ring that girls spin around their hips. One child chases others and taps their shoulders to turn into the chased one. Kids sit in circle, clap hands in intricate patterns and recite dirty rhymes; they use chalk and sticks to draw on the stones and dig in the soil; they jump on one leg and pretend that the ground is lava.

Sometimes smaller girls gawk at her eyes and nag her about her hair long enough that she lets them sit behind her cross-leggedand braid her black strands into an elaborate construction that ends up un-tangling halfway home. She would never admit that to Eren, but she likes this – likes feeling little, quick fingers on her scalp and listening to their excited chatter. Those girls are sweet and innocent and just the way she used to be, while she was living with her parents. And their dreams and wishes reflect that; they want to grow their hair long and beautiful, to have handsome husbands in the Military Police and big houses behind Wall Rose or even Sina, with crimson flowers blooming on the balcony and chubby, pink-cheeked babies.

And Mikasa can understand that.

Those girls  (what are their names? Tina, Riza, Mirielle? Maritte? Marie? She can never remember) also teach her one more game, the one under “no boys allowed category” – the apple skin one.

Tina is sitting on an empty apple crate, a small knife looking wrong and weird in her plump hand. She keeps on cutting her fingers and cursing and when Mikasa asks her what she’s doing, the girl raises her round, brown eyes at her and blinks in surprise;

“You don’t know about the apple skin?”

She doesn’t and so they eagerly show her. They instruct her to peel the skin off an apple with a knife, but not to break the skin - as the peel has to be intact, long and spiral. Then they tell her to stand up and throw it behind her left shoulder, her left hand flat on her chest, above her heart.

“And why am I supposed to do that?” she asks them, skeptical about the whole thing. It really sounds silly and she doesn’t even wanna think about what Eren would say if he saw her standing on the street and throwing apple peels around.

And she does not want Eren to laugh at her. At all.

But the girls insist; they circle her like a swarm of little bees or chirping baby birds.

“You’ll see! The peel will make the shape of a letter-“ “And the letter that it shows is a name-“ “- It’s not a name stupid, it’s the first letter of a name-“

“- of your future husband!” they end in unison, the three of them looking up at her with such a brightness and honesty written on their round faces that she just can’t refuse them.

Not that it matters anyway – she doesn’t need to throw any peels to know what will be the first letter of her future husband’s name.

After all, she is also just a little  girl, who also dreams of a husband, of a house, of flowers and of a green-eyed baby of her own.

  “Yes.” Historia nods her head solemnly after Mikasa stops talking. “I remember that. We were there too. Paradise Island, before the Second Eldian Uprising. Around mid-800s, I think?” the blonde rests her chin on the hand and stares off the distance.

They are both sitting on the plastic chairs in Historia’s backyard, in the middle of the first “Summer Party” of the season, as Eren cryptically called those meetings when Mikasa asked him about them. The sprinklers have just turned on, making some guests shriek and scatter, trying to run away from the water – not an easy task, considering the place is packed with people. The smell of barbecue makes Mikasa salivate, Toto’s Africa is blasting through the portable speakers that somebody brought and some brave individuals decided to dip in the pool, even though it’s just May and not a particularly hot evening. She can hear Eren somewhere on her left side, playing a kind of rules-free version of soccer on the grass with his friends which seemingly involves a lot of screaming and, more often than not, multiple players ending up in a pile on the ground.

Historia sits on  folded legs, with daisy chain on her head and loose strands of hair dancing around her face on the breeze like spider webs. So lost in her thoughts, she seems as dainty and fragile as possible. Mikasa tries hard to put together the fawn-like line of her neck and delicate collarbone with the nightmarish visions that would make her wake up covered in cold sweat more often than not lately; winged crests, flakes of gore spiraling in the air like gruesome cherry petals, cobblestones streets stinking of too much people. The world bathed in blood. Cruel. Unforgiving. Devoid of any beauty. And yet familiar, as odd as it is to find familiarity in something straight out of their high school history books.

Mikasa wonders how Historia made it through there. Was she as graceful and full of sweetness as she is now?

“This is where we first met.” The girl adds quietly after a minute or two of silence,  her eyes locked on Ymir’s back as she is getting up from the grass. “ But I don’t like to think about it too much. To be honest, it was horrible. I never want to live so much longer than her again.”

That Mikasa understands. There is not a worse thing than existing when the other one is gone. It is a torment that she would not wish on anyone, ever, no matter the time or place.

“So weird, isn’t it? Us, talking about those times like it was last week. Feeling so ancient when we are so young.” The corners of Historia’s mouth go up slightly and she shakes her head. “Look at them, my god.”

Connie slipped on the wet grass and all the players lay toppled again, one big tangle of limbs and curses and laughter. Eren catches her eyes and sends her a blazing smile, trying fruitlessly to wiggle from underneath Berthold.

800s. So old. And yet Mikasa doesn’t think she has ever been younger than now, with her lips chapped and happiness bubbling inside her.

I’m hungry, I’m hungry for whatever comes next. – sings some guy through the speaker.

Historia giggles as Ymir keeps on tripping over Reiner’s legs.

Sprinklers spray Mikasa’s bare feet with cold water.

The sun colors the horizon pink and yellow and red and all of the brilliant shades in between.

Eren managed to stand up and lowers his hand down to help Sasha; there are sweat stains on his shirt and grass in his messy hair. If he was nearer, she could smell it all on him. The sweat and the grass and the happiness.

As far as she is, she doesn’t hear his exact thoughts -  just feels contentment, stretching between them like a golden cord or a silk ribbon.

“Yeah.” She answers softly. “ It is really strange.”

 ***

  What comes next? Mikasa remembers it used to plague her mind for some time, before she even met Eren. Supposed I have a soulmate, how life even looks like, with a bond like that?

She jumps higher, runs faster and spins tighter than ever, that’s what happens. Once she would curse her muscles and limbs for weighting her down and working against her will, but now she feels so light that she’s surprised she makes any sound walking at all. It suddenly feels so easy; the sequences of movements, soft and smooth, crisp with no hesitation in them. She diligently pins her now-short hair in place, chalks her hands and faces each obstacle with no fear whatsoever. The steady flow of medals that follow her improvement make it look like as if she turned into Midas, painting everything gold with her touch alone. And while it all brings her a lot of joy and while praises that she hears from her coach and teammates and fans are not unwelcomed either, she knows well what makes her soar so high.

She knows now how it feels to be up, so that the surface of the Earth looks like a glorious oriental rug painted with sunlight and spread down her feet.

It shows in her movements, this joy. Even when she’s walking, she goes through the motions as if she was dancing. She supposes that it’s even more evident, while she’s doing gymnastics. She used to think she was good, before, and there was a truth in that – she was born with a natural talent which was then honed with years and years of steel discipline and hard work. Before, she was flexible and strong and well-trained, but now, with her eyes wide opened and memories back, she is not just simply good – she is superb. She has this spark that shines so brightly in her, fueling each and every step. And the centuries past don’t lie, it’s evident now, clear as a day. She could never reach stars without Eren by her side. She was always at her best, when she was with him.

So she jumps higher, runs faster and spins tighter.

And it feels exactly like running on the roofs and jumping up and down, suspended in the air with steel lines of her 3DMG used to feel like.

 *

 “How many times did we lay just like that?” he asks her one night, his hot breath caressing the shell of her ear, his fingers idly tracing figures in between her shoulder blades, while she’s still shivering, oversensitive and satisfied.

Countless she thinks. Countless and more

But something painful blooms in her chest, like a thorny bush tearing her heart into shreds.

“ I don’t think we had many occasions to do that.”  She answers honestly and he hums in agreement.

Not in the softly-lit room, not in a  warm bed, not smelling like her peach-scented shower gel and each other. Not without scars spoiling their skins and with no mountains on their backs.

Never so calm. Never so sure, so careless.

 *

He supposes that the funniest part is that he doesn’t feel like anything changed at all, for the most part. Armin is still his best friend just as he used to be for as long as he can remember and his mother still smiles when his visits her every Saturday and brings her flowers. He still trains in his favorite gym, listens to his favorite bands and fails in saying “no” to his dog.

He’s still the same person, basically.

Only suddenly everything is different. Only suddenly everything is easier and simpler and more bearable; only suddenly he’s calmer and faster and more focused than ever before. This mess in his head quiet now. The twitching of his leg gone. It’s like somebody took a sheet of sandpaper and dulled the sharp edges of the world so that they don’t hurt him anymore.

Mikasa came into his life, fitting neatly in as if she has never been a stranger, as if there has always existed an empty place ready for her.  She brought a series of small changes with her, that’s true. But those changes feel more like a fresh, cool breeze from the fan during a humid afternoon than anything else. Like tiny snowflakes that just keep on falling until they cover everything in white and all he sees is her, her, her.

The Thursday game nights, Annie ruthless in Monopoly, Armin miles ahead all of them in Scrabble, Mikasa surprising everyone by her mad poker skills.

Sunday mornings, lazy and sweet; Mikasa in his arms from the dawn till dusk, making love until they both collapse curled around each other, sleepy and sated and so, so fucking happy.

Saturday afternoons, Mikasa and his mother working in the garden and laughing quietly, drinking lemonade and watching old movies with Audrey Hepburn on this ancient VHS player.

She came and reorganized pretty much everything and yet he cannot even imagine how his life looked like without her.

 *

 July comes strangely unexpected, like a cat creeping on soft, soundless paws.

He closes the doors of the apartment behind him, with a bag of groceries in his hands and a blissful perspective of three full days without work in his mind. Tomorrow they’re going to Levi and Petra’s daughter christening and then … well, he has keys to Mikasa’s parent’s summer house on the countryside in his pocket and a lot of great ideas how to spent all this time alone with her.

He doesn’t bother to say hello; Miki is not home, he knew it before he opened the door. She should be here, but she’s not – on the emotional level it feels like a very cold blow of AC right into his face and he tries to swallow this feeling before it overcomes him. She’s probably out jogging or something anyway.

Instead of dwelling on that, he focuses on the small things; packs fruits and vegetables into the fridge and hides Mikasa’s favorite, absolutely sinfully unhealthy chocolate cereal in the upper shelf, where she needs a stool to reach. She begged him to do that; she kept on insisting that sometimes, before she can climb on the chair she changes her mind about eating them.

He, personally, never witnessed it, but whatever makes her sleep better at night.

The flat is not as white as it used to be before he moved in; there are splashes of color here and there, scattered on the furniture in form of his flannel shirts and Bumblebee’s chewing toys. And the Bumblebee itself brings the element of destruction into this sea of serenity; right now, she may be snoring soundly on her pillow in the living room, but years and years of constant spoiling made Eren’s pug a very hard roommate indeed and he never realized it until moving to Mikasa. More often than not she would run around the flat with this stripped yellow-and-black bandana around her neck and wreak havoc in her wake… to the constant displeasure of Madeline.

“Well, these two are definitely not soulmates, that’s for sure” crosses Eren’s mind, as he flops down on the sofa. He decides to kill some time by watching this video from two weeks ago, of Bumblebee cashing Madeline around Mikasa’s ankles; his girl was holding a salad bowl in her hands and looked half-irritated and half-amused, as if she was torn between yelling and laughing.

He loves this video; everyone at work has already seen it at least three times and Petra even more. Besides Levi of course, who seemed hell-bent on pretending that Eren is not as prominent in his niece’s life as he is.

But as he is about to press play, the bell chimes loudly, waking Bee from her slumber. Narrowly avoiding stepping on his angry dog, Eren makes his way to the door, wondering silently who could be coming over at such weird hour without letting them know earlier. The only people he can think of are either his mom, which he highly doubts, or Armin and Annie, who are currently enjoying the cloudy English weather and the company of old books, and kindred nerdy, pale scholars during their trip to Oxford.

“Hello- Oh, hi Tori.” He can feel the frown on his face smooth out as he sees a familiar blond figure standing behind the door.

“Hi, Eren.” Chirps Historia Reiss, smiling like a little sunflower and raising up a foil clothing cover in her hands. “ Is Mikasa home? I finished her christening dress.”

“Nah. But come in, she should show up soon.” He takes the hanger from her hands and waves his hand in a welcoming manner.

Historia and Mikasa’s friendship is something nobody could predict or foresee, but when it clicked, it continued to work smoothly and without any glitches.

They found the connection in their respective relationships, Historia patiently guiding Mikasa by the hand through the uncharted territory, them sharing stories of their past lives and current connections, a tangle web of centuries of trauma that they had to work through and could never fully resolve with their respective partners.

Sometimes Eren wishes he remembered more – that he remembered as much as Miki at least, so that they could share this burden together. But for all her eagerness to give him all of her, this is the one part that Mikasa doesn’t let go of easily. Surely, she happily drags him along if she has something nice for him to see, but besides that, she keeps all that she sees and knows and suspects to herself. And he doesn’t want to pressure her to open up.

But sometimes Mikasa would go awfully quiet and so awfully sad. Tears pooling in her eyes she would bite on her lip hard enough to draw blood and shiver in his arms for hours, sweating with cold sweat and making him so, so scared.  And still, she refuses to talk about, clams up when she asks.

“What’s in the past, stays in the pasts.” She simply says, not looking at him and biting on her nails absent-mindedly.

It’s not if it still haunts you. – he wants to scream, but the words got stuck somewhere in his throat. Maybe it’s the same with her; or maybe she just wants to protect her, in the only way she can.

Either way, he us beyond glad she has but somebody that can help her somehow compartmentalize it all.

 Historia quietly pads into the apartment, bursting into laughter at the sight of agitated pug spinning nervous circles on the floor.

“Damn, your dog has some issues, Eren.”

“ You can only imagine.” He sighs heavily, picking Bee up to rub behind her ears. “ Hi girl, won’t you just-“

 Just like that, everything goes quiet.

There is no sound.

No light, no movement, nothing.

Just coldness spreading through his body, chilling each and every cell of his body.

Just pain, so strong that it doesn’t even seem like a pain at all; it is incomparable to anything he has ever felt. Broken leg? Nothing. A concussion? A walk in the park. That time when he fell down the stairs and injured his spine? A nap on the feathery bed.

Pain exploding within him, taking his breath away, making his heart stop.

Mikasa,

Mikasa,

Mikasa.

“Eren? Eren!” Historia on her knees next to him on the floor, Bee barking again, the coolness of the wood underneath his palms-

Red car speeding on red light, red pooling on the concrete, Mikasa’s red iPod Mini shattered into tiny, little pieces.

“Eren.” She whispers, eyes desperately opened, sun so bright above her. “Eren.”

  *

 He doesn’t believe in god. Never has, as far as he remembers.

“Take the sun away.” he whispers, lips brushing cool wood of his mother’s worn-out rosary. – “Take the sun and- and the moon and all of the stars, just- “

His voice breaks in half; ugly sob escaping from his mouth before he can stop it. It’s so, so cold.

“ Just bring her back to me.”

There is a lifeline that stretches between them, red and infinite and beyond a crowded waiting room on the Intensive Care; a lifeline that nobody else sitting on those ugly orange chairs can see. But he can. And he will hold onto it, as tightly as possible.

And pull her back.

 *

There is a memory that keeps on coming back to her over and over again. Eren ahead of her on the mountainside; his right hand holding onto a metal chain and left one outstretched towards her. He doesn’t even have to turn away to see her slipping on the ice-covered stones. He somehow knows, even though the wind is too loud for him to hear her quiet gasp or the sound that the soles of her boots make.

His hand shots and catches her wrist before she can even begin to fall, before the line that ties their waists together even begins to tighten; he pulls her upright strongly, steading her on a slippery slope.

Wordless support, wordless trust.

Thank you. She thinks. Thank you.

 The image of his hand outstretched. He has always looked ahead and trusted her to watch his back. But he has never abandoned her either, never forgot she was there behind him, even when she thought he did.

