#she has to hold her cane in her right hand so she teaches herself to shoot with her left

[redfoxwritesstuff]

Pairing: Eventually Alastor x OFC, later- light Alastor x ofc x Lucifer Rated: E for eventual smut Content warnings: It's Hazbin Hotel- this feels redundant. Sex, eventual smut, referenced implied suicide to be discussed in more detail later, drugs, drinking, poor coping, toxic behavior, controlling behavior, cannibalism, idk, it's fucking Hazbin Hotel, if it's worth a content warning it's probably going to come up at some point? Religious trauma. reader has a name/is a oc.

AN: Why not post another chapter? Idk how long this will end up being, depends on how long the new fandom crack lasts and if anyone wants it.

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 4

~~~~~<3

Amber tried to relax as Alastor walked her along the chaos filled streets. Being in the city was hard with Angel but at least she felt safe, to an extent. Sure, angel wasn’t particularly powerful but he knew the city and knew how to handle himself. He’d gotten through decades just fine.

Alastor was a powerful Overlord, she had gathered that much though she wasn’t totally sure what exactly that meant. With him at her side, she knew she didn’t really have need to fear most anyone on the city streets. That didn’t change the fact that she was terrified of the man himself. Danger and safety both were complicated things. 

“Stop trembling, my dear.” Alastor broke the tense silence. “I’m here to help you~”

“Why?” 

“Because I’m bored!” He laughed, “What better way to fill the dreadful time than to raise up the stray little dog our dear Charlie brought into something respectable. Maybe she’ll even be able to stand on her own feet!”

“Why?” Again she asked, not knowing what else to say.

“Ha! I know you’re rather young but I do believe you’re a bit too old for toddler questions. Now! Back straight, shoulders back. Hold yourself like a lady.” Alastor tapped her shoulders and back with the microphone atop his cane, held in the hand tucked behind his back. 

“Good girl!” She flushed at the praise and annoyance at being talked down to equally. “And just like that you don’t look so much like a kicked dog. Head up, chin level with the ground. Do they not teach women how to carry themselves anymore? What a shame, what a shame. Long strides now.”

“We’re not really drilled on posture, no. Too busy learning useful skills.”

“And where are those ‘useful skills’ getting you now?” Alastor countered. “And what had they gotten you before you came crawling to my humble hotel.”

Amber stuttered out, trying to think of a single good answer to give him and failing. She hadn’t been able to keep herself safe with reading or writing in her afterlife. Hell, those things had hardly managed to keep her safe in her first life. 

“Don’t change a thing.” Alastor directed as she settled into the posture he wanted, allowing silence to fall while she waited for direction.

Her hips rocked more with each step, trying to keep pace with him as he guided her down the sidewalk. It took work to keep her shoulders back and spine straight, more than she expected. It worked muscles she rarely paid much attention to. She focused on her breathing as they passed storefronts, finding a rhythm she could almost comfortably settle into at his side. 

“And how does that make you feel?” Alastor leaned into her as he spoke, encroaching on what little personal space she had with her hand tucked into his arm, “Confident? Prideful? Arrogant?” 

“A little?” She hated that he was right, even a tiny bit. She also hated how bitter the idea of those feelings tasted in her mouth. A woman shouldn’t be confident. She shouldn’t be prideful. To be arrogant was wrong. But did any of that matter, really? Was she not in Hell?

“In Hell, physical power goes a long way,” Alastor began his lecture, “Perceived power goes near as far. By luck alone, you stumbled into the acquaintanceship of powerful people. That and the ability to bluff will protect you from many. Using that pretty little head on your shoulders will protect you from many of those who may still try you.”

Amber tried to absorb the advice Alastor had given her. He wasn’t the first person she would expect to give her life coaching in Hell but she was far from in a position to shun it. 

Something had to change though, Angel was right- she couldn’t just hide in the hotel forever. 

He opened the door to a shop for her and ushered her inside with a hand at the small of her back. It was a simple tailor’s shop, with shelves full of bolts of fabric and figures displaying sample patterns. The sheep demon working behind the counter looked absolutely terrified to see the Overlord, a feeling Amber could relate to instantly. Alastor paid the reaction no mind at all however. 

“My little lamb, how are you today?” The sheep meeped out an answer and gathered a stack of shirts, mostly red but some back and all near identical from what Amber could see.

“Your order, Mr. Alastor, Sir. If you’d like to inspect it before I wrap it?” 

“Very good,” Alastor gave the stack a fleeting glance as he pulled Amber up to the counter. “I have another task for you of rather urgent need, I do hope you can accommodate it?” 

The sheep meeped again, clearly too terrified to turn the powerful man down. Amber wanted to offer some sort of assistance to the sheep woman, some way to get the attention she was so uncomfortable with off of her but there wasn’t much that could be done. 

“You see, this lovely little fox isn’t well dressed and she needs to be.”

“What would you like?” The woman came around the counter, eager to put her attention on Amber. It gave the small sheep a reason to focus her attention anywhere other than Alastor without appearing rude. 

“Something dignified and elegant.” Alastor answered before Amber could open her mouth. “A few items, skirts and dresses.”

“Colors?” The woman asked.

“Make her match.” Alastor decided with a flick of his wrist as the woman finished taking measurements. She was quick and efficient while Alastor laid out what specifics he wanted. “Have it done by end of tomorrow. Thank you~” 

“That’s so fast!” Amber couldn’t help chastising as Alastor led her out of the store while she tried to turn and face the woman quickly going behind the counter. She wasn’t sure what she wanted to tell the little sheep but somehow, she wanted to reduce the pressure.

“And so the fox does have a voice?” Alastor laughed, unphased by her protests. “I pay a premium to be a priority, I expect to recieve the services I pay for, simple as that. Now, let’s do something about shoes for those feet. What you’re wearing is simply dreadful.”

~~~~~<3

Amber had no idea what to make of the day. A imp man thing, black as night and tinted with green walked behind them carrying her bags, not that there were a great many of them. The lines and eyes of the imp were lime green. 

A flash of her life top side reminded her that evil was always lime green. That was just in Disney movies however. This was real life. Well, real after life. Fuck this was weird. Who would have thought Hell would be so normal and yet so weird. 

“Thank you,” Amber struggled to find her voice. She didn’t know what to make of Alastor. The man still scared her but he hadn’t been anything other than joyfully creepy.

“It is nothing my dear. It wouldn’t do to let the spider dress you alone. He’d have you looking a unsavory lady of the night. That would surely give our fine establishment a poor reputation.” Rude. Not totally wrong but still, rude. 

“Can’t have that.” Amber braved saying. 

While Angel hadn’t pushed her to buy anything she said no to, he did push her comfort level. It didn’t take much to do that however, her life up top had been full of below the knee skirts, high necklines and long sleeves. 

With the simple blouses, modest skirts and slacks that Alastor was having tailored for her, she was being afforded the ability to tone down what had already been acquired. Hopefully she could find a middle ground that allowed her to live her afterlife a little more free and still not feel so exposed. 

“Indeed, we cannot.” Alastor hummed a bouncy tune as he walked them down the sidewalk, his steps light. 

They walked in near silence otherwise, just the clicking of their heels against the concrete and the melody from Alastor. As they went though, Amber received a sharp correction each time her spine slouched or her shoulders moved forward. The cane floated behind her, smacking whatever part of her fell out of his desired alignment was quickly becoming her number one enamy in Hell. 

“That’s starting to hurt.” Amber grumbled as the hotel drew closer.

“Oh? Don’t want to be corrected, do not do anything needing correction. I can’t have a limp flower on my arm.” 

~~~~~<3

“Welcome back!” Charlie was eager to see them enter, nearly exploding as soon as the door opened. 

Amber ducked away from Alastor as he held the door open for her. It felt ridiculous honestly, to scurry away from him after having spent hours with him but she couldn’t help it. Her back ached from maintaining the posture he demanded and she wasn’t sure what she wanted more- to be free from that damn cane that kept whacking her or free from the imposing presence of Alastor himself. 

“Oh good, Creepyface didn’t eat you.” Angel joked, or at least she had hope that it was a joke, as she put more and more distance between the towering man in red and herself. It felt like she could finally breathe.

“Tomorrow you’ll accompany me to collect your items.” Alastor announced, rather than asked. 

“Oh, okay.” Amber said dumbly, wanting to say anything else. 

“Seriously, I’m glad he didn’t eat you.” Angel said, passing Amber a drink as she reached the bar. 

“Was that a real concern?” She asked softly, clinging to the safety of what felt like her first friend in hell. 

“I don’t know, probably!” Angel said, looking to the bartender for confirmation. “It’s not crazy, right Husk?”

“Not out of the question.” He grumbled, giving Angel a new glass to replace the one he had given her. 

“So, what did he want with you anyway?” Angel leaned, to the side and crossed his long legs while he gave her his full attention. 

“I don’t know?” Amber grimaced at the taste of the strong drink in the glass Angel had given her as it burned it’s way down her throat. “He was worried about what clothes we got, that they would give the hotel a bad reputation.”

“Figures, stuck up prude.” Angel grumbled, downing his drink only to get a quick refill. “Probably can’t get laid and doesn’t want to be reminded. If he just asked me nicely-” 

“I will close this goddamn bar down.” Husk warned though Amber wasn’t sure the hotel bar ever closed. 

“I am sure he doesn’t need help with that,” Amber tried to defend. 

Alastor was a handsome man in his own demonic way and power radiated off him. Sure, he was smile was sickeningly yellow and he was terrifying but since the dawn of time, woman have been falling at the feet of terrifying men. Panties dropped for powerful men all the time, looks be damned. 

“He’s not unattractive and is a gentleman,” She added. 

“Ha!” Angel snorted into his drink. “But that smile! I bet woman dry up as soon as he turns that creepy look on them.”

“That’s so rude.” Amber hushed him, trying not to laugh at the way Angel waved his arms, ever so animated. 

“I guess there’s a kink for everything,” Angel sighed. “Would you fuck him?”

“Oh, I- I don’t, I mean- I, I don’t know him, not really. And he wouldn’t, I mean-”

“I’m fuckin with ya, Foxy. Calm down!” Angel laughed, downing his drink. “I don’t think he fucks anyway, even if you were interested. I’ve tried!” 

“I am going to bed.” Amber decided, knowing it was the only way she was going to escape this situation. There wasn’t any way in the goddamn world she wanted to have this conversation. 

Alastor creeped her the fuck out. The idea of Alastor fucking creeped her the fuck out. The idea of fucking Alastor should creep her the fuck out. It would any sane person and the fact that it didn’t totally was not something she was going to dwell on. 

Not after spending what felt like hours being smacked by his cane. Her fucking back was probably going to be bruised. That’s what she needed to be focused on. That and figuring out how to exist in a way that kept Alastor’s attention off of ‘correcting’ her. 

What she needed to dwell on was the fact that she was weak, powerless, weaponless and stuck in hell with nothing but a hotel to protect her. Sure, she’d come a hell of a long way, she had a bed to sleep in and now clothes to wear but all it would take was them deciding she wasn’t worthy or something and she was back to hiding in alleyways and trying to not draw attention. 

“Amber?” It was Charlie’s voice that stopped her in the hall, turning to face the tall princess. The air around Charlie was different. The sunshine and rainbows had been replaced by a soft assurance. She was in Princess mode. “Are you okay?” 

“Yeah,” Amber was caught off guard, far more used to seeing her in her over eager high energy mode the princess existed in most of the time. “Is that surprising?” 

“No! No, I just-” Charlie struggled to put her words together. “Alastor’s just, he can be a lot sometimes.” 

Amber laughed, she couldn’t say why. Maybe her sanity was fracturing. Maybe Hell was getting to her. Maybe she finally felt safe. Maybe it was the whacks to the back of her head when her eyes would fall to the ground as they walked. 

“I had better times before,” She settled on saying. “But it wasn’t the worst time I’ve had. I- He’s really intimidating.” 

“Be careful with him, okay? Don’t make any deals with him.”

“He’s dangerous.” Amber stated rather than asked. 

“Very.” Charlie confirmed before adding, “He wouldn’t hurt a guest though!” as if that wasn’t in direct contradiction to her direction to be careful. “I’ll let you get some rest.”

“Charlie?” Amber called as the other woman made it a few feet down the hall. When Charlie looked back to Amber, she said “Thank you, for giving me a place to stay.” 

~~~~~<3

The morning brought a fresh redemption activity. Amber was certain they wouldn’t work, hell surely wasn’t something you escaped from but who was she to argue. She was a guest, living rent free in exchange for whatever straightening up she could come up with to do and an honest attempt at participation. 

Opening the door to head down, she walked right into the massive pink frame of Angel. 

“Sorry Foxy.” He caught her with his lower arms, keeping her from falling. “I found the buttons and thread. Figured we’d fix your clothes up.” In his upper hands he held a pair of scissors and a small sewing kit, safely above her head. It had to be nice to have four hands, once one got over the weirdness of it. 

Nodding, Amber let him in for what ended up being the most awkward experience in her afterlife. He had her lift her shirt so he could see her ass clearly and establish where and how exactly her tail extended from her body. 

He was so tall and lanky that he could sit on the floor and comfortably grab at her clothes, moving her how he wanted without having to slouch down. Amber couldn’t even begin to imagine what the world looked like from his stature. How was it everyone around her was so fucking tall, with few exceptions and she only gained a few inches in her afterlife?

He cut down the back seam of her leggings until her tail rested naturally, though the rest of her was far from comfortable with the pink face focusing so intently on her ass. Sure, he looked at, touched and fucked asses all night, every night for his employment. For him, it was probably as normal as looking at someone’s hand or arm. 

For Amber though, she didn’t have nearly as much experience having her ass examined. Especially knowingly. She had been sheltered, having only been with one man and if others looked at her ass to appreciate it, it was a moral failing on her part. 

“Cute panties, oh wait- you’re not wearing any!” Angel laughed as he moved the fabric around. 

“Shut up.” She hated that her voice was more of an embarrassed whine than forceful. It would have just been another layer of fabric that was bunched awkwardly under her tail. It was just another moral failing. 

“You’re so goddamn pure.” Angel laughed. “Why the hell are you here?” 

“Guess I wasn’t pure enough.” Amber shrugged, not knowing if she wanted to say why or if he really wanted to know. 

It wasn’t something she really heard a lot of people saying. Perhaps most people had many reasons they were in hell and couldn’t identify the one thing that tipped the balance of their soul. Maybe she was wrong and it wouldn’t have mattered if she hadn’t done that thing and just being in the wrong faith was enough. 

Did it fucking matter?

“How’s that feel?” Angel asked instead of teasing her anymore while he examined her tail. His finger traced down her spine from her lower back down to where the vertebrae shifted, shooting out and continuing into the tail instead of terminating into the sacrum. 

“Better.” She had to admit all the awkward attention on her ass was worth it.

“Good. Don’t move or I might sew your ass cheeks together.” Angel said though Amber knew the general set up of her body made that unlikely. “Or I would if you had much of an ass back here.” 

He first set a stitch at the seam, preventing any further unraveling of her pants. After that, he put a button on the waistband and created a hole for it. It wasn’t his neatest work he’d ever done but it would hold. 

“We could stick a bow on it next time- that’d be kind of hot.” Angel laughed as Amber squeaked at the indecent idea. “Make your little ass a present.” 

“Shut up,” Amber whined as Angel laughed. This was what it felt like to have a friend. It was foreign, something she hadn’t realized that she missed from life. “You’re an ass.” 

“Yeah, yeah.” Angel swatted her ass before acting like the strike hurt his hand. “Settle down and let me button you up.” 

“Thank you.” Amber wiggled her tail as Angel buttoned the back of her pants, enjoying the feeling of having it freely move while trying to ignore Angel. 

“It’s not perfect but it’ll hold. I’ll do the rest later if ya want.”