 She has a lot of time to think, is this sea of whiteness where she floats. Without any weight to carry, her thoughts flow lazily, one image after another. Some of them would normally make her heart ache, or even cry. But now she is glad they’re there; even the bad, the ugly. She doesn’t know that she would still be there if it wasn’t for the anchor they form. Maybe she would wander off to far to even make it back.

But with this goddamn, piercing I have always hated you, Mikasa echoing in her ears on repeat, it is impossible to let go.

It doesn’t matter that he didn’t mean it. It doesn’t matter that it was thousands of years away. Some wounds remain open for forever and that is one of them, still open and bleeding all over everything.  She would laugh if it could even when you’re hurting me, you’re saving me.

So, against all she latches onto all that pain and heartbreak and reaches out her hand; searches through the nothingness for hours and hours until her fingers find it – the string, taunt and so, so warm.

Mikasa grabs onto it and holds on for what simultaneously feels like a fragment of a second and forever. Blinded and deaf, she holds on until her senses come back, one by one; until she can feel warmth of the sun of her skin and biting stench of antiseptics. Until she opens her eyes and sees him again, silent and grief-stricken and sitting next to her hospital bed, holding her hand.

She blinks, once, twice; watches as big, fat tears fall down his cheeks as he presses his forehead to her hand, his whole body shaking with relief that washes over both of them. She is too weak to do anything else but look at him, to keep her eyes opened and blink. But maybe that’s enough.

  *

 “There you are, honey.” Coos Carla, leaning down and putting a cup of green tea in Mikasa’s shaky hands.

It might be hot outside, but surrounded by hospital walls Mikasa feels very cold and quite small, really, so she will take every comfort she can have. She wills the corners of her mouth to raise a little and takes a sip, hot liquid burning the roof of her mouth.

“Thank you.”

“No problem, darling.”

All those pet names, thrown on her like a blanket covering her useless legs. She wishes she could ask everyone to stop – Carla, her mom, her dad, her friends – to stop hovering over her, but it simply won’t do. They would listen and genuinely try to stop, but she still would see it in their eyes. All the worry.  

For now, her only solace is Annie with her own brand of harsh love that involved passive-aggressive remarks like “Will you stand up finally?” which makes other people present gasp. But Mikasa indeed, wants to stand up very much.

After Carla leaves, Eren appears; his steps echoing in her ears long before the doors open and he enters her room.

With a sight, he plops down on her bed, but she refuses to look at him. Still sitting on a wheelchair, she stares out of the window; what a beautiful day, sunny, not a cloud of the sky. Her whole body itches; in irritation, she forcefully sets down the teacup on the table and spills some tea in process.

“Miki.”

From her position, she can almost see green grass of the lawn next to the parking. She would jog there sometimes, passing the hospital, the parking and the lawn, not stopping to rest for she hardly ever needed to. How weird it is, to miss the stretch of her muscles and sweat dripping down her back.

Warm hand closes over hers.

“Miki.”

Eren’s kneeling on the floor next to her, his eyes big and pleading.

“Why are you so angry?”

We should be out there, she thinks, desperately and against herself, on Historia’s summer party, in my parents’ country house. Not here.

So much was stolen from  them already. All those times where they met only to be torn apart, all this tragedy following them wherever they went. She is just so done with it.

Damn, Mikasa. His voice in her head is so infinitely sweet, almost dripping in honey. He gently brushes hair away from her face and leans his forehead on hers. This? This is nothing compared to what we’ve been through. There will be other summers.

There will be other summers.

She closes her eyes, trying to forget about the sun spilling through the window and focus on his voice on the promise ringing in them.

Really?

He chuckles quietly.

Yeah, really.

Her memories are subjective, but they don’t lie. Presented with the choice wheatear or not to trust Eren, all the Mikasas would always choose the former, without fail.

***

 Their days become very long now, with the seasons passing behind the windows of their apartment like in kaleidoscope; summer in full bloom and then autumn, radiant in golds and scarlets. And winter again, the two of them cozy in their little microcosm lit with sweet-smelling candles.

Mikasa learns how to sit again and then how to walk again. It’s an excruciating process, more often than not involving a meeting with the plush carpets that now cover the entirety of the floors in the flat. And although Eren would keep her from falling if she let him, she prefers to do it a hard way. By that, she can at least feel like in those old good times, as if she was covered in sweat and exhausted after a hard training and not after taking a few shaky steps.

But it all passes like seasons; soon enough she walks again and then jogs, faster and faster, Eren always glued to her side, his silent prescience so comforting that it somehow makes it up for all the lost dreams that she had to abandon. She thinks a lot about it, how it felt to fly; but at least she can still curl up in his arms and he can kiss her neck and it’s different but it’s good. So good.

Snow falls and then melts; spring comes again, brilliant and fresh. By that time, she is already working out with a jumping rope again, drops by the neighboring dance studio whenever she can.  There is a white dress hidden somewhere at the back of her closet; one beautiful mess of silk and lace crafted with Historia’s meticulous hands. The dress is waiting for the right occasions, but Mikasa has stopped waiting a long time ago.

Life is good when doesn’t need crunches or Eren’s arms to stand up. Life is good when she can actually sneak up on him and put her cold hands underneath his shirt when he’s cooking, making him jump and scream jesus Mikasa, go wear a sweater or something. Life is good when he doesn’t have to pick her up from the wheelchair and carry her to bed. Life is good with her new job and old friends and Annie and Armin standing underneath flowery arch and smiling like dorks.

Even after she met Eren, she was still waiting for the other shoe to drop. But know she knows for sure, that even when it drops – it is not gonna be the hardest thing she has ever been through, not even close. And that life will always be good, as long as he will hold onto her, as long as he will keep her centered.

 ***

 “Soulmates… why didn’t you like the idea?”

“I don’t really know. It always seemed so limited to me, like, why am I supposed to just be with this one person because we used to be together a couple of times before in a span of centuries? I didn’t enjoy somebody dictating me how to live my life, I guess.”

“You’re are such a rebel, Miki.”

“Oh, shut up. Tell me about you. What made you okay with that?”

“ Well. You know, when people find their partners, they tend to look at certain things. Like money and race, and gender, and interests and all of that. We don’t really tend to pair up with people who are very different from us. But the notion of soulmates… it just shows that it’s all bullshit. It doesn’t matter at all. When you really love somebody, all of those things are just so insignificant. That always sounded kinda beautiful for me, that it’s your heart that chooses this person time and time again, not your head. “

Maybe he is right. She doesn’t know; she doesn’t care. All she knows is that everything before him seems now like a soft, slow build-up and being with him is a beautiful crescendo; a moment when the music drags you under, overwhelms you.

Give me all your love now, cause for all we know, we might be dead by tomorrow.

One headphone in his ear, one in hers; hands linked and eyes closed, they sit in an empty train, talking without barely opening their mouths.

Even if we’re dead tomorrow, I’ll find you again, Miki.

I’ll find you again and I’ll love you again, Eren.

Ugly and beautiful, all together. She doesn’t think that this crescendo will ever really end.

  *

 As if the heavy slope of my shoulders

doesn’t write a hundred paragraphs.

As if the way I look at you

doesn’t write the singular ending.

 You are my epilogue,

my prologue,

and every chapter that exists in between.

 Everybody, sit down.

  I have a story to tell."

-          Stories. Seventy Years of Sleep, nikka ursula (n.t)

[fridays--child]

Chapter 1 - But the darkness holds it all in: figures and flame, beasts and me.

Read on AO3 or Wattpad

After the hubris that followed the Industrial Revolution, scholars and civilians are terrified when a new plague epidemic steadily begins killing off not only their way of life, but their population. When Hedy Leander, a foreign volunteer medic gets posted at Morrigan’s Ranch, a rural farming-turned-resort town that’s one of the few unaffected, she’s expecting a reprieve from the death and disease that clings to the bigger cities. But as things become bleaker, the small community will have to learn what desperation to survive can do to not only to their idyllic existence, but to those they thought to rely on.

“No man is an island, entire of itself.

Each is a piece of the continent, a part of the main.

If a clod be washed away by the sea, Europe is the less…”

Hedy had never been a God-fearing woman. Even in her twelve years of Catholic school, her family had been too involved in science and rationality to believe in an eternal and all-knowing watcher, and church visits were mandated to weddings and funerals. But if there was a big guy up there, presiding over her every movement, after the past few days she highly doubted he’d mind too much if she let herself doze for a few moments.

Her Pa had died. After nearly seventy years in the service of medicine, he finally, quietly, gave in to the very disease he tried to cure. The same infection that was sweeping the country like the locust in Exodus. Or so he likened it to. She had cried all she needed to over her reluctant hero, the man who rarely showed paternal love, but showered her in accolades when she, in some form, began to follow in his career path. And though she felt an ache in her chest, in the dimly lit cathedral, with the air thick and sweet with smoke, it could be so easy to put a hand over her eyes and rest quietly. She had been awake for over twenty-four hours.

“Each man’s death diminishes me, for I am involved in mankind.

Therefore, send not to know

For whom the bell tolls,

It tolls for thee."

"Now, please rise for the final hymn.”

“Yes, he was too involved in mankind, the foolish old man,” Gran muttered filthily, as Hedy gently grabbed her elbow and helped the older woman stand. The tip of her ugly feathered hat hit Hedy’s face and obscured anyone behind her’s view. Hedy hoped the small lace veil she wore hid her blush. “He thought he could play God.”

“I think he just wanted to help.” Hedy responded, nodding politely when some of the other mourners turned around in response to the outburst. True or not, it was too soon to speak ill of the dead. “It was his life’s work, he couldn’t just sit by while this happened.”

“Yes he could of,” she retorted, grabbing her small handbag and rifling through it. The pall-bearers were gathering around to carry the empty casket to the cemetery. “He was too proud of his own intelligence, and too damn stupid to realise he couldn’t outsmart it.”

Hedy nodded, too worn to argue back. Though her Pa had only married her Gran in during her childhood, Hedy had learned early on there was no point taking Elenora Leander on. Her previous two husbands had testified to that.

“It was nice that they chose to honour him here, in the city.” Hedy changed tactics, walking along the green lawn of the adjoining cemetery to where his headstone now stood. Four feet high, the stone featured a winged man holding off a skeletal harbinger. A testimonial to the very arrogance Gran was bitter about.

“Though I guess it was nice that they had a ceremony at all.” Gran sniffed.

It was true, however unfortunate it seemed. The death that was occurring on mass across the company meant that funerals had lost any sense of rarity , any sense of closure. Everyone was mourning. There were no bodies to bury, the government decreed that any person who died from this plague, as well as their clothes and anything they came into contact with during their incubation, was to be burnt and then buried. Pa’s body would have been burnt a week ago, and buried in the mass grave they all pretended was not only a few miles out of the city’s gates. This funeral, with the casket and headstone, was a laughable luxury.

“I suppose this put you out of a job.” Gran retorted, pulling a small vial from her purse. Delicately, she let four drops fall onto her tongue, grimacing slightly as she swallowed. Hedy rounded on her, taking the small vial from her grasp.

“I was out a year before this happened,” she replied, taking a sniff of the concoction. She did not recognise the label on the bottle. “And what is this, Gran?”

“One of your Pa’s students gave this to me, said it would help my nerves today.”

Hedy popped a drop on the back of her hand, looking around to make sure no other funeral attendees were watching. Most had already begun to leave. There was to be no wake, no viewing, and no body to bury. She tentatively licked it off her gloves.

“Gran, this is nothing more than brandy with some lavender in it!” Hedy exclaimed, before licking her hand again. “And maybe some form of opiate.”

“Oh good,” Gran took the bottle back, taking a few more drops for good measure. She placed the small vial daintily back into her handbag and closed the clasp with a sharp snap. “I couldn’t very well bring out a flask, could I? The only thing worse than a drunk widow is a hysterical one.”

~

Goodbyes at the train station were a short affair. Despite having lived at Morrigan Ranch for the past twenty years, Gran had decided to live in the city, citing she was old and had nothing left at that ‘run down hick town.’ When Hedy had mentioned was worried about her on her own, she snorted. “Sweetheart, worrying is just something we do to feel busy.”

The train ride itself was uneventful. Morrigan’s Ranch was located three hours out from the city, far enough away to feel rural, but close enough for a weekend trip. Originally a small farming town, its rugged, wild beauty, and relative proximity to both the city, and a quaint coastline hotspot, had made it somewhat of a resort town in recent years. The rich and bored came there to experience living off the land, spending a weekend or two with their hands in the soil before they gleefully returned to their life of privilege. Why a woman like Elenora chose to live there in retirement, Hedy would never understand. But she had enjoyed her childhood trips when she was in the country there, where the livestock and people did not mind an overly curious child with the heavy accent bothering them. She hadn’t been there since she was freshly eighteen, and, despite being posted there for work, was looking forward to staying at a place that was, if fadingly, familiar.

The seven-mile trek between the station and Morrigan’s Ranch via carriage was, unfortunately, less pleasant. The weight of nearly forty hours awake was beginning to toll on Hedy, her head throbbing over every bump and ditch. Despite all her recent practice, she had never been a great traveller. The uneven swaying was threatening her to be ill all over her Sunday best and stupid, too small shoes. Cecil, Morrigan’s own preacher and the organiser of her volunteer unit, had apologized profusely. Cars were already a rarity, and, in this time too expensive for the average person to run. Morrigan’s Ranch only had one vehicle in working order, and it was currently in use. Hedy had waved his apology away, but now, groaning and resting her sick head between her legs, she could really curse whoever was selfish enough to take it away from her.

Sitting across from her, Declan blanched slightly at her green complexion. “If you throw up on me, princess, I will throw you from this carriage.” He had a shotgun casually strapped across his back, and unfortunate part of being an escort on the roads in recent months. Firearms had stopped alarming her a long time ago.

Hedy threw him up a hand gesture, swallowing hard at the saliva pooling in her mouth. “As if I haven’t cleaned you up more times than I can count.” When he chuckled, she continued. “Just please tell me we’re fucking close already.”

“We should be.”

In the encroaching darkness, the surrounding forest and shrubbery around Morrigan’s Ranch seemed more overgrown than it was seven years ago. Everything rustled and echoed through the branches, accentuated by the poor horse who was carrying their load’s heavy stomps as they approached the lights glowing in the distance. She could hear voices in the distance, brutal yet cautious, asking questions about their approaching carriage. If she hadn’t gotten used to feeling afraid, she would have been nervous right now. She saw Declan’s hand twitch towards his gun.

“Pull over.”

Their group was met with a small convoy of armed men and woman, their expressions in the dim light dark and questioning. The carriage driver agreed, and Hedy quickly slid out, glad to feel solid ground beneath her swollen feet. However, her relief was short lived, as one gripped her forearm, roughly taking her Pa’s medicine bag, one of her few prized possession, from her grasp. She could hear Declan arguing with another as they began to surround the carriage and began rummaging through the possessions of the other carriage riders. When no one responded, the same voice spoke again.

“Who are you?” She could hear another gun slowly being loaded and cocked.

“My name is Hedy Leander,” Hedy spat, trying to retrieve her medicine bag from out of her aggressor’s reach. She still hadn’t let go of her forearm. “Anton and Elenora’s granddaughter.”

No reply.

“I’m part of the medical team stationed here. If you give me my bag back, I can show you my pass and papers.”

The woman holding her arm looked up to the first voice.

“Samson?”

“Show me.”

Indignantly, Hedy snatched her bag back and quickly retrieved her papers. Beckoning for one of the men holding a lantern to come over, she at last could see where the demanding voice came from. His face was mostly obscured by long dark hair and a beard, with only the tips of his cheekbones and eyes visible in this light. Though she couldn’t see much more of him, or anyone surrounding him, she noticed he might be one of the few men that had been taller than her. He looked at her pass for a long moment, before handing it back. His voice was softer, but no less authoritative, than before.

“Where’s Cecil?”