“I can do them I think, if I use this as a guide. Thank you though.” 

~~~~~<3

Charlie had exercises lined up. It didn’t feel like it had much of a point but who was Amber to challenge the process. The ever so kind princess was wholly invested in her plan to redeem sinners even if the group she had to work with was mostly hotel staff. 

“So, I thought- maybe we can learn about each other’s lives from up top!” Charlie seemed very proud of herself for the idea as everyone in the room shifted uncomfortably. “Who wants to go first?” 

Crickets. Amber felt bad for the silence that stretched on. No one seemed eager to talk about their living lives. She certainly didn’t want to. 

“Okay, I’ll go first!” Charlie decided. Amber could feel her ears twitching doubtfully atop her head. “I have never actually been up top! I was born and raised here.” 

It shocked Amber that the princess had always been in hell. The woman was more sunshine and rainbows than most people she had known in her life. If anyone deserved a life, it was her. 

“You next!” Charlie pointed at her girlfriend who looked extremely uncomfortable. 

“I had a lot of sisters.” Vaggie threw out as Charlie squealed in joy before all attention was directed to Angel.

He was just as uncomfortable as Vaggie appeared. “I came from a large Italian American family.” He took the path Vaggie had chosen as well, going with a generic family answer. Not participating but still participating just enough to skate by. 

Husk had a likewise vague answer. All anyone was learning about their hotel housemates was that they had come from families which was a given. They had to be born and raised at some point. Even Nifty’s answer had been family based- Though Amber couldn’t imagine it, she had been alive at one point too and had no siblings. 

Soon enough, all eyes were on her. It felt like the shadows themselves had eyes that were trained on her. Never in her life had Amber wanted less attention on her. It was suffocating.

“I had a daughter.” She finally said, looking into Charlie’s eyes and deciding to give her a bone, just a little bit more of herself than the others have given. “She was beautiful and caring and kind and sweet. The light of my life.”

“She’s still alive.” Angel assumed. It would make sense, Amber was just recently deceased and children do tend to outlive their parents. 

“No,” Amber physically cringed back from the memory even as she forced herself to give more. It was the least she could do to support the princess that so whole heartedly took her in. “She passed shortly before I did.”

Amber stood from her chair in a hurry. She wanted a drink or she wanted to run but neither would have been a nice thing to do. It wasn’t Charlie’s fault that her little trust game struck a nerve. Likewise, it wasn’t her fault that Amber had decided to share her daughter and not something painless like having a father or sister or pet. 

“I should go straighten up… something.” Amber decided. 

[lunartearrose]

Ockiss24 day 5 - darkness!

Characters: December (left), Violet (right)

World: my original project Dreamality :) (title is a work in progress i still dont know if i like it)

Writings under cut!

Once again, Violet and December met up for magic practice. It was a bit dark out, but neither of them minded it much. They stuck to the wide open field aways from the forest, and despite no moonlight, the stars seemed brighter than ever.

Violet was pleased to see him after her long day hunting - he was having a minimal pain day by the looks of the cane that sat beside him in the flowers.

Another thing she noted - his eyes were so shiny in the dark. She stared a ways away as he picked a poppy growing nearby, twisting it to and fro as he inspected how it looked, in his own little world of thought.

She could really watch for hours!

….but she should really make her presence known so she doesn't scare him!

So she walked forward casually, wings lighting her surroundings. “Hi December, I'm back! Are you ready for a new spell?”

December perked up at her voice. “Oh! Yes! Um- should I get up? Or?”

“Nah, you don't have to!” Violet replied, “this one's gonna be fun - I'll teach you to float!”

“Oooh, do you think I can do it?” December asks.

“I'm sure you can! It just needs some sort of focus from what I heard - something touching you that helps with the floating. Plenty of witches use their clothes as the object in question to charm. I was thinkin’ your cloak would make some fine floaties! And if not, we'll try it on your cane if you want. Or whichever one first!”

“Alright! Let's try my cloak first, then…” December replied.

Violet proceeded to show him the spell, using her scarf as the focus - he repeated it with his cloak to an amazingly quick success!

But… the cloak wasn't the best idea. The way it hung on its own wasn't comfortable. With the cane, it required him holding on, and it wasn't comfortable to use like a witch broom, besides not having the best arm strength and balance.

Eventually, the two workshopped and fine tuned until they figured out that the bandages he wore worked out perfectly!

Just like that, the two were floating upwards, Violet using her wings to stay afloat. Together, they marveled at the stars and from there, simply worked on how long December could concentrate on the spell.

And being up in the air gave the two plenty of time to chat about life. Violet’s been helping out the less fortunate between her hunting for a cure for River's entrapment, while December was recently accepted into a college for higher learnings of magic. Being able to find a cure amongst that extensive library would be a plus…

And of course, as the two remember what happened to River, a sad sort of silence fell between them.

And so, December grabbed her hands gently.

“I'd be really happy if you applied, too.” December said, smiling a little. “If we can't find a cure there, maybe… I dunno. It's somethin’ to do.”

“Yeah, maybe.” Violet said. “If they accept demons, I wouldn't mind trying school for real.”

“They'd make an exception for you, I'm sure! You're really sweet.” December replied.

And once again, his past conversation with River about Violet crossed his mind. She always classifies herself as a demon, yet she doesn't look or act like one. Her picking of souls isn't whatever is in front of her. She has no horns. Her wings are without proper form, just beautiful, melting stardust.

Maybe he could figure out that mystery, too, and tell River when he's free that his theory about the kid he loved as a daughter was right all along.

“Thanks, December.” Violet says, “show me how to apply when we get home, yeah?”

“Of course!”

At this, Violet starts to get excited thinking about it, swaying their intertwined hands between them in a little mock dance.

And then, another thought that had been nagging her recently crossed her mind.

“Hey, you know what's kinda weird?” Violet asked.

“Mhm?” December hummed in reply.

“I see it happen all the time around me. You know. But I never really do it myself.”

“Do what?”

“Kiss someone.”

At this, December blushed. “O-oh.”

“Right? I kinda don't get the hype. It's like. What does it really do?”

“I… well… it feels nice, i guess?”

“You guess?”

“I-i never really kissed anyone, either.”

Now. She wasn't sure why, but Violet figured she'd ask.

“Well. Do you wanna find out the big deal?” She asked.

December looked a bit nervous, but a bit excited, too. “Um! S-sure! A-are you sure you want to try it with me?!”

“Yup. We're best friends, so I don’t think there's anybody else I'd wanna try it with.” She replied.

“Well.” December replied, pulling her a bit closer as they floated, “Alright. I agree. L-let's try!”

And with that, Violet leaned in an kissed him.

December froze stiff. He forgot to do anything at all!

Including holding his concentration on that spell.

He quickly began to fall, slipping from her fingers a quick second before she quickly dove down and scooped him up. From there, she floated back down to the ground with him in her arms.

“My bad! I kind of forgot about the spell!! No smooches while concentrating!” Violet apologized, flushed from embarrassment.

December was blushing for different reasons. “I-it's ok! I forgot too.” After a pause, he said, “I don't think I kissed you right, either… c-could I try again?”

With that, she blushed even harder. “I! Um! Yeah, if you wanna…”

Truth be told, she understood why kisses were so fun, now.

Eventually, the two of them would come to realize that they didn't focus on any other spells that night.

At all.

Whoopsie!

[thank-god-and-you]

[Read Secretum Lingua Caritate on FFN]

Probably requested by @annambates or @awesomegreentie

“Damn!”

John’s irritated curse resonates through the cottage. Anna winces as Johnny giggles, clapping his sudsy hands together in the bathtub.

“John!” she calls in return, exasperated herself. “Don’t say that!”

She hears the echo of her husband’s cane as he makes his way towards the bathroom, and he pokes his head around the door.

“Sorry,” he says gruffly, not sounding as apologetic as he should. “Johnny’s left one of his bricks out. I didn’t see it and stepped on it.” He gestures down to his foot.

Since she can’t assess the damage through a sock, Anna’s compassion remains limited. “Even so, I don’t want you saying such words in Johnny’s earshot. You know what children are like, they’re sponges at this age!”

Johnny splashes water as if in agreement, sending his little boat spinning as if on a tidal wave. Anna keeps a hold on him to stop him from lurching after it, expertly pushing it back into his tiny hands as she turns back to her husband.

“Next time, watch where you’re putting your feet,” she scolds him gently. “You might need glasses if you didn’t see it.”

John scowls at her, more wounded pride than irascibility. “I don’t need glasses. We need to start teaching Johnny to put his things away when he’s had them.”

“He can’t walk or talk,” Anna says, rolling her eyes. “He’s hardly going to clean up after himself.”

“You don’t sound very sympathetic,” John pouts, sitting himself on the lip of the tub.

“That’s because I’m not,” she says, reaching across for the flannel to soap Johnny’s back. Their son giggles, throwing suds up in front of him.

“Is that what life has become now? Can a man no longer get pity from his wife?”

“Not with injuries of his own making.”

“Well, if that’s the kind of reception I get, I’m going,” John grumbles, but he belies his words by bending down to drop a kiss into her hair, nuzzling against her temple for a brief moment.

“We won’t be long,” Anna tells him, and watches him leave the room with affectionate impatience.

She finishes bathing Johnny and gathers him into her arms to return to his little bedroom.  He babbles happily, his blond hair tufting on his head with the gentle towelling it’s received. She tucks him into snug bedclothes before he can get too cold, no easy feat with his flailing arms and legs, and rewards him with a tickle to his round tummy when she’s done. Johnny giggles loudly, his fat little appendages waving more enthusiastically in delight.

“Mamamamamamamam,” he squeals, reaching out to grab at an errant curl of her hair.

Anna doesn’t know if she can count that as his first word or not. There’s no doubt that he’s getting closer to it every day that passes, but she doesn’t think it’s distinct enough yet.

At that moment, John appears in the doorway. He’s divested himself of his jacket, his shirtsleeves rolled up to the elbows.

“Mamamamamamamam,” Johnny squeals again upon seeing him.

“No,” John corrects, venturing further into the room to sit on the edge of the bed beside him, “I’m Dada, remember? Da-da.”

“Stop trying to confuse him,” Anna scolds. “We both know he’s supposed to say Mama first. Isn’t that right, my darling?” she goes back to tickling his tummy. “Ma-ma!”

“Mamamamamamamam!”

“I see that’s going just as well for you,” John smirks. “And don’t think I haven’t noticed the lack of a proper greeting.”

“Honestly, men. So insecure the moment a woman’s attention is elsewhere for even a moment.”

“Honestly, women,” he counters, “forgetting all about their men once they’ve got the baby they wanted.”

They laugh at each other, and Anna stretches up on her knees to plant a soft kiss onto his mouth. He steadies her with a hand on her waist, inviting her closer. She doesn’t resist him. Any mild irritation that might have been lingering before with his liberal use of colourful language around their son’s delicate ears melts away with his careful passion.

“How’s work?” she asks when she pulls away.

John sighs. “Nothing new to report. Thomas has been giving me a headache, as usual. I’ve missed having you there.”

“I’ve missed seeing you too,” she admits. She’s taken a couple of days off to stay at home with Johnny, who has been a little grizzly with a cough. Nothing to worry about, Doctor Clarkson had reassured them, but Anna doesn’t want to leave her son in the care of Nanny. Lady Mary agrees with her, knowing how she struggled to conceive, and has granted her the time to be with him for her own peace of mind.

“Johnny looks brighter,” John observes, moving his large hand to rest gently atop her own on Johnny’s stomach.

“He is,” she agrees. “Another day or two and I should be back at work.”  But she can’t pretend that she hasn’t enjoyed her time being at home with her son. She loves her work at Downton, of course, but sometimes she wonders if they should revisit the old idea of the hotel. It’s been put on hold time and time again for one reason or another, but now could be the perfect moment to give it proper consideration again. Johnny is getting older, they could work their schedule around their own needs instead of the family’s, and it would give them more time to spend together. Anna would miss working for Lady Mary, of course she would, but her priorities have changed over the years, especially in the more recent one with the birth of their son.

She makes a note to bring the subject up to John on their next half-day, when they have the time to have a proper discussion about it.

“Come on,” she says gently now, pushing that stubborn strand of hair away from her husband’s forehead. “Let me put Johnny to bed and I’ll get supper out of the oven for you.”

“No, I’ll do that,” he says. “I haven’t seen him all day, I’d like to.”

Anna nods in understanding, standing. “Well, don’t be too long. You must be hungry.”

She watches as he scoops their son gently into his arms and carries him out of the room, cradling him with devotion.

Yes, they need to have the discussion very soon indeed.

-- --

The following weeks pass smoothly. Anna returns to work and Johnny returns to the nursery alongside the Crawley children, and they fall into the same routine that has governed their lives since Johnny’s birth. They collect him each night once their duties are done and make the walk back down to the cottage with him tucked tight into his pram. Sometimes he is grumpy at being disturbed from his warm and cosy cot in the nursery, and Anna always feels a stab of guilt at his fussing. A reproachful part of her that is growing increasingly difficult to ignore tells her that he should have been tucked up in his own bed many hours before.

They still want their old dream, of course. The image of the hotel has been a constant in her picture of the future, perhaps only dimming briefly through the darkest period of her life. The timing just never seems to be quite right.

But perhaps now is the time to make the timing right. She feels the tug of exhaustion at the end of a long day, and hasn’t failed to notice the weary lines on John’s face, or the way he drags himself up the stairs at night. He hates to acknowledge it and she feels disloyal for thinking it, but he’s not getting any younger, and while running their own business would be very hard work, it’s nothing they aren’t used to already and they could at least be finished at a reasonable hour every evening, giving them more quality time to spend together and with their son. A half-day every fortnight hardly seems adequate when she thinks about all the struggles they had to bring him into the world.

And so she broaches the subject first, knowing that John will always go at her pace, wait for her to make the choice, as he has done ever since that awful, dark night all those years ago, making sure she does it as John settles himself in bed beside her.

“I think it’s time,” she says.

John pauses in the middle of settling on his side, twisting his head on the pillow, a frown on his face. “Time for what?”

She clarifies, “Time to start looking for our hotel. I want to. This is the right moment now.”

For a moment, John stares at her uncomprehendingly. “What?”

She rolls her eyes at his obliviousness, but supposes she’ll let him off. After all, it’s been a long day, and she’s voiced her wishes quite out of the blue. “The hotel,” she repeats. “Our future. It’s time we started planning. I don’t want us to delay any longer. We’ve done enough of that already.”

The smile that spreads across John’s face, slightly disbelieving, deliriously happy, makes her heart contract in her chest. She knows he would have liked to have pursued that dream a long time ago, but had never pushed her on the subject, giving her full control over their future. She had always felt slightly anxious at the thought of leaving everyone she knew behind, especially after the support she had received during the most awful times in her life, but now she feels regretful. Guilty for making John delay.

He deserves the chance to be included in all of the special milestones in his son’s life, not hearing about them second-hand from Nanny. He’d already been denied the opportunity to be there for her when she had miscarried before, when she’d been so terrified that she was losing Johnny.

She doesn’t want to miss out on those important milestones. How jealous and upset would she be if it was Nanny who witnessed his first steps, and not her, his mother? Nothing is more important to her than her son, her family, and it’s time that she made that clear once and for all.

“Our future,” John breathes, his whole face aglow with boyish delight. “Do you mean it, Anna?”

“I do,” she reassures him. “It’s time.”

John reaches across for her, his arm warm and heavy across her stomach as he leans down to kiss her with breathless delight. She smiles against his mouth, wrapping her arms around his neck, pulling him closer.

At that moment, they are interrupted by a distinctive voice.

“Damn! Damn!”

For a moment, they’re both frozen; then Anna pulls away from her husband’s mouth, wide-eyed, to peer into the cot at the side of their bed.

“Was that…?” she asks faintly.

John’s expression is caught somewhere between confused and amused. “I think so, yes.”

As one, they scramble across the mattress to peer into the cot. Johnny pulls himself up onto stocky little legs, peering up at them with reproach, as if he’s quite tired of not being the centre of their universe.  Noticing that he now has their full attention, he breaks into a toothless smile, reaching up for them.

“Damn!” he repeats.

“…His first word,” Anna says, horrified.

“Bloody hell,” says John, and she elbows him in the stomach. “Ouch! What was that for?”

“You know very well, John Bates! This is your fault!”

“My fault?”

“Well, he hasn’t heard that language from me! How many times have I told you that babies are like sponges at this age? Oh, John, I could swing for you! Nanny will have a heart attack if she hears!”

Johnny reaches up beseechingly. “Damn! Damn!”

Anna reaches down for him, but he falls down on his bottom, his face reddening in that tell-tale way that tells a tantrum might be on its way.

“Damn!” he insists.

Anna freezes, comprehension trickling through her veins in a cool.

“Oh,” she says softly. “I understand now.”

“Understand what?” says John at her back. “Anna, what is it?”

“Damn! Damn!”

“Johnny wants you,” she says.

“What?”

“It’s what he’s calling you,” she says faintly. “Like Miss Sybbie calls Lord Grantham ‘Donk’. He’s heard you say it and now he thinks it’s your name. Look, he’s reaching for you.”

On cue, Johnny lifts his arms above his head, grasping fruitlessly at thin air. There’s a tell-tale hitch in his voice this time as he repeats the dreaded word. If John doesn’t pick him up now, a full-blown tantrum will explode, and that’s the last thing they want after an exhausting day.

“Oh, good God,” he groans, capitulating. Johnny’s displeasure evolves into satisfied coos as John hitches him against his shoulder. John bounces him slightly as he casts Anna a sheepish look. “I suppose all I can do is apologise?”

Anna groans, burying her face in her hands. “This is unbelievable. We’re not going to be able to take him into polite society again if he’s going to shout obscenities at people. Poor Nanny will be absolutely mortified, and I don’t know how I’m going to face the others. It’ll probably finish Mr. Carson off once and for all. And as for you, well, I’d probably leave the country now if I were you. He’s going to be giving you a very stern talking to.”

John is quiet for a moment. And then he raises an eyebrow, fixing her with a beseeching look. “What do you say to us leaving for our dream hotel right now?”

She can’t help it. She laughs. Snugs her arms around his waist and nestles against his side as he pulls her closer. Johnny continues to gurgle happily.

It might have been an unexpected and unwanted end to the day in many ways, but she can’t deny this: she wouldn’t change a thing about her beautiful little family for all the tea in China.

Even that pesky first word if it means that she gets to witness one of the most important milestones in her cherished son’s life.

She’ll just have to come down extra hard on John as punishment.

After all, the last thing they need is for his second word to be something like ‘hell’…

[fandomficsnstuff]

Witches And Wizards - 22

(Warnings: FLUUUUUUUUF! Fluff and some fluffy fluff!)

Note: I once read parts of a fic where the reader has magic and goes back in time, meeting Merlin. I sadly can’t find it anymore. Also Fred didn’t die in this.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sitting on the opposite side of the table this summer felt bittersweet for Ophelia. She could see the seat she used to sit in at the Ravenclaw table, and the best thing of all, she sat next to Hagrid. On one hand, this is where she had always dreamed of sitting, right?... On the other hand, she felt as though her dreams had somehow changed, but she wasn’t sure what they had changed to, or when, she just felt the bitter shift in her as she sat and talked with Hagrid, whom she adored, the half-giant as gentle as he was tall. “Settle down everyone! Settle down! Welcome back and to those of you who have just arrived, welcome to Hogwarts, the school of Witchcraft and Wizardry! The sorting ceremony will begin shortly, after that, you will get to meet two of your new teachers. Now, when I call your names, please step forward” Minerva called out into the hall, Ophelia smiling softly, leaning closer to Hagrid “she’s got the room, just like Dumbledore did” she whispered, Hagrid nodding “she does. She’s quite the headmistress, too, you know. Had a bit ‘f an incident with a Billywig… thought fer sure she’d sack me.”

“Why? Did the student float off?”

“No! Merlin’s beard, no, just got a good scare ’s all. It’s that lad over there” he whispered with amusement as he pointed to some kid at the Gryffindor table, Ophelia forcing a smile as she suddenly felt… cold… cold and alone… all her life she’d heard and used that name, so why would it feel different now? “Now,” Ophelia snapped out of her trance as Minerva turned to her, smiling and gesturing to her “as you all know, Professor Sprout has retired after many years of faithfully teaching Herbology, so, it is a privilege to present your new Herbology professor, Professor Black” she presented, Hagrid being one of the teachers who clapped the loudest, Ophelia smiling, grabbing her cane and pushing herself to stand, limping over to where Minerva stood. Minerva lifted a hand and the crowd fell silent, Ophelia giving her a smile before looking out to the crowd, unaware of the blue eyes that watched her intently. “Hello. I’m looking forward to working with all of you. It’ll be a privilege to teach all of you, and I can only hope that you’ll enjoy learning about Herbology, how to care for your plants, the use for their ingredients and what to learn from them as much as I did. Professor Sprout was a great Herbology teacher, I have a lot to live up to so I hope you’ll give me a chance to do so” Ophelia stated loudly yet with a fond tone when she spoke of the old Herbology professor she had learnt so much from, even though it was in her later years, turning to Minerva who nodded at her. Ophelia nodded, turning around to go back to her seat when stopped, turning to face everyone again “oh, and just so you don’t have to ask later and interrupt my class, I’m limping because of an unfortunate accident with a Billywig and an allergic reaction, I’m lucky I didn’t lose my leg… it’s worth remembering to always listen to your Care of Magical Creatures professor” she stated loudly, her eyes locked on the boy that had been involved in the ‘incident’ with Hagrid and a Billywig. Minerva tried to hide her smirk as Ophelia limped back to her seat, sitting back down next to Hagrid whose ears were a little bit red, not that it was all that noticeable under all of that hair “what’d ya say that for??”

“Let’s see if you have any trouble with Billywigs now” she whispered with the ghost of amusement on her face, Hagrid trying to hold back a laugh. “And now, allow me to present your new Transfigurations teacher, Professor Emrys” the hall clapped again, even Ophelia, though she had no idea who this new teacher was. Her stomach felt strange again when she heard that name, like it did when she heard the name ‘Merlin’, but she shrugged it off, watching as a tall and lean black haired man stepped forward. He had the cutest ears imaginable and she couldn’t help but smile at the back of his head for some reason. “Thank you, Headmistress, it’s an honor to teach here, I’ve waited a long time to do so, waiting for the right moment. A former student I knew spoke very highly of this place and I just knew I had to come here when the time was right. I’ll be looking forward to getting to know all of you and teaching you, and I’m looking forward to work with my new coworkers” he stated, turning and gesturing to the large table all the teachers sat at, Ophelia’s eyes widening a little when she saw his face, her heart racing when she locked eyes with him, those blue orbs staring at her, as though he knew her, a hint of relief in his eyes that she had no idea why. Barely a second or two passed but it felt like a lifetime. Like a thousand lifetimes. And then she felt cold again when he turned to look back at Minerva, saying something quietly before walking back to his seat at the other end of the table, Ophelia staring at him with a frown. “Now, let the feast begin!” Minerva commanded and food appeared on the tables, Ophelia frowning when Professor Emrys appeared to be shocked at this, his eyes wide, shining with joy and surprise.

“‘Phia, you’re not hungry?” Hagrid asked with half a mouth full of some sort of meat pie, Ophelia barely able to tear her eyes from Professor Emrys, blinking out of her trance as she looked at Hagrid “hm?”

“I asked if you weren’t hungry? And why’re you starin’ at the new professor?” he asked, Ophelia resisting the urge to look at the person in question, forcing herself to look down at her plate “I, uh… I-I’m not hungry” she lied quietly, frowning.

She tried not to. She really did. But she failed, miserably, and slowly her gaze lifted to look at him. And he looked back. Once again their eyes locked and she felt her heart race, heat filling her cheeks but not out of embarrassment for being caught staring at him like a creep… it felt… bashful… shy… like she was being deeply complimented by someone whose opinion was of the highest value to her, and she was able to study his features much better now. He had a black stubble beard that she felt was foreign to him, yet it suited him, he had the most adorable ears that made her heart race, his cheekbones were high, those blue eyes feeling so familiar and she felt like a million lifetimes wouldn’t be enough time to study every inch of him, commit it to memory… and worst of all, she wanted that. She wanted those million lifetimes just to look at him, just to feel the way she did when he looked at her… She swallowed the lump in her throat, her hand clutching her pants as she tried to look away, finally being able to tear her gaze away from him, some form of fear coursing through her veins and she felt like she couldn’t breathe. “Excuse me, please” she muttered, about to get up when Hagrid frowned at her “you alright? Yer face is flushed…”

“Yeah, yeah I’m okay, just-.. my leg” she lied, forcing a smile that seemed to comfort the gentle half-giant and she grabbed her cane, subtly getting up and limping out of the room, walking outside through the door not that far from the table she sat at, feeling the unusually hot sun on her skin, just past the clouds as it descended in the distance. She tried to lean off of her cane a little, to rest her weight on her wounded leg but she quickly leaned back on her cane again, gritting her teeth in agony and she sighed heavily.

“Are you alright?”

She spun around at the voice, grimacing, clutching her cane at the sharp pain the movement caused her, her eyes shut tightly for a brief second before she opened them to see… him. It was him. “Yes, thank you, I just needed some air… I haven’t been back here for what feels like-... a lifetime” she admitted. He was her coworker, she might as well try to be civil, despite the strange feeling she felt when she looked into his eyes, heard his voice… she hadn’t felt like that since-... since Jaime…

“Are you sure? You look like you’re uncomfortable, I can leave if-”

“No! No, it’s not you, it’s- it’s my blasted leg” she admitted nervously, adjusting her stance a little to try and alleviate some of the pain she felt. “Oh, how-... w-what happened?” he asked nervously and she narrowed her eyes at him. She could swear she knew him… there had to be a reason for the feeling she felt in her gut when he looked at her, when she heard his voice, but he wasn’t a Hogwarts student, she would have remembered him, surely… wouldn’t she?…

“I uh, I don’t know, actually. I woke up in St. Mungo’s. They couldn’t do anything” she admitted sheepishly, shrugging as she looked down briefly before forcing a smile “but it’s alright, I’ve lived with it for a few months now. Almost a year after I woke up.”

“How long? If it’s alright that I ask…”

“It’s alright. I was unconscious most of the time at St. Mungo’s… for weeks, actually. I was-... ‘gone’, for a few years, maybe three, I’m not sure, it seems no one really is… but when I got back I passed out and, well, a few weeks later I woke up…”

“W-What happened?” he asked, taking a step forward and Ophelia frowned as her heart raced when he stepped closer. She liked his presence. She liked having him near and every step towards her felt like a drug she was slowly becoming addicted to. “I uh… I don’t know” she admitted sheepishly, forcing a smile “kind of stupid, right? I don’t even know what happened to me, all I know is that I somehow ended up in one of my friends’ shop, covered in rock dust and then I passed out and woke up in St. Mungo’s” she said with a forced laugh, watching as he nodded with a look on his face that made her worry. “Professor Emrys?-”

“Merlin” he corrected and she grinned a little, unaware of how close he was to sobbing when he saw that grin, his heart melting just as it had done so, so, so long ago. The muscles in her face, around her lips and cheeks, began to ache, it felt like it had been years since she smiled a genuine smile, a genuine grin that showed a little of her teeth.  “Your parents really had ambitions for you, then” she stated with amusement, Merlin’s cheeks growing hot “no more than any other parent…”

“Are you kidding? Your name is ‘Merlin’. That has to be a lot of pressure, though…” she wondered, Merlin letting out a shaky breath as he forced a smile, nodding, trying to hide how close to breaking down he was that she was still the same, despite the rumors he’d heard of how cold she’d gotten since she ‘came back’ “it can certainly feel like it sometimes…”

“I’m sorry to hear that. If it helps, I won’t expect any more of you than you’re comfortable with” she stated with a smirk, nudging his shoulder and he actually smiled. A true smile since he woke up in the crystal cave, no sign of her except some blood and her bag. “Thank you. I’ll still expect great things of you, though” he stated with a smirk and she chuckled lightly, shaking her head “oh dear, don’t threaten me with that, I don’t want to let you down” she admitted with amusement, Merlin smirking a little “you won’t… you’re incredible with plants…” he muttered as though in a trance and Ophelia frowned at him, still smiling, although she was a bit confused now “I...” she trailed off, Merlin’s eyes widening “I mean, you have to be! To teach Herbology, that is” he quickly added and Ophelia nodded slowly, still frowning at him. “Forgive me, but-... do-... do we know each other? I-... your eyes-... they remind me of someone… they’re… almost familiar” she trailed off, Merlin’s heart racing. “I-... perhaps in another life? I-If you believe in such a thing…” he stumbled over his words, a grin forming on her lips as she laughed, making Merlin unintentionally smile at the sound. God, he’d missed that sound so much…

“I don’t know, do you?”

“I-I mean-... I-It could be-... possible, you know?”