“Dealing with border control. Trying to get our luggage through quarantine faster.” She shrugged. “I’m only allowed this bag because it’s got medical supplies.”

One of the other party members, a man who was wearing a wide-brimmed hat despite the night sky, stared inquisitively at the man named Samson. He nodded slightly.

“Okay, let’s get you in.”

Tensions slightly decreased, Declan and Hedy walked the remainder of the short trek by foot, with Hedy downright refusing to get on the now-spooked horse’s carriage again. The one with the hat spoke again.

“Sorry about the, uh, showdown there. We’ve had some issues with poachers recently.”

“I understand. I get why you have muscle here.” She motioned to Samson. Hat man chuckled.

“Hedy!”

As they approached the town hall, the only building illuminated by candles despite it being evening, a shrill yet excited voice called out. Hedy found herself in the arms of Moira, who had run to the convoy and promptly enveloped her with a kiss on the forehead. Though she had not known her long, Cecil’s young wife had always been kind, if slightly over-affectionate, to Hedy and the rest of her team.

“Are you alright, darling?” She held Hedy’s face in her hands.

“Yes, thank you Moira. Cecil did a lovely job today.”

“That’s sweet.” She linked arms with Hedy and bought her forward, into the building. “I apologize for the lack of a welcoming party. It must have been hard to find us here in the dark.”

“Do you have electricity here? I thought Gran said it was recently installed.”

Moira nodded. “We do, only in the town hall and a few of the homes who could afford it. It’s hit the skitz, but we only turn the generators on from 6-10pm each night, and then it’s all candlelight.”

Hedy nodded along, tuning out as Moira quickly explained how the village ran. It had been a damn long time since she had been here.

~

Ave moved as silently as she could, trying to use the wind and night sky to her advantage. Creeping towards the old shed next to the generator, she thought it was ironic that, until only a year or two ago, she was terrified of these forests and what lay in them. She had been raised around a campfire full of tales of wraits and folk in animal skins, who would trick and spirit away those who disturbed their peace. But there was nothing here to be scared of, she knew. The only scary thing out here were the men who tried to steal from them.

Finally reaching the shed, she quickly took a peek at the generator, before removing the loose glass in one of the windows and wriggling her way in. Ave had heard that poachers had been seen in the area scouting for food, and when their trusty generator had broken down a few days later, she could only assume they were the culprits. She had spent too much fucking time, covered in muck, growing those vegetables for them to be stolen by lazier men.

Ave didn’t have to wait long for her suspicions to be confirmed. Raising herself slightly, she peered through the shed window at the two men approaching. She couldn’t recognise either of them, and as they reached the generator, she knew they weren’t a welcome member of their little community.

“The idiots haven’t fixed this yet, think we’re still good?”

“Yeah, should be. You start here, I’ll check one of the other sheds. See where they stock their produce before we go for the livestock.”

Fingers nimble despite her building rage, Ave quickly tested the sharpness of her arrow before loading it into her bow. The poacher had disappeared, and she flattened herself against the wall, pressing her ear to the thin shield between them. She could hear him circle the shed, and as he rattled the knob of the long-broken door, she cocked her bow. Despite herself, she jumped and swore when a fist smashed through the window she had entered through and knocking over a ladder.

The poacher, hearing her, paused for a moment at her outburst. Ave bit her lip, praying that if she stopped breathing it would still her furiously beating heart. She was certain he could hear the violent rattle of it through the heavy silence. Curiously, he raised a lantern to the glassless window.

“What do we have here?”

She lined up a shot, hitting his shoulder.

“You fuck!” His hands reached for his holster at his hips, but she was much faster. Aiming blindly, she closed her eyes and hoped for impact.

Luck was on her side that day. Foolishly, she dared not open her eyes, but strained her ears as she heard him stumble, before a heavy weight hit the ground. Ave counted to sixty three times in silence, before tempting to move again.

She wasn’t sure how long he’d be incapacitated, and at this point, she did not want to find out. Moving as stealthily as she could, she eased herself through the now shattered window and pawed her way to his body. The lantern lay discarded, but it’s light spilled over the man’s spreadeagled body. Tentatively, she placed two fingers on the pulse point of his wrist, relieved yet sickly annoyed at the slow, steady thump that showed life. Moving quickly, she liberated him of his pistol, throwing her bow and arrows back through the window of the shed.  

Pulling the safety off with shaky fingers, Ave pointed the gun to the sky and pulled the trigger. Twice. Then she ran like all hell.

- - - - -

Notes:

Hi! Okay, so posting this is terrifying, but here it is in all it's rough, dirty, and unedited glory. I've had this story floating around my brain for about four years, and chronic illness has finally given me time to write it. I haven't written for fun in about 84 years, so hopefully it isn't fucking terrible. There's about 15 chapters planned so far, so there should be an update once a week.

- - - - - 

Credits: The title comes from 'Rilke’s Book Of Hours: Love Poems To God: The Book of the Monkish Life p. April 1905,' by Rainer Maria Rilke. The reading during the funeral is Meditation XVII Devotions upon Emergent Occasions,' by John Donne.

[queandrue]

“I need at least seven sweet and sour sauces or I’m fucked.” (Male Robin talking to Lucina)

A/N: First impressions are everything, and Robin isn’t doing the best job at that. I wanted to make something funny as soon as I read the prompt. I hope you enjoy these ridiculous Awakening shenanigans XD  ~Rue

Word Count: 1092

“I need at least seven sweet and sour sauces or I’m fucked,” Robin groaned, slamming his head against the counter of the bar. Lucina glanced over at the tactician. Her father had told her that he trusted Robin with his life, that he was the most skilled tactician in all of Ylissea. This was not how Lucina pictured him.

“I’m… Sorry to hear that?” She really shouldn’t judge. Perhaps this was part of some master plan Robin was coming up with. Perhaps he was planning on making some sort of spell to blind their enemies with sauce. While it did sound a bit out there, she couldn’t eliminate it as a possibility. Her father wouldn’t put a brainless moron in charge of their battle strategies, he was definitely smarter than that… Right? “What do you need them for? Do you have some sort of new weapon or spell in mind?” Lucina asked.

Robin looked the time traveler dead in the eye, stone faced. Was she about to hear something amazing? Perhaps he hadn’t discussed this new plan with anyone yet. She could only imagine what fantastic secret the amazing tactician was about to disclose to her. She was positive that it’d be unlike anything she’d seen before!

“Anna is going to kill me if I don’t get it back,” he deadpanned.

Wait… What?

“I burned it. She was going to sell it. She said that if I don’t get it back she’d sell my ass to her client instead,” Robin continued.

Lucina didn’t know what to say. She didn’t expect her father’s tactician to be so… Clumsy? She felt like she was missing so many pieces of the story, but she wasn’t sure if she wanted to know.  “Why seven? Why would it even matter? I’m sure you must be exaggerating.”

Robin shook his head, “You don’t know Anna. If there’s one thing that I’ve learned about her, it’s that she loves money more than anything. Any hit to her profits, no matter how small, is a hit to her. According to her, she’d already cashed their money, and the sauce she was going to sell them was a special brand from the northeastern island of Ferox. In other words, I’m screwed.” The tactician groaned and slammed his head on the counter once more.

All Lucina could do was stare. This man was in charge of their army…. Oh gods this man was in charge of their army. Robin always seemed so calm and collected whenever she had seen him planning, how could something as simple as sweet and sour sauce be his downfall? Also, would this woman, Anna, really sell him over ruined sweet and sour sauce? What type of group was this? Based on the stories she’d heard, Lucina always believed her father’s army to be made of valiant and noble heroes. This entire situation was neither valiant nor noble. In fact, she felt like she was in a circus rather than an army.

“W-Well we have an alliance with Ferox right? Perhaps we could ask the Khans to send us some of that sweet and sour sauce to appease Anna,” she suggested.

Robin stared blankly at her. It wasn’t until this moment that Lucina realized how sleep deprived he looked. Maybe that was why he was acting so strange. Could it be that he was putting his duties as a tactician above his sleep schedule? If that was the case, could he be putting above his other needs as well?

“Dear gods you’re right,” Robin muttered, face flushing in embarrassment, “I apologize Lucina, I must seem like a fool. I must be off to contact the Khans at once so Anna will be satisfied.”

Lucina watched him leave, concern taking over her thoughts.

A few days later, the blue-haired girl wandered into the tactician’s tent. Robin stared intently at the map in front of him, moving tiny figurines in various positions and taking notes. He had bags under his eyes and didn’t seem to notice the girl.

“Excuse me, Robin?”

Robin looked up and smiled, “Oh Lucina! Come in, please.”

She stepped inside and stood on the other side of the map. “How are you feeling?”

“Good, good. The Khans sent me the sauce for Anna, with some teasing of course. My pride may be injured a bit, but it will pass,” he chuckled.

“Have you been sleeping?” she asked. The question had been plaguing her since the sauce incident had first occurred. Her father would never have put a thoughtless man in the position of tactician, so sleep deprivation was the only thing that made sense.

Robin seemed surprised at the question. “Well, I mean, I have been quite busy with my duties. So I’m afraid sleep has been pushed to the back of my mind for now. After all, my duties and Ylissea come before anything else. I have been getting rest where I can.”

“Well you should be getting more. A sleep deprived tactician is just as dangerous as a foolish tactician Robin,” Lucina cut it, “Consider it an order to get an appropriate amount of sleep from this point on, even if it means halting in your duties for the time being.”  After she said it, Lucina wasn’t really sure if she had the authority to give Robin orders. After all, she had just arrived, and Robin had been working by her father’s side for a while. “Or at the very least, take it as a request from a comrade who cares about your wellbeing,” she corrected, looking away from Robin.

The tactician looked at Lucina in consideration, formulating a response in his mind. “How about this, I’ll take your word as advice from a new friends,” he said, “After all, you did help me gather my thoughts back there. A little more sleep wouldn’t hurt me, especially since my brain seems to be turning to mush.”

Lucina looked back up at Robin, a smile crossing her face, “Alright, I can accept that. Don’t think I won’t check up on you, just to make sure you’re following through with cleaning up your sleep schedule.”

“Oh don’t worry Lucina. I’ll even promise to fix my sleep schedule.”

“Good, I’ll keep you to that promise Robin. After all, we can’t risk our tactician being sold in place for an angry merchants destroyed sweet and sour sauce.”

Robin blushed and let out a groan, “Gods Lucina, don’t remind me.”

The girl just laughed. Perhaps her there were more sides to her father’s tactician than the stories let on.

[swesthetics]

A LIST OF SWAN QUEEN FAN FICTION

B/C I KNOW Y’ALL ARE TIRED OF LOOKING FOR SWANQUEEN FANFIC RECS ON TUMBLR SO HERES THE GOOD SHIT.

all of these are in english

if you have any recommendations or additions, please let me know!

some fanfictions that i originally planned to include on this list were deleted by their authors :( 

CLASSICS (favorites)

The Art Of Being Extraordinary - if you haven’t read this already, wyd? The ending will destroy you - be prepared to cry. 

Letters From War - another extremely well known fic among swen. a heart-wrenching and beautifully written AU fic. even if AUs aren’t your thing, seriously, give this one a try.

Emma is a soldier on reserve in Fort Benning. Regina is the Mayor of Storybrooke. Through a pen pal program designed to ease the ache of homesick soldiers, Emma and Regina begin sending letters to one another as their relationship grows from cordial acquaintance to something neither woman would have expected - until the letters stop coming.

A Trail Of Destruction - DEFINITELY a classic imo. this is one of my favorite fanfictions of all time.

A hostage situation in City Hall leaves behind a battered, broken sheriff, and a mayor wracked with guilt. Trigger warnings for violence and gun threats and general angst. Slow-burn swan queen.

Miles To Go - AU; emma and regina meet at a party and the rest is history. this ones pretty long (80 chapters), but so worth the read! angsty & lots of ‘sexy times’ 

Everyone has their own story, this one is theirs and it paints the picture of a love story that spans over two decades, with all the ups and downs and everything else in between. SwanQueen AU  

Of Love and Loathing - a lot of angry sex in the beginning, which eventually turns into lovey sex. another well known and well written fic - this author is one of my favorites. *reaaallyyy hot smut 

"I have been sleeping with someone," Regina began tentatively, an acute awareness that once she said the words out loud that the madness behind her highly unorthodox situation became all the more real, "whom I absolutely loathe." •Emma/Regina•

Meet me Halfway - one of the first swan queen fan fictions i ever read! still a classic to this day. AU

Emma Swan works hard every night as a bartender, struggling to raise her son and save up enough to own her own bar. Regina Mills is an upper class New York photographer who wouldn't normally spare a second glance at people below her. When their paths cross, their lives adapt to each other, but how much are they willing to change?

Love Undefined - in the process of re-reading this one because of how much i love it. angsty as hell but such a beautiful story.

It’s been eight years since the last time Regina and Emma saw each other, eight years since Emma lost part of her happiness, her family, and everything fell apart. But she hasn’t forgotten those three years in New York, or any of what Regina had brought into her life. A late night phone call to Regina takes Emma back eleven years to when they met, saved each other from loneliness, and Emma started learning what it meant to live. She relives the moments that had changed her life for the better, and even the ones that had hurt.

Teacher’s Pet - KNOWN AS THE ONE TEACHER/STUDENT FANFIC THAT EVERYONE HAS READ. 

Emma Swan is starting her senior year. Her friends tell her about the Creative Writing teacher that she has on her schedule and how no one had passed her class with an A, not even her bookworm friend, Belle. What will she do? And who exactly is this 'bitchy Evil Queen' as they claim her to be? SwanQueen. Student/Teacher. M for language and future chapters.

Lost in Translation - i wasn’t sure about this before reading it but i LOVED it. the description pretty much sums it up.

AU. Regina is deaf. Emma is the only one who refuses to give her pity. In response, Regina is thrilled by this new challenge and the stand-offs commence, but over time she finds out there is more to the blonde woman than just a target to throw a stinging quip and pointed glare at.

Send Up a Signal - emma and regina are actresses and their fans ship them with each other. ;)

Emma Swan is catapulted into stardom, the newest lead actress on a sanitized show featuring modern fairytales. Regina Mills is a long-undermined star with a chip on her shoulder and a thousand reasons why she's invested. Naturally, they loathe each other on sight.Their characters' fanbases, however, have other ideas.

Reset - SO. GOOD. 95 chapters. if you’re looking for long fanfics, this is for you. 

Following the breaking of the curse everyone in Storybrooke is finding their happy ending, with one exception. Resigning herself to having lost Henry’s love and respect forever, Regina decides there is only one path available to her.

Take Me Home Tonight - AU!! lots of smut :) this is a newer one that i’ve seen around twitter and tumblr and i really enjoyed it! this one’s pretty short (14 chapters)

AU: Nineteen year old Emma Swan is a senior at the exclusive all girls boarding school, Foxhaven Academy. When her friends find out she's a virgin they send her to the city to find a guy to take her v-card. But Emma is more interested in a sexy older woman she meets in a bar. A SwanQueen story.

The Staircase - non-consensual sex in the first chapter, so please be aware of that; its not for eveyone. this story is very dark but has a happy ending i promise!

Regina could still smell her cologne and feel the cheap pleather pressing into her back. The brunette sucked in a breath. She was still lying on the floor at the staircase's base and she stared back up at it. Everything was different now. Changed. She felt broken by what had just happened, appalled and enraged, dirty. WARNING: NC17 for non-consensual sex. Dark. (But gets lighter.)

the trouble with emma - very very well known within the swan queen community. i’ll be honest, i never really got into the story but i can acknowledge that it is the most well-written fanfiction i have read to date. the author is truly talented. (the first in a series of fanfics)

Post ep 4x23, Emma becomes the Dark One and learns nothing is quite as it seems or as simple as black versus white. When Regina removes the curse no one in Storybrooke is prepared for the far reaching fallout which leaves none of their lives unaltered or untouched, least of all Regina's.