“I agree” she admitted, looking down with a small frown “sometimes it feels like I don’t really belong… like I’ve lived another life but now have no choice but to live this one…” she muttered quietly before looking up again, a few tears in her eyes that she hid well, just not well enough, forcing a smile “sorry, I’m ranting. If you’ll excuse me, I think I’ll head to bed, it’s getting rather late” she gestured towards the western horizon, the sun gone, the only proof of it’s existence being the colored sky that was already darkening. He looked towards it, brows furrowing a little as he hadn’t noticed the passing of time and when he turned back to look at her, she was gone, making him spin around, searching for her figure but he never saw it, he never saw her blonde, almost white hair, those two unique eyes, one blue and one green. He sighed softly. He’d do anything to call upon Kilgharrah for advice right now… or Gaius… the memory still made tears form in his eyes but he blinked them away. There was always another day and this was far from a loss. He had waited centuries, time going by far too slowly, it felt like agony, having to see civilisations rise and fall, waiting for the right one, having to witness the horror people slowly became capable of, and not being able to intervene, he couldn’t. So he waited. And waited. And waited and finally… the date she told him she arrived in Camelot, breaking Gaius’ table in the process, the memory making him smile. He remembered how nervous she was, he remembered the way her eyes lit up when he first showed her his magic, the utter joy in her eyes as she looked up at him and he already knew… he had looked around like a madman, hoping and praying she had found a way out of the cave and gone ahead, at least that’s what he convinced himself, just before leaving the cave after getting his magic back.

He had returned every day to see if there was any sign of her. Then every week, then weeks turned into months, months turned into years. But he always visited, hoping and praying for a message of some kind, a proof of any kind. Civilisation had risen, buildings crushing the forests and fields he took so much joy in watching grow, but the crystal cave remained, he made sure of it, it had been years since he first visited it but now that he saw her, ‘met’ her again… he no longer felt the need to see it, to wait for a sign of life, a message, a clue. He had a chance to get to know her again now and this time, nothing would happen to her. Never again. And perhaps he could help with her leg as well… he’d have to look through all the books and spell books he’d collected over the years, most of them from Gaius. He wondered if she remembered Gaius like she remembered him? A sensation, a feeling, a faded idea of a past memory. He had a chance to work beside her, see what she would have wanted to become back when he knew her, how she would have lived her life, and nothing gave him greater pride than that opportunity.

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

Ophelia smiled softly at Minerva as they made it at the top of the stairs, leading her down the small hallway, a door already forming in the wall across from the tapestry of a wizard trying to train trolls for ballet. “Are you quite sure about this?” Minerva asked with a frown as the door was fully formed in the wall, Ophelia nodding at her with a small sigh “the Room will provide what I need… I’m not sure I even know sometimes, to be honest, but the Room will know” she muttered and Minerva sighed softly, nodding “alright. I’ll still keep a room empty in the Faculty Wing should you want it and the floo powder network has been fully restored and is ready at your disposal” she promised and Ophelia nodded, giving her a weak smile “thank you. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight” Minerva wished her before walking down the stairs and Ophelia faced the door, letting out a shaky breath before opening the door and walking inside. The entire room shook a little and she had to place a hand on the wall to not topple over, everything changing size and color and shape until a room appeared. It looked almost-… medieval… like something you’d see in a castle. Not a magical one, that is, but a muggle castle, different from Hogwarts yet familiar. She stepped inside a little, looking around with the ghost of a genuine smile on her lips as she was filled with warmth, like coming home after a long journey and finally being surrounded by the deepest comforts of home and safety and familiarity.

The room was quite large in fact, a little bit bigger than the rooms in the Faculty Wing. But only a little bit. The floor, walls and ceiling were made of stone, a big window almost in the middle of the room in front of the door she had just passed through, a desk in front of it with a comfortable chair behind it. Along the wall, just under the window, were several small bookshelves, empty and ready to be used. There was a large table in front of the entrance, which was a small hall from the door, only a few meters long. There were chairs lining the table that stood in front of her almost in the middle of the room. As she walked out through the small hallway and into the Room itself, she noticed that on either side of the room were stairs, leading up behind her and over the small entrance hallway, a balcony resting up there, looking out over the rest of the room and she smiled when she saw a small, golden statue of an eagle at the start and end of each staircase, fixed to the wall like the Floo network around Hogwarts that had been restored after centuries of being forgotten. Speaking of, a small Floo network had appeared right by the door and she grinned. She looked around the room in awe, bookshelves appearing out of nowhere, lining the walls, a door appearing to the left side of the room by the stairs, the door opening itself a little to reveal a bathroom inside, one that she’d most definitely have to explore later. Cushions and sofas appeared around the fireplace, creating a cozy, warm, welcoming and homely atmosphere. She limped towards the right staircase, studying the golden eagle statue before reaching for it and the second she did, she was suddenly at the top of the stairs, a laugh spilling from her lips. The Room had even provided her something so she wouldn’t have to walk up those damned stairs. She grinned as she looked around the second floor, limping towards the dressing panels that stretched out and she grinned at the sight that met her. A large canopy bed with Ravenclaw blue and silver drapes, right near a window with a large wardrobe cabinet standing against the wall near the bed and she leaned closer to peer out the window, wondering what the Room would have conjured up for her and she frowned when she saw-... a training yard. Sort of. It had dummies, no doubt for training spells, though they had strange helmets on… and were made of straw… It looked almost medieval. She didn’t think too much of it before plopping herself down on the bed, grinning as it was perfect. The perfect bed for her, which didn’t surprise her, the Room stopped surprising her long ago. But she could explore more tomorrow after her lessons, for now, sleep was already tugging at her and she barely undressed before falling asleep in the bed, her wand on the small table next to the bed, her cane leaning against it.

[dirtydoctorwho]

War-Injury!Peggy

[goldenpixel]

The scene with Wilbur in Quackity’s latest lore stream made me Think some Thoughts, and I wanted to get all of my SBI family headcanons together in one place, so here’s this post

First thing, this is their age order:

Philza -> Techno/Wilbur -> Tubbo -> Ranboo -> Tommy

- Techno and Wilbur were born on the same day, so most of the family refers to them as “the twins” but they are not blood related

- Philza did not know how old Techno was when they were ruling the Antarctic Empire, he thought that Techno was around 21 when he was actually around 14-16

- this is a fact that haunts Phil to this day, because he committed a massive amount of war crimes with an actual child, and also for reasons that will soon become very clear

Philza and Techno

- they’re married

- they got married with them each thinking that the other was close to their own age (Phil thought Techno was in his early 20’s, Techno thought Phil was in his late teens)

- for more on their marriage, check out this post

- despite Techno and Wilbur being the same age, Techno is mentally much older due to his past and his general status as the Blood God

- Phil did most of the work raising the older kids, but Techno did his fair share, and you can definitely see his influence when you look at the kid’s behaviors

- both of them are immortal

- Techno is a new immortal, the Blood God has only just come into existence, but he isn't leaving anytime soon

- Philza is an old immortal, he was there when the world was born, and he'll be there when it dies

Wilbur

- Wilbur and Philza are the only blood relatives in the whole family

- as much as he loves him, Wilbur has always been a bit bitter towards Techno, because when they were teenagers, Techno was off ruling and adventuring and having fun with Phil during the AE, and Wil was left home with a young Tommy to look after

- Wilbur’s hair is naturally blond, just like Phil and Tommy’s

- no one knows who Wilbur’s mom is (unfortunately mpreg is the norm on this server, so Phil carried him, and he’s got some ideas on who Wil’s mom is, but he honestly doesn’t care enough to look into it)

- Wilbur has wings

- they’re much smaller than Phil’s, he can barely fly with them, but they’re the same color and shape as Phil’s

- because of how fragile his wings are, Wilbur should not technically be able to fly, but he literally sheer force of will-ed it and threw himself off the roof of their house so many times that he can glide when he jumps from high places, and if it’s a really high place, he can get in a few good flaps of his wings to get him some extra distance

- Phil doesn’t learn that Wilbur can semi-fly/glide until one day they’re off adventuring together and Wil is being dramatic and theatrical and walking backwards while he talks, and he falls off a cliff

Tommy

- Tommy has been with them since he was a few days old

- because of his light features, most people assume that he is Phil’s son by blood, and he just didn’t inherit the wings

- (at ages 10 and 16, Tommy and Wilbur did the blood-brothers handshake where they cut their palms and then shook hands, so if you ask them, they’re blood brothers through and through)

- Techno taught Tommy how to sew

- Tommy is a young god, but he hasn’t grown into most of his powers yet

- Tommy is a god of death, the future Death himself, Kristen is his mother

- (this is how Phil comes into possession of him. Phil, being the Angel of Death, was really the only reasonable choice when it came to Death herself finding someone to raise her son)

- Tommy has light features, even though Mumza has dark features, because she purposefully made him out of the light, she wanted him to be good and kind, so she created him from the literal light that you see when you're dying

- because he was born from the actual moment of death, despite Tommy's eyes being blue, they hold the void itself in them

- if you look too closely into Tommy's eyes, it can be easy to lose yourself and fall right in

- sometimes Mumza comes to visit, these are very bittersweet moments for Tommy

- he loves his mom, and he loves seeing her and seeing Phil happy to see her, and she usually takes him along on her next trip, ever so slowly teaching him how to be Death, but he also hates that that is his future

- he doesn't want to be the next Death, he doesn't want to outlive all of his friends and his brother, he just wants to be normal

- because of this, Tommy represses pretty much all of his godly powers, trying to seem as normal as possible, the one he represses the most is his automatic healing, when he gets hurt, he wants to stay hurt

- he represses everything so well that its years before Tubbo finds out that his best friend is a god

Ranboo

- Techno raised Ranboo more than Phil did

- (because of this, he’s the only kid who actually views Techno as his father. Despite him literally being their stepdad, the others see Techno as more of a brother or an uncle)

- Techno found Ranboo when he was around 12 years old on the edge of a warped forest in the nether (if you want some more nether-boys hc’s, check out this post)

- at that age, Ranboo hadn’t hit his growth spurt yet due to malnutrition, so he was much smaller than the average human 12 year old, and everyone thought he was around 8-10 (because of his memory issues, Ranboo thought the same thing until Tommy kept pestering him about when his birthday was and he remembered the year)

- Ranboo is brought into the family when he’s 12, Tommy is 11, and Wilbur and Techno are 17

- as I said before, Techno may have been 17 when he took in Ranboo, but he was definitely a father to this anxious amnesiac preteen

- because of his height, Ranboo is constantly slouching to fit through doorways, inside houses, and to make himself appear smaller, so he grows to need a cane

Tubbo (and Dream)

- street cat

- they fed him once and he just kept coming back

- sometimes he’ll disappear for a few weeks, but he always turns up eventually

- boy’s got some family issues, some real bad family issues

- his dad is Schlatt, who left him and big brother Dream to fend for themselves when he and Dream were 6 and 11

- luckily Dream has an excellent sense of direction and memory, and got them to Aunt Puffy’s current port before she pushed off on her next adventure (but not before getting briefly separated and making some friends)

- (the few weeks they spend separated are when Tubbo first gets found by Wilbur and Tommy and forcibly adopted by Phil, and Bad lures Dream home with food and he meets Sapnap)

- both boys have ram features - floppy ears, horns, etc., Dream also inherited their Aunt Puffy's rainbow hair (he dyes it blonde semi-regularly. It's dyed when he meets sbi, and Wilbur and Techno have the exact same reaction to it when they finally see his natural hair: relentless teasing. Like father like son amiright?)

- Tubbo and Dream are half brothers (same dad, different moms), Tubbo is 1/2 ram and 1/2 human, Dream is 1/2 human, 1/4 ram, and 1/4 what he and Sapnap think is demon (basically Dream had a human-ram hybrid dad, and a human-demon(?) hybrid mom)

- when Tubbo introduces Dream to his new brother-in-law, Dream feels a bit of a kindred spirit, but he quickly brushes it off

- Dream spends most of his time either with Bad, Skeppy, and Sapnap, or on the sea with Puffy, so Tubbo mostly fends for himself

- Tubbo is more than happy to fend for himself, he actually prefers it most of the time. He doesn't like people fussing over him and sheltering him, so whenever his mood switches and he decides that he does, actually, want some family time, he just appears on sbi’s front porch

- Tubbo first meets Ranboo when he comes to visit after a few months away. No one told him that Tommy was with Mumza for the weekend, so when he arrived at 3am, 2 days before he told Phil he’d be there, he just let himself in and threw himself on top of the sleeping figure in Tommy’s bed, only to be met with a startled enderman screech that woke the whole house

- (Ranboo was in Tommy’s bed because he might not be a part of the official Clingy Duo, but the boy is as clingy as they come. He regularly sleeps in his family’s beds, both when they’re home and when they’re away, because his sense of smell is heightened as an enderman and he needs to be surrounded in their scent when he misses them or when he’s feeling sad (especially because these are the only scents he knows, he doesn’t remember any of the scents from before Techno found him))

Big brothers being friends

- one day, after Tubbo’s near-constant raving about how great the Minecraft family is, Dream agrees to visit with him

- this visit happens to fall during the AE, so the only ones home are Wilbur and Tommy

- Dream and Wilbur take one look at each other and their similar situations in raising their chaotic, problem-child little brothers, and never let go

- the four of them live together for a good 5-6 months before Dream gets a letter and he and Tubbo need to leave

- after this visit, Dream and Wilbur stay in contact, and they visit each other even without their brothers around to drag them along

- I know I said that Wilbur makes fun of Dream for dying his hair, but that’s only in public

- in private, Wilbur confesses to Dream that he also dyes his hair, that his hair is naturally blond and he dyes it darker. After this, Dream and Wilbur start dying their hair together, it becomes something scheduled that they both look forward to immensely each month

- the next time Dream and Tubbo visit together, Wilbur is off with a water spirit who stole his heart (I refuse to write about fish Sally, fight me), and Phil is showing Ranboo some cool builds in his current hardcore world, so it's Techno and Tommy who welcome them in

- Techno starts out pretty hesitant of Dream, but Dream almost instantly is like

- "I'm gonna annoy the blood god into being my best friend"

- and whatever Dream sets his mind to, he achieves

- so the visit sort of ends with Dream and Techno making Tommy and Tubbo promise not to burn the house down, and leaving them home alone to go off to cause some chaos together

Father/son relationships

- As I said earlier, Phil primarily raised Wilbur and Tommy, and Techno primarily raised Ranboo, with Tubbo coming in and out like a feral cat

- to Wilbur and Tommy, Techno is more of a cool uncle who brings them valuable trinkets from his adventures, and they want to be like him one day

- Ranboo and Phil’s relationship is almost exactly the same as Wilbur and Tommy’s relationship with Techno

- when Techno brought Ranboo home, Phil pretty much decided that he had his hands full enough with raising his two chaotic boys, and he declared that it was finders-keepers, Techno found Ranboo, so he gets to raise him

- after L’Manburg, Ghostbur and Phil learn sign language, because the explosion blew out Phil’s hearing in his left ear, and Ghostbur’s so soft-spoken that it’s sometimes really difficult for him to hear his son speaking

For more random hc’s I have about these characters and the characters of the smp in general, check out this post

Some quick tags for people who commented on my post asking who wants this post, thanks for the support guys :’) @anotherweirdohere @haveadayasgreatasyou @jupiterjordan

[haminflower]

recently finished the six of crows duology / trilogy(?) (i’m really late i know but shhh) and I can fully say that I’M OBSESSED.

the chemistry between every characters were undeniable and I love love love kaz and inej!!!

here are few quotes that has kept me up all night and I need to get it out,,

SIX OF CROWS: (e-book)

Kaz Brekker didn’t need a reason. (p26)

“who’d deny a poor cripple his cane?” “if the cripple is you, then any man with sense.” (p30)

“no mourners.” “no funerals.” (p33)

besides, she was the Wraith — the only law that applied to her was gravity, and some days she defied that, too.” (p33)

“i’m a businessman,” he’d told her. “no more, no less.” “you’re a thief, Kaz.” “isn’t that what i just said?” (p39)

but the night’s work wasn’t yet over, and the Wraith didn’t have time for traitors. (p55)

“when everyone knows you’re a monster, you needn’t waste time doing every monstrous thing.” (p61)

“greed is your god, Kaz.” he almost laughed at that. “no, Inej. greed bows to me. it is my servant and my lever.” (p62)

“men mock the gods until they need them, Kaz.” (p63)

“we’ll be kings and queens, Inej. kings and queens.” (p100)

“please, my darling Inej, treasure of my heart, won’t you do me the honour of acquiring me a new hat?” (p103)

brick by brick, i will destroy you. (p107)

Nina just liked to flirt with everything. he’d once seen her make eyes at a pair of shoes she fancied in a shop window. (p112)

“you may still die in the Dregs.” Inej’s dark eyes had glinted. “i may. but i’ll die on my feet with a knife in my hand.” (p132)

Matthias was dreaming again. dreaming of her. (p150)

her curls brushed his cheeks, and he felt that if he could just hold her a little longer, every wound, every hurt, every bad thing would melt away. (p150-151)

the heart is an arrow. it demands aim to land true. (p195)

many boys will bring you flowers. but someday you’ll meet a boy who will learn your favorite flower, your favorite song, your favorite sweet. and even if he is too poor to give you any of them, it won’t matter because he will have taken the time to know you as no one else does. only that boy earns your heart. (p196)

“close your eyes!” “you can’t kiss me from down there, Wylan.” (p211)

“talk to me, Wraith.” “you came back for me.” “i protect my investments.” (p220)

maybe Inej was right. maybe fate did bother with people like him. (p230)

he was the same Kaz — cold, rude, impossible— but beneath all that anger, she thought she’d seen something else, too. or maybe she was just a romantic. (p233)

“i loved your laugh, Nina. and your fierce warrior’s heart. i might have loved you, too.” (p251)

“fine. But if Pekka Rollins kills us all, i’m going to get Wylan’s ghost to teach my ghost how to play the flute just so that I can annoy the hell out of your ghost.” Brekker’s lips quirked. “i’ll just hire Matthias’ ghost to kick your ghost’s ass.” “my ghost won’t associate with your ghost,” (p259)

“he was afraid for you.” “Kaz isn’t afraid of anything.” “you should have seen his face when he brought you to me.” (p264)

“i know some people don’t understand, but Kaz told me… he said it was my choice, that he wouldn’t be the one to mark me again.” (p266)

“you’re too good for him, you know.” “i know. so are you.” (p282-283)

“you know i can do it, Kaz, and you know i’m not going to refuse. so why ask?” because i’ve been looking for an excuse to talk to you for two days. (p285)

“i’ll get us out. you know that.” tell me you know that. he needed her to say it. // he needed to know she believed in him. (p286-287)

“i don’t want your prayers,” he said. “what do you want, then?” // you, Inej. you. (p288)

“it’s not natural for women to fight.” “it’s not natural for someone to be as stupid as he is tall, and yet you stand.” (p322)

Kaz was right about one thing at least. she and Matthias had finally found something to agree on. (p358)

Inej felt like she and Kaz had become twin soldiers, marching on, pretending they were fine, hiding their wounds and bruises from the rest of the crew. (p360)

it was because she was listening so closely that she knew the exact moment when Kaz Brekker, Dirtyhands, the bastard of the Barrel and the deadliest boy in Ketterdam, fainted. (p382)

he hated that Inej had seen him this way, that anyone had, but on the heels of that thought came another: better it should be her. (p389-390)

“stop being dense. you’re cuter when you’re smart.” (p405)

“if it were a trick, i’d promise you safety. i'd offer you happiness. i don't know if that exists in the Barrel, but you’ll find none of it with me.” // better terrible truths than kind lies. (p433)

it was as if once Kaz had seen her, he’d understood how to keep seeing her. (p433)

“i feel sorry for you, Brekker. there is nothing sacred in your life.” there was a long pause, and then Kaz said, “you’re wrong.” (p482)

there was no part of him that was not broken, that had not healed wrong, and there was no part of him that was not stronger for having been broken. (p561)

the harbour wind had lifted her dark hair, and for a moment Kaz was a boy again, sure that there was magic in this world. (p562)

she’d laughed, and if he could have bottled the sound and gotten drunk on it every night, he would have. it terrified him. (p562)

that she was lovely and brave and better than anything he deserved. that he was twisted, crooked, wrong, but not so broken that he couldn’t pull himself together into some semblance of a man for her. that without meaning to, he’d began to lean on her, to look for her, to need her near. he needed to thank her for his new hat. (p563) (this whole paragraph *sobs*)

“... i can hear the change in Kaz’s breathing when he looks at you.” “you… you can?” “it catches every time, like he’s never seen you before.” (p598)

Inej turned to go. Kaz seized her hand, keeping it on the railing. he didn’t look at her. “stay,” he said, his voice rough stone. “stay in Ketterdam. stay with me.” (p603)

he took a breath. “i want you to stay. i want you to… i want you.” (p603)

“i will have you without armor, Kaz Brekker. or i will not have you at all.” (p604)

speak, she begged silently. give me a reason to stay. for all his selfishness and cruelty, Kaz was still the boy who had saved her. she wanted to believe he was worth saving, too. (p604)

“stay,” she panted. tears leaked from her eyes. “stay till the end.” “and after,” he said. “and always.” // “Nina,” he whispered, “little red bird. don’t go.” (p607)

Kaz knew the instant he made his mistake. they’d all known it might come to this. he should have trusted his crew. his eyes should have stayed trained on Van Eck. instead, in that moment of threat, when he should have thought only of the fight, he looked at Inej. // Inej can fend for herself. she’s a pawn, not the prize. but he was already turning, already sprinting to get to her as the Grisha attacked. (p627)

i’m going to get my money, Kaz vowed. and i’m going to get my girl. Inej could never be his, not really, but he would find a way to give her the freedom he’d promised her so long ago. (p635)

[systlinsideblog]

Part 3

The Great Crimes are as follows;

There are three Great Crimes, for which the punishment is death.

The first of the Great Crimes when, in cold blood, a person murders another who has offered no offence. The punishment for murder shall be death, the sentence to be carried out by the loved ones of the murdered or by one they give the right to in their stead.

The second of the Great Crimes is rape. The punishment for rape of another shall be death, the sentence to be carried out by the victim or by one the victim gives the right to in their stead.

The third of the Great Crimes is to enslave another, and hold them in bondage. The punishment for holding another in slavery shall be death…

-The New Laws, or The Change in the Laws of Gor, The Great Ubara Systlin Stellas, on the new laws of the land, speech given in the Throne Room of Turia, 0 AGU. Chiseled on a pillar before the Law Rooms of Ar in its entirety

 Kutaituchik, the Ubar of the Tuchuks, was dead. 

It had been a very brutal and confusing few hours. The strange woman had refused to show courtesy or deference. She had made no apology for killing Tuchuk warriors. She had not relinquished the slave girl clinging tight to her side, the one whose master she had killed when he moved to chastise his slave.

She had stood before the Ubar of the Tuchuks like a queen before her court, and had demanded. 

I pulled at the slave collar around my throat, and found it quite secure. 

I have seen many things in my day. Many horrors, and many wonders. But I have never before in all my days seen a horror like the one that the woman Systlin had brought to the wagons of the Tuchuk. 

I looked to the wagons of the Ubar. There was light within them, bosk-dung fires in braziers. The woman Systlin had claimed it for her own, and gathered all the haruspexes and soothsayers to confer with them. 

My leg throbbed. It had been set and bound skillfully, but the bone would take some weeks to knit. Until then, I could scarce walk, hobbling with the aid of a cane. 

The woman had not even touched me to break it.

Sorceress, I thought. I had not believed in such things, and would have attributed such powers only to the Priest-Kings. But I had seen it now, with my own eyes, the terrible power that woman held, the power to shatter bone and steel with will alone. 

The corpses of some of the Tuchuks who had risen in rage against her after she had slain their Ubar were still lying where they had fallen. I tried not to look at them, but found my eyes drawn. 

Shapeless things they were, only scarce resembling men. The bones, I gathered, were nothing more any longer but needle-like splinters. Those splinters had driven through flesh and vital organs, and once-proud warriors lay where they had fallen, shapeless piles of bloody meat. 

I had been fortunate that it was only my leg that had been broken. 

I shivered. My leg throbbed. And I wondered, what terrible force had set a terror like this woman loose upon Gor.

 The water was cold. 

Systlin hated cold baths. Cold in general, really. But it was, in this situation, useful. 

Her Power screamed and fought inside her, eager to be used again, and she wanted to. Oh, but she wanted to, and that was the danger of it. The cold water was a good distraction. 

She didn't know how many men she'd killed. Some with sword. More, many more, with her power for Breaking. And it had been good, it had been so good, to stand there untouchable and terrible, hearing their screams and seeing their terror, to walk among them like a terrible, unstoppable, untouchable goddess, tearing down everything in her path...

She shivered, and ducked under the surface of the stream. 

It was always...hard, after, and she'd let herself go further than usual this time, in her rage. She always felt brittle after, hollow, the desire to kill and kill until nothing remained clawing to be let out again. She'd be short now with people, she knew, and snappish. Easily irritated, even over trivial matters. Once you started to kill with the Breaking gift, it was so very easy to continue.

Breaking was a terrible gift. The seduction of the sheer power it gave, the delight in using it, were as dangerously addictive as poppy milk. 

To look upon a Breaker is to look upon a madman. She remembered hearing that as a child, reading it in books. 

Under the water, sounds were muffled. But she still heard the sound of footsteps on the stream bank, muted and distorted. She came out of the water in a rush, her hand landing on Ice's hilt, and the sword was half drawn before she realized that the intruder was the girl she'd rescued from being beaten. 

The girl cringed back, falling to her knees and prostrating herself in what was clearly ingrained habit. "Mast...mistress! I am sorry! I did not mean..."

A little of the brittle anger ebbed out of her. Systlin sheathed her sword. "It's all right. I've spent too much of my life with people trying to kill me, is all. You did nothing wrong." She stepped out of the stream, wringing out her hair and shivering in the chilly air. 

The girl looked up at her, eyes wide. It was...unnerving. Systlin was used to people bowing, but bowing and the groveling the girl was doing were two different things entirely. "I have not displeased you, mistress?"

Oh, tits. 

"No. And you needn't call me that." Systlin pulled her trousers back on, and the quilted silk gambeson that went under her scale armor. "My Lady' will work quite well. I'm not your mistress. You're a free woman. I've no interest in owning anyone." 

"My lady?"

"Please stand up." Irritation flared, but Systlin tamped it down hard; it was a bleed-over from the cold joy of destroying, nothing more. It was not her, and she would not acknowledge it. She reached a hand out. After a moment, the girl took it hesitantly, and Systlin pulled her to her feet. "There. That's much better." 

The girl blinked at her, eyes still wide, and Systlin saw a hint of awe there. 

The girl had, she noticed, fashioned herself rough trousers of hide, patterned much like Systlin's own. 

"What's your name?" She asked. 

"I am Sabra." The girl was still staring, eyes moving up and down as she took everything in. "You...you are very strong. I have never seen...I did not know a woman could swing a sword like a man." 

Systlin tugged her armor over her head and hopped a bit until it settled into place. "Swords don't weigh that much. Anyone can swing a sword with practice. The strength to do it well will come with time and training." 

Sabra's head came up a little at that. "Anyone?" There was a thin thread of timid hope in her voice.

Systlin smiled. "Yes. Anyone. You included. Would you like to learn?"

There was a long pause, and then a long, slow, genuine smile from the former slave.

“I….think so, Mi…my lady.”

“Well. Then you shall. You’re a free woman, and free women do as they like.”

“Free.” The woman echoed, as if the word wasn’t real. “Free.”

“Unless of course you wish to go elsewhere.” Systlin shrugged as they walked. “Have you a family anywhere? A home you were taken from?”

“I…a long time ago, I did. If I wished…”

“I would give you gold, supplies, anything you needed, and take you there, and wish you well.”

The look the other woman gave her was naked astonishment, and something like awe. For a moment she looked wistful, but then… “No. If I returned home, I could quickly be made a slave again.” She touched her upper thigh; Systlin had noted that many of the freed slaves bore brands of various types there. “I am branded as a slave; any man could take me and sell me or keep me and be within the law.”

Systlin saw red for an instant. “Then you will stay.” She ground out. “Until we pay a visit to your former home, and teach them the error of such ways.”

“Thank you, my lady.” Sabra breathed. “You would…you would do this? Free other places as you’ve freed us in this camp?”

“If the men of this world insist on being awful,” Systlin growled. “I will do as I must. Slavery is among the greatest crimes, and rape another. I will not abide either.”

“You were sent.” Sabra breathed. “I begged the Mother for aid, though I was beaten for worshiping false gods. Other women also begged the old gods for aid, I know it. We begged for mercy and help and here you are.”

For mercy.

Systlin tilted her head back and stared at the sky. There were three moons here, which seemed to fly across the sky quite rapidly. She picked out the largest nearly by instinct, and glared.

Mercy. Lady’s mercy. Fucking pits. Now it made sense.

Gods. Gods and their machinations. She scowled.

Well. At least she knew how she’d ended up in this shithole.

  Morning brought no greater comfort. 

The slave collar around my neck had been forged for a woman, and though it was the Turian style on me it was too tight, and bit into my flesh. I could breathe, but it was uncomfortable

Between the throbbing of my leg, the pinch of the collar, and the chill of the night, I got but little sleep. Inside the wagon, under warm furs, slept slave girls. Their collars had been removed, and many of the surviving Tuchuk men wore them as did I, bound wrist and ankle and neck. 

I wondered what had become of Kamchak. I had not seen him since the furor had begun outside the Ubar's wagon. 

My wrists were securely chained behind me. Bells jangled with my every move. The ground was hard, and cold. I wondered, for the first time, how slave girls could sleep this way. 

The night passed in interminable slowness and misery. There was movement, among the wagons, and the sound of men's angry voices and chiming bells from other poor souls so humiliatingly bound as myself. There were the voices of women, hushed, and often with a tone of disbelief. 

I heard women laughing. There was rather more of it than I was accustomed to. 