SMUT 

shadow haven  - the one smut fic everyone has read.

Emma Swan is a PR agent who is sent on a holiday by her boss. Regina Mills is the owner of a private island named Shadow Haven. There is more to Regina than initially meets the eye. This story dips heavily into the BDSM subculture. Swan Queen romance / BDSM story.

the wicked stepmother - the one kinky fic everyone has read- or attempted to. i couldn’t get through the whole thing but the first few chapters,,, holy hell.

When the Evil Queen catches baby Emma along with Snow White, she decides on a new revenge. In Storybrooke, Snow White will be allowed to raise her daughter... but on her eighteenth birthday, Regina will come for her. Emma might just enjoy that.

in control  - Regina had never been in the habit of relinquishing control, but when it came to Emma Swan, she was starting to find out that giving in had its benefits. - Established Swan Queen - One Shot. Rated M for language and content.

the collar - It will carry strong mature themes as well as a Mistress/Slave relationship but it is also a lot more than that. However, as a warning this story will celebrate the shades of grey of our favourite couple as they find their way to each other and will deal with darker elements of their characters. Emma's history differs a little from canon but will be covered by the story but there is no Henry and she is an adult in this fiction.

a little taste  - author of A Fine Line and Letters from War. 

Emma has been desperate to know what it's like to kiss the smirk off of Regina Mills, but when she finally gets the chance, it doesn't seem to be enough.

tempest - A storm ushers in an expected opportunity for Regina to finally rid herself of Emma Swan. She will posses the sheriff's heart and then crush it. But what happens when nothing goes as planned? Rated M for language and Swan Queen sexytimes.

come on be nice - Regina has decided that the quickest way to get rid of Emma Swan is to scare off the commitment phobic woman with a come-on. This, as with many of Regina's plans, does not go as, well, planned. Rated M for Swan Queen sex.

black lace - Emma and Henry find a way around the 'no visiting' rule involving binoculars and the walkie talkie. Emma's attention is fully on her son, she truly doesn't intend to watch Regina at all. At least until the mayor begins undressing in front of her window..

dirty words - Regina is plagued by thoughts of a certain blonde. Deciding she is in need of cathartic release, she writes a quick narrative in hopes of cleansing her system. However, by a happy accident, the story falls into the wrong hands. What will Emma do with this new and intriguing insight into the mayor's mind?

damn you, miss swan -  Emma visits the mayor one night with a bottle of wine to cheer her up. Anger issues and smeared lippy ensues. WARNING: Includes a non-explicit passing reference to rape. This is my first story. A/N Jan 2015: Way back when I wrote this, no one knew anyone's back stories, so I just made up stuff. Don't be upset for canon divergence if you read it now. It wasn't canon then.

mirror tricks - The Evil Queen has made her way to Storybrooke, but she only seems to be interested in one thing: Emma. When Regina realises this, her jealousy starts to get the better of her.

my enemy’s enemy - After her mother's death, Regina finds a terrible surprise hidden among the witch's belongings. Unfortunately, the only one able to cure her from the ailment is Emma...if she agrees. Strong language and mature themes. First stab at SwanQueen :)

ANGST

to remember her happy ending - "She doesn't even remember her family! How am I going to explain this to her when she hates me!" She was falling apart now. The way the women in the other room had just looked at her, with such disdain. That wasn't her wife. That was the Mayor, the Evil Queen maybe…but not her wife.

for endings are where we begin - Regina Mills is your average working mom - she spends long hours at her bakery, loves her son Henry with all that she is, and can touch dead things and bring them back to life.Emma Swan is an orphan, an ex-convict, and a bail bondsperson residing in Massachusetts. She is also currently dead.This is the story of how they meet.

the loudest silence - New to Chicago Emma, a professional cellist, is shocked to find that a beautiful deaf woman is her new president of the board. As their friendship grows Emma begins to wonder, what does it look like when a world of sound and a world of silence meet somewhere in the middle? SwanQueen AU

broken - 16 year Emma Swan is a preachers daughter on a tight leash, what happens when Regina Mills returns to town, dark, mysterious and dangerous? Will her father's expectations take over or will Emma follow her heart? Is Regina legit or is Emma cute little pawn? Will Emma be able to love Regina for who she is or will her dark past ruin it ALL! SwanQueen G!P Some BDSM

bring her home - Cora’s dead. Henry lives with the Charmings. Regina continues spiraling through grief and loss and hatred. Then Emma suddenly falls unconscious and Henry shows up at Regina's door because he needs her help to bring Emma back. Reluctantly, Regina embarks on a wild swan chase through Emma’s mind, a whirlwind of ‘roads‐less‐traveled’ and ‘what‐ifs’ and ‘might‐have‐beens’, in order to bring her home.

if the blazer fits - Emma decides to dress up like Regina for a Halloween party at The Rabbit Hole, a seemingly innocent decision that surprisingly leads to a relationship. The romance is openly feared by some and secretly despised by an unlikely source, who plots to end it.

a fine line - Upon Regina's banishment, the small town of Storybrooke becomes protected once again by an enchantment that prevents anyone from leaving or entering Storybrooke. Emma and Regina find themselves on the edge of the town, wishing for a way to the other side.

a pale imitation - Regina is furious with Emma after she brings back Marian, but since she can't take it out on her, Regina creates a mindless clone of Emma to hit instead. The clone doesn't stay mindless for long though, developing an obsession with Regina. Written for summer 2014 Swan Queen Big Bang. (TW for sexual assault/rape and graphic depictions of violence)

FLUFF

one fine mess - Regina's gut twisted with an agonizing pull and, for just a moment, she thought she might need to take up the same position as the woman crouched before her. "You're pregnant?" she whispered grimly. Emma's only response was to turn and retch into the toilet again. — Swan Queen, magic!pregnancy

coffee at midnight - (so good) Slow burn AU that starts with two women from different parts of the USA meeting on Twitter. Emma is an insomniac loner who is a Personal Trainer. Regina is a writer with a sleepless baby. Their lack of sleep and love for coffee soon brings them together and after that they find it hard to part. This is a fic where coffee is taking to mythical levels, despite it’s bad effect on people with insomnia and people with babies - showing that sometimes what you need and want isn’t always the thing that is wholesome and harmless. But also that denying yourself it will only lead to misery, something which Regina has to apply to other parts of her life.

all the single ladies - With the library in desperate need of renovation, Storybrooke prepares for a fundraising dinner and bachelorette auction. What mischief and romance can be found as a result? SwanQueen with some RedBeauty Rating has been raised to M - now including adult content.

TEACHER+STUDENT / EMPLOYEE+BOSS

teacher’s pet - see above (classics)

take me home tonight - see above (classics)

step into my office, baby  - This is what you get for doing the nice thing, Emma thinks. You do that whole Pay It Forward bullshit - you buy a lady some coffee and you pretend like it isn’t totally motivated by how she looks in a pencil skirt - and she goes and insults your business card and turns out to be your company’s new Executive Director. Real fucking cute.From now on, she is drinking tea.or, the one where they're in an office.

teaching miss mills  - Swan Queen Teacher AU: Emma is a gym teacher, who moves to Storybrooke Academy after becoming disenchanted with her job back in Boston. Regina Mills is the Head of English who Emma somehow seems to keep having run-ins with, despite the best of intentions. Along the way, Emma adjusts to small-town life, gets her teaching mojo back and grows closer to Regina. NOW COMPLETE

troubled teachers - COMPLETE! SwanQueen AU. Geography teacher Emma Swan starts a new life far from her troubled past and meets history teacher Regina Mills. But all is not as it seems when it comes to the composed, intelligent, and beautiful brunette. Family struggles and difficult relationships lead to a friendship and soon something more blossoms. Rated M for Ch 7, 18, 22, 24, 28, 29, 31, 35 and 38

not a virgin anymore - When college student Emma Swan wakes up one morning with no memory of what happened the night before she's very surprised she finds herself in professor Mills's bed. 

is that so, miss swan? - College student, Emma Swan, is confronted by her favorite professor and secret heart-throb, Dr. Regina Mills. What happens when Emma is forced to reveal her secrets? We shall see. AU. Slightly OOC at times. No magic. SwanQueen. Rated M for serious language and eventual sexy times between our two favorite ladies.

butterfly effect - in her final year of college, Emma finds she has more to account for than the extra credits she needs in order to graduate. Only... she doesn't expect it to come in the form of her newest instructor, Professor Regina Mills. Complete. AU Swan Queen

a sophisticated seduction - Emma's a college student, working as an intern at the Dazzle Magazine for a powerful woman she has never had the good fortune of meeting. But everything in her life is about to change when they finally meet. Especially when one falls so deeply in love with the other and the insecurities from a broken marriage comes to light. (Not Based on The Devil Wears Prada)

some other faves

down east decisions - Massachusetts State Police Capt. Emma Swan leaves her red-hot career to become the police chief of sleepy Storybrooke, Maine. She's hoping for a less-complicated, less-dangerous life, a desire that is dashed on both counts. AU. No magic. Crime drama and romance. Swan Queen is endgame.

that drunken night - Emma's wasted and accidentally calls Regina instead of her mom. And Regina isn't as loathe to talk to the blonde as she usually pretends. Did things change between them so radically while they were in Neverland? (No copyright infringement intended.)

chasing henry - SQ. Tired of the tricks and lies of both of his mothers, Henry follows the dwarves, Red and Granny when they use Tiny's magic beans to return themselves to their old land. Emma and Regina both chase after him, and they reluctantly travel together through the Enchanted Forest in order to find him and bring him back home safely.

so does this make us both the other woman? - Set after 3b in a peaceful Storybrooke where Regina is with Robin and Emma's fallen into a relationship with Hook. Shame about all that subtext that's rapidly threatening to become text.

[dinoswrites]

Black Coral Chapter 19: Grief

Solavellan, Mermaid AU. Ongoing.

Masterpost | Read from Chapter One | Read on A03

There are two elves sitting on a fence next to the road, looking out over Crestwood Bay.

This would not normally give either of the Grey Wardens pause; the spot would, under normal circumstances, offer a pretty view over the sparkling water of the bay and the sprawling floodwall at its mouth, with a gentle sea breeze to keep them from growing too warm under the summer sun.

It is, however, the middle of the Maker-forsaken night, with rain falling like buckets from the sky, and, perhaps most importantly, there are thrice-damned undead crawling out of the water.

Not, unfortunately, Darkspawn, or they’d be duty-bound to do something about it, orders be damned.

As they draw closer, however, Emric can make out scattered bones on the path, seaweed tangled in some of them. And then he sees the spear resting on the fence beside the young lady—dressed in some appallingly waterlogged but mundane clothing, and those funny footwraps that elves sometimes prefer to boots—and that the young man is trying to keep a broadsword dry under the heavy cloak he’s got the good sense to wear.

Emric waves to the pair as he and his partner draw near, though he can nearly feel the man beside him rolling his eyes in frustration as he does.

“Hello!” he calls, when he is certain they are close enough to be heard above the awful wind.

He is close enough now to see the dark tattoos on the young woman’s face—Dalish then, he thinks, with no more than a quick glance at the man beside her to confirm he has those markings, too. A light colour, but that’s not all that uncommon.

The woman smiles in greeting, but the man only scowls at them, so Emric directs his question to her.

“Miss,” he says, “I’m afraid it’s not safe out here for travellers. There’s a village up the hill, and they can provide you with shelter.”

“We can handle ourselves,” the man says, his accent curiously Tevene for a man with Dalish tattoos, “though I thank you for the warning. I wonder at the quality of such shelter if neither of you will take advantage of it for yourselves.”

Emric tries to smile, but his cheeks are so cold it’s little better than a grimace. “Orders, I’m afraid. We’re to book passage West, once our business is concluded here. No delays.”

The woman kicks something—and Emren looks down to see it’s a skull, the front smashed open.

When he looks back up at her, she’s tilting her head, as if asking him a question. Her pupils are eerily green in what little light his lantern offers him.

“Does your business perhaps include these things rising from the water?” the man asks. “We’ve fought off our fair share, but they keep coming.”

Emren’s partner—possibly exhausted from carrying the extra weight of the water in his clothes—interrupts then. “We are looking for a rogue Warden, goes by the name of Stroud. Orlesian. Ridiculous moustache, impossible to track down. Either of you seen him?”

The young woman shakes her head, and her friend’s brow rises. “Curious,” he says. “How, precisely, does a Grey Warden go rogue?”

“Can’t say,” Emren answers, with a scowl directed at his partner. “But Warden-Commander Clarel has ordered his capture. If you hear anything of him, it would be appreciated if you could send word to the Wardens at Adamant Fortress.”

“Certainly,” he replies. “Thank you for the warning—perhaps we will head to this village then, if there are only more undead on the road ahead.”

Emric and his partner leave the two to their travels, though the elves do not get up and leave when the Wardens do. Before the road curves away, Emric happens to turn and glance back.

They are still there—two pairs of eyes gleaming like wild animals in the dead of night.

Though there are enough elves in the Grey Wardens for it to be a familiar sight, it still makes him shudder as he turns away.

 --

“Adamant, then?” Hawke wonders as she comes out of the bushes behind Fenris, swinging her legs over the fence to perch beside him.

Varric is close behind her, but he simply leans on the fence between the two elves, glancing up at Aevalle. She seems to be focused on the large body of water that spits out walking skeletons every twenty minutes or so, which Varric supposes is fair. “I’ve heard of it,” he says, “but I don’t have a clue where it is.”

Stroud appears shortly after, pulling wet leaves from his apparently infamous moustache. “It rests on an island that rises out of the Abyssal Sea,” he informs them, “formed from a battle on a peninsula during the first Blight. It is at least two weeks’ journey from any settlement worth speaking of, due to the constant storms that plague the region.”

Varric whistles. “Curly’s not going to like that.”

“We can cut that time at least in half with the Keeper,” Bull interrupts, standing up where he had been couching before. Half a bush is stuck to one of his horns, its roots and mud dangling in the air, but he either doesn’t notice or just pretends not to.

Dorian finally emerges from the bushes, not a trace of leaf or twig on his person, to lean on the fence at Aevalle’s other side. “And then we would have no backup from the Inquisition’s formidable navy in case something were to go horribly wrong.”

“I’m not saying we take the whole thing by force,” Bull amends. “Just a quick recon mission—sneak in, confirm that Corypheus is behind the weird Calling, sneak out. No one has to even know we’re there.”

“Oh, that’s a lovely plan.” Merrill climbs up onto the fence beside Varric, casting a spell over their heads to keep the rain off. “It sounds much better than barging our way in through the front door and almost dying, like we usually do.”

Hawke bristles. “Well we can’t all have weird sentient submersible boats, now can we?”

Stroud gives Hawke an alarmed look. “What?”

“And who even says they have a side door,” Hawke continues, “huh?”

Stroud doesn’t look much like he understands, but he says, “The fortress rests at the top of the island’s sheer cliffs, and there is only one approach leading up from the sea.”

“See?” Hawke crosses her arms over her chest. “Your plan stinks. I vote we break it down.”

Aevalle is still staring off into space, so Varric gives her a bit of a nudge.

She startles, then looks down at him.

“You still with us, Drifter?”

She attempts a smile, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. She looks back out to the bay briefly, before turning back to Varric and signing, Something’s not right here.

“No shit,” he replies, deadpan. “And here I thought the skeletons were a tourist attraction.”

“Oh?” Merrill looks out to the water. “Is she talking about the bay?”

“Yeah, she’s had the brilliant idea that something fishy might be going on here.”

Someone groans. Hawke snorts.

She signs again, and Varric nearly rolls his eyes. “Sorry, I’ll clarify—she says the water feels wrong. Whatever that’s supposed to mean, I’m not entirely sure.”

Merrill only tilts her head curiously. “She’s right. I’ve been thinking the same thing ever since we got here—it feels sick, doesn’t it?”