Twice slave girls had come to see me. They seemed to find the sight of a warrior in slave chains novel. 

"You must let me free," I had said, my voice stern and commanding. "You are slaves; you must obey." 

They had giggled, ignoring my words, and left. They were, I noted, no longer attired properly; their hair was bound back in plaits, and they wore leather blouses and had fashioned trousers, hastily made but quite obviously patterned after those of the vicious she-sleen that had brought this ruin and humiliation down upon us. 

At dawn food was brought, dried bosk-meat. I was fed, given water, and then left alone again. 

The chain that connected the rings on my wrists and ankles and neck was quite securely linked to the axle of the wagon. I had tried to loosen it with some vigor the day before, without luck. 

Some time passed. I pulled at my chains, for all the good it would do me; my leg was quite broken, and I could not flee even should I get loose. 

As dawn broke, the scent of charring meat reached me, and south of the camp I saw great plumes of smoke begin to rise. 

I had smelled enough corpses burn to know that the dead of the slaughter the night before were being burnt. 

As the sun rose towards mid-morning, I was approached. 

The she-sleen had chosen herself a fine black kaiila. She rode well; I could see that she was not quite used to the sleen, as she rode as one would an ordinary horse. But she sat well, and when she dismounted it was gracefully and with ease. 

She had shed her leather tunic. Instead, glittering in the sun, was armor formed from what looked like scales, each perhaps two inches long and half as wide. They were of many different colors, each iridescent and gleaming brilliantly in the sun. 

She looked me over. I met her eyes steadily; I was a warrior of Ko-Ro-Ba, and I would not be cowed before a woman. 

"Hm." She made a noncommittal noise at last. "You are not of these people."

I said nothing.

"No matter." She shrugged, and turned. A group of slave-girls were following her. All were collarless and had plaited their hair, and wore clothing of various types; some skirts, some trousers. All wore blouses or vests of leather or cloth that sadly covered their charms. "Take him." 

"Am I to be a slave, then?" I glowered at her. 

She turned her head to look at me again. It occurred to me again that had she been less mannish and muscular, she could have been a beauty. 

"I've no interest in keeping anyone as property." She said. "You are to be judged." 

"By what authority?" A girl wearing the long skirt and leather vest of a Tuchuk woman moved to loose me from the wagon. Her hair was plaited. I remembered, not two days ago, seeing her dancing in pleasure silks and bells for her master around his fire. 

I thought of breaking loose and overpowering the girl. But the woman Systlin was still watching me, and I saw her, as the girl chose a key and unlocked my chain from the wagon, curl her hand around the hilt of the long dagger on her belt. 

I am ashamed to admit, but it stayed me. I had seen flashes of the woman fighting, and though it pain me I would be forced to compare her favorably with the greatest warriors of Ko-Ro-Ba. In my current state, I had no chance. My hope for flight lay in my recovering and stealing a fleet kaiila, I knew. So, as the chain was loosed, I gave no resistance. 

"Mine." The she-sleen's voice was crisp. "Can you walk?"

Pride demanded no less of me. I am a warrior of Ko-Ro-Ba. By leaning on the cart, I managed to get to my feet. 

"Help him." She told the girl who held my chain. The girl nodded.

She did not say what would happen to me if I resisted. She did not need to. 

I was taken to the tent of the Ubar. Before it was piled many fine carpets, and cushions of silk and leather. On top of it all was spread a worn gray robe; it was this, I supposed, this simple garment that was the grey robe of the Ubar. 

There were other men, chained as I was, chained to the palatal wagon of the Ubar of the Tuchuks. I tried to estimate their number; a hundred and a half, perhaps two. 

This was all that remained of the proud warrior men of the Tuchuk. 

I am no stranger to death. But upon seeing this, and realizing the full scale of the disaster which had befallen the Tuchuk, I must admit that I felt a flicker of fear. 

What terrible creature was this woman, to slay three thousand strong men in a night? 

The she-sleen walked past the men chained to the wagon. Her back was straight, and her stride purposeful. 

I could not help but notice that, despite her too-strong build, she had what appeared to be marvelously shapely hindquarters. 

She did not hesitate for even a moment; she went directly to the gray robe, the throne of the Ubar, and seated herself upon it with all the air of one born to it. 

I heard a groan rise from the captive men, myself included. She sat cross-legged, a man’s stance, not a woman’s proper kneeling stance. Women who sit so are often ridiculed as wishing to be men, but everything about this woman was unnatural and wrong.

One man started up, and my heart leapt; it was Kamchak! 

His arm was splinted, as was a leg, much like mine, and his eye was black and swollen. He spit in the direction of the she-sleen on the throne of the Ubar, and cursed her. 

"You! Sleen! You say you wish to judge us? What right have you?"

Her head turned, very slowly, to regard him. Then she smiled, and turned back to look out at the gathered crowd. 

Around the throne of the Ubar of the Tuchuks, women thronged. Tuchuk women, some grim-faced and some smiling. Slave girls, by the hundreds. Many wore trousers. Most had braided their hair. 

Mothers were holding their children. Babies fussed, and were soothed. Some of the older boys looked angry. Some of the girl-children cried too. The elder of the girls, however, were smiling. 

There were many more smiling women than scowling women in the gathered crowd. 

"Tuchuk," said the she-sleen, voice unconcerned and even. "Who is Ubara here?"

The roar of voices was near-deafening. "SYS-TAL-IN!" The women, freewomen and slave girls alike, screamed it. Only a few of the dour Tuchuk free women refrained. "SYS-TAL-IN! SYS-TAL-IN!" 

Systlin looked back at Kamchak, and her smile was an unpleasant thing. 

"There you have it." Her voice, again, was mild, deceptively so.

"You cannot..."

"I did." Her voice rose above Kamchaks'. "By your own laws, it seems, might makes right. The strong triumph, am I wrong?" Her eyes glittered. "It appears, warrior, that I am stronger than you, for I sit here on comfortable rugs and you are defeated and chained to a wagon."

"You used sorcery!"

"Yes." She agreed easily. "Though your warriors were easy enough to defeat without it." A horrible grin. "But yes. I used sorcery, and however I did it one woman, alone, brought every one of your great warriors to their knees. The pyres for those I killed burn still. And now, you will be silent, until it is your turn to be judged." 

"WE HAVE COMMITTED NO CRIMES!" Kamchack's outraged roar drew cries of approval from the other shamefully chained warriors. 

Systlin's mouth...it was a full mouth, and could have been pretty, were it smiling...compressed into a thin line. She nodded to one of the girls standing near the throne of the Ubar, in a grotesque imitation of the honor guard of an Ubar. 

"Gag him," she said simply. 

To my astonishment and horror, the girl moved promptly to do so, with a cheerful and almost gleeful demeanor. 

Kamchak surged to his feet as best he could as the girl approached with a strip of leather; several of the bound warriors gave cries of encouragement. Systlin's head snapped around, fast as a striking sleen, and she was on her feet in a moment and at the girl's side in a moment more, that vicious sword of hers drawn. 

The tip of that blade was pressed close against Kamchak's groin, and the she-sleen kept smiling, even as he drew a breath, naturally alarmed by the sharp steel near his male parts. 

"Sleen." Kamchak hissed this, proud even in chains. "You cannot always be there, woman. Your unnatural sorcery cannot protect you forever."

Systlin laughed. A little huff of a chuckle, even as the slave girl bound the gag around Kamchak's mouth and head with every sign of enjoyment, which disturbed me. 

"I have had," Systlin said, "Far better men than you try to kill me." A wide grin, with all of her teeth bared. "Now be quiet, and wait your turn." 

She returned to the seat of the Ubar. 

"Bring forth the first prisoner," she commanded. 

It was done. A warrior was dragged, bound hands and feet so that he could not even stand, before the grotesque display, and forced up on his knees. He spit at the she-sleen on the Ubar's seat; she did not turn a hair at this. 

"Your name." She asked. 

"Sleen!"

"Your name." The same patient tone. 

Silence. 

She sighed, lifted her eyes. "Can anyone tell me the name of this man?"

"Braltak." A woman's voice. I did not see who spoke. 

"Braltak. Have you, Braltak, in your life, held women or men as property?"

Silence. Braltak looked down his nose at her, and spit again. 

"He has." The same voice. Female. There was a quaver to it now. 

Braltak spun, as best he could. "Kala!" His voice was furious. "Kala, be silent!"

"Come forward, if you would." The she-sleen's voice speaking to me and the warrior had been curt, cold, commanding. But to the girl Kala, it was softer, and gentler.

Timidly, looking always at Braltek, a girl stepped through to stand before the self-proclaimed Ubara. 

She was a lovely girl. Turian, I was certain, with golden hair and eyes as green as summer grass. Her figure was delicate and trim, though it was difficult to tell through the long leather skirt and baggy blouse she wore. 

"Your name is Kala?" Again, the softer, gentler voice, encouraging. 

"Yes, Ubara." The girl was still glancing nervously at Braltek. "And...before you freed us...I was his slave." 

The idea was hard to swallow, at first; every slave in the Tuchuk camp, free!

But she had, I had to admit, the right. She sleen she may be, but she had defeated the warriors, by sorcery or not. She had taken their slaves for her own, and had done with them as she liked. 

I did not like it, but it was fact. 

"He kept you as property." Systlin's voice was hard; her eyes were back on Braltek. "Did he, Kala, ever place hands on you against your will? Did he ever force you to pleasure him?"

"She is a slave! That is her purpose!" Braltek roared. 

"Ah. I have my answer." Systlin nodded her head, once. "By the law of my lands, such a crime carries the penalty of death. As the victim, you have the right to seek mercy. Do you desire mercy for this man?"

Kala's lovely green eyes fixed on Braltek. 

"You are mine, Kala." Braltek's voice went lower. "You are mine. I am your master, you know it."

The lovely girl turned back to the she-sleen on the robe of the Ubar. 

"I do not." Her voice was almost inaudible, but then she spoke again, more strongly. "I do not! I do not seek mercy for him!"

My mouth hung open. 

Kala was slave. A slave loves her master. It is what they are trained for. 

"I do not seek mercy for him!" Kala's voice rose, almost a scream. 

"Then I, Systlin Stellas, Queen of the Northern Lands and Ubara of the Tuchuk, proclaim this man Braltek guilty of the crimes of rape and slaving, and sentence him to die." The she-sleen stood, graceful, and picked up a quiva from among the rugs she had sat upon. She flipped the blade, catching it easily by the tip without looking, the motion smooth, automatic, and practiced. She offered the hilt over to the girl. "It is your right, as offended party, to carry out the sentence yourself, if you so wish." 

To my incredible shock, the girl Kala reached out a hand, almost tentatively, and took the hilt of the quiva. 

She could not do it, of course. She was a slave, and a slave belongs to her master, utterly. 

The slender fingers tightened on the hilt. She did not seem to know how to hold the quiva properly, holding it as if she were about to slice bosk meat for the spit. 

Her eyes turned to Braltek, and in them burned something like hate. 

No. She was slave! A slave serves her master!

"Kala." Braltek's voice sounded suddenly uncertain. "Kala, I have treated you well, better than most would..."

Kala screamed then, high and furious and long,  and flew at him. The quiva rose and fell. 

She was inexpert with the weapon. The blade hit Braltek's shoulder, and slid down, slicing a long cut into his arm. Blood flowed, and Braltek yelled in shock. 

The quiva rose and fell again. Again, again, again the girl struck, inexpert, but the wounds adding up one by one until Braltek lay in a pool of red-stained grass. 

Kala dropped the quiva, and fell to her knees. She was sobbing, great wracking sobs that shook her small frame. 

The she-sleen came down from her throne, went down to her knees beside the girl, and placed a hand on her shoulder. 

"It is all right." Her voice was soft, and Kala leaned into her blindly, as a child might seek comfort from its mother. "He cannot hurt you again." 

Some other girls came forward then; Kala was taken away with much patting of hair and comforting. 

The she-sleen returned to her throne of rugs, sitting down once more. She smiled then, as if nothing had happened. 

I, and the men chained as I, were silent. The shock had not yet sunk in. 

"Had he a wife, or any children?" Systlin asked. 

No one responded. 

"Then it is my order that all the worldly possessions of Braltek now go to Kala. They are hers, to do with as she will. Bring forward the next prisoner." The she-sleen commanded. 

[fragmentedink-archived]

Hell to Pay: Chapter Fifty-Six

I, II, III, IV, V, VI, VII, VIII, IX, X, XI, XII, XIII, XIV, XV, XVI, IX, IX, XX, XXI, XXII, XXIII, XIV, XV, XVI, XVII, XVIII, XVIIII, XXX, XXXI, XXXII, XXXIII, XXXIV, XXXV, XXXVI, XXXVII, XXXVIII, XXXIX, XL, XLI, XLII, XLIII, XLIV, XLV, XLVI, XLVII, XLVIII, XLIX, XLX, LI, LII, LIII, LIV, LV

cowritten by @lux-scriptum

Biela was in one of the cities of Assyra, helping provide some form of comfort and support to the many grieving families left without their young. The cities of her kingdom were slowly building their way back to their former glory thanks to the war ending, but there was still much, much work to be done.

And she would not rest until it was.

She was still half tempted to take her frustrations out on that angel and his foolish cousin who decided to defy nature in her lands, leaving her people to pay the consequences. But she held back, if only so they could live with what they had done.

Dacia and Caius both were with her to provide as much light and warmth in this time, something she had always lacked the ability to provide. Dacia stood by her side while combing the streets for a period of respite.

“I do hope this haunts them,” Biela said, darkly, letting Dacia link their arms together.

“I am sure it will,” Dacia replied. “Levant and Amara both.”

“Hmph.”

They let silence fall for a bit longer when she felt a tugging at her skirt. She nearly thought it was some mangy animal, but stopped moving when she realized it was a child that was clinging to her skirts, clearly trying to keep herself from tumbling to the ground.

“Who’s child is this?” Biela demanded, looking around.

Dacia was already moving to scooping her up when Biela locked eyes on a violet eyed child that had a hand half reaching for the toddler in Dacia’s arms. She nearly went after them had it not been for their bolting like a rabbit, likely to get as far away from Biela as physically possible.

Of course it ran. Biela never had much luck with children capable of forming their own opinions. They more often than not were best left silent. But for some reason, this particular toddler decided to demand her attention.

Dacia seemed to be looking the child over, checking for cuts or bruises, though she couldn’t find any. She gave Biela a look that had Biela frowning at her. “What.”

“Well, clearly she had a home.”

“Oh really?” Biela asked. “From the looks of it I’d say she was missing a few requirements for that, considering her very dirty skin on top of her very dirty clothes.”

“Well all the more reason to take her with us,” Dacia replied. “Children are dying. We cannot let another fall through the cracks.”

“I suppose,” Biela said, eyeing the child staring right back at her. She squinted.

When the child removed her hand from her mouth, as soaked with slobber as it was, she still reached out for Biela. Biela frowned in distaste. She had been soaked in blood once, but she still was not a fan of fluids from infants. “I will not take you,” Biela retorted to the baby. “But fine, we will bring her with us.”

Biela thought back to the last thing Raziel had said to her the day before. That ‘Congratulations’ stuck out in Biela’s mind and she had half a thought to go wring that old bird’s neck.

She hated seers.

---

Lev was closing the door to Eden's nursery oh so carefully when Ash found him. And by found him, Lev meant Ash smacked the side of his leg with his cane. Lev stifled a yelp, so he didn’t wake Eden, and glared at Ash. It was safe to do so because Ash couldn’t see him.

“Ow,” Lev mumbled, sidestepping another sweep of the cane. “I- can I help you?” He paused, and quickly corrected himself. “Is everything okay?”

“Hm. Pick a new tone,” Ash said, flippantly. “I want you to make yourself useful and take me to Cameron’s library.”

Lev sighed softly, and started walking. “It’s this way,” he said, just to get Ash started. “Though I don’t think he’s got any books in braille.”

“Well lucky for me I’m not going to be the one doing the reading,” Ash replied, following after him.

“Am I-” Lev bit off his questions, and instead said, “It’s up these stairs, and then we’re gonna take a left.”

Ash slowly followed after him, taking one step at a time, clearly not quite used to climbing the stairs without the morsels of eyesight he once had.

Lev quietly narrated the path he took to one of the tables he liked to frequent during the few times he’d had the time to sequester himself away in the library. It was near the very meager collection of fiction Cameron had; most everything else in here seemed to be non-fiction of all sorts.

“I’m sure there’s a system,” Ash said, side stepping the things in his way. “Knowing Cameron it’s bound to be just as elaborate as his many personalities.” At Lev’s confusion Ash sighed. “A catalogue. Something to classify the books to keep them separate by title or genre or subject or something.”

“Oh. Oh. Yeah. There is. Do- do you need me to find you a book?”

“I want you to find every book in Cameron’s library about the gods,” Ash said, leaning against one of the shelves. “You’re going to actually learn something about well, something aside from whatever romance novel you are currently gurgitating.”

“Gurgitating,” Lev mumbled to himself, trying not to sound annoyed. He puffed out a breath, and then, “I’ll see if I can find a few. There’s a table next to you if you want to sit.” Though Ash might prefer to stand, so he could complain about that too.

He could feel Ash’s glare against his back. “I’m coming with you, genius,” Ash said. “How about you knock the attitude off. I can feel your passive aggressive puffiness from here.”

Lev considered that, and then decided honesty was the best policy. “I’m just a little cranky,” he said, and then added, “And so are you. I’m sorry if I’ve been snapping at you, though. Shouldn’t take crankiness out on someone else. Not their fault.”

“Duly noted,” Ash said. “I’ll be sure to pass that along to someone who cares. Now take me to the books.”

Lev led the way, gathering every book Ash told him to, up until his arms started to get tired, and then he very firmly insisted they go back to the table. “I can’t carry any more,” he said, “And I certainly can’t read all of these in one sitting. The rest aren’t going anywhere.”

“That’s fine,” Ash said, taking a few books from him to tuck under his arm. “You won’t be able to retain all of what you need to know if you do that.”

Lev sighed, loud enough for Ash to definitely hear this time, but just settled down at his table, spreading the books out. Ash took the chair across from Lev and had him pull out the first book.

“Do you want me to read out loud?” Lev asked after a moment of staring at the introduction.

“Tell me what you know about the gods,” Ash said. “The angels should have given you a rudimentary understanding of each god in school, but angelic teachings tend… to embellish a little and make Asmi seem more important than the others. Which is not to say they’re not important,” Ash added, hastily. “As they are the god to the angels, but each is important and I want to figure out how much work you’re going to need to understand.”

Lev paused, trying to dig up memories well over a century old. “I knew of Asmi,” Lev confirmed. “And they said that demons split their worship between... Five? Five gods? I think? I know demonic magic is tied to specific gods. I think. Or- there’s a choosing?”

“There is Kaveh, the oldest- twin to Asmi, who is the one who created both the other gods and the demons. Demons were pulled from the earth as angels were the stars. Kaveh’s magic is one of the most powerful, bestowed as they are the oldest god in the pantheon,” Ash said. “They rule magic such as telepathy and forms of telekinesis and other mental based magics.”

Ash took a breath. “Asmi, as Kaveh’s twin, was born at the same time. It was just them alone in the universe, right? Asmi created the angels so of course they would become the patron to all angels. As they are tied to the natural balance, all our abilities come from nature.”

“Third,” Ash said, “Is Mizra. Mizra is the seer. Knows all that is, was and all that could be. They’re known for being relatively… prickly, I guess. Just like Kaveh, but a different flavor. Next is Ruya. Ruya is the god of echos and reigns over the illusion workers. And lastly is Basim who rules over empathy based magics. Anything having to do with the emotional spectrum. Each god has access to the rawest magic, but only demons can access the designated power that each god rules over.” He paused, took another breath and leaned back. “Does any of that make sense?”

Lev blinked several times. “I...” he trailed off. “That was a lot. But.. I think so?” Even though Ash couldn’t see, Lev ticked them off on his fingers, “Kaveh is the oldest, and rules mental magics. Asmi is balance, Mizra is the Sight, Ruya is echoes and illusions. And- Um. Bas- Basim is empaths?”

“Yes,” Ash said, satisfied. “They’re each patron to a particular person they find interesting, so a person can have two gods bugging them, but only hold power for one, if that makes sense? They might just… be a little more enhanced. Kaveh: the cunning and resourceful; Asmi: the natural order and witches; Mizra: survivors; Ruya: the wild and unchained, and Basim: patron to the merciful.”

“I... I think so?” Lev said hesitantly. “Does everyone have a god who is their patron? Or only specific people?”

Ash rose a shoulder. “I think it’s just certain people that the gods have taken a liking to. I haven’t read anything about every single demon having a patron on top of their god.”

Lev nodded slowly. “Okay,” he said out loud after a moment. “I think that makes sense.” He tapped his thumb on the book, and then asked thoughtfully, “Do gods favor bloodlines? I never really paid much attention to if demons’ magic was genetic or not...”

“I do think sometimes it’s through bloodlines, unless a god has deliberately chosen the child. Their magic usually comes in around five to seven years old; just like an angel’s,” Ash said. “The gods wait to see what the child will grow into and go from there.”

“That makes sense,” Lev mumbled, more to himself than anything, and then said, “So there’s no real way to know what kind of magic Eden will have, then?”

“Not until she’s close to five, no.”

Lev gave a small hum. “Does Asmi ever choose demons?” He asked, just out of sheer curiosity.

“If they find a liking to a person, sure,” Ash said. “They’ll most likely bless that bloodline. Isn’t Sorin a demon with fire magic anyways? Also, Asmi likely is responsible for the few powerful bloodlines of demonic healers. They’re very rare, just like elemental demonic users.”

Lev gave a few blinks. “I didn’t-” He thought again. “Right. Fax’s cousin.” After another awkward pause, he added, “I forgot. Fax had fire magic too. He just so rarely used it. Mostly to light his cigarettes or the fireplace.”

Ash looked vaguely disapproving with the mention of cigarettes, but said nothing about it. “Sazra’s bloodline is most likely one blessed by Asmi. She’s one of the very few demonic healers I have met. And she’s a very strong one at that. Probably why she was in this house for so long. Demons were never very kind to their healers- always enslaved them.”

Oh. Lev looked down. “I’m guessing she wouldn’t want my pity,” he said slowly.

“Probably not,” Ash said. “But back to what I was saying. Power and magic are tied to the gods and the gods are tied to us. Sometimes even the gods walk among the people, though Asmi is somewhat trapped in their realm whereas the other gods are not.” Ash grimaced. “Instead they get to use me as their mouthpiece.”

“They’re trapped?” Lev asked, his concern getting dragged away from Sazra. “That sounds awful.”

“Less trapped and more they don’t have a physical form,” Ash admitted. “If they want company from us mere mortals they are very capable of yanking us to them.”

“Oh,” Lev said, considering that. “Do they do that often?”

“I’m not sure with other people besides me,” Ash said, “but they sure do like my company. Maybe a little too much.”

“I’m sorry,” Lev said honestly. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

“It’s fine,” Ash said. “I’ll manage.”

Lev frowned, but Ash couldn’t see. He tapped the book with his thumb. “Do the gods talk directly to their followers often? Like when... when Asmi spoke to me, before I came back? Or did they only do so because I was... partly dead.”

“I think… they were curious and infuriated. Not many people show up on the gods' radar. When they do, they take notice.”

Lev nodded. “So they don’t visit people often. And that’s true for all the gods?”

Ash lifted a shoulder. “From what I’ve seen, yeah. Maybe us mere mortals aren’t all that interesting in the grand scheme of things, though I’m sure they do find our little lives absolutely hilarious sometimes.”

“Ah,” Lev said, rubbing his face. “I suppose bastardizing nature would put me on their radar,” he sighed.

“And now we don’t have magic,” Ash said, sardonically. “I’m sure we’ll be hearing from Asmi soon.”

---

Cameron was seated in the chair while Darius napped. He had been working on the backed up paperwork from the last several days. He had a solid chunk of paperwork from both the club and further Obsidian Court workings when there was a feather light knock on the door.

He bit back his irritable sigh and looked up to see one of the sentries standing stiffly in the doorway. Cameron flicked Darius a look, to make sure he was still sleeping before fixing his attention on the sentry. “What do you want?”

“There’s an angel here,” they said.

“I am aware there are several angels here,” Cameron said, crossly. “Be more specific.”

“Raziel,” he rushed out. “Um, she said her name was Raziel.”

Oh brilliant. “And what does that overcooked chicken want?” Cameron said, flatly. “Lev is unable to speak with his family for the next several decades.”

“She’s here for you, sir.”

“You can tell Raziel to fly her carcass back to her roost,” Cameron said, turning his focus back to his work, dismissing the sentry to do his bidding.

Cameron had but a few moments of peace before the sentry returned, looking rather ashened. “I’m afraid she was rather insistent, sir.”

Cameron sighed sharply out of his nose and got to his feet. The sentry stiffened slightly as Cameron walked past him, ordering him to not take his eyes off Darius while Cameron dealt with the ancient angel.

“And to what do I owe this displeasure,” Cameron said, eyeing Raziel, sliding his hands into his pockets.

“Mizra sent me,” Raziel said, irritatingly calm as always. “So unfortunately, I am not able to leave until I’ve passed their message along.”

Cameron’s eyes narrowed slightly. “I haven’t been to a temple in well over five hundred years.” In fact, he had never stepped foot inside one to begin with. “Why would they bother themselves with my presence now?”

“Both kingdoms are healing,” Raziel said. “And they’re tired of waiting for you to come to them. I’m sure if I hadn’t reached out to them for my own reasons they would have found another way to reach out to you and demand you listen.”

Cameron fixed his jaw. “We’ll speak in my office,” he said, walking past her.

Raziel followed him, staying a good three paces behind him until they reached the office. She even settled in the chair without prompting, hooking one knee over the other.

Cameron took his place behind his desk and leaned back. He eyed her for a few seconds, trying to figure the best approach to handle both Mizra and Raziel. “I have not participated in the Rite,” Cameron said, evenly. “I am not able to, so I do not have any connections with Mizra.”

Every demon born had their god and had their own coming of age where they cemented their connection to their god. Every demon, legitimate or not, was supposed to form the connections with their god in order to fully claim their abilities. Cameron never had, his mother had forbade it, so his magic was barely a whisper of anything- calling it a magic felt like too grand of a word. He had never spoken to a priestess, of any god. Cameron had no Rite to claim.

Raziel didn’t even blink. “Then complete it. Before Mizra starts meddling more personally.”

“I do not have the time,” Cameron said. “And I am now much too old. Have been for well over five hundred years.”

“Make time. Your god demands it.” She flicked her fingers at him. “Your household doesn’t need a second god looking at it with ire. Nothing I remember of the Rite says you can’t complete it later in life.” Her silver eyes tracked his every minute move. “I’m sure you’re not the only one with subpar parents.”

“I suggest you do not speak ill of my parents,” Cameron said, flippantly. “They’re my problem and they’re also dead. No need for you to make judgements that do not pertain to you. Besides, the Rite is a demonic passage. Perhaps you should keep to your own lane in that matter. I will make time, but it will have to wait.” Cameron rubbed his temples, alleviating the growing pressure. “As I said, I am busy.”

“I did not mean offense,” Raziel said mildly. “I spoke only of what Mizra told me. And on top of what they’ve said of your parents, ill or otherwise, they have insisted you speak to them.”

“What part of ‘I am busy’ seems to get lost in your decrepit mind?” Cameron snapped.

It was then that Cameron felt himself be… pulled somewhere; he and Raziel both. Cameron went very still when a very pale… being was standing in front of him. Mizra, he presumed, with their pale skin and white hair, almost a similar likeness to himself. They looked less than pleased to drag him here into their realm. “When I request you,” they said, coolly. “I do not mean to be put off for something you consider more important. There is nothing more important than I, do you understand me?”

“My apologies,” Cameron said. “I did not mean any disrespect.”

Mizra’s eyes narrowed. “There is not an ounce of respect in your frail little body, Cameron Luain.”

“Mizra,” Raziel said. “It would make pulling us here rather pointless if you lose your temper now.” And then she smiled at the god.

Mizra fixed their mouth into a thin line. “Your mother,” they said, turning back to face Cameron, “defied my wishes when she decided to keep you from me in attempt to keep you powerless.” Cold washed down Cameron’s skin. “She is now rotting in the ground and no longer an obstacle, therefore, I am very kindly requesting you have the Rite performed.”

Cameron flicked Raziel a glance before tightly folding his arms over his chest. “I suppose I will make the time,” he bit out, bowing his head slightly.

He could feel their very smug faint smile directed his way. “Very good,” they said. “It seems when I told Raziel to fix you, I had not accounted for how foolishly bullheaded you male creatures are.”

“Thank you for your assistance,” Raziel interjected. “I apologize I was not able to successfully pass along your message on my own.”

Mizra frowned at her. “Yes, I do suppose you did fail in your one task, Raziel. I had expected far better from someone I had blessed.”

“I suppose I’m out of practice,” Raziel replied. “I’ll do better next time.” If Cameron didn’t know better he’d say Raziel’s silver eyes, so eerily similar to Mizra’s, crinkled with affection at the god.

“As you should,” Mizra said, primly. “Failure is unacceptable and I would so hate to find someone else to keep me company. Most of you mortals are rather boring.”

Cameron was rapidly growing all the more irritable with these too ancient beings and found the phantom pain in his head to be growing steadily behind his eye.

Mizra cut their focus to Cameron. “And while I have you here,” they said, “I expect you to start eating something. You’re too thin and disgusting. You need to eat more.”

Cameron stared blankly at the god. “You want me to eat more?” he echoed.

Why would a god care about his eating habits?

“Oh please,” Mizra huffed, “I do detest repeating myself.”

“I could always check in on him,” Raziel offered.

Cameron cut her a withering glare. The last thing he needed was Raziel to babysit him. “Last I checked,” Cameron said, “you were barred from Lev’s presence.”

Mizra waved a dismissive hand. “You make it sound like I care what your little king wants,” Mizra said. “Raziel will do my bidding and hold your hand if need be.”

Cameron felt rage boil under his skin, but promptly kept his mouth shut.

“I highly doubt I’ll need to go that far,” Raziel said, amused.

“Was there anything else you required of me,” Cameron bit out.

“Oh very well, very well,” Mizra said, “If you’re going to act like a child I will send you back. Raziel, I will speak to you soon.”

With that, Cameron felt himself be dropped into his body.

Raziel looked annoyingly unruffled. “So I’ll see you next week?” She said lightly.

Cameron got to his feet and leaned over his desk. “Get the hell out of my house right now,” he snapped. “If you are not off of my property in the next five minutes I will not be so pleasant. Get out now.”

Raziel lifted a single brow, but stood gracefully. “I’ll let you know before I come over next time,” she said on her way out. “Do not make Mizra wait much longer. They have much less patience than I.”

Cameron let the door shut behind her before he nearly collapsed in his chair. He grabbed his head, tight, hoping to alleviate the pressure building, but it did very little.

---

Nik woke from his nap, still angry and irritable. The last twenty-four hours had not done much for his temper so he had taken a nap. And that did not help either. He wandered the house and found a rather beautiful man in the bedroom, sitting up in the bed. “Well you must be Darius,” Nik said, crossly.

The man gave him a rather mild smile and nodded.

Nik’s eyes narrowed. “So are you crippled and can’t talk or are you being annoying on purpose.” When Darius didn’t say anything, because of course he didn’t, Nik said, “Right, whatever. So I guess you’re Cameron’s boyfriend or something? And you were dead, so why didn’t you stay dead? Nevermind, that’s stupid. I guess if you were going to defy nature, you might as well do it for Cameron.”

Darius cocked his head and reached for a pad of paper only to scribble a ‘It’s nice to meet you, Nik.’

“Oh please,” Nik said, “I’m being a dickhead to you. You don’t need to lie to me.”

‘I’m not lying,’ Darius wrote. ‘I’m rather used to crass language when people are upset.”

“I’m being crass?” Nik demanded. “I think you being alive is rather inconvenient for me since everyone in this damned house knows who the hell you are besides me.”

‘I apologize for Cameron not telling you,’ Darius said. ‘It was all rather sudden. I do hope we can be friends, Nik.’

Nik rolled his eyes. “Do I look like someone who has friends?”

‘Ash and Amara seem rather fond of you,’ Darius observed.

Nik rubbed the back of his neck. “Yeah, well, Ash and Amara make bad choices daily, so I wouldn’t hold either of them to a high standard. Case in point: bringing people back from the dead and killing a million kids, but hey, what do I know?”

And now he’s in the line of fire.

Sympathy shone in Darius’ eyes and it took tremendous effort to not wipe that infuriating look off his face. “Stop looking at me like that,” he snapped. “I’m not Cameron and I’m sure as hell not Lev. Puppy eyes don’t work on me.”

‘Well, I’m actually a cat.’

“Oh great,” Nik said. “You’re a cat.”

Darius gave him a dry, feline smile. ‘Not a fan of cats?’

“Not this particular one.”

‘If it helps,’ Darius wrote. ‘Cameron loathes cats as well.”

“Well he clearly likes you,” Nik said, frowning. “If you claw up my clothes, I’ll cut your hair off.”

‘Well, I will make a note to leave your clothes alone,’ Darius replied.

“I think you enjoy mocking me,” Nik said. “You get to waltz in and drop into my relationship because Cameron killed you or something. I’m sure the whole thing was very traumatic.”

That was the moment Lev chose to poke his head in. His brows furrowed in his usual expression of worry, and he was quick to cross the room. Nik folded his arms as he watched Lev kiss Darius on the cheek.

Traitor.

Lev was just as quick to tuck himself into Nik’s side, however, insistently tugging at Nik’s arms until he could pull it around his shoulders. Against his will, Nik felt himself loosening as Lev scented him, a low soothing purr coming from Lev as he did.

“Is everything okay?” Lev asked.

“I mean I guess,” Nik said, crossly. “I wake up to him in my bed that I can’t even sleep in because I guess it was his bed first, or something.”

Lev nosed at Nik’s jaw lightly. “It was,” Lev said unhelpfully, and then, with irritating optimism, Lev added, “We can pick another room. Any room. I doubt Cameron will make you stay in the rooms he’s moved us to right now. And I also doubt he’d say no about much of anything when it comes to decorating your new room. Not right now, anyway. The opportunities are almost endless.”

“Whatever,” Nik said. “I have to move around my life because Cameron felt bad for killing the guy.” He glared at Darius frowning at him. “You’re not special,” he said. “Just because you’re some pretty face doesn’t mean shit. We’re all pretty faces. Don’t expect me to get in line to kiss your ass like everyone else.”

Darius blinked at him, seemingly bewildered, but he just nodded at him.

“Nikolas,” Lev chastised, but even his scolding was tempered by worry. “Darius hasn’t done anything. And I was the one that asked for him; I’m the one that told Cameron he was still there.” Lev hesitated, and then added gently, “Darius helped me while I was dead. He kept me steady, kept me sane. He deserves another chance as much as I do. More. He’s a kind person, Nik. That’s all.”

Nik sighed through his nose. “Fine,” he said, rubbing his eyes. “Is Cameron home or is he going to resurrect some other not-boyfriend?”

Lev shrugged. “Last I saw he was in here with Darius, so I don’t know.”

‘I think he’s in his office,’ Darius offered.

“I’m hungry,” Nik mumbled, pathetically.

“I can go get Cameron,” Lev offered, oh-so-helpfully. “With everything going on I don't think it’s a good idea for us to touch anything in his kitchen. Besides, Eden should wake up from her nap soon, and she’ll need a snack too.”

“Okay.”

---

Lev knocked on Cameron’s office door lightly, but didn’t wait to open it. The room was dark, and Lev almost assumed it was empty, but he heard a quiet, “Shut the door,” from the direction of Cameron’s desk, so he slipped inside, closing it obediently.

After letting his eyes adjust, Lev realized Cameron was bent over the desk, head in his arms. Lev chose to approach slowly, hovering his hand over Cameron’s shoulder before ultimately letting it drop back to his side instead. “Are you okay?” he asked gently.

“I’m fine,” Cameron said, stiffly. “Just a headache.”

Right. Lev worried his lip between his teeth. “Nik’s hungry,” he finally said. “I can make him something, if you’d like.”

“Fine,” Cameron said, dismissively. “Just clean up after yourself.”

Lev nodded, but didn’t move. “I had something else to ask,” he finally said. “If that’s okay?”

“Alright.”

“I should probably get back to training, if I can get Ash to sign off on it? Or Sazra?” Lev fiddled with the bottom of his shirt, and then grimaced. “Or- can I? I don't- it doesn’t have to be you, but- I had planned- without my magic- well, without my magic, I really am useless, aren’t I? And I don’t like feeling like I’m a vulnerability for Nik, especially when he’s pregnant.” He took a deep breath, hardened his tone. “I won’t let anything happen to my mate.”

“Probably,” Cameron agreed. “Get it okayed by Ash and Sazra and I will put it into my schedule. I’ll fit you in.”

“I- oh. Okay,” Lev said, trying not to be too enthusiastic. He put his hand on Cameron’s shoulder as he started to say, “Thank you,” but his voice died a little as he realized just how thin Cameron’s shoulder was.

Cameron carefully removed Lev’s hand from his shoulder. Even in the dark Lev could see Cameron giving him a slow once over, noting how clothes that had fit perfectly a month ago were just a little loose now. Lev hadn’t paid attention before, but Cameron’s shrewd gaze made him hyper aware.

“Make sure you eat too,” was all Cameron said in the end. “And close the door behind you when you leave.”

Lev swallowed. He ran his fingers through Cameron’s hair once, just to reassure himself that he could, that they were both still there and then backed for the door. “I’ll bring you something later,” he promised. “And some painkillers.”

He made sure that the door clicked shut as quietly as he could.

---

While Cyrus flipped through one of the several books he’d lain on the bed, Sorin napped sprawled on his lap. Sorin’s surprisingly strong tail wrapped around his wrist insistently, the prehensile appendage tugging every once and a while as the demon dreamed.

Cyrus had spent the last few hours reading up on the gods. While he was certainly more educated, he felt like it was only a surface level understanding of them. Which- understandable. There was a lot, and these were gods.

Rather than continue to stare blankly at the pages, Cyrus settled more deeply into the pillows he was propped up against. Sorin huffed at him, his tail tightening briefly, but when Cyrus made no move to get up, the demon fell asleep again pretty quickly.

Once the house was quiet, Cyrus closed his eyes and tried to remember how Darius had shown him how to reach out for Asmi. It’d certainly been more ritualistic than Cyrus was able to do right now, but even attempting without the words and candles and pomp and ceremony, when Cyrus opened his eyes, he was back in the warm room, Asmi seated before him.

“Asmi,” Cyrus said, dipping into a small bow. He looked up, offering a small smile. “Will it always be that easy to reach you?”

Asmi lifted a brow. “If you were aware of your studies, you would know,” they said, amused.

Cyrus gave a shrug in acquiescence. “True,” he said, “But who better to ask my questions than you? I’ve been reading, while my mate keeps me on bedrest. Trying to understand all of it. The sheer amount of literature to wade through is... overwhelming.”

Asmi brought their tea to their lips. “I imagine getting caught up on nearly forty years of spellwork will take you some time. I’m sure you will now have plenty of time to do so without your magic distracting you.”

“Was taking my magic an opportunity to learn or a punishment?” Cyrus asked, out of sheer curiosity.

Asmi merely gave Cyrus a slight smile.

Cyrus settled in the closest chair with a bit more weight than he usually would. It seemed even in this dimension he was weaker than usual. “Some things have to remain a secret, then?” He asked, mulling it over.

“I told you there will be a price to pay,” they said. “You will pay it tenfold. I do not like to be made weakened by anyone, and this time, my point will be made.”

“I understand,” Cyrus said quietly. “I don’t take this lightly, and I will work hard to learn what I can while without magic.”

“Excellent,” Asmi said, setting their mug of tea down. “You will not regain your magic until I am satisfied.” Asmi flicked a hand, and with a ripple of magic Ash, Lev and Darius appeared in the room with them.

Ash was quick to bow deeply before standing upright wearily. “You summoned me?”

Cyrus flicked a glance at the other two; Lev was quite bewildered, though he gave an echo of Ash’s movements after a beat. Darius gave his own slow bow before quietly buckling into the chair behind him.

Cyrus thought about moving to check on him, but Lev beat him to it, fussing quietly while keeping an eye on Asmi warily. As much as he hated to admit it, he was relieved. It would have taken a lot of energy to stand. Instead he fixed Asmi with another curious stare. “I assume you have a message for all four of us?”

“You should watch your assumptions,” Asmi said. “But yes, I do and I did not feel the need to repeat myself four different times.”

“Apologies,” Cyrus murmured, before falling silent expectantly.

“Apologies noted,” Asmi said, crossing their legs. “I have spoken to Levant already, about carrying a piece of the burden should you defy the natural balance once more. You have all felt its effects. There is and will be a void where your magic was and would be, and that void shall remain until you earn the right to your magic. I demand respect from the lot of you and for you to learn a lesson.”

Ash looked a mix of rage and submission but ultimately hung his head without a word.

“How do we earn it?” Lev asked, and then immediately looked like he wished the ground would swallow him up. Cyrus grimaced in sympathy, but he’d been wondering the same thing, and so he simply looked to Asmi again. Earning it could mean a thousand things, and they were all from different places and backgrounds in life.

A serpentine smile curled on Asmi’s lips. “I am glad you ask. You will all learn everything about the gods, you will worship and devote yourselves accordingly. You will become nearly as knowledgeable and devoted as a priestess and you will not have your magic returned to you until all of you satisfy me. Not one, not three. All four of you will satisfy me or none of you will satisfy me.”

“Understood,” Cyrus said. He’d honestly expected something worse, and judging by the surprise on Lev’s face, so had the angel. Ash and Darius were harder to read, but that was just fine.

Asmi’s eyes narrowed, seemingly reading his mind. “Be glad it is not Kaveh. Would you wish to want harsher punishments, I am sure they will be more than willing to provide.”

“Of course,” Cyrus murmured. Where faint enthusiasm had grown in Lev's expression, it’d quickly become ashen, and he’d reached for Darius’ hand silently.

Darius quietly squeezed Lev's hand. “Your mercy is much appreciated,” Darius murmured, hoarsely. “We will do all that you ask.”

Lev nodded vigorously, again simply echoing the sentiment.

“I will make sure to help in any way,” Ash said. “I already have Lev reading the old books on the various gods from Cameron’s library.”

Cyrus nodded slowly. “I might reach out to you,” he said to Ash, before adding, “And Sorin can find resources for me in places I cannot go. Though it might be a few days; we’re going to be moving soon, before Biela’s mercy wanes. I won’t be welcome in demonic territory at all for the foreseeable future, if ever.”

“I can’t leave Cameron’s house,” Lev piped up nervously. “And Darius shouldn’t be moving around much yet either.”

“Well it’s not like your magic is going anywhere,” Asmi replied. “I’m sure you will figure out how to get to a temple. The lot of you are irritatingly creative.”

“Best see if Biela has any mercy left to spare,” Cyrus advised, even as he thought internally that they might not get their magic back in the next half century just from this.

“Better chance of draining the ocean with a straw,” Ash muttered.

Lev sighed softly, and looked down at Darius. “I can talk to Cameron,” he said. “We’ll figure it out.”

When Darius nodded tiredly, Asmi said, “If you all have nothing else interesting to say I am sending you back.” They didn’t give much room for Lev, Darius, or Ash to speak before they disappeared.

Cyrus blinked at where they had been. “Thank you,” he said, and then clarified, “For taking the time to explain. You could have left us to flounder.”

“I see no point wasting my time,” they said, dismissively. “You will likely have the most to learn, as you think you are above myself and had performed that heinous magic twice. You will find my mercy and my forgiveness is not easily won.”

Asmi waved a hand and sent Cyrus back to his body. Judging from how Sorin’s face was so close to his he could feel the demon’s whiskers tickling his face, it’d been obvious that Cyrus hadn’t been in bed with him in any way beyond physical. Sorin pressed a paw to Cyrus’ chest slowly, spreading his toes and digging his claws in. Five sharp points let Cyrus know just how pisssed Sorin was.

“Alright, alright,” Cyrus muttered. “I’ll rest.”

Sorin gave a pointed sniff, but backed off, nosing the books onto the floor before Cyrus could move them himself. He draped himself across Cyrus’ body, purring deep in his chest the moment Cyrus relaxed.

Point taken.

---

Nik found himself getting summoned to Cameron’s office. He couldn’t even come get him himself, instead he had one of his toadies come and fetch him. Nik did pause, though, when he realized Cameron’s office was pitch black. “Cameron?”

“Sit.”

“Well great to see you, too,” Nik muttered, plopping down on the chair across from him. “For what have you summoned me?”

Cameron looked up in his direction, his eyes glowing animal bright in the darkness. It was so leery; NIk kept forgetting demons could do that. “I want you to go stay with your brother,” he said.

“You’re seriously kicking me out?” Nik said. “Is it because I refused to kiss Darius’ ass?”

Cameron blinked slowly at him, clearly not aware of Nik and Darius’ previous conversation. “No,” he said, mildly. “And it’s not forever. You can come back, if you want, during the weekends or for a couple of days during the week, the choice is yours.”

“Is this because of the demon lands being poisoned?”

“Yes,” Cameron said. “And since you decided to keep the fetus, and you decided to mate with me, that makes you both my responsibility, and I’m not going to let your sentimentality cause a miscarriage or stillbirth because you wanted to be near Lev.”

Nik felt heat rise in his face. “So what, because you mated with me, so my dad couldn’t take me home, you now have control of me?”

“If you want to be so frank,” Cameron said, bluntly, “we can do that. Demonic customs and all of that. However, consider it me giving you the choice to come back a few days of the week. I’d rather keep you off demonic land all together if I had my way about it.”

“And you don’t?” Nik snapped.

“If I had my way about anything, your brother would be dragging you by your ear back to his house in the next thirty minutes,” Cameron said, sharply. “If I had my way, you wouldn’t be back until the fetus was well past four months old when the likelihood of an infant death was not nearly so high. If you wish to act like a petulant child, do it on your own time.”

“I am not acting like a child.”

“Yes,” Cameron said, “you are. You’re throwing hissy fits when you’re not getting your way and yelling at people for things they had nothing to do with. You are actively being a selfish little twat who refuses to not do what the hell is the right thing to do because you want to stay with Lev.”

Nik stared at him in shocked outrage. “Did you seriously call me a twat?”

“Is that all you got from that,” Cameron snapped. “So help me if I have to make the choice for you, you are not coming back to this house for the next eight months, you hear me? I will have your brother tie you to a fucking tree to make my godsdamned point.”

Nik opened and closed his mouth a few times, unable to form a thought, let alone a coherent sentence. “...fine,” he said. “I’ll go. I just, I didn’t want to leave either of you, especially when you can’t follow.”

“We will be fine,” Cameron said, a shade calmer. “I’m sure Lev will facetime you or knit you some baby blanket to pass the time, or whatever it is angels do for their pregnant mates. I don’t really care as long as both of you stop pissing me off.”

Any other time the idea of Lev knitting would make him wheeze. “I’m sorry,” Nik said, leaning back into the chair, dragging his fingers through his hair. “I’m just- I feel like I can’t get my footing lately and all of us are spinning out.”

“Well this will be a good chance for you to get grounded then, isn’t it?”

“When am I going?” he said, defeatedly.

“Nate will be here within the hour.”

----

It was dark when Eden woke. It was dark and she did not like that. No one was there to pick her up, and she didn’t like that even more. Papi had left her again. She remembered him leaving, and then Da had put her to bed instead of the pale one later that night. That was too many alterations to what was right and she did not like it.

Not one bit.

A shrill shriek bubbled in her throat, and she banged her hands on the side of her crib the moment she pulled herself up.

No one came to pick her up, which really was unfair. Eden deserved to be picked up. She screeched again, but the house was silent other than her cries.

Filled with the determination of a child wronged by the world, Eden scrabbled her way over the side of the crib. She hit the floor with a solid thud, and almost began to cry from the shock of it all. After a few minutes of sniffling, Eden was on her way again, hooking her little fingers around the door. It took a few tries, and she got it stuck on her leg more than once, but she got it open.

One of the Big Talls stared down at her, seeming as startled to see her as she was to see them. Rather than wait to see what they’d do, Eden booked it, moving as fast as she could crawl on chubby baby legs.

Behind her, the Big Tall said something loudly, and unwelcome hands grabbed her around the waist. Eden wailed a toddler war cry and bit the nearest finger with her little fangs. That seemed to work, because very quickly she found herself on the ground, even if the Big Tall still had a grip on her, and had cushioned her fall.

---

Cameron had yet to go to bed. He was sitting it the dark in Darius’ room past midnight with a small light and his book. His head snapped up when he heard Eden’s telltale screech-crying right aside a grown demon’s screaming as well.

He quietly sat down his book, ignoring the pain pulsing behind his eye and wrapping around his head and headed for the sound in question.

He found Eden on the floor, sitting and crying and smacking the sentry’s face, perhaps to get him to stop screaming. Or maybe she just felt like hitting someone.

Cameron scooped her up off the floor and peered down at the sentry’s bleeding hand and back to Eden’s sharp little fangs. “I see your venom has come in,” he sighed. He toed the sentry’s face up in his direction. “I will make sure to add this inconvenience to your paycheck. When you get a hold of yourself, take the rest of the night off.”

With that, Cameron stepped around him and took Eden down the hall. She was sniffling and mouthing at Cameron’s shoulder. He lightly pinched her leg. “Bite me and I’ll bite back,” he warned.

She seemed intent on ignoring his threat.

Cameron opened the door of the bedroom Lev was sleeping in and flicked the lights on. “Wake up,” he said, even as Lev stirred awake.

Lev propped himself up on his elbow and squinted at them. “Eden?”

“You wanted to keep the baby,” Cameron said, irritably, tracking across the room. “Take her. Be careful, though, her venom came in.”

“Oh baby,” Lev said, reaching for her. He was sitting up by now, and once Eden was safely in his lap he started rubbing her back lightly. “She can stay in my bed tonight. Maybe she had a nightmare.”

“Maybe,” Cameron agreed, tiredly. “Just don’t roll on top of her, I guess.” He started for the doorway and flicked the lights off once more, at least giving himself some relief. “I’ll be back in the morning.”

Cameron made his way back to his chair, rubbing his temples on the way. Unsurprisingly Darius was sitting up, waiting for him. He patted the bed on the side Cameron had always slept on, clearly offering him the spot.

“You should be asleep.”

Darius gave him a very long look that Cameron chose to interpret as he should be as well- and then promptly dismissed it. “I have work I need to be doing.”

A small crease formed between Darius’ brows and he patted the bed more insistently.

Cameron sighed sharply. “If I get in, will you stop being a nuisance and go to sleep?” When Darius nodded, pleased, Cameron sighed once more and began undressing slowly, doing his best to not further aggravate his headache.

He crawled into the bed and put his face in the pillow, all too aware of the coolness of Darius’ skin next to his.

tagging:  @incandescent-creativity @solangelo3088 @lil-miss-red @halstudies @littleyellowdinosaur @caelisis @idreamonpaper

[misstrashchan]

Top 3 RWBY ships & your favorite moments for each!!!

AH IT'S YOU!

And... Just three? Really? Uh, well, I guess I'll start with my first OTP I had watching the show when I was 13 that I still have a soft spot for...

1. Ladybug (Ruby/Blake)

Blame Madoka Magica, but I'm drawn to the dark haired, aloof and cool mysterious girl having a soft spot and looking out for the clumsy, optimistic and maybe a little naive girl trying to prove herself who happens to be the MC, and finding their own hope renewed in themself because of that relationship.

I mean there's just a lot of little moments when Blake is just so wholeheartedly the member who believes and trusts Ruby the most as a leader, like I know it's easy to overlook over the series but between "She's only two years younger, we're all just kids" in defence of Ruby when Weiss calls her just a kid, "She's our leader, she can take care of herself" in response to Yang worrying over Ruby, and "We'll follow your lead Ruby" to her before meeting Ironwood, and their initial meeting being Blake coming over and helping Ruby out when Weiss is giving her a hard time but then aprubtly leaving, it's just... I really love them, okay?

My favorite Ladybug moment is probably their talk in v8, because it's kind of a culmination of those little actions and words over the series that conveyed the nature of their relationship actually communicated, when Blake just lets Ruby know how much she looks up to and believes in her as a leader, and how greatful and moved you can see Ruby is to hear that when she's at a low point of doubting herself the most. (Even though that kind of faith is a double edged sword for her, but that's a Ruby meta analysis for another day)

And of course Ruby's soft chuckle and little "I could hear you" after getting up when Blake was pleading for Ruby to get up after getting knocked out, because they needed her, just melts my heart everytime I hear it.

2. Bumbleby (Yang/Blake)

I mean. It's Bumbleby! Ladybug may have been my first OTP but Bumbleby reigns supreme in my little heart since falling into it during v2 and fully committing to it after v3 and during v4. The slowburn, the pining, the angst, the comfort, the finding their way back to each other no matter how many times they seperate, the complimentary colour schemes, Beauty and the Beast, Ying and Yang, the way their narratives are intrinsically interwined with one another, THE SOFT FOREHEAD TOUCHES. God the list of reasons of Why Bumbleby is just neverending.

I mean, when I think good slowburn romance, I just immediately think Bumbleby.

Favourite moment? Geez. Idk. There's so many iconic bees moments it's hard to pick. Burning the Candle? I love it when you're feisty? Your bow goes great with your pajamas? Bees vs Adam? The Reunion? The Reunion 2.0 with forehead touches? (which are, in my humble opinion, far softer and more romantic than any kisses could be but that's just me)

But for all the angsty and dramatic moments, I really really like this series of small moments when Yang and Blake are getting ready to go dancing with FNKI in v7 the most. Yang trying to teach Blake how to dance and Weiss finding them to be an insufferable couple, Blake putting on mascara while Yang watches her lying on her bed with just the gayest little grin, Yang coming over and just so casually putting her hand on Blake's shoulders. It's just. It's my favorite just because of how casual it is. The two of them getting to relax and doing normal couple stuff. After everything these two have gone through they deserve that with each other, to enjoy those first highs of venturing into a romantic relationship. It's just the little moments, y'know?

3. Rosegarden (Ruby/Oscar)

So much about this ship just screams perfect slowburn material. How Ruby has consistently been the person who believes in Oscar as his own person, how Oscar is the first person we see get Ruby to open up to about her own fears,(and like, Ruby's really the only person Oscar has confided in like that over the series too) how throughout v7 Ruby worries over her decision to lie to Ironwood mainly because she knows it's something Oscar doesn't agree with and she doesn't want him to think less of her. The very circumstances that allowed them to meet; the war with Salem, Oscar merging with Oz, their shared burden that allows them to bond, is also exactly what would prevent them from ever having an actual relationship. It's just so... tragic when you really think about it and I LOVE that kind of shit.

RG to start with was more of an "enjoying how adorable Oscar's crush on Ruby was but believing it would ultimately be one sided" than actual "I Think This is Going to Be A Thing". And then the Dojo scene happened, which was this really revealing character moment for both of them in a way we hadn't seen either of them with anyone else, where they share their fears, and Oscar pushes Ruby to be more introspective and honest with her feelings at the start and at the end Ruby pushes Oscar to be braver and more confident in himself, which hits the core struggles of both their characters and I was like. Hm. Okay. Maybe there's more going on here. And the ship has kind of had my attention since then. (not my favorite RG moment though)

And then like, in v6 when Oscar gets his first huntsman outfit, and you can see that 1) His main colour is green, complimentary to Ruby's red, 2) His secondary colour is also Ruby's red 3) His accessories are the same as the ones Ruby has in her Mistral outfit, meaning he took direct inspiration from her and 4) As the cherry on top his whole outfit is a Very Obvious nod to him alluding to the Little Prince. And I was like Ah. This is A Thing Now. And then the series went on to have the subtle-as-a-brick-parallels with the Bees and visually pairing them with the Bees and I was like Ah. Yeah. We're definitely in it now.

Enough about that though. Favourite moment? Ruby handing Oscar back his cane. Not just the "You're your own person" Ruby says to reassure Oscar of his own individual identity, but what she does when she says it. Before that, when Oscar reaches to take the cane from Ruby who holds it out to him, he lingers there, asking "I'm just going to be another one of his lives, aren't I?" And right then and there Ruby and Oscar would be holding onto one another, except the cane is in between their hands. It's what connects them, but it's also what separates them. Because the cane represents Oscar's connection to Oz and his merging with him. And it's only because of Oz that Oscar met Ruby at all. But then when Ruby tells Oscar he's his own person, she puts her other hand on top of his. Asserting her own, unique connection to him. That still gets me.

[emospritelet]

Key to the Cell - chapter 18/18

Last time, Belle and Rumple plotted with the fairies to confront Blue and take the magic bean she was holding so that they could travel to the Land Without Magic. Here's what happened next

Special thanks to @woodelf68 for her many suggestions as to what Gaston's fate should be XD

[AO3]

x

Belle had settled herself in one of the chairs in Rumplestiltskin’s tower workroom, watching him brew his potions and tinker with small, silver trinkets. She tried to stay awake, but found her eyes closing, and woke what seemed like moments later to his hand on her shoulder, a fond look on his face.

“It’s almost dawn,” he said quietly. “We should return to the others.”

“I only closed my eyes for a moment,” she said, yawning, and he chuckled.

“Yes, hours ago. It’s good that you got some rest. With any luck this will be an eventful day.”

Belle pushed upright, stretching to work out the stiffness in her limbs. Rumplestiltskin had returned to the workbench, and was putting bottles of coloured liquid and items in brass and silver into a leather bag.

“What have you enchanted?” she asked, interested, and he glanced up.

“I have some locator spells, several items with reservoirs of magic, protection amulets…”

“Shouldn’t we pack some clothing, too?” she asked, and he grinned.

“The packs are already in the library,” he said. “I presumed you would want more breeches.”

“You presume correctly, these are really comfortable.” She stretched again, yawning as she pushed her fists towards the ceiling. “What about gold? I suppose we’ll need some sort of money in this new land.”

“I’ve packed some of that, too.”

“What do you know about the Land Without Magic?” she asked, and he pulled a face.

“Precious little,” he admitted. “I gathered as much information as I could about other lands, and the records of the travellers that went there, but given how difficult it is to travel to lands without magic, I wasn’t surprised when my search turned up almost nothing. Perhaps no one managed to reach it. Perhaps they did, and couldn’t return.”

“And you’re certain he’s there?” she asked.

“Yes.” He said it simply, as though there was no question in his mind. “Yes, I’m certain. He’s there, and I’ll find him."

Belle nodded, waking slowly around the room and listening to the click of her boot heels against the floor. Dawn was just starting to lighten the sky at the horizon, and she could feel nerves start to swell inside her. We will win this fight. We must.

“How are we going to stop the Blue Fairy and Gaston?” she asked. “I know the fairies have agreed that banishing her is the best way to go, but she’s still powerful, and we still have to be able to banish her before she can either escape or - or cast a spell on us all.”

“I’m leaving it to the fairies to decide how to handle one of their own,” he replied. “Any solution I come up with will, I suspect, be rather lethal.”

“I very much doubt they’ll kill her,” she agreed, and he grunted,

“Can’t have everything, I suppose.”

“What about Gaston?” she asked. “He may be a big-headed brute, but he’s not entirely stupid.”

Rumplestiltskin gave her a secretive little smile.

“Something tells me he will bring about his own demise,” he said.

“I’d still like to give him a chance to be a decent person,” she said. “I very much doubt he’ll take it, but you never know.”

“I assure you I do,” he remarked. “Do you still have the book you cast that spell on?”

“It’s in the library,” she said. “Wait, didn’t you cast a spell on it, too?”

“I didn’t cast a different spell, I merely - tweaked yours,” he said. “Make sure you have it with you.”

“The spell was only for defensive purposes,” she said.

“And so it remains,” he said lightly. “Providing he doesn’t attack us, he’ll be fine.”

Belle snorted under her breath, and Rumplestiltskin chuckled. She dismissed thoughts of Gaston; Rumplestiltskin was right, it was likely he would attack them, and therefore would seal his own fate.

“Do we have a way back to this land?” she asked.

“Yes,” he said. “Travelling to a magical realm is far easier than to one without magic. I have a way back for us, if we choose to take it.”

“You’ve thought of everything.”

“I’ve certainly tried to,” he said, looking weary. “It’s hard to know what we will face in this new land. How do people manage without magic anyway?”

“I’ve managed almost my whole life,” she said. “As did you, before you became the Dark One.”

He grunted at that, fastening the straps of the leather bag.

“Yes, and a more wretched creature would have been hard to find.”

Belle reached out to put her hand over his, feeling his body almost humming with tension. He glanced up at her, and she smiled, squeezing his hand.

“I don’t believe you were anywhere near as wretched as you say,” she said. “From what you tell me, you were a desperate father who loved his son and tried to do your best to protect him. No matter how poor you may have been, that in itself shows you have more heart and more courage than any of the nobles who sent children to war.”