“Merrill,” Hawke pipes up. “You are near and dear to my heart, and I will kill anyone who looks at you sideways—but it’s a giant lake. How can it be sick?”

“It’s not a lake,” Fenris interrupts, pointing to the long wall along the coastline that they can barely make out through the pouring rain. “I believe that is a floodwall, meant to protect this area from flooding during storm season.”

“And it’s doing a great job,” Hawke says. “Except for the giant saltwater lake it’s obviously let in.”

Aevalle shifts uncomfortably on the fence, still looking at the water with no small amount of concern on her features. I’ve felt this before, she signs, and Varric dutifully interprets.

“Where?”

Her lips twist, and she takes quite a while to respond. But she does, eventually, sign, This old ruin, where a piece of the sea was trapped, separated from the deep, and grew stagnant.

“Did skeletons pop out of it?” Bull wonders.

No. She looks very distant as she signs, But something very wrong lived there.

Dorian seems to know what she’s talking about, and reaches to touch her shoulder with a sympathetic wince. Varric glances behind him at Cole, who is still standing in the bushes, but the kid doesn’t give him a hint.

“I’ve felt this before, too,” Merrill says, a note of longing in her voice. “It’s very rare, but… sometimes bits of the sea get trapped by the land, and whatever else was stuck with it gets… well, strange.”

Dangerous, Aevalle corrects.

“Yes,” Merrill agrees. “So it’s odd, then, that they keep the flood gate closed, even though they could have drained it at any time…”

“It became damaged during the Blight,” Stroud informs them, back straight. “It flooded out the old town of Crestwood. Presumably, since the damage is constantly underwater, no one has had the ability to fix it.”

After a moment’s consideration, Aevalle hops off the fence, and starts stripping off her coat.

“Uh, Drifter,” Varric says, “little cold for a swim, maybe?”

She ignores him, throwing her rain-soaked jacket over the fence behind her. Then off comes her shirt—and, for once, she’s got some sort of breastband on underneath that looks like it’s made out of sealskin. Varric finds himself hoping that it’s lined with something soft.

“You are not swimming alone in undead-infested waters,” Dorian begins to argue.

Aevalle ignores him, undoing her belt and stepping out of her trousers. She’s wearing matching smalls as well, and she doesn’t bother taking off her footwraps.

“I hardly think she needs to go alone,” Merrill amends, resting her own spear on the fence so she can take her jacket off.

Varric stares up at her, aghast. “Daisy,” he says. “Don’t tell me…?”

She blinks down at him for a moment, curious. And then she seems to catch on, and laughs.

“Oh,” she says, “Oh Varric.”

“If you’ve been hiding fins on me all these years, I swear I will—”

“No!” she waves her hands in the air. “No! I just know a little air bubble spell! It’s one of the first spells I ever learned! In case someone ever needed help underwater. Really!”

As Varric squints suspiciously up at her, Fenris sighs.

“Stop shaking my arm, Hawke.”

The sound of wet leather creaking indicates that she has not, in fact, stopped shaking Fenris’s arm. “This is it,” she hisses.

Fenris only sighs again.

“In case no one has noticed,” Varric says, as loud as he can, “there’s currently a ridiculous storm blowing through.”

Merrill, stripped down to leathers a little similar to the ones Aevalle is wearing, ignores him, speaking to Aevalle instead. “Oh, before we go down—this,” she says, awkwardly signing, “is everything’s alright, yes? And this is up—and this is down?”

Aevalle impatiently nods to every gesture Merrill makes, walking backwards into the water.

“Look where you’re going for a change!” Dorian shouts, just as Aevalle finally turns and dives into the water.

Merrill follows a moment after—and as they all watch, a bolt of lightning bursts across the sky, catching the brilliant blue of Aevalle’s scales as she leaps once from the water, fully transformed, fins flaring in the air before she dives back under again.

“Subtle as always,” Dorian complains.

“Unbelievable,” Stroud says, his voice soft and full of wonder.

“Unbelievable,” Hawke grumbles, and Varric glances over just in time to see her slap a coin into Fenris’ waiting palm. Fenris has the good grace to only look a little smug about it.

“Did you make a bet with Fenris over whether or not I was just pulling your leg?”

“I absolutely made a bet with Fenris over whether or not you were pulling my leg.”

“You came out of hiding because you thought I was pulling your leg?!”

“And?” Hawke asks, looking genuinely baffled that he’s even asking.

“How is this achieved?” Stroud wonders. “Some—some great feat of magic?”

Varric catches Fenris send a wary glance Dorian’s way. For his part, Dorian doesn’t seem to notice.

“Apparently it runs in the family,” Varric says, making a placating gesture and giving Fenris a significant look. “Only your standard weird ocean shit here, apparently. No magic required.”

Fenris rolls his eyes, but seems to let it go for the moment.

When Varric looks back over at Stroud, he sees Bull leaning over from behind him and putting a heavy hand on his shoulder.

“Also,” Bull adds, “something not to go around telling everyone about. Yeah?”

Bull gives the Warden’s shoulder a friendly squeeze.

Stroud is still staring out at the water—but Varric can see him nod, very slowly.

“You know,” Hawke says. “I always thought Merrill was being metaphorical when she talked about this shit. But I guess, in hindsight, that time she got really drunk and told us all a story about how what’s-his-face landed in a boat with fins sticking straight up in the air probably should’ve tipped us off.”

“I thought she was so drunk she forgot the word for feet,” Varric admits, which makes Hawke laugh.

“A moment,” Stroud says, loudly enough that everyone turns to look at him. “Earlier, you said, submersible vessel. Am I correct?”

“Glad to see you’re keeping up,” Varric says. “Yes, we have a ship that sinks. Filled with air so we don’t drown, which is reassuring. And then it goes wherever Drifter there tells it to, and we all pop out and give everyone on shore a pleasant, not at all freaky, surprise.”

“Which is not a secret considering the entire city of Val Royeaux saw us do exactly that,” Bull adds.

Hawke laughs. “Bet that was a hell of an entrance.”

“Adamant once housed the Grey Warden’s gryphons,” Stroud says, “or at least most of them. To this day, the fortress rests on either side of a sheer chasm, where the gryphons roosted in caves carved out of the cliffs, all connected to the fortress above by tunnels that have fallen into disrepair.”

“Fascinating,” Dorian drawls. “And this is relevant because…?”

“Because,” Stroud says, “at the bottom of that chasm, enclosed on all sides, there is a massive reservoir of ocean water.”

No one says anything for a moment, as the realisation dawns on them, one by one. Hawke’s eyes light up. Just as she opens her mouth to speak, Cole, still standing in the bushes, says very softly, “A side door.”

 --

When the sun rises, it does not sparkle on an inland sea.

Instead it shines down on ruined homes, on old bones that no longer rise or take up arms. Years of dirt and silt compacting as it dries out, and the corrupted seawater filters out into the bay.

Aevalle watches it as Bull guides the Mayor of Crestwood out of his home, his hands bound behind his back. She doesn’t look at him, even when Bull begins to walk the man down to the little town’s harbour, where the Keeper waits. She has the piece of black coral Hawen gave her in one hand and her knife in the other as she stares down at Old Crestwood, at sea-soaked timber and belongings scattered on the ground. Some of them catch the sunlight and glitter, though she knows some of it is the bodies of fish, not yet begun to rot.

She keeps turning the coral over and over in her hands. It’s too small, she thinks. Too small a thing, for all the death she’s seen.

They were sick, the Mayor had said. The Blight. Every one of them.

It had not been in his defense. As he said it, he looked relieved more than anything.

She turns the coral again. Again. It’s not—it’s not—

She closes her eyes. Breathes in, and out.

The caves had just been full of skeletons. Full of them. They’re still down there—unburied. Unburned.

In the distance, the tide is receding. Pulling the tainted water with it, back to the deep.

She wonders what will happen to it out there. To all that pain and misery, trapped in one place until it rotted everything it touched, washed away by clear water, pulled past seafoam and wake and out to depths too vast for her to ever dream of swimming.

Deshanna used to say that the tide pulled heartache out to sea, and when it came in again brought hope in its place. Breathe in with the rush of the waves, to gather all your sorrow in your chest—and then breathe out, and let the ocean steal away your sorrows.

Where does it take it all, she wonders. And how much can it hold, before it too bursts.

Solas probably knows, wherever he is. Or, at least, he would have something comforting to say. A story that sounds like old words of wisdom, told a different way.

She wishes she could ask him.

“A word.”

She opens her eyes and turns her head. Fenris is standing off to her side, his arms crossed over his chest. Scowling slightly, but she thinks he always does that.

She raises a brow at him, tucking the coral back into her pocket and sheathing her knife. She gestures to the fence she’s sitting on, but he only approaches a few steps more, and does not sit down.

He seems to be studying her face.

“In his letter, Varric said you were a slave.”

A poor one, she thinks. And she had fought it and railed against it all the while—but he isn’t wrong. She was at the mercy of Felix and Dorian’s kindness long after they became her friends. So she nods, once, eyeing him warily.

He’s still looking at her very intently—his eyes narrow, and she thinks that he’s not finding what he’s looking for. So he holds out his arm, and rolls back his sleeve so she can see the markings there. White lines in his skin, raised slightly, that look almost like vallaslin. Maybe if they didn’t have that odd, almost-shining quality to them.

As she watches, they begin to glow. Blue, and pale, their light catching shadows across his face like reflections off the ocean’s surface.

“My master gave me these,” he says, “and I used them to kill him.”

She watches the pattern of light moving across his face as his markings fade, and he lowers his arm once again.

“If your master followed you here, under the guise of friend,” he says, “I can do the same for you.”

It honestly takes her a minute to realise what he’s saying—and he watches her very closely while she processes it, so he very likely sees the precise moment she realises it. She almost laughs, she’s so surprised—and more than a little touched, at the offer he’s making.

She shakes her head, unable to hide her smile.

Fenris frowns at her a little, shifting his weight. “It occurs to me that I should have brought Varric along,” he says.

She does laugh at that. Silently, a hand covering her mouth out of habit more than anything.

When she looks back at Fenris, he is smiling too. “Hawke wants a drink before we leave,” he says. “You are welcome to join us—she wants to know why Varric is so fond of you.”

She nods to Fenris, and then gestures until he seems to gather that she’ll join him in a moment. She does not follow immediately. Instead, she looks back out to the bay—towards the old town before it, and birds flying through the open food gate in the distance.

She takes out the piece of black coral again, and studies it closely. There’s a bump on the bottom half—one irregularity on the otherwise smooth surface. She turns it over, looking at it from a different angle…

It looks a little like a dorsal fin. Like a halla, or a dolphin, or…

She uses her knife to score the coral, and then neatly break it in half.

--

It feels like an eternity since Aevalle last set foot in Seahold.

It’s only been two weeks. The longest she’s gone without walking the ramparts in the morning, or lounging on Solas’s couch in his study, or helping with the orphanage.

The change to the underground docks made in that time has been significant, however.

Lights have been brought down and placed throughout; powered by electricity, it seems, because she cannot make out even a trace of burning oil in the air. It is bright enough now that she can see the mosaics and murals clearly, though she can tell even at a glance that they have been damaged by time and the things that have lived down here, and she has to struggle to make out most of the shapes. As she climbs the stairs she thinks there are soldiers in gleaming armour lining the walls, or perhaps just people in beautiful scales, though she can’t tell which. She spies a figure slipping by in the background, and though she can make out a mouth full of sharp, sharp teeth, the figure is depicted in such a way that she’s not certain if it’s meant to be a shark or a wolf.

Both, probably.

Almost all of the lichen has been cleared out, she realises as she steps onto the cliffs above the docks and her feet touch only uneven, worn stone. She finds instead worktables, cables for the lights, piles of equipment and tools that she thinks are magical or alchemical, but she isn’t certain, and Cullen carrying an extremely heavy looking box while a dwarven woman directs him where to set it down.

“Oh,” she’s saying, “not there, there’s a drip coming from above and if the ceiling has any Stormheart in it, we might all explode and die.”

“Wouldn’t want that,” Cullen grumbles, his limbs shaking with the weight of the box. Then he spots Aevalle standing at the stairs, and he straightens a little. “Captain Lavellan,” he says, “you’ve returned.”

She tries not to make a face at the word Captain, but she’s not sure she succeeds.

“Good to see you’re well,” he continues, as he slowly toddles over to where the dwarf points next. “I trust your business in the Exalted Archipelago went smoothly?”

She can’t help but smile a little at the sight of him, essentially waddling because the box is so heavy. She nods, her hands behind her back, and manages to keep herself from laughing until his back is turned.

Behind her, the others are coming up the stairs. She hears Hawke whistle, high and long, and then the Champion of Kirkwall comes to stand beside her and sling an arm over her shoulders. “Damn,” she says, craning her neck to look up at the ceiling, which is still in shadow in spite of all the lights added on the ground. “I mean, I prefer things like windows and not underground, but for a place to park a boat it’s pretty nice.”

Cullen, half-bent over the box as he sets it on the ground, freezes in place.

“You dock a boat, Hawke,” Fenris corrects her, as Aevalle watches Cullen finish putting the box down, and then slowly stand up and turn around, “not park it.”

“Nuance. Oh, hey, look who it is. Cullen! Remember me?”

Cullen just stares at Hawke for a moment, looking more than a little shell-shocked. “Yes, Hawke,” he says, “I remember you.”

“Oh, the Knight-Captain,” Merrill says, coming to stand at Aevalle’s other side. “It’s been an awfully long time.”

“It’s Commander now,” he corrects, shifting his weight. “I’m no longer a Templar.”

“Oh, that explains why you look like you’ve seen sunshine in the past, like, year,” Hawke says.

Cullen only shakes his head at them before looking once more to Aevalle. “Captain,” he says, “this is Dagna. She’s an arcanist who’s volunteered her services—”

“Hello there!” the dwarf in question calls, immediately and eagerly approaching Aevalle, as if she has been holding back since the conversation began. “You’re her! The Captain! I’m Dagna, the—well, Commander Cullen just told you, I suppose. Is it here? Your ship, I mean. I heard about it in Val Royeaux and I just knew I had to come see it, but you’d already left by the time I got to the docks and—can I see it? The Commander told me you call it the Keeper, and someone else said that it speaks to you? Is it true? Am I rambling?”

“Yes,” Cole says, which makes Aevalle smile again. “But it doesn’t bother her.”

“You can go look for yourself,” Dorian says, drawing Dagna’s attention to him. “It’s not going anywhere. As for me, I am long overdue for a hot bath, and the most expensive bottle of wine I can find in this miserable pile of rocks. Are you coming?”

I have to report to Cassandra, she replies, watching as Bull leads the Mayor of Crestwood past them, his hands bound behind his back and his head sagging.

“Of course. You’ll know where to find me when you’re done,” he says, and saunters off towards the exit—which has had all the dirt cleared away, and a set of wooden stairs built up instead.

“If you’re to make your report,” Cullen says, “I last saw Cassandra in the training yard.”

Behind her, Varric coughs.

“I heard someone here wants to see our fancy boat,” he says, a little too loud, clasping his hands and rubbing them together. “I would love to show you every single thing I know about that boat. Right now.”

“Well hurry up then!” Dagna says, already barrelling right past him for the stairs.

Hawke briefly squeezes her arm around Aevalle’s neck before slipping away. “Well, I for one would kill for some fresh air. And sunshine.”

“You’re supposed to be in hiding, Hawke,” Fenris chides as he falls into step at her side.

“But it would be nice to hide somewhere sunny for a change,” Merrill pipes up, half a pace behind them.

All the way back by the stairs, Aevalle can finally hear Stroud’s voice drifting towards them. “I can’t believe this,” he is saying. “This is—truly—a hidden dock? Only accessible by a single vessel?”

Cullen looks to him, frowning—and then his eyebrows shoot up, and his hand goes to the place on his belt where his sword should be.