He gave her a sad smile, and shrugged.

“Whatever courage I had—and believe me it was little enough—deserted me when it came down to it, though,” he said quietly. “I let Bae go because I was afraid. How much must he have gone through, alone, because of that. How he must hate me.”

His voice had faded to a whisper, and Belle shook her head.

“He may be very angry,” she agreed. “But anger and hate are not the same thing. If he gives you the chance to apologise and explain, I’m sure you can make it right again. It just might take some time.”

Rumplestiltskin gave her another sad smile, as though he doubted it.

“And even if it takes years,” she went on. “We shall have a whole new land to explore. Imagine how much we shall learn!”

“Little of use to your studies as my apprentice,” he remarked.

“Perhaps not,” she conceded. “But there are other things you can teach me, I’m sure.”

He looked up sharply, and she gave him a coy smile that made him swallow hard.

“No doubt there are things we can teach each other,” she added. He returned the smile briefly, and then glanced away, his expression uncertain.

“I - uh - I shall look different, you know,” he said. “In this new land.”

Belle blinked.

“You will?”

“Without the curse,” he said. “Without magic, I shall appear as I once did.”

“You’ll look - like an ordinary man?”

“Indeed.” His tone was dry. “I’m not sure whether you will think that better or worse.”

Belle raised her chin.

“I think you’re very handsome,” she said. “I’m sure I shall continue to think so. Whether covered in these little golden scales or without.”

He chuffed at that.

“A very strange girl,” he muttered.

“I suspect you’ll look just as good in leather trousers,” she added, and he barked a laugh before gloom seemed to flow over him once more.

“It’s not only my face,” he said. “Before the curse, I was lame. An injury to my right leg. I healed it with magic, but before the Dark Curse, I couldn’t walk without aid.”

“Oh.” Belle chewed her lip, then brightened. “Well, at least I shan’t worry about slowing you down when we have to walk. We can move at a pace that’s easy for both of us. And I’m sure you can take a - a cane, or a staff of some sort to help you.”

“I have one in the Great Hall,” he said quietly. “It’s the one I used before. It has notches on the length where I used to mark Bae’s height. It works well enough as a walking staff. Perhaps he’ll recognise it.”

His head drooped a little, and Belle reached out to squeeze his hand again.

“It’s going to be fine,” she said softly. “You’ll find him.”

Rumplestiltskin sighed, letting out a heavy breath, and nodded.

“I know.”

He patted one of the bags, and glanced across at her again.

“We’d better get down there,” he said quietly. “It’s time.”

-

When they reached the library, the fairies were awake and alert, gathered together in a circle and whispering. Rumplestiltskin had collected the staff he needed from the Great Hall, and Belle eyed it curiously as he leaned it against one of the chairs. It was a plain wooden staff, worn smooth where it had been gripped, and notches marked it, scattered along its length from around the halfway point. The record of Baelfire’s height as he grew. It made Belle’s heart clench, and she hoped that her husband would soon be reunited with the son he loved so dearly.

Rumplestiltskin made the pallets and blankets disappear with a flick of his fingers, and the fairies hurried towards him, the dwarfs standing at the edge of the room, hands on axes and stern expressions on their faces.

“It’s almost dawn,” said Nova. “We think Blue will be here soon, and we’ve all agreed what we’re going to do.”

“Do tell,” said Rumplestiltskin, tapping his fingers together.

“We need to take her by surprise and cast a binding spell,” said Tink. “Tiger Lily is the strongest of us, so she’ll cast the spell. The rest of us will cast a net to keep her from disappearing off to the fairy realms. She’ll be trapped until we banish her.”

“We’ll need you to hide us from her sight, though,” added Tiger Lily. “She’ll sense our magic the moment she enters the castle. If she suspects anything, I’m worried she’ll fly off and we’ll lose our chance.”

And we will lose the magic bean, thought Belle. The only chance for Rumple to find Bae. That can’t happen.

“I can shield you from her until it’s time,” agreed Rumplestiltskin.

“We want her to confess to what she’s done,” added Tiger Lily. “It would certainly strengthen our hand when we report back to the Council.”

“And if she doesn’t?” asked Belle.

“If we can recover any other items she took, that would help,” said Nova.

“What about taking the bean from her?” asked Rumplestiltskin. “There’s no deal without using the bean, as I’m sure you recall.”

“We remember the terms of the deal,” said Nova. “The bean will be taken from her, and used for her banishment. She’s taken enough of our treasures, after all.”

The other fairies nodded agreement, murmuring about stolen wands and confiscated artifacts. Rumplestiltskin gave a brisk nod.

“Very well,” he said. “When it’s done, and Lady Belle and I have left, the defences I put up around the Dark Castle will fall into place. I suggest you all leave without delay once we are through the portal. Five minutes should do it, just make sure you’re clear of the gates.”

“Understood,” said Nova. “We have enough dust between us to make a decent portal back to the fairy realms.”

Rumplestiltskin nodded, clapping his hands together.

“Then it’s agreed,” he said. “Let’s see what our intruders are up to, shall we?”

He nodded to Belle, who immediately retrieved the magic mirror and held it up.

“I’d like to see the Blue Fairy, please,” she said.

The image was once more of a tent interior, Gaston pacing back and forth with shoulders hunched and hands clasped behind his back, his red doublet stretched across his wide shoulders and his heavy boots thumping on the ground. The Blue Fairy appeared to have just entered the tent; a brief view of the pinkish horizon broken by dark, craggy mountains showed as the flap closed behind her. Gaston paused in his pacing, turning to face her.

“My men are in position,” he growled. “They’re at the western gate, as you suggested. I don’t see any defenders lining up to keep them out. This should be an easy conquest.”

“The Dark One has no need of soldiers,” she said. “I hope your men are obedient. If they break into the castle grounds before we have subdued the Dark One, we’ll have a massacre on our hands.”

“They’ll wait,” he said curtly. “It seems like all we’ve been doing is waiting. When do we enter the castle? Dawn has come, you said we’d attack at dawn.”

“And so we shall.” Blue lifted her wand. “It’s time. Come, stand near me. I’ll take us into the library. Once we’re inside you must wait there until I return from the fairy realms.”

Gaston shouldered a quiver of arrows and grasped his bow, putting his other hand on the hilt of his sword. The Blue Fairy shook her head.

“You’ll have no need of those weapons,” she said. “The Dark One cannot enter the library. Nor can he be hurt by swords or arrows. Magic is the way to defeat him.”

“A man likes the comfort of hard steel in his hand,” he said, and she rolled her eyes.

“Suit yourself.”

“A warrior knows to prepare himself for all possible outcomes to battle,” he went on. “What if your magic fails you? What if your wand is taken? How will you defend yourself against the creature then?”

Blue smiled sweetly, one hand slipping to her belt in what seemed to be an unconscious motion.

“I suggest you leave those concerns to me, and consider your own part in this,” she said. “Your bride will no doubt be waiting for you. Quickly, now. Take my hand, and I’ll take you inside the castle.”

Belle put down the mirror, glancing at Rumplestiltskin.

“They’re coming,” he announced. “Fairies, dwarfs, stay on that side of the room.”

He waved a hand, and Belle watched as the band of fairies and dwarfs were hidden behind a shimmering curtain of light. It solidified, the light winking out, and she blinked as the room looked empty apart from the two of them. Recalling Rumplestiltskin’s words in the tower, she hurriedly looked around for her enchanted book, spying it on one of the small tables and snatching it up.

“Do you feel it?” he whispered.

She opened her mouth to ask what he meant, but then nodded slowly. A tingling in her skin, a pleasant feeling that spread through her body.

“Light magic,” he breathed. “Be ready.”

She nodded, hugging the book to her chest, and jumped as a portal opened with a flare of blue light, Gaston stumbling a little as he and the Blue Fairy appeared in the centre of the room.

“Well well,” said Rumplestiltskin, in a nasty drawl. “My library has certainly suffered in my absence. Look at the vermin that have slithered inside.”

Blue’s mouth and eyes widened in shock, and he gave her an unpleasant smile.

“Now!” shouted Nova.

There was a flash of red light, knocking Blue’s wand from her hand. Shining ropes in a myriad of colours snaked towards her through the air, wrapping around her and pinning her arms to her sides, and she struggled desperately, a furious look on her face. Gaston had drawn his sword, turning on the spot as though unsure who to attack first, and there was a collective roar from the dwarfs as they barrelled towards him from behind the barrier. He managed to parry the first axe-blow, and the second, but eight against one was only ever going to have one outcome. Grumpy’s axe knocked his sword from his hands and the dwarfs swarmed over him. By the time he was hauled to his feet, the weapons had been stripped from him and he was scowling heavily, blood flowing from a split lip and a heavy red welt over one eye. His brows lowered as he saw Belle by Rumplestiltskin’s side.

“Get away from that beast, you foolish girl!” he snarled, and Rumplestiltskin smirked.

“Careful how you address my wife,” he said, emphasising the words. It made Belle’s heart thump harder.

“Belle is mine!” roared Gaston, struggling against his captors. “We’re betrothed! You will give her back to me, or—”

He cut off, appearing to choke around an invisible gag, and Rumplestiltskin gave him a nasty smile. Gaston’s mouth worked furiously, his face reddening, but Rumplestiltskin had already turned away, focusing his attention on Blue. She had drawn herself up to her full height within the magical bonds, her nostrils flaring with outrage as her eyes flicked between the fairies, as though memorising each face.

“You will all pay dearly for this!” she hissed. “When the Council finds out you aided the Dark One—”

“When the Council finds out you were imprisoning your sisters without even a pretence at a trial, what do you think they’ll say?” asked Tiger Lily coldly. “How many children have been without the guidance of their fairy godmothers in our absence? What damage has been wrought from that loss?”

Her eyes flicked to Rumplestiltskin and away, fixing on Blue.

“You ought to be condemned for that alone,” she said. “Meddling in the affairs of countless generations for your own ends. Pitting fairy against fairy in your quest for control. Not to mention that you’ve been keeping and using magical objects for your own purposes. Search her!”

Blue squawked in outrage as Tink and Nova began searching her belt pouch and the pockets of her dress. The contents were laid out next to her wand on a nearby table. A gilt-edged book, a slim dagger in a pearl-covered sheath, a crystal vial with a stopper in cut sapphire, and a small purse in battered brown leather. Belle watched as Rumplestiltskin’s eyes fixed on it.

“You have no right to do this!” spluttered Blue. “You are interfering in important diplomatic affairs!”

“If you’re referring to Sir Gaston wanting to abduct me and force me into a marriage against my will, I welcome their interference,” said Belle coldly. “This castle belongs to my husband, and to me through my marriage to him. You are not welcome here, either one of you. You are intruders with hostile intent, and the law of the land is clear on what we are entitled to do with you. Be grateful that we have allowed your sisters to decide your fate rather than erect a gibbet in the courtyard.”

Rumplestiltskin eyed her with a look of pride, and she raised her chin, staring down her nose at her would-be captors.

“Do not quote the law of the land to me, you foolish girl!” snapped Blue. “I should think you would be happy to be rescued from a marriage to this - this monster!”

“He’s no monster, you are!” said Belle hotly. “We entered this marriage as equals! He doesn’t see me as property or - or as a pawn to be used. We wish to be left alone to live our lives in peace!”

“Peace with the Dark One?” Blue burst into cold, humourless laughter. “You’re a gullible fool to believe his lies! I see the beast has used that silver tongue of his to excellent effect with you.”

“Well, it is our honeymoon,” said Rumplestiltskin in a drawling tone, and Belle shot him a quelling look before turning back to Blue.

“I don’t care if you think I’m gullible,” she said. “I have always prided myself on looking beyond appearances, and I believe I understand Rumplestiltskin a good deal better than you.”

Blue closed her eyes, inhaling deeply as though trying to calm herself. When she opened her eyes again, she was smiling sweetly. It made Belle’s skin crawl.

“Whatever the Dark One has been telling you about me is untrue, you know,” she said gently. “You must know that dark creatures cannot be trusted. They do not think or feel as you and I do. Their purpose is chaos and destruction. They cannot love.”

“Oh, we can, you know,” said Rumplestiltskin quietly.

“I’m sure that creatures of darkness can love just as well as we can,” said Belle coldly. “The ogres went to war against these lands because Sir Gaston here tortured one of their children. They can feel and think as deeply as we, and those claiming to be creatures of light can just as easily do evil.”

“That’s right, sister!” said Grumpy. “She told me dwarfs can’t love either, that what I felt for Nova was a lie! She’s the liar!”

The Blue Fairy sighed.

“Really, I try my hardest to do the best I can for the good of all, and this is the thanks I get.”

“You imprisoned us,” said Tiger Lily sternly. “From our search of your belongings, I can see that you have the Book of Alanor, which was thought to be lost.”

“I was holding onto it for safekeeping,” said Blue stiffly.

“And this?” Tiger Lily picked up the crystal vial. “What is it?”

Blue pursed her lips, looking away, and Tink took the stopper out of the vial and sniffed cautiously before pulling back and wrinkling her nose.

“It’s dark magic!” she exclaimed. “Ugh! Why carry a potion made with dark magic? And why disguise it like this?”

“Let me see that,” said Rumplestiltskin sharply, and snatched the bottle from her before sniffing in turn. His eyebrows jerked in surprise.

“What is it?” asked Belle.

“It’s poison,” he said, and replaced the stopper in the vial with care, placing it back on the table before stepping back with his hands raised. “A rather deadly poison, I believe. Enquiring minds might wonder where, how and why an alleged creature of light procured such a thing.”

“You don’t get to question me, Dark One!” snapped Blue.

“A stolen book,” said Tiger Lily, her tone clear. “The use of poison created by dark magic. Mass incarceration of innocent fairies...” She opened up the leather pouch, and a bean fell out, gleaming white against the polished wood of the table. “And this. The concealment of a magic bean.”

The fairies exclaimed loudly, as though finding the bean were a surprise to them, and Blue glared around the room.

“I have been holding this bean for important reasons!” she snapped. “The fact that none of the Council saw fit to trust any of you with those reasons is hardly my fault!”

“And the Council will corroborate your story, will they?” asked Tiger Lily. “Those you haven’t been able to bully or browbeat into doing what you want, anyway. If we were to call Nebula here and ask about these important secret reasons, would she be able to confirm that she was fully aware that you had the bean and the Book of Alanor?”

Blue pursed her lips, looking away, and Tiger Lily turned to the other fairies, her expression determined, dark eyes steady and stern.

“We’ve all seen the evidence,” she said. “I believe the Blue Fairy is not fit to lead. What say you?”

“Agreed!” chorused the fairies.

“This is outrageous!” spluttered Blue.

“I believe that the Blue Fairy is a danger to our order,” went on Tiger Lily. “I believe that she should be banished until such time as we can be sure she is no longer a threat. What say you?”

“Agreed!”

“This is a disgrace!” fumed Blue. “When the Council hears of this—”

“All in favour of banishment?” called Tiger Lily.

All the fairies raised their hands, fists in the air. Rumplestiltskin raised both of his and got a level look from Tiger Lily in return.

“Then it is agreed,” she said. “And so we come to the Blue Fairy’s accomplice.”

The Blue Fairy was still talking, uttering threats and making dire predictions about what would happen to the fairies, and Tiger Lily gave an impatient wave of her wand. The noise cut off in an instant, and Blue glared furiously.

“I’ll deal with Sir Gaston,” said Belle.

Tiger Lily bowed her head in acquiescence, stepping back, and Belle glanced at Rumplestiltskin.

“Rumple, could you let him speak?” she asked. “Grumpy, could you and your brother let him up, please? I want to talk to him.”

Rumplestiltskin flicked his fingers, and Gaston coughed several times before scowling at them.

“You sure about this?” asked Grumpy in a gruff tone. “This one looks like he could cause some trouble.”

“Let him up,” repeated Belle. “I want to give him a chance.”

“A chance?” Gaston glared at the dwarfs holding his arms. “I need no chances! Just hand me my sword and fight me one-on-one!”

“You can stand as long as you promise not to try to harm anyone,” said Belle coolly. “Otherwise we can have this conversation with you tied hand and foot. If you stay calm, we’ll think about letting you up.”

“I am calm!” snapped Gaston, scowling, but shrugged. “Fine, have it your way! I swear not to try to harm these - upstart miners.”

“Can we gag him again?” asked one of the dwarfs.

Belle bit her lip, trying not to laugh, and motioned to them to let Gaston go. He straightened up, folding huge arms across his chest and glaring.

“So,” he said. “You take the side of this beast over your own kind!”

“He’s not a beast, he’s my husband,” said Belle coldly.

“Husband!” sneered Gaston. “That marriage could be annulled with the stroke of a pen! The idea that a noblewoman could be held to any promise made to this - this thing - is ridiculous! He’s the Dark One! He’s not human! He didn’t even speak the proper vows! You will return with me and become my wife as was agreed!”

“I can’t marry you when I’m already married!” she said sharply. “Besides, I wouldn’t. Given the choice I’d rather marry one of the ogres than you!”

“They certainly have a more progressive view of female property rights,” remarked Rumplestiltskin.

“I wasn’t talking to you, imp!” snapped Gaston.

“He’s still right, though,” said Belle. “And I have no intention of breaking my marriage vows to my husband over a betrothal that wasn’t even my choice.”

“Plus annulment is out of the question,” added Rumplestiltskin. “We consummated the marriage.”

“Several times,” said Belle lightly.

Gaston’s face was growing redder by the moment, and Belle could sense that he was working himself up to losing his temper in spectacular fashion.

“I will not return with you, Gaston,” she said. “I will not marry you. There is no future that involves you and I and it is ludicrous to think there will be.”

Gaston opened his mouth angrily, but she kept on.

“By breaking into the Dark One’s castle you have made him your enemy,” she said, “and while as his wife I like to think I have some influence, I cannot and will not guarantee your safety. If you value your life you will leave this place and never return.”

“My men are outside,” he said grimly. “Hundreds of them, all armed to the teeth. One word from me and they will storm this castle and kill anyone they find.”

“I could kill them with a flick of my little finger,” said Rumplestiltskin in a bored voice. “You really ought to try threats that have some basis in reality. Takes all the fun out of a slaughter.”

Gaston’s jaw jutted forward as he clenched his fists.

“I am offering you your life,” said Belle clearly. “In return for leaving me and my husband in peace.”

“Those are really very generous terms,” said Rumplestiltskin cheerfully. “Given the chance I’d have pulled your kneecaps off and waved them in front of you.”

Belle wanted to sigh, but kept her attention on Gaston, who was looking as though he had eaten something that disagreed with him.

“Do you agree to our terms?” asked Belle.

“I’m just supposed to put up with the rest of the kingdom laughing at me behind my back for the rest of my days, am I?” he demanded.

“You can always choose death,” said Rumplestiltskin, with a lazy swirl of one hand. “That might be preferable to ridicule to one of your type.”

“Death.” Gaston lowered his head, shoulders slumping. “Sometimes death is the only way to restore honour.”

Belle felt her eyes widen in alarm.

“You don’t need to die,” she said sharply. “There’s no need for violence. Just leave us in peace!”

There was a moment of silence. The air was heavy with tension, and Belle could feel her heart thumping, her skin tingling. Gaston raised his head, eyes gleaming malevolently as he let out a hollow chuckle.

“Oh, I didn’t mean me,” he growled.

Leaping forward, he snatched up the small dagger from the table top and lunged at Belle. Rumplestiltskin stepped in front of her, raising a hand to hurl a spell, but before he could do so there was a flash of purple smoke from the book in her arms and a crackle of energy that made her hair want to stand on end. The sound of a scream made Belle duck, holding the book in front of her like a shield, and only the comforting feel of Rumplestiltskin’s hand on her shoulder made her straighten up and open her eyes.

The smoke was clearing, the fairies and dwarfs clustered together, wide-eyed and clamouring in outrage over the attack on Belle. Gaston had disappeared, the dagger he had snatched falling to the floor with a tinkling sound, and in his place was a sturdy grey donkey. Gaston’s heavy leather belt hung around its neck and it trotted backwards, hooves clattering against the floorboards before it turned in a circle, a bewildered look in its eyes.

“Is - is that Gaston?” asked Belle, and Rumplestiltskin smirked.

“A fitting punishment, wouldn’t you say?” he said, briefly inspecting the palm of his hand before rubbing it on his thigh. “Since he had so little respect for the peasants on his land, I thought he would do well to work for them. Perhaps we can send him to the sister of that maid of yours. Gerta, is it?”

The donkey brayed loudly, ears flattening as it showed large, surprisingly white and even teeth, and Belle hid a smile behind her hand.

“Will - will he always be a donkey?” she asked, and Rumplestiltskin shrugged.

“That’s very much up to him,” he said. “If he has true remorse for his past actions, the spell will lift. If not, I’m afraid he’ll be hauling water and carrying goods to market for the rest of his miserable life.” He leaned close to the donkey. “I can see the future,” he whispered. “Better get used to a bridle.”

He straightened up, and with a flick of his fingers the donkey disappeared in a cloud of red smoke. Rumplestiltskin looked pleased with himself, tapping his fingers together as he turned back to face Blue with an unpleasant grin.

“Now,” he said. “Where were we?”

“You can’t banish me,” said Blue loftily, ignoring Rumplestiltskin as she favoured the fairies with a frosty glare. “None of you has the strength to strip me of my magic, and if you think I’m going to kick my heels in some far-off kingdom while you mess things up for all of fairykind, you’re gravely mistaken.”

Tiger Lily stepped forward, and reached for the magic bean. It gleamed as she held it up, a tiny point of white light, and Blue’s eyes widened in shock.

“You wouldn’t dare!” she breathed.

“Rheul Ghorm,” intoned Tiger Lily. “From this moment forth you are banished from the Enchanted Forest.”

“Don’t do this!” snapped Blue. “It’s what the Dark One wants, can’t you see that? He’s played you all for fools! I’m the only one who can stand against him!”

“I hope you take time to reflect on the harm you have done and the pain you have caused,” went on Tiger Lily, as though she hadn’t spoken, “and that you use this opportunity to build a new and better life.”

“Try to be nicer,” added Nova.

“I will return, you mark my words!” said Blue heatedly. “I will return, and when I do, you will all pay for this!”

“Rumplestiltskin,” said Tiger Lily, turning to him and holding out the bean. “I believe this concludes our deal.”

She dropped the bean into his palm, and Rumplestiltskin grinned widely. He nodded to Belle, who hurriedly grabbed the packs he had stowed. Holding up a hand, he gestured towards his staff, and it wobbled against the chair before slamming into his palm. Rumplestiltskin held up the bean and closed his eyes. Belle could see his lips moving, as though he was whispering a prayer. Or a promise. She edged closer to him, closing her eyes in turn, and willed the magic to take them to his son. Lead us to Baelfire. Let us find him.

She felt rather than heard the portal open, a wave of pressure that washed over her and stole the breath from her lungs. Her eyes flew open as a ripple of green energy burst outwards, a dark hollow at its centre, a churning whirlpool of magic. Blue was staring at the portal in horror, and seemed to say something, but it was snatched away in the tumult. She was trying to edge away from it, but Rumplestiltskin picked up a foot and shoved at the small of her back, and she disappeared into the void with a fading scream. Rumplestiltskin turned to Belle, taking one of the packs from her and shouldering it before grasping her hand. His smile was tremulous, fear and anxiety and rising hope, and she smiled back, squeezing his hand.

“Let’s go and find Baelfire,” she said.

He nodded, and turned back to the portal, seeming to steel himself before taking a step. Belle closed her eyes, foot lifting to follow him, and felt her body seized by an immense force as she was dragged from the castle into the void.

-

Before she had time to process how it felt to be inside a magical whirlpool, she hit what seemed like hard earth with a thump. Winded, she rolled onto her back, wriggling her left arm to dislodge the pack, and stared up at the sky as she tried to catch her breath. It was dark, and the stars were shining, pinpricks against darkest blue beyond a stream of blue and purple that stretched across the sky, scattered with countless points of light, thousands of stars. Stars she had never seen before. It was breathtakingly beautiful. She realised it was cold, too, bitterly so, and the ground beneath her hands was wet and soft. There was a familiar scent in the air, pine resin and leaf mulch. They were in a forest.

“Belle?”

Relief flooded over her at the sound of Rumplestiltskin’s voice, that low voice he used when they were intimate, when it was just the two of them.

“Fuck!” he growled, and that made her push up on her elbows.

She was lying on the ground in the midst of a forest, thick pine needles and leaf litter having cushioned her fall somewhat. There was snow on the ground, adding a wan, bluish light to the scene, but there was no moon. Perhaps this world didn’t have a moon. Rumplestiltskin was a hunched figure kneeling next to her, amongst the black trunks of what looked like fir trees. It was too dark to see his face.

“Keep forgetting I can’t use bloody magic!” he grumbled. “Are you alright?”

“Fine,” she said. “Is this it? Are we here?”

He pushed up onto his knees, looking around.

“Well, we’re certainly in the Land Without Magic,” he said dryly. “In the woods. By some sort of road, if I’m not mistaken. Let’s have a look, shall we?”

He held out a hand, and made to rise before crying out and falling to the floor again.

“What is it?” asked Belle anxiously, and he shook his head.

“Forgot about my bloody leg, too,” he said. “No matter, that’s what the staff is for.”

He managed to get the staff into position and pushed to his feet, but he was limping badly, and Belle thought he might do better with a shorter cane, as her late uncle had once used.

“Perhaps we should rest,” she said. “We could make a fire.”

“Let’s just get to the road and see what we can see,” he said. “It’s only beyond the trees.”

It sounded as though he was grimacing, and Belle hoped that wherever they were in this new land, it wasn’t too far from a town. The trees cleared, and they stepped onto the edge of a well-maintained road. Belle bent to touch it curiously. Its surface was hard and relatively smooth compared to the ground beside it, but it wasn’t paved or cobbled, and it wasn’t simply packed earth. It stretched away into the distance, winding through the trees to the right as though the forest went on forever. To the left, a sign was standing at the side of the road: Welcome to Storybrooke, it read.

Rumplestiltskin and Belle shared a glance. Her eyes were getting used to the dark, and she could almost make out his features, starlight gleaming on the lines of his nose and cheekbones.

“Storybrooke,” she said. “That must be where we need to go.”

“Yes.” He looked beyond the sign, down the road to the town. “That’s where he is. We’re going to find my son. We’re going to find my Bae.”

[pinknerdpanda]

Surprise

Word Count: 1250 Pairing: Dean x Reader Warnings: Dean. He’s definitely a warning. Fluff. Beta’d by: @princessmisery666​​ - i think I left you off my last one and I feel terrible about that. You always have the right words to make me feel good about anything I do. I can’t imagine 2020 without you. Thank you so much.

A/N: This was written for @shy-violet-soul​​ for her request for Merry Manda’s Christmas Drabbles! Vy - I love you so so much and I hope that this makes you smile. You deserve the world and I am so thankful for your presence in my life.

Surprise

“Where are we going, Dean?”

Dean grins at y/n from the seat beside her before training his eyes on the road again.

“Just hold your horses, princess. You’ll see soon enough.”

Y/n huffs. Surprises aren’t exactly her favorite thing and though she trusts Dean implicitly, the anxiety of not-knowing makes her grumpy.

“Oh come on, don’t be like that,” Dean implores gently. “I promise it will be worth it. We’re almost there.”

When Dean had told her earlier in the day that he had a surprise for her, she’d expected a gift, maybe. It is Christmas Eve after all. But when he’d ushered her into the Impala without preamble - or gift in sight - she’d been immediately put on edge.

Not that that was anything new. The last year has been…challenging, to say the least. The entire world seems to be on fire. Everyone is angry about something and despite her very best efforts, y/n has been hard-pressed to feel that Christmas cheer she’s been so accustomed to in years past. Between losing Cas, Chuck going insane, Jack taking over his bat-shit crazy grandfather’s job - and doing it much better, in fact -  y/n and the Winchesters have hardly had time to catch their breaths. Christmas actually seemed to have snuck up on all of them. It’s hard to remember what day it is when every week feels like a month.

Dean reaches across the bench seat, his hand finding y/n’s and their fingers intertwining. 

“I know how you feel about surprises and as much as I want to surprise you, I’ll tell you where we’re going if that would make you feel better.”

Y/n studies his handsome profile. After everything that’s been thrown at him, Dean remains one of the kindest and most considerate people she’s ever known. He’s always put everyone else’s needs and wants above his own, and even though this surprise is for her, he wants to surprise her. And Dean deserves to have what he wants. She can handle a few moments of discomfort and anxiety if it means Dean will be happy. Her nerves be damned.

Y/n shakes her head and gives his calloused hand a firm squeeze. 

“No, it’s okay, Dean. I trust you.”

Even in the dim light provided by the streetlamps, y/n could swear she sees his eyes shine a little brighter, their green depths sparkling like the purest of emeralds. And for her, as he squeezes her hand back, that’s enough. 

Minutes later, Dean turns off the main street and into an unfamiliar residential area. Three rights and a left and the darkness is broken by thousands of twinkling lights. Ahead of them, a line of cars is inching down the street, and Dean takes their place in line. The wind is brisk as y/n cranks down the window and gazes outside, but she's too mesmerized by the sight before them to feel the chill.

The entire street - every single house - is absolutely covered in Christmas lights. A sign at the corner reads “Candycane Lane” with a radio station listed below the bright red letters.

“Surprise.”

Y/n whips her head to face Dean. There could be lightbulbs covering every square inch of every home in the city and it wouldn’t compare to the joy lighting up his face in this moment. If his eyes were sparkling before, they are ablaze now. He meets her gaze for a moment before fiddling with the radio and turning it to the station suggested on the sign. A second later, the car is filled with Frank Sinatra’s voice crooning “Jingle Bells”.

“Dean, this is…” y/n exhales shakily, at a loss of words. 

“Oh! Almost forgot!” Dean twists in his seat, reaching into the back and pulling out two small thermoses and handing one to her. “Homemade hot chocolate, with extra marshmallows, of course.”

The music changes and the sounds of Trans-Siberian Orchestra replace Sinatra. It’s at that moment that y/n realizes the lights around them are blinking in time with the music. It’s like the most meticulously choreographed dance, but with Christmas lights. Every crescendo, every beat, every note is accentuated with a flash or blink or color change.

The sight is breathtaking. 

Stunned, y/n looks between the lights, the still unopened thermos of hot chocolate in her hands and the giddy man in the driver’s seat beside her. Her brain can’t even begin to process the words to describe what she’s feeling in the moment.