He glances once towards Aevalle, and she responds with the sign for friend. Hoping he understands that much, at least.

His shoulders relax a little. The next glance he sends Stroud’s way is assessing, but no longer alarmed. “Jim,” the Commander says, and the soldier next to him nearly drops the box to salute, before he remembers to put it down. “Have Cassandra, Leliana, and Josephine brought here immediately. I suspect we have much to discuss.”

 --

Halfway through Aevalle giving her report, Dorian comes back down the stairs.

“I’m sorry,” he says, “this is—Aevalle, it’s…”

He’s holding a letter in his hand. Dorian’s standing next to one of the bright electric lights, and in its glow she can see the colour of the wax, and the shape of the seal.

House Alexius.

And just like that, she knows.

Dorian is taking her aside and he’s saying words, and telling her how and when, but she already knows. The Blight. Alone, without friends or family at his side.

Once they leave the undercroft, Dorian goes one way—to mourn as he knows best, and she won’t begrudge him for it. But she finds her steps leading her away from the tavern, this night. Down a path she and Solas once walked, down a long beach, to an empty stretch of shoreline where they had sat and she had confessed her failure.

I couldn’t protect them, she’d signed then.

Now, she stands, the waves lapping about her ankles, and she thinks, again, I could not protect him.

Is it irony, she wonders? Varric would know, if she asked him. That she was offered to Alexius as a cover to keep her close at hand until he could turn back time and fix their mistakes with their ritual. That, after failing so completely in keeping her clan safe, her next charge was a dead man?

And he saved her, in the end.

The months before finding Deshanna in that basement are a blur to her, still. A haze of pain and rage punctuated by single, bright moments of clarity. Of peace. Waking up, realising she had fallen asleep under a tree in the estate’s grounds—Felix reading, his back to the trunk. No beatings, when he discovered she’d woken. No anger. Only a smile as he looked up to find her glaring at him, marking his place in the book.

Sleep well?

A wave rushes past her, through her, up to her knees and she inhales with it. She’s crying, now—hot, angry tears spilling down her cheeks. As it recedes she can feel it pulling, hard, and she has to take a step forward to steady herself, so she doesn’t come crashing down into the undertow.

She digs her toes into the sand, and closes her eyes to steady herself. Even as the ocean pulls at that place inside her that always leaps to answer.

It’s not the first time she wonders what would happen, if she just let it pull her as far as it wants to take her. When she was with her clan still, she thought it would mean adventure—that the ocean pulled her to all the places it touched, the lands of the stories her father used to tell.

Now, she suspects that it would only drag her down to depths so deep, the pressure of the water would crush her bones.

As the tide rushes in, she stumbles up the shore, away from the water. Raking a hand through the mess of her wind-swept hair, she catches a glimmer of light on her wrist—and she glances over at it, frowning.

It’s the bracelet Solas bought for her. Moonlight catching in one of the blue, blue beads. The rope isn’t so stark white any longer—it’s been through everything she has since then. Through the flooded basement of Seahold, to fleeing a dragon in the storm-ravaged ocean, to battling a corrupted spirit in a circus tent as it collapsed around her.

The beads still shine, though. Clear, brilliant blue.

Find another clan, Deshanna had begged her. Protect them.

She closes her eyes, and just takes a moment to breathe.

She sits near the spot where Solas had held her, where she confessed her failures and he sang a eulogy for her clan in her stead. She reaches into her jacket and takes out the first piece of black coral, and her knife. There is more than enough moonlight for elven eyes to see, on a night like this, so she begins to carve. She works with the shape of the piece, making the body a little sleeker, carving out a long nose and making a hollow for horns off the back of its head. She carves into its body the whirls her mother used to etch into everything she crafted, as best as Aevalle can remember. As best she can imitate; she does not have her mother’s patience, nor her steady hand.

She has not carved like this in years. Not since she dragged her father’s body back to the clan, alone. It had been a smaller token—she’d nearly broken it in half a number of times. Cut her hands plenty, though she hadn’t felt it, numb with grief.

She finishes the halla before midnight, and she does not cut herself once. She holds it in her palm, and it seems… heavier, now that she is finished. Now that she looks down at it, at the moonlight in the lines she has carved, little flecks of coral dust lingering on the slope of its horns over its back.

It is too small, she thinks, for a whole clan and Felix Alexius. But there is not enough black coral in the world to contain her grief.

She washes the last dust from the carving in the ocean, lapping now at her toes. The tide will start to recede soon. She has no raft of driftwood to light aflame, no voice she can raise in mourning song, but she holds the carving in her hand and thinks, They were my clan. He was my friend.

Seawater drips from the little halla, and for now, that’s enough. So she tucks it into her pocket—and then, after a moment’s hesitation, takes the other half out.

She holds it up to the moon. Lets it illuminate the rough silhouette for a moment. She turns it over until the odd little bump is on the top, and tilts her head a little as she examines the natural curve of the coral. Almost twisting around her finger—a little like Wisdom had curled its great body in the air around her, as it sank slowly to the ground.

Her wrist is framed by the beads on her bracelet. The way they catch the moonlight, it almost looks like they’re glowing with a soft blue light.

She bends over, and begins carving black coral once again.

[xpuriity]

(Do the rest of the headcanon memes that you haven't answered yet if it isn't too much~~)

SEND ME A FACE FOR A HEADCANON ABOUT MY MUSE! ( ♫ )

( Thank you for sending this nonnie — since they are quite a lot, I’m going to be putting this under a read more~ )

(`･ω･´) : What does your muse completely gush over?

Everything and nothing~ Rosa is very excitable, in an almost childlike manner than there is quite a lot that leaves her enthusiastic. However, there are of course, always things in particular that spark a more intense reaction from her.

Her family and friends, being one of those things — Rosa, while is too shy to speak about herself, has no qualms whatsoever going on and on about the people she admires and cares for. She is very affectionate and caring in that sense. A lot of her music revolves around them and they are what make her happiest, after all.

Next is quite simple stuff, such as the beautiful colors of the sky, birds soaring the clouds, an eye catching feather found, a pretty sea shell on the beach, or even the bright colors of a rainbow after the rain.

All in all, the hummingbird is someone who chooses to see the beauty in all the small things in life and enjoy them and as such it is not unusual to find her gushing over things, that may be deemed by others unimportant. 

＿|￣|○ : What situation would your muse give up in?

Rosa is naturally an optimistic person, but that in no way eliminates the idea she is very much prone to melancholy. A situation Rosa had come very close to giving up in, is post marine-ford — losing her father figure and the love of her life in one fated day took a huge toll on the hummingbird’s mental state. 

The events and tragedy of it all had impacted her in a way that she would almost take her own life, unwilling to walk an earth where they no longer walk by her.

Thus, to answer to question, one situation she would give up would be the loss of the people she cares for — Rosa is quite dependent in the sense she sees no meaning to life if not shared with loved ones. She is a loving person by nature and needs people around to share that with; if you take that away then instead she becomes no more than a vacant hopeless shell.

When it comes to battle, Rosa is not opposed to retreating if it keeps her crewmates and herself safe — however, a situation she would give up in, is if they had been threatened and putting her weapons down is the only way to protect them.

(｀-´)> : Who does your muse honor the most?

Her father figure and captain — Whitebeard.

For a long time, Rosa had no recollection of her parents as they existed as no more than a vague memory in her mind, but it had been the man who protected her home island who she would grow to consider her true parental figure.

Since then she had held a huge admiration and respect for him and his ideals, longing to become a part of his family, her positive feelings for him only growing once she did. 

(´；ω；`): What brings your muse into a state of depression? 

Rosa has a quite dependent personality; she is sensitive to her own emotions as well as the emotions of others, thus a majority of the time, such a state for her would be caused by feelings related to other people than herself. 

For example, if she is left alone for too long then she is likely to fall into depressive thoughts as a result of loneliness, craving affection and communication. Other triggers to such a state would include, feelings of deep fear related to losing the people she loves, whether to death or simply losing them as part of her life. 

ヽ(`Д´)ﾉ : What irritates your muse the most? (╬ ಠ益ಠ): What infuriates your muse to the point they may kill whatever it is?

There isn’t really much that gets to the pianist, she tends to be at most, quite calm and laid back; however, there are matters which quite hit a nerve within her sensitive heart. The first which comes to mind is unnecessary bloodshed; as in Rosa is not quite tolerable to people taking other lives without cause or reason — especially if innocent lives are hurt in the process.

Another factor which irritates the musician is one linked to herself rather than a general cause, and it is when people tend to underestimate her for her size or gender. Being a petite female among the strongest pirate crew (consisting if not fully then mostly of males), naturally, comes with a few provoking remarks — be it from allies or enemies; it irritates Rosa but also brings about a constant need within her to prove herself worthy. 

She is unlikely to kill anyone at all; regardless of how infuriated she is — the one situation where Rosa does merely consider murder, is revenge; she wishes to make Blackbeard pay for all the harm he bestowed upon her family.

（　ﾟДﾟ） : What does your muse do when surprised?(ﾟдﾟ): When your muse didn’t expect something, what do they do?

It highly depends on the situation and source of her surprise.

If it’s merely something as a jump scare or so, you can expect the musician to elicit a very loud and very child like squeal of sorts; she jumps back, yells and once the realization sinks in would proceed to pout in protest.

However, in more serious, situations; if the source of her surprise is rather more emotional, being a pleasant or unpleasant surprise, it is very likely for her to be at a loss of words. Lips parted in shock, eyes widened and posture frozen. Her initial reaction is almost always speechlessness, taking a moment to process the reality — the next reaction would depend on the nature of the surprise. 

( ﾟヮﾟ) : When is your muse happiest?d(*⌒▽⌒*)b : What makes your muse the happiest they could ever be?

Rosa is at her happiest when surrounded by her family, preferably when she is in front of her piano, playing melodies — be it background music to their noise or having them actually pay attention and sing along to her tunes doesn’t make much difference — so long as they are all happy together.

She is happy during the early hours of the day; when the sun begins to rise across the horizon and the birds are chirping loudly greeting the morning air.

As well as when in the presence of a specific raven haired male with freckles adorning his skin ( @xpyre​ ). No other individual could make her smile the way he does or feel as safe as when around him, whether she is by his side or watching him go about his day from a distance; there’s no doubt Rosa is at her happiest when Ace is within sight. 

⊂二二二（　＾ω＾）二⊃ : Does your muse like to cuddle?

Rosa appreciates any and all forms of closeness and affection, and cuddling being a rather more intimate form of hugging is one she does like; however, the act, like most such displays is not one she randomly participates in; rather the gesture is savored for a very few beloved individuals aka her best of friends and her love interest only.

To her, being in the warm embrace of a loved oneis considered a pleasant form of providing love and most importantly, safety — in their arms, she can find a little sanctuary away from the dangers plaguing her mind; thus it would make sense she, naturally, only cuddles with people who she does feel safe around. 

(((( ；ﾟДﾟ))): What is your muse terrified of? 

Rosa is terrified of losing her loved ones ones most — That fear is split into quite a few fears as well; she is scared of being alone again, scared of being taken back to the years of isolation and loneliness before finding a family, she is also scared of any harm befalling these she loves, scared of witnessing them in pain or having to see them / learn of them getting hurt again.

Before marine-ford, that fear was dismissed to the back of her mind; the hummingbird being young and naive, believed her family had been untouchable — the strongest crew alive, too powerful to be defeated. However, past the war and their losses, that belief, obviously, changed. 

In her main verse, Rosa is so much more fearful of losing any more loved ones; particularly she is very terrified of losing Ace again — having only recently gotten him back after experiencing firsthand the bitter taste of his loss, she has become so much more protective of him, desperate to keep him safe.

Σ(ﾟДﾟ): What would your muse be most shocked to obtain? 

Rosa does not care much for materialistic objects — there is nothing specific I can think of which she would be shocked to obtain — being a pirate, she does have a certain mentality she is free to obtain anything she wants, whether she steals it or travels for it.  

However, she is often shocked and caught off guard when receiving special forms of gifts, particularly any with a sentimental and deep meaning behind it. 

( ﾟдﾟ): What amazes your muse? 

Anything and everything — as stated above, Rosa tends to get excited rather easily; the simplest of matters can catch her attention; someone’s talents or skills can amaze her, as much as little things like the color of the sky, a beautifully shaped seashell, a blossoming rare flower, a one of a kind feather to add to her collection, etc. 

(´ー`)y-~~ : Does your muse do any drugs? Smoke?

She doesn’t. However, due to her insomnia, post-marine-ford war, Rosa had been prescribed some sleep medication. She doesn’t consume it daily and rarely does, but when the night feels too long and difficult to get through, it is not unlikely for her to down a pill or two. 

（ ^_^）o自自o（^_^ ） : How often does your muse drink?

Not too often. Rosa is rather a lightweight and she also doesn’t really enjoy the taste of alcohol, however on special occasions and celebrations, she would join her family for a couple of drinks.

ヽ(´ー`)人(´∇｀)人(`Д´)ノ: How friendly is your muse around new people? 

Rosa, despite her shy nature, is actually also very friendly. Her timidness is not one which causes her to appear intimidating or distant in the slightest and while she may not be one to talk much or make the first move to approach, when actually spoken to, she displays utter kindness in the form of a warm smile, an offer to help, etc. 

(‘A`) : What does your muse do when they’re alone?

Generally, when alone, the musician can be found either bird watching or more likely, working on some songs — she would use the alone time to relax and play a few soft tunes or if she’s feeling up to it, vent her emotions into her journal of lyrics.

（´-`）.｡oO( … ) : What does your muse think about a lot?

Rosa’s thoughts, more often than not, tend to revolve around her loved ones rather than herself; she’s either thinking of their safety, their happiness or even sharing something with them, like a song she’s been working on she can’t wait to play for them, an item she found she’s eager to show them, a story she wishes to tell them, etc.

The rest of her thoughts are just lyrics and music buzzing in her heart and mind, waiting to be released on paper or the keys of her piano.

(ﾟДﾟ;≡;ﾟДﾟ): Is your muse impatient? 

Not at all, but on the contrary, Rosa is rather very patient. She is usually rather calm and doesn’t mind waiting at all — she is most likely to be the most un-bothered person by a long crowded queue. 

( ´д)ﾋｿ(´Д｀)ﾋｿ(Д｀ ): Does your muse enjoy gossiping? 

Not really; she enjoys hearing what her friends have been up to and stories involving them directly — however, random gossip regarding people she is not on close terms with is not of interest to her.

Rosa doesn’t care to know who did what or any of that; in fact, she deems it rather none of her concern to get into people’s business and is bothered by anyone who speaks behind others’ back; deeming it a sign of betrayal. 

（･∀･)つ⑩ : Does your muse enjoy saving or spending money? Or are they indifferent?

She is kind of indifferent. Rosa does not really care for saving money or spending it — however, she also does not believe in hoarding money and sees no point to it if it’s not to be spent on things people love.

For example, if she sees an item she likes or believes a loved one would favor, she has no qualms whatsoever, spending amounts of money on it. You won’t witness her thinking twice about whether an item is necessary or not.

Likewise also, she is not likely to go out of her way spending money just for the sake of it.

（・∀・） : Does your muse like to tease people?

She’s not a very good tease, being quite innocent and shy — and is mostly likely to have it backfire at her in a few situations; but Rosa is generally very playful in nature and when around people she trusts / is comfortable around, will try to tease them a little.

（・Ａ・） : What does your muse consider to be bad?

Rosa is not really one to judge people on what they do with their own life, for example in terms of relationships or religious beliefs, etc. However, what she does consider bad, is when people’s actions bring harm to innocent people, even if the one being hurt is the person in question themselves. 

Being a pirate she is quite tolerable to petty crimes, however, as mentioned above, she does not, not will ever, approve of crimes which bring harm to others such as murder, assault, etc. 