The car in front of them creeps forward and Dean follows. The house now on her side features a giant inflatable snow globe with some form of snow billowing inside around a smiling polar bear donning a santa hat. Three tinsel-clad penguins flank it on each side, each one holding different things - candy canes, presents, a stuffed bear. The roof is covered in large snowflakes that blink in time with the music and the tree behind the globe is fashioned with strands of lights that give the illusion of snow falling.

Dean grunts in satisfaction and y/n turns to find him nodding his head, staring approvingly at his thermos. A fine line of hot chocolate clings to the scruff on his upper lip. 

“Damn good, if I say so myself.” He looks at y/n and his face drops, brow furrowed. “What’s the matter?”

Bewildered, y/n stares at him for a second before throwing herself across the seat and wrapping her arms around him. 

“Nothing,” she sighs, face buried in the crook of his neck. “Nothing's the matter, Dean. This is...I can’t even describe it. ‘Amazing’ doesn’t even begin to cover it.”

A car behind them honks and y/n jumps, pulling back and realizing that the car in front of them had moved forward a few spaces. Apparently they were holding up the line, but y/n couldn’t find it in herself to care. 

Dean grunts and inches the car forward, mumbling something that sounds vaguely like ‘asshat’ under his breath. When they’ve pulled up enough, Dean turns to y/n again.

“So you like it?” Dean quirks an eyebrow, tugging his bottom lip between his teeth. 

“Like it?!” Y/n practically shouts. “I love it! Dean, this is incredible. I didn’t know there was anything like this around here!”

Dean chuckles. “Yeah I didn’t either. I heard someone at the post office mention it the other day and I just knew I wanted to bring you here.”

Y/n stole a glance out the window again. The song had changed again; a beautiful, symphonic rendition of “O Holy Night”. This yard held a large, though simple, nativity scene, a single, bright spotlight shining down upon it. 

Turning back to Dean, the burn of tears stings the backs of her eyes. “Thank you, Dean.” Her voice is barely above a hoarse whisper.

Dean clears his throat, driving forward once again. 

“Wait until you try the hot chocolate, then you’ll really thank me.”

Y/n reaches over then and laces her fingers through his again. 

“Seriously Dean. This is perfect. Thank you so much for bringing me.”

Dean’s cheeks glow pink under the numerous freckles kissing his skin.

“I just figured this year has been shit and we could both use some Christmas cheer.” He squeezes y/n’s hand gently. “Thank you for trusting me and letting me surprise you.”

Leaning forward, y/n places a kiss against his stubbled cheek. 

“Merry Christmas, Dean.”

Like what you see? Want more? My SPN Masterlist is here, and MCU is here. Thanks for reading! :)

FYI I’ve updated my tag list, so if you don’t see your name below and want to, send me an ask. Weirdos are for everything, Heroes is MCU and Hunters is for SPN.

Weirdos: 

@hannahindie​ @amanda-teaches​ @ellen-reincarnated1967​ @feelmyroarrrr​ @masksandtruths​ @princessmisery666​  @jamielea81​ @foxyjwls007​ @becs-bunker​ @super100012​ @shy-violet-soul​ @emoryhemsworth​ @impandagrl​ @donnaintx​

Hunters:

@deanwanddamons​ @iwantthedean​ @pretty-fortune​ @sgarrett49​ @defenderrosetyler​ @sandlee44​ @deanwanddamons​ @lyarr24​ @akshi8278​

[seasonsofeverlark]

Spreading Christmas Cheer

Author: @mega-aulover​

Prompt: Everlark the movie Elf [submitted by @alliswell21​]

Rating: G

Author’s Note: This is a story based off of the movie Elf as requested by @alliswell21​ It’s from “Jovie” i.e. Katniss POV, what she would have seen and fell in love with one Peeta ‘Buddy’ Mellark. 

Special thanks to @norbertsmom​ for her betaing skill and for the name of the story. Parts 3 and 4 will post separately.

_____________

Pt 1

I watch Peeta gently kiss the top of our first born’s head. Holly’s dark hair is braided into two plaits; her blue eyes closing softly. 

“And Papa Elf said, grandpa was on the naughty list…” his voice is soft.

Suddenly Holly’s eyes widen as she remembers something. Her blue eyes are laser focused on Peeta. “Papá, es verdad que mamá estaba en la  lista de los niños malos?”   

“Y quien te dijo esto?” I ask from the door. We never discuss my role in Peeta’s adventure, or the fact that I was on the naughty list. Ever. 

“Santa,” Holly says.

Ese gordo, Santa has loose lips. I think about teaching him about keeping secrets until it’s time to explain to our child about the past. But before I can say anything, Peeta gives me a look. He always knows when I’m having evil thoughts. I sigh, and redirect my thoughts, because Peeta made me believe in love, joy, and Christmas.    

“Your papa saved more than grandpa that Christmas. He saved me too.”

Holly’s eyes lit up like her father’s before the sleepiness creeps back into their depths.

“Now go to sleep so Santa can come down the chimney.”

“Night, mama, night papa,” Holly whispers right before she drifts off to sleep. 

Together we walk out of our daughters bedroom. Peeta slides an arm around my shoulders. He dips down and nuzzles my cheek. He steers me to the living room. I drag my feet. Peeta is up to something.

“Okay, spill it, Mellark.”

He gives me a wide eyed smile.

The hair at the back of my neck stands up straight. 

He’s got that look, that please tell me a bedtime story stare, and not just any story. 

“No.”

Peeta pauses and gives me a puppy dog look with a full lip pout.

“No.”

“Come on, Sweetums, my li’l sugar plum,” Peeta says in an excited whisper.

“No…no don’t waggle your eyebrows at me, Peeta. Buddy. Mellark.” I pronounce each one of his names.

Peeta’s grins so brightly; his eyes shine brighter than Christmas lights. His hat is slightly crooked as he hops and does that stupid little dance of his that makes me want to tear off his green tights. Yep, I said tights. My husband was raised as an elf, a six foot two, blond, wavy haired, giant with broad shoulders, washboard abs, and is genuinely sweet. Sweeter than eggnog.

He grabs me by the waist. “You know you wanna,” he says in that sexy time voice of his that’s reserved only for me. 

Canasto! 

I should clarify for everyone listening to my tale; you should know canasto isn’t a vulgar or bad word. It means basket. But I like the way it sounds in Spanish. So I say it with real vehemence. It’s like peaches in Spanish sounds like a curse word. Melocotón! Tu eres un Melocotón! Which translates into you’re a peach. 

I digress.

I let out a big sigh. There’s no way I can say no to him and he knows it! Canasto!

“I love it when you tell the story of how we met from your point of view.“ 

"You’re an evil gremlin,” I say with no heat in my voice. It’s my personal nickname for him. As in the gremlins when they ate after midnight. However to be fair, if you see Peeta, he’s not scary at all, he’s more like a big teddy bear.  

Peeta laughs and my heart flip flops. Because he is anything but; he is so congenial.

Peeta puts his hands on my belly, my very big belly. It’s baby number 2; actually it’s baby number two and three. They are counted as one until they’re born. I know what he’s doing, the evil gremlin! He’s trying to distract me because I’m due to give birth. I have mild pangs because I’m carrying twins and I’m nearing my due date.

He carries me and sits me on his lap. “Now start from the beginning.”

“From the candy cane forest?” I ask.

“No from your point of view,” his eyes dance gently as he rests me against his chest, rubbing my bulging belly.

“Okay,” I say quietly.

“Don’t forget to start with once upon a time,” Peeta insists, trying to contain his excitement.

“Once upon a time.”

“This is going to be good,” Peeta whispers.

“Are you going to let me tell the story?”

“Oh yea,” Peeta placed a kiss on my nose. “Go ahead.”

Closing my eyes I picture the year things changed. Because everything in my life was about others and never myself. I was always trying to be someone else, what everyone expected of me. 

It’s hard being a foster kid, and getting out of the system is kind of like getting out of jail. Suddenly you have all this freedom, but you’ve been conditioned to follow all of these rules, so when you are free, you do one of two things. You get in trouble, and try to get sent into an institution; some of us call it the iron college. Or you try to keep your nose clean and learn in the school of hard knocks. In my case, I kept my head above the water for my sister’s sake.  

“I love my family,” I muttered underneath my breath. 

I muttered it again as my sister destroyed, no scratch that, mutilated Mariah Carey’s “All I want for Christmas."  

Did I forget to mention that I love my family?   

I do. I love my family and there’s nothing I wouldn’t do for them, but at that moment I wanted to scratch my ears out with dull spoons.  

My perfect baby sister is a smoking hot blonde runway model and the muse for Karl Lagerfeld, but she has the worst singing voice known to man. You want to torture someone, hire my sister, and have her sing to the person you want to torture. Within 3 seconds flat, she can have even the most hardened of spies spilling their guts like a canary.

The one thing I could not stand beside my sister’s singing was Christmas. 

I loathed Christmas.

I was not ashamed to say it.  Every fiber of my body I hated Christmas!   If I had ever met the real Santa back then, he had better hoped that I was not holding my bow and arrow, because I would have shot him through the eye. Not that I believed in Santa then, but if I had known there was a real life Santa Claus, I’d have hunted him down, and burned the fat man’s jolly red outfit. I would then gleefully take a joy ride in his sleigh into his workshop like Bill Murray did in Groundhog Day when he allowed the groundhog to drive him off the cliff into a fiery death.

At this point you are wondering why I hated Christmas so much.

There were many reasons why the holiday was so contemptible to me. One, my father died on Christmas day. Two, my mother checked out on us that same Christmas day. The next Christmas Eve was when my sister and I were separated into different foster homes.  It took me a few months to find my six-year-old baby sister. I had been sent to a foster family who used foster kids for slave labor, to have them wipe and clean their floors while the Mrs. of the family spent the whole day in luxurious spas and getting Botox treatments, as if that was going to improve her mug. 

My baby sister was luckier. Primrose was placed in a foster home in the middle of suburbia with a 2 story house with a picket fence. A woman named Cecilia and her husband Ronald had never been able to have kids, and they doted on my sister. They brought her up to be the princess she always said she was. Honestly, they were rather shocked when my twelve-year-old cynical self rolled up into their home screaming for my baby sister, Primrose. Prim came running out of nowhere and latched herself on to my leg like an octopus. Best Spring ever, so I do love the Spring. 

But before you think we were reunited, we weren’t. The family that had Primrose never wanted me. And even if they did, we technically didn’t have the same last name. Primrose carried my mom’s last name while I carried my dad’s. My sister was Primrose Emmerson and I was Katniss Everdeen. Our parents had a silly agreement. They were also foster kids, so they decided that I would take dad’s name and the next one born would take our mothers name. 

They didn’t have family, and her parents lived a common law marriage. Their childish decision caused havoc. There was a mix up and we weren’t processed as sisters. Plus, I never stayed in the same foster home for long so even if they wanted me, they never knew where I was, but no matter where I was, I found a way to talk to Primrose, because as long as Prim was loved and cared for, my situation didn’t matter.

After our brief reunion, I had to go back to the family that I was placed in, and my sister stayed with her family. I didn’t stay with mine for very long; I became a statistic. A rolling number on someone’s computer screen. I was bounced around from one family to another in all sorts of seedy homes. 

So you can see why I’m so jaded. Every bad thing that ever happened to me, has happened on that freakin’ holiday. And there was one more reason I disliked that holly jolly holiday so immensely. For some reason, the universe hated me. 

No matter where I went, what city, what town within the state, I could guarantee you that it was a racket, a billion dollar racket to make parents crazy and buy things for their kids they didn’t need. For some reason, it pleased people to take my olive skin, dark hair, scowling self and put me into a sparkly Christmas cheer, “gag” pointy eared elf costume.

So with a week until Christmas, I was listening to my sister butcher another holiday favorite song. Then Prim screeched. And I sighed in relief.

"Katniss,” Prim said, coming out of the bathroom. “The water is cold!”

I looked heavenward. “The pipes. I forgot they’re working on the water main outside. They said there would be interruption to service.”

“Oh, you know I can get us a hotel room,” Prim said toweling dry her pale blonde locks. 

My studio apartment wasn’t what my sister was used to. She was a freaking couture runway model, six foot one, so slim nothing off the rack fit her. “I’m sorry Prim, I was so excited to see you.”

Prim smiled. “Look, I only have a few hours left. How about I treat you to lunch before I go back up to Connecticut to spend Christmas with Cecillia and Ron.” Prim smiled at me. “You know you’re more than welcome to come. They always ask about you.”

I loved my baby sister. She was amazing. And I was damned glad that the Henderson's were an amazing couple, but I knew the score. They didn’t know what to do with me. “As long as you don’t mind me wearing my elf costume.”

Primrose chuckled. “You make the cutest elf though.” She patted me on the head using a baby tone with me. Prim was taller than me by a foot. I was tiny, or as Prim said, compact size.

“I could still put you over my knee, little duck,” I growled. “Así que mira ver.”

My sister laughed and she delighted in taunting me. Prim no longer spoke Spanish, but she understood the language. “You’re adorable when you’re angry, an angry little elf, aren’t you?”

“Primrose,” I said in Spanish. I rounded my ‘r’s’ when I said her name. 

“Awe, I don’t don’t get why you hate Christmas so much.” Primrose winked going to the screen divider to get dressed. My sister was used to dressing and undressing in front of dozens of people. I, on the other hand, was not so free with nudity. Primrose said I was a prude. If I hadn’t I told her to use the screen, she would have changed right in front of me. 

“Did you know there are only three jobs an elf can have,” Prim said from over the screen. 

I sighed. Unlike me, Primrose loved Christmas. Hell, she even suggested that there might be a real Santa Claus. I told her the only people who look for ways to sneak into people’s houses were criminals. 

Prim continued her story about elves. “The type of elves that live in trees and make cookies, the types that make shoes, and the best type.”

“Let me guess, Christmas elves,” I said, rolling my eyes.

Prim grinned. She came around the screen wearing thigh high red boots, jeans and a camel tunic sweater that looked like cashmere. “Come on sis, let me treat you to breakfast so that you can go terrorize the children of Macy’s toy department.”

  Pt 2 

Peeta grins excitedly, breaking the narration. “You know she’s right. Papa says the cookie elves have high insurance premiums because their tree catches fire all of the time.” 

“Peeta,” I huff. “Do you want me to finish the story?” 

“Absolutely,” he hugs me closer. “I’m so sad you and Prim never got to grow up at the North Pole with me.”

I can’t help but smile at his sincere wish. “Oh Peeta,” I kiss his cheek.

“The only thing I would never let you do was toy testing,” Peeta whispers.

I chuckled. Peeta hated Jack-In-The-Box’s. They scare the dickens out of him. I lay my head on his shoulders. “Are you going to let me finish the story?”

“You know,” he says, blue eyes twinkling. “I’d spotted you in the city that first day.” 

“You were jumping across the lines of the cross walk, “ I grin at the memory. 

“I followed you until I saw the Empire State Building. Then I went to see my father.”

“I know,” I caress his face.

“Start from that point.”

“Okay, you ready now.” My babies were moving in my belly.

“Right, you were in your father’s office delivering the most awkward Christmas gram.” 

Peeta chuckles. “I don’t have your pretty voice.”

I sigh. “Peeta.”

“Right, I’ll be quiet.”

I give him a look. 

“But just so you know, when those guards told me to go back to Macy’s, I was curious as to why you were dressed as an elf.“

I roll my eyes. Did I forget to mention my husband is a talker. He is a chatterbox. I swear Peeta is the type who’d make friends with a paper bag.

"I thought your elf name was so pretty,” he sighs happily.

“Peeta, if you want me to tell the story. You have to hush!” I admonish, if I didn’t we would be here until tomorrow.

“Oh,” he gushes. “Yes, tell the story.” 

“So, there I was in the middle of New York, like a morsel in shark infested waters. I.E….”

“That passion fruit spray is horrible,” Peeta grumbles. “I do not know how women drink that stuff.” 

I want to laugh. There are still things that Peeta doesn’t understand about human society; perfume was one of them, and that fact endeared him to me.

“Can you start at the moment our eyes met?” Peeta gives me a wobbly smile. 

Ah, now I know why he’s interrupting so much. “Okay.”

Sighing I recall that day. Prim and I were out to breakfast. She was harping on me to find someone. Did I fall to mention Primrose was only twenty years old at the time, and at that age I was ancient at the tender age of twenty six. Seriously twenty-six. So what if I had never dated, never had a boyfriend, and never kissed anyone. My sister was right. I was a prude, but I’d seen how love could screw you over. My mom never recovered and she died alone in some home of a broken heart. All I had in the world was my sister. My Prim, and she was the only person I would love. Until that afternoon. 

“Seriously Katniss, you’re twenty-six,” Prim said. 

Eye rolling was a national pastime when speaking to a glamazon who thought I needed to date.

“Don’t roll your eyes at me,” Prim said, removing my sunglasses. “And also, sunglasses in the middle of December, so not tre chique.” 

Eye roll, eye roll, eye roll. Fake smile. CANASTO!

“You are the worst,” Prim hissed.

I knew my sister wasn’t mad at me. Annoyed, yes. Mad, no. “Prim, it’s just I’m not interested in dating anyone.” 

“Katniss, I just don’t want you to impersonate elves for the rest of your life, and when you’re like forty-six, you’ll realize you’re alone with a cat, who pisses in your shoes, and scratches your furniture.” 

I moved to pay our bill.

“No way,” Prim said, slamming her hand on the bill. “I make what you make in a month in two hours of work. This is on me.”

“Fine,” I grumbled. 

“Also, stop closing yourself to Christmas. Santa isn’t going to leave you anything under the tree.”

“Like Santa exists,” I snorted.

Prim gasped. “You take that back. Santa Claus is real Katniss, just like the rainbows, and pigs and frogs having a long term, caring relationship, and love exists.” 

My sister’s wide eyed passionate confession shook me, but the only words that came out of my mouth were, “a frog and a pig?” 

“Miss Piggy and Kermit are together, and if they can make it, no matter what the media says, anything is possible.”

“Huh,” I said, leaving the luncheonette near Penn Station. We walked to the corner, where she’d take the stairs to the lower level. 

I took a look at the stairs, knowing this was the moment I would say goodbye to my sister once again. My eyes filled with unwanted tears. I could still recall the little girl with the untucked shirt that looked like a duck tail. It’s where the nickname li’l duck came from.

“Don’t cry,” Prim whispered. “Quack, quack.”

“I hate it when we have to say goodbye,” I said quietly.

“It’s not goodbye, Katniss; it’s until the next time.” Prim grinned then she took my elf hat and put it on my head. “Go on, terrify the poor children of the city with your menacing scowl. But you better watch out, better not cry.”

I groaned. “Prim, I would rather hear seagulls squawking then you singing.” 

“I know, that’s why I do it,” Prim said.

“You’re a brat.”

“Brat, I’m on Santa’s nice list. You’re the one on the naughty list.”

“There’s no such thing as Santa…” the words died on my lips as I saw a huge man dressed in an elaborate elf outfit jumping on the lines of the crosswalk gleefully. I was struck by the joy on his face.

He looked like an angel with wavy blond hair and innocent blue eyes. It was one thing to see a six-year-old child with that wide eyed innocence, but a tall, broad shouldered man with large hands made me think perhaps he’d escaped his caretakers. His elf outfit wasn’t like the cheap one I had to wear. It was made from a rich fabric with elaborately embroidered gold thread. 

If there was something I knew about, it was fabric. I never had soft fabrics growing up and I was obsessed over soft materials. I dreamed of cashmere, Egyptian cotton, mulberry silks, and linens. His green tunic was made from merino wool, like the ones they made in England in those bespoke shops.  Even his hat, although a ridiculous cone shape, was not some cheap fabric covered cardboard that you’d find in a costume shop. It was made from genuine thick green wool felt with a yellow satin ribbon wrapped around it. A red feather bobbed up and down as he jumped.

He was so happy. He looked up, as if sensing my presence. Our eyes met and he smiled jovially and waved at me. My mouth went dry, because, gaw, Canasto!

This man-child was gorgeous. 

“Earth to Katniss.” Prim snapped her fingers in my face.

“Sorry.” I looked back to my sister.

Prim looked over her shoulder. “Are you okay.”

I dipped out of my sister’s way. “I think I saw an elf.”

Prim laughed. “It’s Christmas, Katniss. Santa’s elves are everywhere.” Prim gave me a hug before descending the stairs to the lower level of the station. 

Seeing my sister go was difficult, but I couldn’t shake the tall man dressed as an elf. He even had on yellow tights with black elf shoes. 

I made my way to Macy’s. I could see the Empire State building in the background as I took a left to head to the employee’s entrance. 

When I arrived, the floor manager Brutus headed straight to me. He was a ridiculous man with muscles in his neck and a bald head. His meaty fingers held a tiny clipboard. 

Brutus did not believe in technology. He refused to use a tablet. He said the muckety-mucks, as he called them, were out to get him. He wore dark brown pants that were too small for his large frame and even when he stood you could see his white socks. He wore a sweater vest with various pens in his front pocket and a cheap plastic necklace that was supposed to look like tree lights.  

“Jovie,” Brutus said looking over his shoulder.

“Yes, Brutus,” I smiled. Jovie was my elf name.

“Our last Santa quit, and we have no one, so until then I need you to help out in gift wrapping. Don’t forget to make sure the ribbon curl is six inches.”

“But you need more than six inches, to make a good curl.”

“Six inches.”

Sighing I walked to the station and nodded to the girls who were at the gift-wrapping station. I sat there trying to make six inch curls. People were insane at Christmas; they were stressed out to buy things, and things never made anyone happy. Things were just things.  

The line of people got shorter and I noticed the tree in the center of the sales floor was looking a little sad. So getting the ladder, I rearranged the ornaments and noticed one of the lights was out. From this vantage point I saw Brutus drag him in, the elf I saw on the street.

Heat rushed to my cheeks and I focused on the tree, eavesdropping the entire time. 

“Buddy, you need to remember you get a half-hour break when you work under six hours and a one hour break when you work over six hours. If I catch you on the floor again I’ll have to write you up.” 

His name was Buddy. My lips formed a goofy smile at his name. Up close he was prettier, his wavy hair curled up at the ends. A shiver ran up my spine at all of those curls. I could picture little boys with blond ringlets and a little girl with dark tresses in green colored elf clothing. I held on to the ladder as I swayed. 

“Wow, what’s this?” HIs eyes quickly darted to the crowded sales floor. 

“This is the north pole,” Brutus said looking at his precious clipboard.

“No it’s not,” Buddy waved at a pair of babies inside of a stroller. 

“Yes it is,” Brutus said.

“No it’s not,” Buddy eye’s traveled to the tree and I hid behind it so that he didn’t see me.

“Yes it is,” Brutus put his hands on his wide hips.

“No it’s not,” Buddy said smiling. “Where’s the snow?”

“He’s right, there’s no snow,” a six-year old girl said. She’d been listening to the conversation.  

I nearly snorted. 

“Why are you smiling like that?” Brutus brows knit together.

“I just like to smile, smiling’s my favorite thing,” he said. Bouncing to the Christmas music that was being pumped through the speakers. 

“Well stop smiling, and make work your favorite thing to do. And who gave you that outfit?”

“It’s mine,” Buddy said, splaying those large hands on his chest looking down at his elf outfit. 

Brutus looked at the intricate gold embroidery. “Fine, if that’s your story. You should make work your priority instead of shopping.” Brutus sighed, looking at his clipboard again. “I have to make the announcement.”

Buddy nodded, but once more was looking around. 

I was working on the tree lights by now and really didn’t want to get down because I wanted to keep staring at him. At his great legs. Normally tall guys had spindly legs. Not his, yum. 

“Okay I’ve got an announcement. Santa will be here tomorrow at 10AM. Keep your receipts so you can see Santa.” 

“SANTA!” Buddy yelled. He jumped, clasped his hands and a little girl next to him joined him. Soon there was a flock of kids doing the same thing, all speaking at once and he was nodding and speaking to them as if he knew Santa. 

I chuckled cause I’ve never seen Brutus look so stunned and speechless. He was carried away by Chaff, his second in command. 

Buddy turned and focused on me. I pretended that he wasn’t just a few feet away from me. I could feel his gaze as I fixed the bulb that was not letting the string of lights to turn on. The tree lit up and I swear his eyes seemed to glow brighter than the lights on the tree.

My stomach did a little flip-flop. “What!” I said defensively. I turned and saw how big his eyes were and the genuine smile. “Are you enjoying the view?”

“I love Christmas trees,” he said hesitantly. “It’s nice to see someone else who enjoys elf culture as much as I do.” 

Of course the guy that would make butterflies dance in my stomach was a wackadoo. I scowled. This wasn’t happening. Getting down from the tree, I quickly walk away, grabbing a few stuffed animals that were discarded and putting them back on the display.

“Looks like someone needs Christmas cheer and the best way to do it is to sing.”

“I don’t sing,” I muttered.

“Of course you can.” He chased after me.

“No,” I said trying to get him to stop, but liking that he’s walking after me like a wide eyed puppy-dog.

“Anyone can. All you have to do is put a group of words together in a tune,” he said sweetly.

I hopped on up on the stage where the guy in the red suit would be seated tomorrow. I turned to look at him. As I spoke to him, I couldn’t keep the hurt from my voice. Because the last time I sang a Christmas song it was with my dad, hours before he died.  “I know that, I can sing, but I choose not to sing.”

“Look, I’ll do it for you maybe it will make you smile,” Buddy said. He takes a deep breath, “I”M SINGING. I’M IN A STORE AND I AM…”

It was horrible, but I couldn’t help but smile. 

“THERE’S NO SINGING IN THE NORTH POLE!” Brutus comes running out from behind the registrar.

“Yes there is,” Buddy says grinning at me. “I’m Peeta.”

“Wait I thought your name was Buddy?”

“That’s my middle name,” Peeta said. “Is Jovie your name?”

“No,” my voice sounds breathy. “Jovie is my elf name.”

“So what’s your real name?” His voice sounded deeper and I swear I could see nothing else but his big blue eyes tenderly gazing at me.

“Katniss,” I said, wondering why my knees were so wobbly. I couldn’t fall for a guy who thought he was an elf. A very good looking, broad shouldered guy with the face of an angel, but nonetheless, a complete wakadoo.    

The ten minute warning came on letting people know they needed to go home.

“Oh I’ve got to get ready for Santa,” Peeta muttered under his breath. But before he could move Brutus appears. 

“Buddy,” Brutus grabbed him by the arm and hauled him away. I was left standing on that stage with a big old goofy grin on my face.

[clanwarrior-tumbly]

Hello! Forgive me if you already did this and I accidentally skipped it on the masterlist haha. May I request some of the SDR2 cast (I would love if you included Hajime and Akane in it but you don't need to ofc!) with a gender-neutral SHSL Plague Doctor S/O and maybe they surprise them with a Plague Doctor plushie and the Plague Doctor S/O ADORES it? Sorry if I'm being super specific fahhfsi

Wait woah I LOVE PLAGUE DOCTORS. Also I figured that some can give a plushie, while others can give an item that resembles a plague doc in some way!

.........

Hajime

During his free time with you, he was intrigued (tho at the same time grossed out) by all the things plague doctors did to treat their patients.

Even so, you found your way into his heart--despite him being a mere Reserve Course student.

He sees just how scary you are when defending him (especially when Nagito mocked him for being talentless during the Killing School Trip).

He feels like he owed you for standing up for him.

So he commissioned Kazuichi to make you a mechanical bird with the likeness of a plague doctor.

You find it in your mailbox one morning and immediately rush to his cottage to hug him.

Teruteru

“You know if you’re feeling hot and sweaty under all that garb..you can always take it off. I won’t judge~”

Of course he finds you flattering even though you’re always cloaked, complimenting your body.

If he goes too far though, you’ll be sure to jab him with your cane as a warning.

When that first happened, he felt really bad about making you uncomfortable.

So he decided to make you a bento box, with the rice and other ingredients being in the shape of a plague doctor mask.

It’s probably the best bento box you’ve ever eaten in your entire life.

You forgive your chef bf with a kiss, and he’s right back on cloud nine.

Gundham

You’ve become closer to Gundham more than anyone.

Probably bc he sees you’re protected from the “poison” that he apparently had in his flesh.

So he didn’t mind holding hands with you when you two started dating.

You’re both just a perfect match: dark aesthetics, interest in the supernatural, and animal lovers.

You teach him about your old ways of curing illnesses, and he listens with awe and fascination.

He wanted to give you something as a symbol of his eternal gratitude.

So when he came across a plague doctor plushie online, he believed it was the perfect offering for you.

And he was right.

It sits on your shoulder all the time now, just like how one of his Dark Devas do.

Mikan

Despite you two having vastly different ways of treating patients (with her methods more modern and yours more traditional), she still loves you a lot.

She's grateful that you easily scare Hiyoko away whenever she bullies her. All you gotta do is wear your mask and she runs away crying.

Mikan herself finds it scary, too, but..also cute???

She's conflicted.

Though she’s scared of you mentioning any leeches, so you stopped doing that and only threatened to throw some at Hiyoko.

One day Mikan tries surprising you with a plague doctor plushie, just a small token of her endless appreciation for you.

Only to, of course, trip and fall into your arms while the plush ended up in a puddle.

She’s understandably upset and starts crying, but you soothe her and pick up the soaked plushie with a smile.

You let her know you appreciate the gift...then it's happy tears from the timid nurse that follow.

Nagito

"Oh, I understand why you still wear that attire....I'm surprised more people don't when they're around someone as disgusting as me-"

You’re a little irritated he always says that, as you know it’s far from true. But you have a lot of patience.

One day you roll up to class without your mask, and Nagito stares at you like you’re a whole new person.

But he compliments you, though you stop him before he compares your appearance to himself.

You’re always so kind and patient with him--and you’ve had your fair share of people dying around you.

He doesn’t quite know how to thank you for just..being there for him.

So he buys you a plague doctor plush. Even though he keeps doubting you’ll actually want it.

After a series of unfortunate incidences, he finally manages to give it to you.

Seeing the smile on your face was worth all the bad luck he endured.

Impostor

Like them, you never reveal your face often.

They understand why, but one day they decide to make a deal with you: they'll reveal their true self if you do the same.

So you agree.

And wow...you're absolutely stunning beneath the mask. They love you even more now! 

Though if you ever need to put it back on, they won’t judge. They’re just happy you were comfortable with them.

However they had another reason they wanted to see your face...and it was so they could surprise you with a small plague doctor plushie they ordered online.

Seeing your smile made them chuckle.

Adorable indeed.

Kazuichi

Has a panic attack every time he sees you wearing the mask.

Even though he knows it’s you he just freaks out.

You reluctantly leave it off around him.

And of course he’s gonna compliment you every chance he gets.

On your one month anniversary of dating, he makes you a wind-up toy of a plague doctor. 

It’s even got a cane that moves up and down, as well as a lavender-scented air freshener built into the beak!

You love it to death and call it adorable.

Though Kaz only replies,“well not as adorable as the real deal~"

"......w-was that a good line? Please tell me it was-”

[gold-onthe-inside]

Okay so this idea popped in my head while I was watching an episode of Criminal Minds..

What if a femxreader/creator made character comes up to Reid after he exits the narcotics anonymous meeting for cops and shares how she has a similar experience? Maybe they hold each other accountable or meet up for coffee at a diner to talk about it more in depth or even at someone’s home?👀

Ooh i like that idea. One of the biggest reasons why addiction is so hard is that shame they feel which prevents them from talking about it and having someone who understands how hard it is to keep going works wonders in the fight to stay sober. I would be honoured to write it.

cw: narcotics, drug abuse, injury, reference to rape

Winter, 2006

It had barely been a month since Spencer had started going to these meetings. He had lied low in the beginning, slowly mustering up the courage to talk about it. Even then, he had never found the courage to talk about Hankel. He’d left work early, his co-workers convinced that he had a date, and arrived perfectly on time as planned. He was content to leave his co-workers in their misconception. After all, Derek’s jibes were certainly easier to handle than the silent sympathy he’d received after the abduction.

The usual attendees were there, law enforcement officers of every kind filling up the seats with their cups of coffee. A woman who worked with bombs struggling to get off heroin. A young man near the back with an addiction to fentanyl. Nearly all of them had spoken up about their own issues, none more than the young woman greeting each attendee at the door.

Charlie Nash. He knew she was a detective with Metro PD, battling her own addiction with Oxy. She couldn’t have been much older than him, an expert in her field. Unlike the others who only shared snippets of their life, Charlie was a force of nature, using her own story to kickstart theirs. Like every other meeting, Charlie sat with them in the circle, a hand casually pressing down on her cane. She was the reason he’d managed to say a few words at all. Because she refused sympathy or pity from anyone, especially from the people in this group. Because unlike him, she had powered through the shame that bound him.

“So, a couple years ago, I was working with the victim of a rapist,” Charlie started, the same way she kicked off every meeting, with a story about her own pain. “The statute of limitations was up and the case was closed. I was supposed to debrief him and hand him off to a therapist. But he, uh, never showed up to the appointment. He calls me, asks me to come to this cafe, points out his attacker. I told him that my hands were tied, I couldn’t arrest her. So, he pulls out a bag of C4 and blows up the place. My leg got pinned in the fallout, doctors prescribed oxycodone and I-I couldn’t stop.” She stopped to take a breath and wipe a strand of dark, curly hair behind her ear. “And now, I am 2 years, 6 months and 3 weeks sober. My career is on track, I have a support network I can count on and I’m here to help you all.”

The same smatter of applause filled the room but Charlie dismissed it, taking a look around the room before her glittery brown eyes landed on Spencer, a soft smile curving her features. He shifted in his seat nervously, his fingers absently tapping on his thigh as Charlie observed him. “Spencer, would you be our first volunteer?” It was a perfectly innocent question and he could always say no. She had made that abundantly clear in the first few meetings. He felt his throat dry up, the room feeling much hotter as the circle pinned him with their gazes.

"Um, okay. I uh, I had a-a rough time staying-staying clean after um—" Spencer swallowed thickly, feeling Charlie's gaze on him. He exhaled slowly, his heart pounding in his ears. If Charlie could come in here every week and talk about her injury and addiction, then he could talk about Hankel. "Two months ago, I was kidnapped by a man with uh, DID, a dissociative identity disorder, and uh, one of his personalities, he-uh-he gave me Dilaudid. To-To help with the pain.” Spencer’s focus slid down to his hands, long wiry fingers picking at his fingernails. “I wanted to hate him,” he admitted quietly, “I keep thinking whether it would have been better if he was just… evil.”

Spencer wet his bottom lip, taking a second to glance at Charlie, her hands layered on top of her cane before focusing back on the floor. “I uh, I can’t leave the house without the vials. Ever. And the times I try to, they’re just-just constantly on my mind. And um, and I can’t focus on my job.” His lips quirked into a self-deprecating half-smile. “The-the victims, I just… I used to be able to compartmentalise it, you know, and it was-it was easier when I-I didn’t know how it felt. Now that I do, I just…can’t seem to focus anymore.” His voice quietened, his body feeling hollow and exhausted.

“Narcotics make it feel like the pain goes away,” Charlie said quietly, using his story as a teaching point. “But it doesn’t heal our wounds, physical or emotional. And just like a physical wound, we have to help our emotional wounds heal in the long term. Ignoring that wound means it festers and only gets worse. And I know it’s hard. Emotional healing is much harder than physical healing. But the more we talk about it and reflect on it, it will get better.”

The rest of the meeting took its usual 45 minutes with attendees telling their stories and Charlie chiming in with a reflective message for each of them until she announced the end of the session. As his habit, Spencer left the hall immediately instead of mingling like the others did. It was easier to talk about his addiction when he didn’t really know any of them. “Spencer, wait up!” He turned to see Charlie following him outside, her cane making a small tapping sound as she made her way over to the curb where he stood.

Shivering slightly as a breeze ruffled his hair, Spencer pulled his coat around him as Charlie caught her breath, shaking out her bad leg. The bright amber streetlights illuminated her golden, honeyed skin but obscured the freckles dotting her cheeks. Like him, she was bundled in layers, a thick hoodie under a dark leather jacket, a gold necklace with a circular pendant neatly nestled just above the zip of her jacket.

“You said you still have those vials.” Spencer dipped his head shamefully, a hand rubbing the back of his neck at Charlie’s bluntness. “Look, before I got sober, I had a prescription for Oxy. So, whenever the cravings became too much, I’d go to my doctor and tell him that my leg was hurting again. He’d give me a prescription and I’d get the drugs. My sponsor convinced me to tear up the prescription and switch doctors. You need to cut yourself off, even if you haven’t taken any from the vials yet.”

Spencer met Charlie’s discerning gaze, her hardened eyes betraying tenderness. Hesitantly, he reached into his satchel and pulled out two clear vials of Dilaudid. He rolled them in his fingers, the beginnings of a craving starting to sneak up on him and before he could refuse and pocket the vials, Spencer handed it over. But Charlie only raised an eyebrow at him cynically. "You do know, I'm a former addict too, right?"

Spencer blushed, the cold making the tinge of his cheeks more prominent and Charlie laughed softly to herself. "I'm saying, you don't have to do it now if you're not ready. But when you are, flush that thing."

"I uh, I will," Spencer promised her, his voice wavering a little. That one he couldn't blame on the cold. Charlie nodded curtly, stepping away from him and the curb to get into her car. Spencer tapped his foot for a moment, gathering all his courage before surging forward to Charlie's car. "Uh, Charlie!" Too loud. Her gaze was peppered with light humour, leaning forward on her cane to listen intently. "Um, I-I still haven't quite found a-a uh, a sponsor yet and I was, uh, wondering if maybe-maybe you'd like to uh--"

"Spencer, you aren't asking me to prom," Charlie reminded him, a wry smile curving her lips. He let out a breathy laugh.

"Yeah, sorry." He took in a deep breath before tackling the question again. "Wouldyoubemysponsor?" Way too fast.

But she just smiled tenderly at him. "Sure. You have my number."

[searchingwardrobes]

The Christmas Wish: 1/4

Merry Christmas, @snowbellewells​ ! You have become such a sweet friend to me, so I wanted to gift you with something this holiday season. Since we were talking about Hallmark Christmas movies the other day, I thought the perfect gift would be writing you a Captain Swan version of one! I hope you enjoy it and have a wonderful Christmas with your family.

Many thanks to @kmomof4​ for being my beta when I know this week is busy with your family. Thank you so much, my dear friend!

This has four parts and one chapter will be posted each day this week, with the last one posting on Christmas Eve. It is loosely based on a Hallmark movie starring Jessie Schram, funny enough, called The Birthday Wish. This fic is set in 3b, but sticking to canon didn’t work at all with what I wanted to do, so it ended up being canon divergent. I think the only canon part that remains is Zelena. There’s no Rumple, no Neal, no cursed lips, no time travel. Yeah, I know, not much canon left, haha. Let’s just say this is more character driven . . . .

Summary: Emma leaned forward, closed her eyes, and a wish bubbled up unbidden from the depths of her heart. "I wish I could just have a simple, domestic life. Is that even in the cards for me?" Breath left her on an exhale just as the wish floated through her mind, and the candle blew out. The "answer" to her wish had to be some kind of trick, however. After all, it wasn’t as if anything in the vision she received could ever in a million years be real. It was ridiculous. Captain Hook, the father of three driving a minivan? Impossible.

Rated G for Hallmark movie levels of fluff and Christmas feels

Also on Ao3

Tagging the usuals: @teamhook​ @xhookswenchx​ @bethacaciakay​ @whimsicallyenchantedrose​ @welllpthisishappening​ @optomisticgirl​ @hookedonapirate​ @ilovemesomekillianjones​ @itsfabianadocarmo​ @spartanguard​ @let-it-raines​ @tiganasummertree​ @vvbooklady1256​ @scientificapricot​ @superchocovian​ @sherlockianwhovian​ @ohmakemeahercules​ @hollyethecurious​ @ultraluckycatnd​ @jrob64​ @wellhellotragic​ @winterbythesea​ @winterbaby89​ @lfh1226-linda​ @carpedzem​ @thesschesthair​ @resident-of-storybrooke​ @cutieodonoghue​ @justbecauseyoubelievesomething​ @juliakaze​  @thisonesatellite​ @therealstartraveller776​ @thislassishooked​ @profdanglaisstuff​ @killian-whump​

Chapter One: The Vision

“Mom, come on! It’s already started!”

Emma hadn’t seen her son this excited since they left New York. Henry was standing in the open door of their room at Granny’s, shifting with nervous excitement from one foot to the other. Emma was on her hands and knees with her head halfway under the bed. Where the hell had her other boot gotten to? It couldn’t have just disappeared. Then again, this was Storybrooke . . .

“Everything alright, lass?”

The sound of Hook’s voice made Emma jerk backwards and smack her head against the bed frame. She scowled at the pirate who was now standing at Henry’s side as she sat up on her knees rubbing the lump that was rising on her head.

“Where’d you come from?” she muttered as she rose to her feet. A dust bunny tumbled from her messy hair, tickling her nose and making her sneeze.

“Sorry,” Hook apologized with a slight smirk that made her think he wasn’t all that sorry.

“I can’t find my damn boot,” Emma snapped at him, almost as if it were his fault.

“Want me to help you look, love?”

“Mo-om,” Henry whined.

“Actually,” Emma replied, pushing her hair out of her face with one hand so she could look at the pair in her doorway - one on the cusp of adolescence and the other looking far more handsome than he had a right to in those ridiculous pirate clothes. Anyone else would look like they were headed to a tacky Halloween party. “Could you take Henry down to the Christmas carnival?”

“I thought we were going together!” Henry exclaimed.

Mom guilt slammed into her at his crestfallen expression. Between figuring out this new curse and trying to stay one step ahead of this wicked witch (Wicked Witch of the West? Seriously?), Emma knew she had neglected time with Henry. It was so different from what he had been used to in the life they had built in New York, and she hated letting him down. Not to mention that at twelve, Henry wouldn’t be wanting to hang out with her for too much longer, and she was missing it.

“I’ll be right down. It’s gotta be around here somewhere.” She really needed to buy an extra pair of boots, but frugal habits born of so many years on the streets didn’t go away easily.

“I’ll guard him with my life if necessary,” Hook swore to her solemnly.

Henry rolled his eyes. “First off, I’m twelve, not two. Second, it’s a Christmas carnival. What’s going to happen? I get hit in the head with a candy cane?”

Hook just arched a brow at her, and she shook her head ruefully. Little did Henry know. Sometimes his lack of memories stabbed her with even more feelings of guilt. She waved him off.

“I know, I know. Just get down there and teach Killian how to overdose on Christmas sugar.”

“Will do,” he told her joyfully as he shot off towards the stairs, Killian hurrying after him.

Emma collapsed onto the bed for a minute once they were gone. She’d told her mom

that having a Christmas carnival on Main Street was a bad idea with the Wicked Witch still out there. On the other hand, she had yanked Henry out of school, dragged him away from his friends and the life he had known, and brought him to this bizarro town. Now he was having to celebrate Christmas here, too. They didn’t have a tree or the Christmas decorations they had bought together last year. They hadn’t made cookies and hot chocolate for their annual viewing of Home Alone. Of course, technically, it was only annual in memories that weren’t real, but that was beside the point. The point was she was now ruining her son’s Christmas too. Ever since he heard about the Christmas Carnival, he’d set aside his Nintendo DS and his cell phone for the longest span of time since they’d arrived here.

Emma got up and resumed her search for that elusive right boot. She finally found it wedged beside the TV, hidden by the window curtains. She yanked both boots on, then turned to glance at her reflection in the mirror. She frowned at her tangled hair and grabbed a brush. Once her golden hair was glistening and smooth, she grabbed her lipstick and reapplied it. It wasn’t until she was touching up her mascara that she scowled at herself in the mirror.

Who exactly are you primping for, Emma?

She refused to answer her own subconscious as she tossed the mascara angrily onto the vanity. It bounced and slid into the sink, but she just left it there and marched out the door.

The Christmas Carnival was literally on her doorstep, filling the street in both directions from Granny’s patio. A choir of children from the elementary school stood on a stage near the post office belting out Christmas carols, led by someone who looked a lot like Mary Poppins (she probably was Mary Poppins, Emma thought with a chuckle). Leroy and some of the other dwarves had gathered around a booth where you were supposed to toss as many bean bags as you could into the mouth of a giant wooden snowman. Merry Men cheered and laughed as they took turns trying to pop balloons in a dart game. There were plenty of other typical carnival games: ring tosses, coin drops, wheel spinners, and one of those “go fish” games where kids tossed a clothes pin at the end of a string over a blanket and one of the nuns from the convent attached a bag of Christmas candy. There were also merchants with booths selling all sorts of handmade Christmas gifts, and food booths offering everything from hot chocolate to corn dogs to cotton candy.

She found Killian and Henry fairly quickly. They had found David at the strong man game. She chuckled to see her father spitting on his hands and rubbing them together before lifting a mallet and slamming it down. A bell went flying up, ringing loudly and impressively as it almost reached the top of the strong man game. With a smirk, her father offered the mallet to Killian. Emma rolled her eyes but couldn’t look away as Killian took off his coat. He really needed to go without that long coat more often, she liked the figure he cut in those tight leather pants -

“Are you kidding me?”

Emma jumped at the sound of her mother’s voice. She turned to see Mary Margaret shaking her head as she watched the men.

“That is just unfair,” she continued. “I know your father is wary of Hook’s feelings towards you, but to challenge him to that game . . . “

“What do you mean?”

“Well, you know . . . “

Emma crossed her arms over her chest and leveled her mother with a scathing look. “Know what?”

“He, um . . . well, that is, he only . . . “

“Only has one hand?”

“Well yeah.”

Emma arched a brow and gave her mother a smug grin. “I think Killian can handle himself.”

Right on cue, Hook swung the mallet with his good arm, and the bell flew up. It didn’t make it as far as her father’s swing, but it was still damn good. Emma smiled as she watched her father slap Killian on the back.

“Killian is it?” her mother asked pointedly.

Emma turned to take in her mother’s curious stare. She tightened her arms further around herself. “Uh, yeah, that’s his name. It’s the name we use around Henry, so you know . . . “

“Okay,” her mother teased, a smirk of her own teasing her lips. She changed the subject, however, by lifting a plate holding a cupcake into Emma’s line of sight. “Happy Birthday!”

Emma cocked her head. “Birthday?”

Her mother sighed. “I know it was almost two months ago. Yet one more moment I missed. I wanted to make it up to you.”

“It’s okay, really.” Emma took the plate and looked at the cupcake. It was chocolate with white icing and blue sprinkles. “It’s not really Christmas-y. Where did you get it?”

“A cupcakery opened along with the new curse. Felicity’s.”

“Is that her real name?”

“It is.”

Emma snorted loudly. “Cute.”

Mary Margaret grinned. “I know.” She threaded her arm through Emma’s and steered her towards a group of picnic tables set up beneath some fairy lights. Emma let her mother pull her to the table and sat down with the cupcake between them. Mary Margaret pulled something out of her pocket with a proud smile. “Felicity even gave me a candle and some matches!”

“Really?” Emma asked with raised brows as her mother stuck the candle into the cupcake. It was sparkling blue with a star on top.

“Mhm,” her mother said, “I told her it was for you and how I missed your birthday, and she wanted it to be special. The cupcake is special too, she said. It’s her Sugar Plum Fairy cupcake, and she was almost sold out. This was the last one.”

Emma spun the cake around, eyeing it. She had obviously been in town way too long if she was suspicious of an innocuous cupcake. The woman owned a cupcakery, for heaven’s sake! She had to sell the damn things. And what better way to drum up business than to pay extra special attention to Snow White? Emma let out a breath as she told herself to just relax and enjoy the cupcake. The bright pink and glittery decorations may not be her style, but it was chocolate, and you couldn’t go wrong with chocolate in Emma’s opinion.

Her mother lit the candle, her eyes sparkling as she sang “Happy Birthday.” Emma squirmed, never comfortable with such attention, praying no one else heard the song.

“Make a wish!” her mother exclaimed.

Emma bit her bottom lip as she suddenly remembered the last time she had made a wish on a cupcake. She had wished that she didn’t have to be alone on her birthday, and seconds later, Henry had knocked on her door.

So Emma leaned forward, closed her eyes, and a wish bubbled up unbidden from the depths of her heart. I wish I could just have a simple, domestic life. Is that even in the cards for me? Breath left her on an exhale just as the wish floated through her mind, and the candle blew out.

“Hey, where’d you get the cupcake?”

Emma opened her eyes to see Henry standing beside her. Behind him were her dad and Hook. Even as her son eyed her cupcake jealously, he shoved a forkful of funnel cake into his mouth. She chuckled.

“I didn’t buy it at the carnival,” Mary Margaret explained. “I bought it at a bakery specially for your mom.”

“Why?”

Her mother, who had the world’s worst poker face, went slack jawed and stammered as she looked at her daughter. Emma calmly removed the candle, licked the icing off, then started to peel away the wrapper before she answered her son.

“Because I helped her set up her baby registry the other day, and after two hours of agonizing over strollers, high chairs, and onesies, she owed me.”

It was only half a lie. Emma had helped her mom register at Storybrooke’s only baby store. Named, naturally, The Stork’s Nest. And it was also true that the experience had been torturous enough to earn her dozens of cupcakes.

She still wished she didn’t have to lie to her son - even half lies.

*******************************************

When Emma awoke the next morning to blurred surroundings, she wasn’t alarmed at first. It always took her a minute to fully awake and adjust her eyes to the morning light. But when she couldn’t see well enough to even find her phone on the nightstand, worry gripped her. She sat up abruptly in bed, trying to blink the sleep away. She squinted, and still all she could see was a white blur that she assumed was the sun streaming through the window and around it only blurry gray. She groped in the general vicinity of the nightstand, knocking over the lamp. She swore loudly as it crashed to the floor.

“Mom!” Henry shouted as he burst through the door.

Emma turned towards his voice, assuming that the moving brown blur in front of her was her son. “I’m . . . fine,” she lied, not wanting to alarm him. “Just go downstairs and ask Granny’s help to go get your gr - I mean, David.”

“Mom, what’s wrong?”

She pressed her lips together and took a sharp breath in through her nose. “Just go, Henry, okay?”

She heard him grumble something under his breath about how he wasn’t a little kid anymore, but she heard the door to their rooms open and close anyway. While he was gone, she rubbed at her eyes, then opened them again, but still she couldn't’ see a damn thing.

“Swan?” Hook’s alarmed voice cried out as he burst into the room.

“Killian?” She squinted at the big black blur in her doorway that she assumed was the man in question.

“I know you said to get David,” came Henry’s voice as a smaller brown blur joined the larger black one, “but I ran into Killian in the hall, and I know him better, so . . . “

“It’s okay, Henry, just give me and Killian a minute.”

“I want to know what’s going on!”

“I know, kid,” she said, her voice softening, “and I’ll explain in just a minute, I promise.”

Henry made no reply, at least none she could tell. She heard the door to her bedroom shut and sensed Hook drawing closer.

“What is it, love?”

“I can’t see,” she confessed softly, reaching out a hand for him.

“What?”

She could clearly hear the strained concern in his voice. Her hand found his, and she used him as leverage to stand up from the bed. He was closer than she had anticipated, and she awkwardly bumped against his chest.

“I mean, except for a light blur over there, and a dark blur I assume is you, I. Can’t. See.”

Emma thought ironically of those black frames with the clear lenses she had worn for

merely fashion reasons back when she was a teenager. They seemed incredibly stupid now.

“How long has this been going on?” Killian must have bent his head closer to hers because his breath was hot against her cheek.

“How long? I just woke up this way!”

“This must be some kind of sorcery, love. You don’t just lose your sight overnight.”

Do you? Emma wondered. She vaguely remembered some movie she had seen once where a woman woke up suddenly blind. It was probably a Lifetime movie, though, and she wouldn’t call those medically accurate by any stretch of the imagination. Nevertheless, she gripped Hooks arms tighter and shook her head.

“Maybe it’s magic, maybe not. Either way, get my phone, call my Dad, and ask him to drive me to the doctor, okay?”

“That will waste too much time. Maybe I could -”

“You can’t drive, and I don't’ think this warrants a 911 call.”

Did Storybrooke even have 911? She should look into that.

“As you wish,” was all Killian said, his voice solemn. The words took her back to a hot jungle, his lips on hers, and his hand tangled in her hair. She swallowed thickly as she pulled her hands away from him. He reached around her, and then she heard the familiar beeping sounds as he opened up her phone. She was glad she had given him that cell phone crash course the first time he’d watched Henry for her.

“And Killian?”

“Yes?”

“Can you explain this to Henry for me? Without freaking him out?”

“Of course.”

Then he brushed a kiss across her brow and swept from the room, leaving her flustered. He’d done it so swiftly, without hesitation, as if it were something he did everytime he told her goodbye. Maybe it had been unintentional?

Needless to say, it had been a weird morning.

*********************************************

“Is your sight coming back?” her father asked, unable to hide the fear in his voice as he drove through the streets of Storybrooke.

Emma squinted out the window of her dad’s truck. “That really bright blue to my right is the ocean I’m guessing?”

“That’s a no, then.”

A strained silence fell between them, but what could Emma say? She hated to worry him, but there was no denying this was really, really bad.

“You sure we shouldn’t go straight to Regina?”

“Not yet,” Emma told him, “let’s rule out a physical cause first.”

“I don’t know if that’s any better than a spell.”

“Believe me,” she muttered, “I know.”

“Your mom Googled it already -”

“That’s never good.”

“- and people with green eyes are at higher risk for eye cancer and macular degeneration.”

“Not helping, Dad.”

“Sorry,” he muttered, reaching for her hand and squeezing it. “It is good to hear you call me Dad again, though.”

Emma’s eyes blurred even further with her sudden tears. “Sorry I can only seem to say it in crisis situations.”

“Hey, all in good time. When you’re ready.”

He released her hand, and Emma resisted the urge to grab it again. She was so thankful to have him with her. How many times had she fantasized about parents who would take care of her when she was sick? Though she would have preferred something less dramatic than sudden blindness. A cold and some chicken soup, maybe.

“I know I’m not the best judge of this at the moment, but aren’t we going the wrong way?”

“I’m not taking you to Storybrooke General. An optometrist arrived with this second curse, and I think I trust whoever it is with my daughter’s eyes more than I trust a possibly drunk Dr. Frankenstein.”

Emma chuckled at the wry sound of her father’s voice. “I bet mom wishes an obstetrician came with this curse too.”

“You have no idea.”

Her father slowed the truck and made a right turn. He assisted her out of the vehicle, and she slipped her arm through his as he guided her to the door of the clinic. She felt him freeze suddenly beside her once the door swung closed behind them.

“You!” he exclaimed in a suspicious voice. “I know you! What the hell is going on? I thought you were a baker!”

“No,” another voice calmly replied, “that’s my sister Felicity. I’m Avery, the receptionist for Dr. Liv Lachesis, the optometrist. Which I should also explain -”

“Welcome,” a third voice spoke up, “how can I help you today?”

“Triplets?!” David exclaimed.

One of the women - Emma couldn’t tell which one - chuckled lightly. “Yes, triplets. It always throws people.”

“Well,” her father sighed, “I have a twin, so I can relate. We’re here for a bit of an emergency, though. My daughter woke up this morning unable to see.”

“That is an emergency. Emma, why don’t you come with me?”

“How do you know my name?” Emma asked suspiciously as the doctor gently touched her elbow.

“Everyone knows the Savior.”

Dr. Lachesis’ words were gentle and soothing as she guided Emma into the exam room and helped her sit.

“Now just lean back Emma, and try to keep your eyes open. I’m going to put these drops in. It may sting a little, but it shouldn’t hurt. Okay?”

Emma nodded her head. Even though the optometrist had a soothing bedside manner, she still felt her stomach knotting with nerves. Dr. Lachesis gently held Emma’s right eye open, squirted two drops of liquid in, then repeated the procedure with her left eye. Emma blinked, hoping to see more clearly. She panicked when instead of blurry splotches of light and dark, before her eyes was nothing but inky darkness.

“It’s going to be okay,” the doctor soothed, as if reading her thoughts. “Lean forward and look into my phoropter.”

Emma had no idea what that was, but she leaned forward anyway. The doctor guided her face forward, and Emma felt cool metal pressed against the skin around her eyes.

“What do you see?”

“Nothing.”

Emma heard a click while the doctor adjusted the machine’s settings.

“Look again.”

Dr. Lachesis’ voice was almost hypnotic, and Emma blinked once again. The black nothing before her faded, and she could once again see fuzzy splotches of color. The fuzzy splotches then cleared, and objects took shape before her. She was outside, dressed in a sweater, boots, and all the normal winter outerwear. Snow crunched beneath her feet and the air was crisp and cold against her cheeks. She blinked again, and tilting her head up saw that she was standing in front of a beautiful blue Victorian home with a welcoming porch, and a turret with windows nestled on one side. It reminded Emma of a doll house she had admired in a store window one Christmas as a child.

Emma then realized there were voices and laughter behind her, and she turned to see a man standing in front of the sliding door of a black minivan. He was bending over, buckling a toddler into a car seat. He straightened and turned towards her, and Emma froze in shock.

“Look, Graham, Mama’s got your shoes.”

Emma squeezed her eyes shut, wondering even more what kind of crazy contraption a phoropter was to make her see what she was seeing right now, but when she opened her eyes the scene hadn’t changed. Captain Hook was buckling a toddler into a minivan. What the hell?

His eyes sparkled with mirth and he was smiling in a way she had yet to see. He gestured with his hook towards her.

“Swan? The shoes?”

She looked down to see that she did indeed have a tiny pair of brown boots dangling from the tips of her fingers. As bizarre as the whole scenario was, she shuffled forward and handed Hook the shoes. He narrowed his eyes and studied her for a beat before turning back to the child before him. He chatted amiably with the child, making him giggle as he slipped the shoes on his feet and tied them deftly with one hand. Emma stared at the little boy of about three, cataloguing his features. He had the same shade of eyes Emma had - a cool, pale green. He had a little dimple in his plump chin, much like her and Snow. His hair was thick and black, curling over ears that pointed in an almost elf-like way. Emma felt her jaw drop as she looked from the child to Killian and back again.

“Mama?” Emma startled when a little girl popped up from behind the little boy. “Mama did Daddy really almost burn down Granny’s when he got you a Christmas tree?”

The little girl looked so much like Emma, it was downright eerie. Except she had bright blue eyes. Eyes that looked really familiar . . . but it couldn’t be!

Killian chuckled as he scratched behind his ear. “Well, in my defense, I was new to the entire concept of electricity.”

Wait a second - did this girl just refer to them - she and Hook - as Mama and Daddy? Then Emma took in Killian for the first time. He was wearing dark skinny jeans and a motorcycle jacket instead of his pirate garb, yet that wasn’t what really surprised her. What surprised her was the charcoal wool beanie on his head. Captain Hook wearing a beanie? Surely this was some sort of hallucination. Emma then glanced down at herself.

“What the hell am I wearing?”

“Wowds, Mama!” the toddler - Graham? - laughed, kicking his little feet.

“Mama, you have to wear the tree shirt to go get the tree,” the little girl added. “It’s ta-dition.”

“That’s tradition, Hope, now buckle up so we can get going,��� Killian instructed.

Suddenly, a golden blur rushed past Emma, and she let out a surprised shout as a golden retriever jumped into the van.

“Sorry,” Killian apologized, “the kids begged to bring Nana along. I didn’t think it was a problem since the tree farm is outside.” He paused and tilted his head as he studied her. “Are you okay, love? I can drive if you want. I know your morning sickness still bothers you some.”

Then the strangest thing of all occurred when Killian Jones - Captain Hook himself, put a hand to her belly then brushed a kiss to her lips. It was the kind of quick, familiar kiss a couple shares when they’ve been together a long time. Emma looked down where his hand rested, and sure enough, her belly was swollen beneath her sweater. Her hideous red sweater covered in a garish Christmas tree with pom pom balls for ornaments. She swayed on her feet.

“Emma!” Killian cried in alarm, his arms going tighter around her.

Everything went blurry, again, then dark. Emma blinked her eyes, and suddenly she was back in the optometrist office looking through a metal contraption that must have been the phoropter. She jerked away and leapt up, her gaze darting wildly about the room. Well, at least she could fully see again.

“What kind of crap was that?” she yelled at Dr. Lachesis. “What kind of spell did you put on me?”

“It was my sister who cast the spell. I merely completed it.

“Completion is my area of expertise, sis,” Avery spoke up from the doorway.

“Okay,” the doctor sighed with a roll of her eyes, “I showed you the middle. It’s what you wished for, after all.”

“Emma,” David cried out as he pushed his way into the room, “are you okay? What did they do?”

Emma shook her head, unsure of how to even describe what had happened. Not to mention her father’s reaction if she told him she’d just seen herself knocked up with her third child with Hook of all people.

“Nothing, Dad,” she muttered, “let’s just get out of here.”

After all, it wasn’t as if anything in that vision could ever in a million years be real. It was ridiculous. Captain Hook the father of three driving a minivan? Impossible.