（ つ Д ｀） : When your muse is sad, what do they do?

When she can put on a smile and conceal of her feelings, Rosa would do just that; she would not wish to worry her loved ones for her and would put their feelings above her own. However, in some cases, it becomes too much for her to put on a false pretense, being hyper emotional and sensitive, it’s not always easy to fake a smile. 

That is when the hummingbird would seek Isolation —retreating away into her own nest where she can cry without burdening anyone; she becomes distant, quieter and is more likely to just isolate herself away in her room or if they are docked, even seek privacy off the ship.

Occasionally, after retreating, she may pour out her feelings into a song, either playing some melodies and losing herself in the music or through venting in the form of writing some lyrics.

♪┏(・o･)┛♪ : Can your muse dance well?

Yes. While Rosa is no expert dancer, she does know how to move her body quite gracefully and rhythmically to the music; her love of dance is influenced by her love of music itself and her own understanding of the melodies and tunes is reflected through her movement to the beat.

(ΘεΘ;): How much of a tsundere is your muse? 

Not at all. Rosa isn’t one to appear hostile in the slightest or deny her true feelings. Instead of hiding behind a cold exterior, the hummingbird does the exact opposite, she displays of a very warm front and where her feelings are concerned, usually has no qualms admitting to them.

┌(；`～,)┐ : What discombobulates your muse?

( I wasn’t sure what the word meant |— but the dictionary says: emotionally confused / distressed; so I will try to answer accordingly. )

The thing about Rosa is that she is to an extent very honest with herself about her feelings; initially she would be emotionally confused about her feelings for Ace — she knows he’s her best friend but she also realizes her heart beats so much quicker around him; she would struggle with her emotions not as a result of not realizing she loves him, but because she is fearful these feelings may be out of place.

Rosa is also definitely distressed by any form of rejection — she has spent a lifetime feeling rejected, even by the man she deems to be a father figure initially, thus to deal with that, tends to cause her to question her self worth and point of living.

The last thing which comes to mind is mind games and manipulations; Rosa isn’t down for any of that. She is very confused by people who say something and mean something else and being a very sincere and honest person herself, she really feels uncomfortable and saddened as well, having to question people’s motives.

ε=ε=ε=┌(;*´Д`)ﾉ : How does your muse run?

Rather than run, when Rosa is in a rush, she tends to use her wind devil fruit abilities to fly as it is so much quicker and effortless than running. However, when she is on her feet, her running would also partly resemble tiptoe-ing and skipping, except at a much faster rate, due to her default method of walking. 

ヽ(´▽`)/ : What does your muse look like when happy?

When Rosa is happy, her eyes tend to glisten — one could witness the euphoria shining so brightly within her eyes; her smile, though is often always visible, when she is happy, appears different, full of life, and oozing warmth and joy. Her cheeks would tint in color and her giggles could be easily heard. She also tends to skip joyfully rather than walk when happy, 

Her happiness, like much of her emotions would be worn on her sleeves, visible for everyone to see so clearly. 

ヽ(ｏ`皿′ｏ)ﾉ : Is your muse violent when angry?

Not unless her safety or the safety of her loved ones / innocent people is threatened. Rosa doesn’t believe violence to be a solution to anything and thus would opt not to rely on it to solve her matters, regardless of how angry she is.The only cases she does turn to violence is when its a mean to protect rather than harm.

She tries to maintain her calm, particularly when angry, because she recalls all the damage violence has caused to her childhood. The day she allows her anger to consume her and lead her to violence would be the day she had completely lost herself to no return; the day she would never forgive herself.

[nayladoodles]

Hamilton Angst Promt #1 (from my other account)

👻= Death

TRIGGER WARNING: SUICIDE, USE OF TERM CREOLE BASTARD also mentions of non consensual sex, SELF HARM and SELF HATRED.

IF THESE THINGS TRIGGER YOU PLEASE AVOID THIS.

Non Canon version of the Reynolds Affair where Hamilton is actually a loyal husband and refuses the affair but maria won't listen. When he runs out of money a fake pamphlet is published with a forged signature. Everyone detests Alexander and he becomes depressed.

All Characters belong to Lin Manuel Miranda except Madilton (ship name but hey), Cattivo and Simon. (who are all senators).

     Alexander's POV:

My hand shook as I hastily scrawled my speech for the debate later this afternoon; I don't wish to have all of the angry eyes boring into my back again but alas I am required to attend. As the hours passed I had managed to push the negative thoughts to the back of my mind praying to god that those dark thoughts would not plague me again until after the debate. Once my speech was written I returned to my previous task of preparing the original pamphlet about the Reynolds Affair. I refused her, I did NOT consent to it yet....everyone blindly believes I willingly cheated on Eliza. A man can only take so much hatred before he cracks and I have long since buckled beneath the anger and hatred. My children yelled they'd rather be without me, my wife won't let me explain and my friends are unresponsive. I just want the truth to be told so I can finally escape this personal hell of mine. As I finished fixing the last few smeared letters my office door swung open, "Hamilton." I felt the temperature drop slightly and saw Senator Madilton and his two fellow senators blocking the doorway,"If it is not a dire issue please leave me to my work." I said carefully hiding the pamphlet beneath mt speech. "Hamilton all you do is work." Senator Simon said. "You should rest." I narrowed my eyes, "Don't act like you suddenly care." I spat angrily trying to force the burning tears to hold their position behind my eyes. "Such harsh words." Cattivo purrs. "Leave me be!" I said getting upset not in the mood to deal with their scorn.

  "You think that the truth will save you Hamilton? You think you can escape what is already published?" Madilton said coming closer. "I cannot undo what YOU have done no, but I can tell America what REALLY happened... the parts of that affair that you left out." I spat back tears starting to escape down my cheeks. "Look at you crying over nothing! What did Washington see in you?"

I gripped my sleeves my own insecurities rising to the surface once again. "Your wife doesn't want you and neither does your family or your friends. face it you're alone." I trembled shutting my eyes tightly as tears dripped off of my chin. 6 months of endless emotional torture, of endless glares and angry whispers as I walk the streets. "Just leave me be please." I said brokenly. "What authority do you have to make a such a request?" Cattivo jeered. "This is my office." I replied. "You don't sound so certain of that." Simon leered. "Regardless you need to join us for the debate. Do dry your tears Hamilton, you look pitiful." Madilton and the other two left me there to scramble for my speech and follow them to the Congress floor.

"Why is Hamilton here?" "That creole bastard has no place in this room after what he has done." "No one needs his loud opinions anyhow." Washington called order, "Hamilton you first." I read my speech pausing and stuttering as the senators whispered angrily among themselves. I finished my speech and waited for a response, "Jefferson, Madison if you please." Washington said and I sat listening to them both not bothering to correct them as my own dark thought consumed me. The debate faded into the background and their words sounded far away; I truly am alone. I felt tears burn in my eyes as the horrid memories of the past 6 months came to haunt me. Eliza burning all of the love letters that took me hours to write and send, my son and daughter screaming that I'm not their father anymore, being slapped by Angelica…

"What no witty response Hamilton?" Jefferson said.I slowly came back to the present and looked away from him not saying a word.

"Y'all managed to break him?" Jefferson said. "Own up to your infidelity and stop crying about it Hamilton." Simon spat. "Yes and while you're at it leave your position!" Another senator shouted. "We don't need you or your financial systems." I curled into myself tears burning in the corners of my eyes. "That is enough!" Washington spat, "We do NOT bring personal matters onto the Congress floor." I trembled clenching the armrests of my chair tightly my knuckles going white. "Now. Does anyone have anything to say in regards to either side of the argument?" Washington asked. "Hamilton is wrong." Madilton called. "Why so?" Washington pressed. "He can never be correct." Washington sighed rubbing his temples. "If none of you have anything backed by logic about why my secretary is wrong be silent." "But sir-" Madilton said. "Silence." Washington said coldly. I tried to recompose myself but all I could hear was the jeering of the senators. "Hamilton?" Jefferson said. "Son?" Washington's voice echoed slightly. "D-don't call me son..." I replied my head throbbing as tears began to once again slide down my cheeks. "Alexander!" Burr shouted as I gripped the chair tighter. I faintly heard Washington call recess not realizing two hours had passed. I stood mumbling excuse me ignoring the concerned calls of my fellow politicians and father figure. I cannot take another day of this...

I briskly walked to my office pushing the papers off my desk grasping the pamphlet after signing it properly. I walked to the publisher and handed him the money I'd saved saying, "Run it for tomorrow please." He nods and I smile for the first time in months. I go back to the white house sitting in my office pulling out the broken quill I'd hidden earlier in the week. I unbuttoned my cuffs sliding my sleeves up staring at the scars. "What does Washington see in me..?" I whispered pressing the sharp edge of the quill shaft against my arm and slicing the skin watching blood rush to the surface of the cut. I scratched my arms more, "I am useless, loudmouth bother...not worthy of this position...I don’t deserve my wife....or family..." I stopped after five lines were cut on each arm and grabbed the black rag I had to clean myself up not bothering with lunch. Trembling I wrapped my arms and returned to the floor for the remaining hour of the meeting.

Burr caught my shoulder as I walked in, "Alexander?" His tone held barely restrained worry. "I'm fine Aaron." I lied sitting back down. The session ended earlier than usual on account of myself and Jefferson agreeing for a change. As soon as we were dismissed I excused myself wanting to prepare for tomorrow. I went to my office pulling the farewell letters to my friends and father figure. I had already mailed John's and that for my friends in France making sure it would reach them with haste and Burr's awaits him at the front desk of the hotel he was staying in during the summit. I left the letters for Jefferson, Madison and Washington on the desks in their offices. I walked back to my own office going to my bookshelf and pulling a hollowed encyclopedia from 1700. I pulled out the money I'd stashed away from Madeline and Michael to help them return home to their mother and father on Nevis. The money was tied away with a knot only the native island people could untie and the rope is much too thick to cut. I smiled satisfied with my farewell and flagged down a carriage to take me home as I refuse to give the scathing senators the satisfaction.

I arrive home long after my family has gone to bed and quietly slip upstairs to Philip's room. I smile at my son whispering that he'll blow everyone away someday before kissing his forehead watching him smile. I visited Angie next brushing her shirt from her face and kissing her forehead whispering that she will always be my precious flower princess. I tiptoe to Angelica's room and sit beside her, "I know you won't forgive me but know that I respect you so much for sacrificing your happiness for Eliza." I smiled and kissed her cheek gently slipping to my bedroom last. I saw Eliza asleep her eyes red telling me she's been crying. I gently stroke her cheek careful not to wake her up and whisper, "I don't deserve you Eliza...I..I never felt that I earned your heart. Please take good care of yourself and the children. I wish I would have listened to your pleas Betsy. I love you." I pressed a chaste kiss to her lips before slipping back to my study. I pulled the rope necklace from the closet standing on my chair to string it over the exposed eve and trying it off. I climbed down carefully picking up the farewell letters for my wife, sister-in-law and children before climbing back onto my chair pulling to rope around my neck. High ceilings...I never thought I'd be so grateful for them. I paused my feet at the edge of the chair. I laughed softly, "Why am I hesitating..?"

I closed my eyes and breathed deeply feeling tears spring to my eyes as memories came flooding back: The bar where I met my friends on my first night in New York, humiliating Seabury and making the Brit cry while my friends cheered, pulling a prank on Burr while drunk and regretting it later, the accidental kiss that Laurens and I shared during the winter in Valley Forge due to me slipping on ice, becoming Washington's right hand man, meeting Eliza at the ball in 1780...god we were both helpless, writing her letters and asking Peggy for advice also Laf and Hercules laughing at my flustered nature, marrying Eliza and then discovering she is pregnant, winning the war and meeting Philip, becoming Secretary of Treasury, Angie being born, Madison, Jefferson, Burr and I becoming a political quartet that shares lunch at a tiny diner...finding out what Jefferson does in Monticello...that was a fun trip...the engagement of my two best friends... their wedding will be grand I'm sure.

 I open my eyes tears running down my cheeks and see that it is getting light out wondering how long I was reminiscing. As the sun peeks over the horizon I smile the good memories warming my broken heart. I think of the good times for a short while longer my smile widening. I take a deep breath and quiet fills my mind for the first time in years. I hear the birds singing and whisper of the breeze outside. I take one last breath reveling in the serenity and then I let myself fall watching the world slowly fade away the letters still clenched in my fist.

Third Person:

Philip woke up when the sun filtered into his bedroom through the gap in the curtains; he swore he heard his father last night but his daddy is in DC for the summit why would he come home? The 10 year old slipped out of bed walking to check on his sister who was also awake. "I had a dream about daddy..." Angie yawned. "me too" Pip said. "Maybe daddy came home?" Angie said hopefully. "I miss him" Pip hugs his sister because he misses their daddy too. "Let's check his study you know how mama feels about them sharing a bed." Angie nods and they run to the study pushing the door open.

Angelica is woken with a start when a loud scream echoes from the study where her brother in law usually hides refusing to come out unless the house is asleep. She jumps out of bed hurrying down the hall tying her robe. She walks in looking at her niece and nephew, "What is all the fuss-" The words die when she looks up following the children's horrified gazes. her brother in law hangs from the ceiling his neck broken at an odd angle a serene smile on his face and tears drying on his cheeks. "Oh dear God..." She pulls the children to her feeling them shaking and crying into her robe. She then notices the letters poking from his fist carefully pulling them out. She tears open the one addressed to her feeling tears sliding down her cheeks as she reads it

My dearest Angelica,

I cannot apologize enough not that it will repair the damage done but I want you to know this: I respect you so much for being a strong woman willing to sacrifice her happiness for her sister's. Thank you for introducing me to Eliza all those years ago. Thank you for trying to reason with this stubborn fool and I deeply regret that our last months together were spent in pain. I hope that someday you will forgive me for being a fool and putting my work first. I always hated living off of others even though one summer would have done me no damage. I will always admire you Angelica, never forget your promise to make Jefferson include women in American rights. Stay strong and keep fighting. take care of Betsy and the kids for me.

with love and regret

A.Hamilton

She wept bitterly for never seeing how much pain he was in. She handed the letters addressed to Pip and Angie to them before shooing them back to their rooms. Using the chair she pulled him down from the noose and threw the wretched rope necklace across the room; she sat beside him her tears falling onto his cooling flesh. "Y-You are forgiven." She walked out and sank against the wall her body shaking with sobs. Eliza finds her this way when she wakes up. "Angelica what ails you so early in the morning?" Eliza looks at her trembling sister concerned. "Oh B-Betsy...." Angelica sobs. "What is it?" Eliza asks so Angelica leads her inside the study watching her eyes go wide. "N-No he can’t b-be..." Angelica nods another sob escaping her as she shakily points to the knotted rope. "Alexander...my poor Alexander..." Eliza sinks to her knees beside her dead husband tears falling onto his face. "He left this for you..." Angelica hands her the golden sealed envelope from the desk. They open it and what they find causes fresh tears to rush down their cheeks. Alexander left a copy of the original pamphlet, money for Pip to further his education and the sweetest letter of apology and farewell Eliza ever read. She grasped his cold hands, " Y-you are always forgiven d-darling..." She wept resting her head on his chest realizing he had come to say goodbye last night, the kiss was not a dream.

In France Hercules was in tears when Lafayette and his grandmother returned from the bakery. "Hercules what ails you mon chou?" he handed the letter to his fiance words escaping his grasp. Laf's eyes widened, "N-non?" Hercules nods showing him the money that had been enclosed for their wedding. "God why!? He h-had so much to live f-for..." Laf sank to his knees sobbing Hercules joining him on the floor holding him as they wept.

In South Carolina John had just returned for the evening when a letter was pressed into his palm by his sister who was crying. he saw the seal wondering why she was so upset. "J-John that's a death s-seal... it means the sender is going to commit suicide. M-my friend sent me a similar letter last year." "Death seal?!" John tore open the letter a small sum of money falling onto his lap along with a locket. he stared at the items for a moment before unfolding the letter with shaking hands.

  My dearest Laurens,

I wish the best in your adventure to recruit your regiment. I know you will do well and prove the worth of we people of color. I wish I could have kissed you farewell one last time like that once in Valley Forge. I enjoyed it too much and that feeling still lingers as I write this. I wish you a happy wedding with Martha Manning. She truly is perfect for you. I wish you good life and prosperity. I wish i had the courage to give you this locket sooner...and the money is for your men. The bells and whistles we jokingly discussed months ago. I bid thee adieu dearest.

With love and flourish

A. Hamilton

Laurens wept as he opened the heart shaped locket finding a small music box inside that played his favorite tune. It was engraved ' To my dearest John'

"He'll be here he's j-just..." Jefferson's voice cracked. "He's gone Thomas. I know Alexander would not do this if he were not serious." Burr said tears sliding down his cheeks. "J-Jesus Christ..." Madison sunk onto the couch trembling Thomas sinking down beside him as the trio wept.

Washington re-read the letter from Alexander several times until tears blocked his vision, "Why...son…? There was so m-much more you could have done for this country…"

The next day the original pamphlet appeared on every doorstep across America along with the news that the Secretary of Treasury had committed suicide early the previous morning. The nation was silent as the people realized that the poor man never deserved the harsh treatment. The Reynolds were arrested and jailed for life and the senators had oddly vanished. Madeline and Michael wept the hardest realizing they could finally go home but it felt hollow because the man who gave them the chance was not here to be thanked. The nation mourned the loss of Alexander Hamilton. The one man that proved beyond the shadow of doubt that even orphan immigrants can make a difference.

[hamiltrash2097-blog]

👻 Alexander Hamilton

TRIGGER WARNING: SUICIDE, USE OF TERM CREOLE BASTARD also mentions of non consensual sex, SELF HARM and SELF HATRED.

IF THESE THINGS TRIGGER YOU PLEASE AVOID THIS POST.

Non Canon version of the Reynolds Affair where Hamilton is actually a loyal husband and refuses the affair but maria won’t listen. When he runs out of money a fake pamphlet is published with a forged signature. Everyone detests Alexander and he becomes depressed.

All Characters belong to Lin Manuel Miranda except Madilton (ship name but hey), Cattivo and Simon. (who are all senators).

Alexander’s POV

My hand shook as I hastily scrawled my speech for the debate later this afternoon; I don’t wish to have all of  the angry eyes boring into my back again but alas I am required to attend. As the hours passed I had managed to push the negative thoughts to the back of my mind praying to god that those dark thoughts would not plague me again until after the debate. Once my speech was written I returned to my previous task of preparing the original pamphlet about the Reynolds Affair. I refused her, I did NOT consent to it yet….everyone blindly believes I willingly cheated on Eliza. A man can only take so much hatred before he cracks and I have long since buckled beneath the anger and hatred. My children yelled they’d rather be without me, my wife won’t let me explain and my friends are unresponsive.  I just want the truth to be told so I can finally escape this personal hell of mine. As I finished fixing the last few smeared letters my office door swung open, “Hamilton.” I felt the temperature drop slightly and saw Senator Madilton and his two fellow senators blocking the doorway,”If it is not a dire issue please leave me to my work.” I said carefully hiding the pamphlet beneath mt speech. “Hamilton all you do is work.” Senator Simon said. “You should rest.” I narrowed my eyes, “Don’t act like you suddenly care.” I spat angrily trying to force the burning tears to hold their position behind my eyes. “Such harsh words.” Cattivo purrs. “Leave me be!” I said getting upset not in the mood to deal with their scorn.

“You think that the truth will save you Hamilton? You think you can escape what is already published?” Madilton said coming closer. “I cannot undo what YOU have done no, but I can tell America what REALLY happened… the parts of that affair that you left out.” I spat back tears starting to escape down my cheeks. “Look at you crying over nothing! What did Washington see in you?” I gripped my sleeves my own insecurities rising to the surface once again. “Your wife doesn’t want you and neither does your family or your friends. face it you’re alone.” I trembled shutting my eyes tightly as tears dripped off of my chin. 6 months of endless emotional torture, of endless glares and angry whispers as I walk the streets. “Just leave me be please.” I said brokenly. “What authority do you have to make a such a request?” Cattivo jeered. “This is my office.” I replied. “You don’t sound so certain of that.” Simon leered. “Regardless you need to join us for the debate. Do dry your tears Hamilton, you look pitiful.” Madilton and the other two left me there to scramble for my speech and follow them to the Congress floor.

“Why is Hamilton here?” “That creole bastard has no place in this room after what he has done.” “No one needs his loud opinions anyhow.” Washington called order, “Hamilton you first.” I read my speech pausing and stuttering as the senators whispered angrily among themselves. I finished my speech and waited for a response, “Jefferson, Madison if you please.” Washington said and I sat listening to them both not bothering to correct them as my own dark thoughts consumed me. The debate faded into the background and their words sounded far away; I truly am alone. I felt  tears burn in my eyes  as the horrid memories of the past 6 months came to haunt me. Eliza burning all of the love letters that took me hours to write and send, my son and daughter screaming that I’m not their father anymore, being slapped by Angelica… “What no witty response Hamilton?” Jefferson said.I slowly came back to the present and looked away from him not saying a word. 

“Y’all managed to break him?” Jefferson said. “Own up to your infidelity and stop crying about it Hamilton.” Simon spat. “Yes and while you’re at it leave your position!” Another senator shouted. “We don’t need you or your financial systems.” I curled into myself tears burning in the corners of my eyes. “That is enough!” Washington spat, “We do NOT bring personal matters into this Congress room.” I trembled clenching the arm rests of my chair tightly my knuckles going white. “Now. Does anyone have anything to say in regards to either side of the argument?” Washington asked. “Hamilton is wrong.” Madilton called. “Why so?” Washington pressed. “He can never be correct.” Washington sighed rubbing his temples. “If none of you have anything backed by logic about why my secretary is wrong be silent.” “But sir-” Madilton said. “Silence.” Washington said coldly. I tried to recompose myself but all I could hear was the jeering of the senators. “Hamilton?” Jefferson said. “Son?” Washington’s voice echoed slightly. “D-don’t call me son…” I replied my head throbbing as tears began to once again slide down my cheeks. “Alexander!” Burr shouted as I gripped the chair tighter. I faintly heard Washington call recess not realizing two hours had passed. I stood mumbling excuse me ignoring the concerned calls of my fellow politicians  and father figure.  I mentally cannot take another day of this! 

I briskly walked to my office  pushing the papers off my desk grasping the pamphlet after signing it properly. I walked to the publisher and handed him the money I’d saved saying, “Run it for tomorrow please.” He nods and I smile for the first time in months. I go back to the white house sitting in my office pulling out the broken quill I’d hidden earlier in the week. I unbuttoned my cuffs sliding my sleeves up staring at the scars. “What does Washington see in me..?” I whispered pressing the sharp edge of the quill shaft against my arm and slicing the skin watching blood rush to the surface of the cut. I scratched my arms more, “I am useless, loudmouth bother…not worthy of this position…I don't deserve my wife….or family…” I stopped after five lines were cut on each arm and grabbed the black rag I had to clean myself up not bothering with lunch. Trembling I wrapped my arms and returned to the floor for the remaining hour of the meeting. 

Burr caught my shoulder as I walked in, “Alexander?” His tone held barely restrained worry. “I’m fine Aaron.” I lied sitting back down. The session ended earlier than usual on account of myself and Jefferson agreeing for a change. As soon as we were dismissed I excused myself wanting to prepare for tomorrow. I went to my office pulling the farewell letters to my friends and father figure. I had already mailed John’s and that for my friends in France making sure it would reach them with haste and Burr’s awaits him at the front desk of the hotel he was staying in during the summit. I left the letters for Jefferson, Madison and Washington on the desks in their offices. I walked back to my own office going to my bookshelf and pulling a hollowed encyclopedia from 1700. I pulled out the money I’d stashed away from Madeline and Micheal to help them return home to their mother and father on Nevis. The money was tied away with a knot only the native island people could untie and the rope is much to thick to cut. I smiled satisfied with my farewell and flagged down a carriage to take me home as I refuse to give the scathing senators the satisfaction. 

I arrive home long after my family has gone to bed and quietly slip upstairs to Philip’s room. I smile at my son whispering that he’ll blow everyone away someday before kissing his forehead watching him smile. I visited Angie next brushing her shirt from her face and kissing her forehead whispering that she will always be my precious flower princess. I tiptoe to Angelica’s room and sit beside her, “I know you won’t forgive me but know that I respect you so much for sacrificing your happiness for Eliza.” I smiled and kissed her cheek gently slipping to my bedroom last. I saw Eliza asleep her eyes red telling me she’s been crying. I gently stroke her cheek careful not to wake her up and whisper, “I don’t deserve you Eliza…I..I never felt that I earned your heart. Please take good care of yourself and the children. I wish I would have listened to your pleas Betsy. I love you.” I pressed a chaste kiss to her lips before slipping back to my study. I pulled the rope necklace from the closet standing on my chair to  string it over the exposed eve and trying it off. I climbed down carefully picking up the farewell letters for my wife, sister-in-law and children before climbing back onto my chair pulling to rope around my neck. High ceilings…I never thought I’d be so grateful for them. I paused my feet at the edge of the chair. I laughed softly, “Why am I hesitating..?” 

I closed my eyes and breathed deeply feeling tears spring to my eyes as memories came flooding back: The bar where I met my friends on my first night in New York, humiliating Seabury and making the Brit cry while my friends cheered, pulling a prank on Burr while drunk and regretting it later, the accidental kiss that Laurens and I shared during the winter in Valley Forge due to me slipping on ice, becoming Washington’s right hand man, meeting Eliza at the ball in 1780…god  we were both helpless, writing her letters and asking Peggy for advice also Laf and Hercules laughing at my flustered nature, marrying Eliza and then discovering she is pregnant, winning the war and meeting Philip, becoming Secretary of Treasury, Angie being born, Jefferson, Madison,Burr and I becoming a political quartet that shares lunch at a tiny diner…finding out what Jefferson does in Monticello…that was a fun trip…the engagement of my two best friends… their wedding will be grand I’m sure. 

I open my eyes tears running down my cheeks and see that it is getting light out  wondering how long I was reminiscing.  As the sun peaks over the horizon I smile the good memories warming my broken heart. I think of the good times for a short while longer my smile widening. I take a deep breath and quiet fills my mind for the first time in years. I hear the birds singing and whisper of the breeze outside. I take one last breath reveling in the serenity and then I let myself fall  watching the world slowly fade away the letters still clenched in my fist. 

Third Person: 

Philip woke up when the sun filtered into his bedroom through the gap in the curtains; he swore he heard his father last night but his daddy is in DC for the summit why would he come home? The 10 year old slipped out of bed walking to check on his sister who was also awake. “I had a dream about daddy…” Angie yawned. “Me too” Pip said. “Maybe daddy came home?” Angie said hopefully. “I miss him” Pip hugs his sister because he misses their daddy too. “Let’s check his study you know how mama feels about them sharing a bed.” Angie nods and they run to the study pushing the door open.

Angelica is woken  with a start when a loud scream echoes from the study where her brother in law usually hides refusing to come out unless the house is asleep. She jumps out of bed hurrying down the hall tying her robe. She walks in looking at her niece and nephew, “What is all the fuss-” The words die when she looks up following the children’s horrified gazes.  Her brother in law  hangs from the ceiling his neck broken at an odd angle a serene smile on his face and tears drying on his cheeks. “Oh dear G-GOD…” She pulls the children to her feeling them shaking and crying into her robe. She then notices the letters poking from his fist carefully pulling them out. She tears open the one addressed to her feeling tears sliding down her cheeks as she reads it

My dearest Angelica,

I cannot apologize enough not that it will repair the damage done but I want you to know this: I respect you so much for being a strong woman willing to sacrifice her happiness for her sister’s. Thank you for introducing me to Eliza all those years ago. Thank you for trying to reason with this stubborn fool and I deeply regret that our last months together were spent in pain. I hope that someday you will forgive me for being a fool and putting my work first. I always hated living off of others even though one summer would have done me no damage. I will always admire you Angelica, never forget your promise to make Jefferson include women in American rights. Stay strong and keep fighting. take care of Betsy and the kids for me. 

with love and regret A.Hamilton

She wept bitterly for never seeing how much pain he was in. She handed the letters addressed to Pip and Angie to them before shooing them back to their rooms. Using the chair she pulled him down from the noose and threw the wretched rope  necklace across the room; she sat beside him her tears falling onto his cooling flesh. “Y-You are forgiven.”  She walked out and sank against the wall her body shaking with sobs. Eliza finds her this way when she wakes up. “Angelica what ails you so early in the morning?” Eliza looks at her trembling sister concerned. “Oh B-Betsy….” Angelica sobs. “What is it?” Eliza asks so Angelica leads her inside the study watching her eyes go wide. “N-No he isn’t!” Angelica nods another sob escaping her as she shakily points to the knotted rope. “OH my GOD!” Eliza sinks to her knees beside her dead husband tears falling onto his face. “Here” Angelica hands her the golden sealed envelope fro the desk. They open it and what they find causes fresh tears to rush down their cheeks. Alexander left a copy of the original pamphlet, money for Pip to further his education and the sweetest letter of apology and farewell Eliza ever read. She grasped his cold hands, “ Alexander!” She wept resting her head on his chest realizing he had come to say goodbye last night, the kiss was not a dream.  

In France Hercules was in tears when Lafayette and his grandmother returned from the bakery. “Hercules what ails you mon chou?” he handed the letter to his fiance words escaping his grasp. Laf’s eyes widened, “N-non” Hercules nods showing him the money that had been enclosed for their wedding. “God why!” Laf sank to his knees sobbing Hercules joining him as they cried together.

In South Carolina John had just returned for the evening when a letter was pressed into his palm by his sister who was crying. he saw the seal  wondering why she was so upset. “J-John that’s a death s-seal. It means the sender is going to commit suicide. M-my friend sent me a similar letter last year.” “D-death seal?” John tore open the letter a small sum of money falling onto his lap along with a locket. he stared at them before unfolding the letter with shaking hands. 

My dearest Laurens,

I wish the best in your adventure to recruit your regiment. I know you will do well and prove the worth of we people of color. I wish I could have kissed you farewell one last time like that once in Valley Forge. I enjoyed it too much and that feeling still lingers as I write this. I wish you a happy wedding with Martha Manning. She truly is perfect for you. I wish you good life and prosperity. I wish i had the courage to give you this locket sooner…and the money is for your men. The bells and whistles we jokingly discussed months ago.  I bid thee adieu dearest.

With love and flourish A. Hamilton

Laurens wept as he opened the  heart shaped locket finding a small music box inside that played his favorite tune. It was engraved ‘ To my dearest John’ 

“He’ll be here he’s j-just…” Jefferson’s voice cracked. “He’s gone Thomas. I know Alexander would not do this if he were not serious.” Burr said tears sliding down his cheeks. “J-Jesus Christ…” Madison sunk onto the couch trembling Thomas falling beside him as the trio wept. 

Washington re-read the letter from Alexander several times until tears blocked his vision, “Why…son…you…you had so much left you could have done…” 

The next day the original pamphlet appeared on every doorstep across America along with the news that the Secretary of Treasury had committed suicide early the previous morning. The nation was silent as the people realized that the poor man never deserved the harsh treatment. The Reynolds were arrested and jailed for life and the senators had oddly vanished. Madeline and Micheal wept the hardest realizing they could finally go home but it felt hollow because the man who gave them the chance was not here to be thanked. The nation mourned the loss of Alexander Hamilton. The one man that  proved beyond the shadow of doubt that even orphan immigrants can make a difference.